#dining britain

[thesilicontribesman]

Grand Dining Room and Associated Room Mosaics, Chedworth Roman Villa, Gloucestershire

[thepaintedroom]

Francis Davis Millet (American, 1846-1912) • Between Two Fires • c. 1892 • Tate Britain

[nottswitch]

Hey love, i was wondering if you could do 22 and 24 with sub Draco :) ? Absolutely loooveee ur work and I'm super curious to see what you come up with !!

hi babe, i’m so happy you like my work, and thanks for your request!! 💘 it’s my first time writing for draco, so i’m a bit nervous, but also excited. hope you enjoy :)

22. "not here, please." 24. "it’s all over."

warnings: 18+ mdni, public stimulation & orgasm (m receiving), cursing

⟡ navigation ; m.lists ; draco m.list ; prompts (closed)

dinners at the malfoy manor had always been a fancy occasion, even with just draco’s friends – he was a bit of a show-off, or a lot, depending on his mood at the exact point in time. you were sitting next to him at the generously served table, sipping on the most expensive white wine one could find in the entirety of britain and listening to the guys discussing something quidditch-related.

his suit caught your eyes again, and you turned your head to have a better look – not that you hadn’t already seen it from all possible angles, but there was something about this particular piece that made you want to ruin the perfection that was the smoothness of the designer fabric. and you knew just the way to do it.

pretending to listen to mattheo’s endless rambling about the latest falmouth falcons win against appleby arrows, you casually slipped your hand under the table. it found draco’s thigh with practiced ease, softly caressing the silky-smooth leg of his trousers. immediately, you felt his muscles tense under your touch, which made your lips tug in a smirk around the rim of your wine glass.

"not here, please," draco whispered in a strained voice, trying his best not to look as your hand started traveling up, up, up, your fingers skimming and kneading his inner thigh. you raised an eyebrow, the gesture subtle, but obviously catching his attention even from the corner of his eye. draco swallowed, obediently spreading his legs a bit further apart to grant you access – the look in your eyes told him everything he had to know, and his cock, already half-hard, twitched at the realization of what was about to happen.

you watched the situation sinking in for him, and without further ado, placed your hand right on the tent in the black, silken fabric of his pants. draco’s fingers tightened around his own glass, as tight as his teeth were clenched – he prayed to everything that was holy that none of the guys would have an idea to ask him a question right now.

you slowly palmed him through his trousers, the time spent to get him fully hard being comically short. you felt the flutter of his pulse nearly beating out of his cock under your hand, making you feel even more powerful than you already were. draco’s thighs tensed at each movement, and you could hear his breathing getting more shallow – a sign that no one but you could understand.

a few torturous moments later, his trousers were unbuttoned, the bulge in his briefs now bared to the chilly air inside the dining room. a shiver ran up draco’s spine at the sensation, and he took another sip of wine to at least appear somewhat nonchalant. his gaze was fixed intently on mattheo, who was in the process of demonstrating a particularly impressive movement of his favourite beater during the game. under the table, hidden by the cloth, your index finger was circling the tip of his cock through the briefs, feeling the spot rapidly dampen with precum.

"f-fuck," draco quietly stuttered out, immediately washing the word down with a sip of wine. your eyebrow quirked up, and the next second, your palm landed silently but firmly on his thigh, giving it a punishing slap. draco closed his eyes, his hand almost squashing the glass, to stop himself from flinching. his cock didn’t listen, though, twitching eagerly at every single brush of your hand, be it a gentle caress or a smack.

"quiet,” you whispered, your eyes not leaving the chatting guys across the table, blissfully unaware of what their friend was going through. draco swallowed and nodded, leaning back against the leather of the chair and pretending to keep up appearances.

your hand went back between his legs, continuing the up-and-down movements over his warm length. you knew it wouldn’t take long for him to cum, not when he was in public like that, so to say. he kept still, but you could see tears starting to well up in his eyes from how painfully aroused he was and how much he was already aching to come undone.

a squeeze, and there it was. you could see draco’s legs shake under the table as his cock was nearly bursting out of his briefs, string after string of white seeping through the thin fabric and staining his pants. your hand was safely out of reach, so you didn’t even have to wipe it, just pull it up and rest it on the table. draco didn’t have such a privilege, discreetly glancing down and realizing he would have to either clean all of this up somehow or stand up with obvious white stains on his crotch. he glanced at you, his eyes pleading for you to do something, but the only thing you gave him was a small shrug. however, the sight of his glassy eyes made your expression soften just a bit.

"it’s all over," you murmured quietly, so that others wouldn’t hear. you leaned in, your lips brushing against draco’s ear and making the tiny platinum hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "if you clean yourself up nicely, i’ll give you a reward once everyone leaves."

it took everything for draco not to whimper at your sultry words. he knew exactly what you meant – the night was going to be a long one.

[holylulusworld]

A perfect gentleman (2)

Square filled for @julybreakbingo: Square 15: Free + Square 24: “I’m going to take care of you‚ okay?”

Summary: Your trip to Great Britain changed your life forever.

Pairing: Raymond Smith x fem!Reader

Warning: public sex, smut, unprotected sex, possessive Raymond, angry Raymond, implied violence, fluff

A/N: Please be aware I do not follow the exact storyline of the movie.

Catch up here: A perfect gentleman

“Louder,” Raymond growled in your ear. “I want the whole town to hear your screams.”

You whimpered at his words. Raymond wanted to take you for a walk in the park, only to bend you over the next best bench. Luckily, it was already dark, and no one was around. At least you hoped so.

“Fuck, I want to hear it, love,” he gripped your rear tighter, hands pawing at your body. More than once you ended up bruised and marked up over the last months. Raymond is a man possessed when it comes to you. “Say it! Whose pussy is this?” He gave you a particular deep thrust.

“Yours…” you slurred his name, too far gone to think straight. He got you high on him, and there is no way you are going to get clean ever again. “Only yours.”

“Damn,” thrust, “fucking,” thrust, “right,” a deep thrust, followed by his warmth filling you. You rested your head on the bench, sighing deeply. Two orgasms have turned your legs into jelly, and you were too exhausted to lift your head.

He carefully slipped out of you; eyes dropping to your puffy cunt.

“Hmm…my good girl looks good stuffed with my spunk.” Raymond slammed his hand between your legs to toy with your swollen clit.

“Ray, no,” you wiggled away from his touch. “It’s too much. This morning, during lunch, on our way to the park, in the park. You’re going to kill me with orgasms.”

He laughed, deep and rich. “You’re so cute too,” he said but dropped his hand from your cunt. “I’ll help you put your cute panties back on and we go back to my car.” He crouched down next to you to pat your head. “How does that sound, baby love?”

“Very good,” you lifted your head to grin at Raymond. “No sex on our way back!”

“Sure, baby love,” he kissed the top of your head. Raymond got back up to slide your panties up your legs. He groped your ass for a moment before straightening your dress. Raymond carefully helped you stand on your wobbling legs. “You look so pretty when all fucked out.”

He laughed when you gave him the stinky eye. Raymond promised you a romantic walk in the park only to ruin your poor pussy all over again. “You’re a dirty man, Sir.”

“If you call me Sir again,” he dipped his head to purr in your ear, “I’ll bury my face between those thighs and ruin you forever.”

You pressed your legs together and whimpered. Raymond and his libido would be the death of you one day.

“Buenas tardes, Raymondo.” You shrieked when a stranger stood in Raymond’s dining room. You were about to clean the table you christened with Raymond not half an hour ago again to make sure you erased any trace of your coupling.

The man looked older than your boyfriend, and not as dangerous as Ray. Still, he sneaked inside Raymond’s house only to look you up and down.

“You’re not Raymond.” He huffed, sounding a little too disappointed. “What a pity.”

“What are you doing in Raymond’s house?” You kept a close eye on the intruder while searching for a weapon. “You’re not one of his friends.”

“He already introduced you to his friends?” The man hiccupped. “He’s moving fast, huh?” He cocked his head to look you up and down again. “What does he see in you? Are you more than a romp in the sheets?”

“What the fuck!” You yelled at the man. Even if he got a gun, you wouldn’t let that dude talk like that about you and your relationship with Raymond.

“Ah, the man himself enters the room,” the man looked at something behind your back. “Raymondo, finally. Your lovely maid forgot to offer me a drink.”

“Fletcher,” you could hear the anger in Raymond’s voice. He slowly stepped next to you to place his hand on the small of your back. “I’d asked you what you’re doing here, but first things first.” He kissed your cheek and murmured something Fletcher couldn’t hear in your ear. “I’ll be right there, baby love.”

You pecked Raymond’s lips, much to Fletcher’s chagrin. “Ray don’t waste your time on him. He’s a dick.”

Fletcher hissed in your direction. He didn’t like the way Raymond watched you walk out of the room. “So, a new fling.”

“Why are you in my house?” Raymond’s voice filled with anger. He heard what Fletcher said to you and would love to kill the intruder. If Raymond hates one thing, it’s chaos and unexpected events. He likes having things in order. Neat. Clean. Perfect.

The only exception allowed to cause chaos in his life, or house is you. No one else will get away with leaving dirty dishes in his sink, or socks on the floor.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Raymond. I came here to help,” Fletcher stepped closer to the table to glance at the spot you wiped. He watched you for a while, wondering if you are more to Raymond than a plaything. “I bet you’ll go on your knees for me if you hear what I have for you.”

Raymond squared his jaw. He should have Fletcher killed, but he wants to hear what the man has to say first. “I’ll ask you one last time, and then you’ll either walk out of my house on our own two legs, or you won’t walk at all.”

“Now, we don’t want to be rude,” Fletcher haf a smile plastered on his face. He was excited to tell Raymond about all the things he found out about his boss’s business, and the people wanting to get rid of Mickey Pearson. “So…a fling or more?”

“Why does a cunt like you want to know about my love life?” Raymond grumbled. He was done talking about you with Fletcher. It was worse enough that his boss told him that a sweet girl like you wouldn’t stay for long if you found out about the true nature of Raymond’s job. “Tell me what you want or get fucked.”

“Oh, I’d love to get fucked,” Fletcher grinned. “Maybe we can bring your fling in too. She can watch.” Raymond grabbed the vase filled with roses you placed on the table to throw it at Fletcher.  

“Baby?” You rushed inside the room to watch Raymond punch Fletcher’s face. He held the man down, growling like an angry bear. “Ray? What’s wrong?” You’ve never seen Raymond so angry before. “Ray…baby.”

“Go back to bed baby love. I got business to do with his cunt…”

“What did he want?” You carefully cleaned Raymond’s knuckles. He’s usually not the man to throw punches at his boss’s enemies. “Are you in trouble?”

“No,” Raymond murmured. He watched you clean his wounds, a soft smile on his lips for a moment. “That man is no one to worry about. He’s a slimy worm.”

“A cunt,” you concluded. “I had a hunch. That asshole asked if I’m only a romp in the sheets to you.”

“He’ll be taken care of,” Raymond grabbed your hand to kiss your knuckles. “I’m sorry that he scared you. I’m going to take care of you‚ okay? No one will hurt you.”

“Ray, I signed up for this,” you placed your hand on his thigh. “I know that your job is dangerous and that your boss’s business is far from legal. When you asked me to stay, I accepted this part of your life too.”

“I can pick them,” he murmured.

“You've got such great taste,” you replied with a smile.

"Yeah," he cupped your face with both hands. "Especially when it comes to my girl."

Tags in reblog.

[probablyasocialecologist]

In 1940s Britain, at a time before fast food and ready meals were staples of the British high street and in a country struggling to deal with the ramifications of war, a popular new restaurant chain was established. It served high-quality meals at reasonable prices, attracted customers from the full spectrum of British society, and grew at a rate of 10 new sites a week at its most popular. The brains behind the operation? The British government, led by the prime minister, Winston Churchill. Churchill’s British Restaurants, a chain of government-funded canteens offering nutritious price-capped meals, were intended to counter inflation in food and fuel prices related to the war, as well as to boost community spirit. At their peak, there were more British Restaurants across the UK than there are branches of McDonald’s or Wetherspoons today. Now a new report is calling for the return of a “national restaurant service” in some form, as a way to tackle contemporary issues such as health inequality, food insecurity and even climate change in the UK. A forthcoming report entitled Public diners: the idea whose time has come, by food policy NGO Nourish Scotland, marks the beginning of a campaign to introduce restaurants as a new piece of national infrastructure, a call backed by politicians and experts. A public diner, according to the report, is a state-subsidised eatery serving quality and ethically produced food at affordable prices. Crucially, says Nourish Scotland, they are neither charity nor a treat, but rather everyday eating places for entire communities to access.

[...]

Last year hospital data showed the number of patients in England and Wales being treated for nutritional deficiencies had tripled in a decade while a January 2024 survey by the Food Foundation found 20% of UK households with children reported experiencing food insecurity. And, Nourish Scotland says, ingredients could be sourced from organic farms, reducing unsustainable food production practices and food waste, and stimulating local economies. Public diners have already been realised elsewhere in the world. In Poland, government-funded “milk bars” (bar mleczny) gained popularity in the communist era as a way to serve traditional home-cooked food at low prices, and remain numerous today. Singapore’s “hawker centres”, market-style community dining rooms, emerged as part of the nation’s urban redevelopment following independence, and bring an array of street sellers under one roof to ensure vendors’ access to ingredients and space, as well as food hygiene standards and choice for consumers. The call for state-subsidised dining in the UK comes amid a growing international movement for public restaurants as key infrastructure.

31 August 2024

See also I Dream of Canteens, by Rebecca May Johnson

[starlightopal]

The JayVik brainrot afflicting me might have achieved singularity status but I have to share that I was looking into optics stuff when I came across a picture of Augustin-Jean Fresnel and his Wikipedia. I saw his small mouth and rounded eyes and was like 'he kinda looks a tiny bit like Viktor'. I scoured his Wikipedia page and found 80 mentions (ctrl+f) of this guy called Arago, his Wikipedia page says he was scientist and politician. And then I look at his picture and I'm like 'that's lowkey Jayce'.

They did a TON of stuff without each other BUT If you squint real hard there's coincidences and I think maybe some inspiration taken. Anyway here's the interesting bits I found -

Fresnel had a lifelong battle with tuberculosis, to which he succumbed at the age of 39. 

[at École Polytechnique] he made few if any friends and—in spite of continuing poor health—excelled in drawing and geometry

Fresnel's parents were Roman Catholics of the Jansenist sect, characterized by an extreme Augustinian view of original sin. ... Jansenism is considered heretical by the Roman Catholic Church, and Grattan-Guinness suggests this is why Fresnel never gained a permanent academic teaching post

Arago had founded the study of chromatic polarization, only to lose the lead, controversially, to Biot. Such were the circumstances in which Arago first heard of Fresnel's interest in optics.

Fresnel's letters from later in 1814 reveal his interest in the wave theory ... Eventually he compiled what he called his rêveries (musings) into an essay and submitted it via Léonor Mérimée to André-Marie Ampère, who did not respond directly. But on 19 December, Mérimée dined with Ampère and Arago, with whom he was acquainted through the École Polytechnique; and Arago promised to look at Fresnel's essay.

In mid 1815, on his way home to Mathieu to serve his suspension, Fresnel met Arago in Paris and spoke of the wave theory and stellar aberration. He was informed that he was trying to break down open doors ("il enfonçait des portes ouvertes"), and directed to classical works on optics.

according to Arago,

with Fresnel conscientiousness was always the foremost part of his character, and he constantly performed his duties as an engineer with the most rigorous scrupulousness. The mission to defend the revenues of the state, to obtain for them the best employment possible, appeared to his eyes in the light of a question of honour. The functionary, whatever might be his rank, who submitted to him an ambiguous account, became at once the object of his profound contempt. … Under such circumstances the habitual gentleness of his manners disappeared…

Fresnel's letters from December 1816 reveal his consequent anxiety. To Arago he complained of being "tormented by the worries of surveillance, and the need to reprimand…" And to Mérimée he wrote: "I find nothing more tiresome than having to manage other men, and I admit that I have no idea what I'm doing."

On 17 March 1817, the Académie des Sciences announced that diffraction would be the topic for the biannual physics Grand Prix to be awarded in 1819... Arago and Ampère encouraged Fresnel to enter.

As early as May 1817, at Arago's suggestion, Fresnel applied for membership of the Académie des Sciences, but received only one vote.

Meanwhile, in Britain, the wave theory was yet to take hold; Fresnel wrote to Thomas Young in November 1824, saying in part:

I am far from denying the value that I attach to the praise of English scholars, or pretending that they would not have flattered me agreeably. But for a long time this sensibility, or vanity, which is called the love of glory, has been much blunted in me: I work far less to capture the public's votes than to obtain an inner approbation which has always been the sweetest reward of my efforts. Doubtless I have often needed the sting of vanity to excite me to pursue my researches in moments of disgust or discouragement; but all the compliments I received from MM. Arago, Laplace, and Biot never gave me as much pleasure as the discovery of a theoretical truth and the confirmation of my calculations by experiment

Fresnel's health, which had always been poor, deteriorated in the winter of 1822–1823, increasing the urgency of his original research, ... it became clear that his condition was tuberculosis.

On 6 July, Arago arrived to deliver the Rumford Medal. Sensing Arago's distress, Fresnel whispered that "the most beautiful crown means little, when it is laid on the grave of a friend." 

[universal-casey]

How terrible was baby ame as a child and who was raiding him Britain or the 13?

By Royal standards, he was awful. Hated etiquette, regularly got dirty, ate bugs as a young kid, liked to dig around in the mud. One time he convinced everyone he decided to take up baking and then slapped a mud “pie” full of worms on Britain’s polished dining table. Played pranks on both Britain and the staff.

But he was also kind hearted. Had a lot more patience than most royals. Liked to tell stories. Enjoyed hanging out with the kids of “lesser status”.

Britain raised him until he was 16, then shipped him off to the continental US to try and dissuade any revolution or wants for independence from the 13 colonies. He assumed that America’s existence would put them in line, but they encouraged the bug-eater boy to be his weird little freak self lmao

Though Ame definitely had a bit of a spoiled brat phase when he first got to the continental US because he was all “I’m the prince and I’m just like my dad so you have to listen to me!!” Because what 16 year old wouldn’t go nuts with absolute power?

[johannestevans]

I'd love to know how you approach research when you write, especially for your historical fiction! How you find good sources and keep the process interesting for yourself etc.

Hello!

So firstly, what I often concentrate on is actually other forms of fiction and fictional media - I like to engross myself in the mouthfeel of the period, so-to-speak, and be able to envisage the day-to-day and the visuals. Clothes are a big thing for me, not just their aesthetics, but their textures, how heavy or light they are, how they're fastened or adhered to the body - or not - and how they're made, who's making them, how much they cost or how many bodies they've been worn on, how many hands they've been through, where their fabrics have come from, etc.

Even if I'm not describing a lot of that in-text, it helps me understand the characters I'm writing and what takes up their time in the course of the day, what frames their lives and their bodies, so-to-speak.

I have a similar mental process about food, drink, bedding, and accommodation - what do these characters eat, and why do they eat that way? Where does their food come from? How comfortable is their bed, to sleep in as one person or with others? What sort of place do they live in? Who built it? Is it warm, is it dry, is it big, small?

One of the reasons I really enjoy visiting the SS Great Britain in Bristol is that they have the whole ship separated out as it would have been as a passenger vessel - you can go through the cheap passenger berths, see the crew and business berths, go through the first class dining halls and so on. You get a really great sense of the space, how much light there isn't, how narrow everything is and tightly enclosed.

The SS Great Britain as an exhibition has some flaws that irritate me, like their wank about Brunel himself or the fucking British military, but the sense of real, individual life is beautifully replicated in the ship proper, as well as in the dock about it. I have similar affection for Saint Fagan's in South Wales, which has a row of houses that try to replicate different eras and epochs, and other museums that work to replicate day-to-day life.

In much of the UK, various stately homes and country houses have been turned over to being this sort of museum, and the better ones do normally have at least a good portion of their displays devoted to service staff and working guests, or the homes as working hospitals or similar during the war(s), as much as the posh fucks.

I try to find period photographs if I can - unfortunately, people often don't photograph the everyday or shittier parts of life which are more valuable for my purposes, but you can often glean details from diaries and similar from the period, from reports, from collated data in academic articles and the like.

I like to jump around with different sources and vibes where I can, keeping things novel for me!

[comtessezouboff]

Paintings from Buckingham Palace: part I

A retexture by La Comtesse Zouboff — Original Mesh by @thejim07

100 followers gift!

First of all, I would like to thank you all for this amazing year! It's been a pleasure meeting you all and I'm beyond thankful for your support.

Spread among 13 occupied and historic royal residences in the United Kingdom, the collection is owned by King Charles III and overseen by the Royal Collection Trust. The British monarch owns some of the collection in right of the Crown and some as a private individual. It is made up of over one million objects, including 7,000 paintings, over 150,000 works on paper, this including 30,000 watercolours and drawings, and about 450,000 photographs, as well as around 700,000 works of art, including tapestries, furniture, ceramics, textiles, carriages, weapons, armour, jewellery, clocks, musical instruments, tableware, plants, manuscripts, books, and sculptures.

Some of the buildings which house the collection, such as Hampton Court Palace, are open to the public and not lived in by the Royal Family, whilst others, such as Windsor Castle, Kensington Palace and the most remarkable of them, Buckingham Palace are both residences and open to the public.

About 3,000 objects are on loan to museums throughout the world, and many others are lent on a temporary basis to exhibitions.

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This first part includes the paintings displayed in the White Drawing Room, the Green Drawing Room, the Silk Tapestry Room, the Guard Chamber, the Grand Staircase, the State Dining Room, the Queen's Audience Room and the Blue Drawing Room,

This set contains 37 paintings and tapestries with the original frame swatches, fully recolourable. They are:

White Drawing Room (WDR):

Portrait of François Salignan de la Mothe-Fénelon, Archbishop of Cambrai (Joseph Vivien)

Portrait of a Lady (Sir Peter Lely)

Portrait of a Man in Armour with a red scarf (Anthony van Dyck)

Portrait of Alexandra of Denmark, Queen Consort of the United Kingdom and Empress of India (François Flameng)

Green Drawing Room (GDR):

Portrait of Prince James Stuart, Duke of Cambridge (John Michael Wright)

Portrait of Frederick Henry, Charles Louis and Elizabeth: Children of Frederick V and Elizabeth of Bohemia (unknown)

Portrait of Infanta Isabel Clara Eugenia of Autria and her Sister, Infanta Catalina Micaela of Austria (Alonso Sanchez Coello)

Portrait of Princess Louisa and Princess Caroline of the United Kingdom (Francis Cotes)

Portrait of Queen Charlotte with her Two Eldest Sons, Frederick, Later Duke of York and Prince George of Wales (Allan Ramsay)

Portrait of Richard Colley Wellesley, Marquess of Wellesley (Martin Archer Shee)

Portrait of the Three Youngest Daughters of George III, Princesses Mary, Amelia and Sophia (John Singleton Copley)

Silk Tapestry Room (STR):

Portrait of Caroline of Brunswick, Princess of Wales, Playing the Harp with Princess Charlotte (Sir Thomas Lawrence)

Portrait of Augusta, Duchess of Brunswick With her Son, Charles George Augustus (Angelica Kauffmann)

Guard Chamber (GC):

Les Portières des Dieux: Bacchus (Manufacture Royale des Gobelins)

Les Portières des Dieux: Venus (Manufacture Royale des Gobelins)

Les Portières des Dieux (Manufacture Royale des Gobelins)

Grand Staircarse (GS):

Portrait of Adelaide of Saxe-Meiningen, Queen Consort of Great Britain (Martin Archer Shee)

Portrait of Augustus, Duke of Sussex (Sir David Wilkie)

Portrait of Edward, Duke of Kent (George Dawe)

Portrait of King George III of Great Britain (Sir William Beechey)

Portrait of King William IV of Great Britain when Duke of Clarence (Sir Thomas Lawrence)

Portrait of Leopold I, King of the Belgians (William Corden the Younger)

Portrait of Prince George of Cumberland, Later King George V of Hanover When a Boy (Sir Thomas Lawrence)

Portrait of Princess Charlotte Augusta of Wales (George Dawe)

Portrait of Queen Charlotte at Frogmore House (Sir William Beechey)

Portrait of Victoria of Saxe-Coburg-Saafeld, Duchess of Kent (Sir George Hayter)

State Dining Room (SDR):

Portrait of Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, Queen Consort of the United Kingdom in Coronation Robes (Allan Ramsay)

Portrait of King George III of the United Kingdom in Coronation Robes (Allan Ramsay)

Portrait of Augusta of Saxe-Gotha, Princess of Wales (Jean-Baptiste Van Loo)

Portrait of Caroline of Ansbach when Princess of Wales (Sir Godfrey Kneller)

Portrait of Frederick, Princes of Wales (Jean-Baptiste Van Loo)

Portrait of King George II of Great Britain (John Shackleton)

Portrait of King George IV of the United Kingdom in Garther Robes (Sir Thomas Lawrence)

Queen's Audience Room (QAR):

Portrait of Anne, Duchess of Cumberland and Strathearn (née Anne Luttrel) in Peeress Robes (Sir Thomas Gainsborough)

Portrait of Prince Henry, Duke of Cumberland and Strathearn in Peer Robes (Sir Thomas Gainsborough)

London: The Thames from Somerset House Terrace towards the City (Giovanni Antonio Canal "Canaletto")

View of Piazza San Marco Looking East Towards the Basilica and the Campanile (Giovanni Antonio Canal "Canaletto")

Blue Drawing Room (BDR)

Portrait of King George V in Coronation Robes (Sir Samuel Luke Fildes)

Portrait of Queen Mary of Teck in Coronation Robes (Sir William Samuel Henry Llewellyn)

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Found under decor > paintings for:

500§ (WDR: 1,2 & 3)

1850§ (GDR: 1)

1960§ (GDR: 2 & 3 |QAR 3 & 4)

3040§ (STR, 1 |GC: 1 & 2|SDR: 1 & 2)

3050§ (GC:1 |GS: all 10|WDR: 4 |SDR: 3,4,5 & 6)

3560§ (QAR: 1 & 2|STR: 2)

3900§ (SDR: 7| BDR: 1 & 2|GDR: 4,5,6 & 7)

Retextured from:

"Saint Mary Magdalene" (WDR: 1,2 & 3) found here .

"The virgin of the Rosary" (GDR: 1) found here .

"The Four Cardinal Virtues" (GDR: 2&3|QAR 3 & 4) found here.

"Mariana of Austria in Prayer" (STR, 1, GC: 1 & 2|SDR: 1 & 2) found here.

"Portrait of Philip IV with a lion at his feet" (GC:1 |GS: all 10|WDR: 4 |SDR: 3,4,5 & 6) found here

"Length Portrait of Mrs.D" (QAR: 1 & 2|STR: 2) found here

"Portrait of Maria Theresa of Austria and her Son, le Grand Dauphin" (SDR: 7| BDR: 1 & 2|GDR: 4,5,6 & 7) found here

(you can just search for "Buckingham Palace" using the catalog search mod to find the entire set much easier!)

Drive

(Sims3pack | Package)

(Useful tags below)

@joojconverts @ts3history @ts3historicalccfinds @deniisu-sims @katsujiiccfinds @gifappels-stuff

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[starlitsilvereyes]

Love To Hate You | E | 1.9k

Written for @harryjamespotterweek's prompts: Size Kink, Scars, Sex Toys, & Hate Sex | Warnings/Tags: PWP, Hate Sex, Rough Sex, Size Kink, Sectumsempra Scars, Sex Toy (Anal plug), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjob, Rimming, Light Bondage, Edging, Choking

Thank you so much to my wonderful beta @intimatelyrearranged for looking over this &lt;3 <3

Summary/Excerpt: Sex with Potter was always rough. All claws and teeth – a hand wrapped around Draco’s neck, fingernails on Draco’s hips, and Potter’s filthy mouth panting against Draco’s ear.

Read Love To Hate You on Ao3

or Expand to keep reading :)

---

Sex with Potter was always rough. All claws and teeth – a hand wrapped around Draco’s neck, fingernails on Draco’s hips, and Potter’s filthy mouth panting against Draco’s ear.

“I fucking hate you, Draco.” 

Satisfaction bloomed within Draco at the frustrated expression plastered upon Potter’s face, knowing he’d been the very cause of it. 

~

They had been in the Ministry Gala not even an hour before, with Potter’s green eyes piercing through Draco from across the table. Draco made sure they’d been seated right across from each other, so he could slide his socked foot up Potter’s leg. 

Potter ignored him at first, but there was no mistaking the tightening of his fingers around his glass. He tried to close his legs a short moment after Draco settled his ankle against Potter’s knee, but Draco thought quicker than him, sliding his foot right on Potter’s wool-clad crotch, trapping it between Potter’s thighs. 

“The wine is exquisite, Minister,” Draco praised, licking his lips as Potter let out a soft gasp when Draco pressed his foot more firmly against Potter’s clothed cock. 

“I’m pleased to hear it suits your fine taste, Mister Malfoy.” Shacklebolt smiled proudly. “I hope you’ll be as delighted with our dinner. I especially picked out the most luxurious Jamaican dishes, and I plan on developing a trade of goods between my home country and Wizarding Britain this year.” 

“I’m sure the dinner will be just as ravishing,” Draco drawled, eyeing Potter before he made a show of closing his eyes in delight when the first dish was served in front of them. 

Draco settled his foot on Potter’s inner thigh for the entirety of their meal, brushing his heel against Potter whenever he spoke to someone else at the table. Potter tolerated it, until Draco dragged his foot along the length of Potter’s entire cock, now fully hard. 

Potter visibly jumped, earning him looks from almost everyone around the expansive dining table. 

“Alright, Harry?” asked Weasley, glancing suspiciously at Draco before turning his gaze back at Potter. 

“Yeah,” Potter said, breathless. “I just need some air. If you’ll excuse me.”

Potter left the table without another word, and Draco followed halfway through his meal, as to not be too suspicious. 

He found Potter outside, hidden behind the grand oak tree Draco was certain was older than the both of them combined, a cigarette between his lips as he leaned against the brick wall. 

“Took you long enough,” Potter spat, flicking off his fag and crushing it beneath his boot. 

Before Draco could come up with a snarky remark, Potter crossed the space between them, latching is hot, wet mouth against Draco. Out of habit, Draco slot his knee between Potter’s legs. 

But Potter seemed to have a different idea, backing Draco to the wall and snogging him senseless until Draco had to pull away to catch his breath.

“Potter–” 

Without another word, Potter flicked his hand, and a silk magically appeared around Draco’s wrists, tying them together and pinning them in place above his head.

Oh. 

“If you’re going to act like a cock-hungry whore, you’re going to get treated like one.” 

Draco barely had any time to grasp what was happening when Potter knelt before him, hurriedly unbuckled his belt, and pulled his trousers down along with his pants. He inhaled a sharp breath when the cool autumn air hit his cock. 

Potter made a show of mouthing at Draco’s tip, lapping around it like some – well, some cock-hungry whore, but Draco was too occupied with the velvety warmth of Potter’s mouth to make his point. 

“So big,” Potter moaned. “So fucking perfect for me. You like this, hm?” He took Draco even deeper, only pulling off to spit on his palm and wrap a first around the base of Draco’s cock. “You like my throat around your dick? Tell me you like it, Draco.” 

“I love your mouth,” Draco gasped when Potter started fucking Draco’s cock into his mouth hungrily, desperately. “I love it when you suck me off like you’re made for it, Harry.” 

They only called each other by their names whenever they fucked. It was not something they particularly agreed on, but neither of them had complained in the past six months, and Draco hadn’t exactly thought of calling Potter by his first name outside of their rendezvous. 

Potter’s eyes, lightning green and striking, stared through Draco as he opened his throat a bit more, taking Draco deeper than he’d ever taken him. Draco shut his eyes closed, eyebrows furrowing as Harry’s name fell from his lips. “Harry, god, don’t stop. Fuck – fuck --” Pleasure rose from the depths of him, his knees growing weak, mouth going slack, and fingernails digging through his own palms.

On the brink of Draco’s orgasm, Harry pulled off, and the pleasure stopped. 

Draco opened his eyes to find Potter wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, tucking Draco back into his pants and smirking devilishly as he rose from the ground. 

“Don’t like the taste of your own medicine?” Potter smirked. 

“Fuck you, Potter.” 

“With pleasure.” 

~

The Apparition to Potter’s flat made Draco dizzy, as though he just downed an entire bottle of whiskey. Upon trying to balance himself, he realised Potter didn’t even bother to untie his wrists. Draco shut his eyes and braced himself to fall face flat on Potter’s hardwood floor, but Potter wrapped a steady arm around his waist, unabashedly pressing his fucking crotch against Draco’s arse. 

“Bend over.” Potter’s breath was hot against Draco’s ear. 

“What?” Draco asked, bewildered. “Right here?” 

Without another word, Potter vanished both of their clothes with a flick of his wand. Draco shivered, gooseflesh rising on his skin as Potter’s magic wrapped around him like an intoxicating curse.

Potter placed a firm palm on the back of Draco’s neck, guiding him to the red velvet couch and bending him over. 

“Draco –” 

Draco smirked, cheek against the cushion as he looked back at Potter smugly. He arched his back even more, relishing the surprise on Potter’s face as he eyed the plug nestled into Draco’s hole. 

“Draco,” Potter sighed. He reached for the base of the plug, pressing a firm finger against it and pushing it back. Draco closed his eyes, breath hitching as pleasure jolted within him. He knew there was no other way to end this night than to fuck Harry – or rather, be fucked by Harry, so Draco got himself ready earlier that evening by fucking himself with his fingers at the thought of Harry. Both for the intent of preparation and because he knew Harry would like it. 

“Fuck me, Harry,” Draco panted. 

Harry was already hard, pre-come glazing the tip of his pink cock. He pumped himself a few times, gaze never leaving the sight of the plug in Draco’s arse. Draco’s mouth watered at the sight. He wanted Harry to fuck him now, the desperation nearly all-consuming.

But Harry had different plans. He pinched the base of the plug between two fingers, pulling at it before letting go with only the tip in, and letting Draco’s body pull it back. 

“Oh.” The protest was at the tip of Draco’s mouth, but pleasure and want only kept building up within him. So, he resorted submitting rather than complaining. “Oh, Harry.” 

“Yeah?” Harry hummed, fucking the plug slowly into Draco. “You like that?”

Draco closed his eyes, mouth going slack as he tilted his hips higher. He could come like this – untouched, only by the mercy of his plug and Harry’s fingers. “Hmmpphhh – Harry, fuck, fuck, fuck —” He was close again, cock sensitive from rubbing against the velvet couch. He thrashed under Harry, whimpers falling from his lips like a whispered prayer, a promise, a curse – begging for Harry to let him come. 

Without warning, Harry pulled the plug from Draco’s arse. Draco gasped. He could feel himself gaping and dripping from the lube, his hole desperate to be fucked. 

Harry shifted above him, dipping the cushion with his weight. Draco braced himself to be filled by Harry’s cock, but something wet, hotter, and softer pressed against his hole.

The moan that spilled from Draco’s mouth would’ve embarrassed him if it weren’t for the scorching pleasure soaring through him like lightning blazing through a sky. Harry’s mouth kissed Draco’s hole, tongue prodding at it like Draco was something to devour. 

Draco had never come from rimming before. No doubt, it was pleasurable to him, and it aroused him to the point of neediness, but he never found it to push him over the edge. It was a pleasure that crossed the line but not quite enough to finish him off. 

Until the moment Harry inserted a single finger alongside his tongue, pumping slowly until he was knuckle deep. Draco wanted to cry from it. He was certain he’d do anything just to come – he’d live and die and go to the ends of the earth if it meant Harry made him come by his tongue and finger. There wasn’t anything Draco wanted more. 

But like all the pleasure brought by Harry tonight, he pulled away, leaving Draco panting, desperate, wanting, on the verge of madness from it all. 

Draco was limp and boneless, sedated by being brought to the edge, as he let Harry turn him over to his back. 

“Fuck you, Potter,” he said weakly. 

“I fucking hate you, Draco,” Harry said. Both of them knew it didn’t matter if they hated each other or not – not when Harry was finally pushing inside Draco with a punched out gasp. 

The tension coiled within Draco like a whirlwind brewing through a thunderstorm. A tear rolled down his cheekbone when Harry’s cock slid inside of him, overwhelming relief rushing through him. Harry started moving, slowly and earnestly at first, like Draco was delicate and untouched. Like he was someone in need of softness. 

Sex with Potter was always rough. All claws and teeth – a hand wrapped around Draco’s neck, fingernails on Draco’s hips, and Potter’s filthy mouth panting against Draco’s ear. 

But sex with Harry – his Harry, was always gentle. Soft lips mouthing at the intricacy of Draco’s silver scars; calloused palms caressing the expanse of Draco’s body; lightning green eyes rolling back from pleasure. 

Draco didn’t know who he wanted more. But he’d always been a selfish man, unashamedly so. He decided he wanted to have them both. 

With what was left of his strength, he hiked both of his legs up and settled them atop Harry’s broad shoulders. Harry opened his eyes, mouth slightly agape in surprise as Draco gazed up at him in challenge. 

“Fuck me like you hate me, Potter,” he said through clenched teeth. 

Harry let out a breath, eyes darkening as he held Draco’s calves on his shoulders, hips pistolling into Draco like he was being paid for it. He fucked and fucked until Draco was reduced into aching hunger, his mouth only ever knowing how to moan Harry’s name. 

Above Draco, Harry was a powerful storm blazing through his violent desire. He was anger and rage and fire bursting into flames – a feverish desperation clinging to Draco’s bones. Draco wanted only to have him – all of him – both Potter and Harry. He thought he could die from it and live for it. He would kill for it. 

He opened his eyes just in time to marvel at Harry in all his orgasmic glory – mouth hung open and eyebrows furrowed as he pumped his hips harder and faster. Like he was desperate for this as much as Draco was. Like there was nothing he craved more than being inside Draco. 

It hit Draco when Harry opened his eyes in post-orgasmic haze, starlit emerald eyes telling more than words ever could. 

I hate you; I hate you; I love you. 

Draco came as he looked into Harry’s eyes, with Harry’s name falling from his lips like sinful and heavenly poetry all at once. 

[illusionsdelusions101]

Back to the Old House~Jude Bellingham

Type~Angst

A/N: Jude won the poll! I felt angsty so here you go! Also thank you for my awesome friend Mistyswifey for this prompt!

Jude was back. In Stourbridge. When you heard the news your heart almost leaped out of your chest! While you were in a local shop, the cashier said “So, heard the news that Jude is coming back?” and that initially send you into a panic. You lived next to Jude, your whole life, until he moved away to live in Madrid. You talked to him a lot when you were younger. Childhood friends even. But after he moved, you didn’t get a call, text, nothing. It broke your heart, still hung up on him. You stayed in your childhood home, your parents, wanting to travel the world so they left you at home. Which was fine, your college was nearby and everything so all was good. But how the fuck are you gonna avoid Jude if he’s gonna be staying right next door?

Jude exited from the car, approaching his old house. He breathes the fresh, wet air of Britain, and walks up the path. He looks to the neighbours house. He doesn’t see a car in their driveway, assuming they’re away, and he can make as much noise as he likes while playing FIFA. He enters the house, his parents and brother hugging him. “How are you mate?” Jobe hits his shoulder. “I’m good.” Jude laughs. “We can make as much noise as we want, because of the neighbours, yeah?” He smiles. Jobe scratches the back of his head. “They’re gone on holidays, but their daughter still lives there. She’s minding the house and plants.” He says while they walk upstairs to Jude’s old bedroom. “Their daughter? They have a daughter?” Jude says, puzzled. Jobe looks at him weird as he opens the door to his brothers room. “Yeah, do you not remember her? You used to talk all the time!” Jude looks even more confused. A girl? Never heard of her. Never seen her. Maybe he did? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t remember. At all. 

You get a knock on your door while you’re laying on the couch. You try and make yourself presentable and go open the door. Jude’s mom appears and smiles at you. “Hello dear! Would you like to come for dinner? I bet it’s lonely being by yourself, come join us!” She beams. You can’t say no, this woman is so sweet that it looks like it would break her heart if you said no. So you accepted. Have you forgotten Jude was over? Yup. 

You enter the house behind Jude’s mother, and hear the hood of the oven on. “JOBE! JUDE! COME AND GREET OUR GUEST!” She shouts. She smiles politely at you and goes to the kitchen as the boys come downstairs. Oh no. Jude. You see his gorgeous brown eyes and all those years of moving on had disappeared. Your cheeks turn a crimson colour. Jobe greets you first. “Hey! Long time no see!” He hugs you. You hung out with Jobe quite often after Jude left. You both needed company so you guys occasionally watched movies and went to the park and stuff like that. You never found an interest in Jobe. And you knew he didn’t find one in you. Jude approaches you, your hands get clammy and you can feel them starting to sweat. “Hey, I’m Jude. Nice to meet you. What’s your name?” He says, hands shoved in his pockets.

Oh.

Oh.

He didn’t remember you. That’s fine. Totally fine. It’s for the better even. “Hi, I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you, Jude.” You say quietly. “Likewise.” Jude nods and goes to the dining room. You could almost cry in that moment. Staring at the wooden floor planks, the tears scorching hot in your eyes. But now wasn’t the time. You wipe your eyes quickly and made your way to the dining room as well. 

Dinner went smoothly, conversation here and there. At the end, it was time to go. You waved the Bellingham family goodbye, your eyes lingering on Jude. You were about to exit the house when a hand stopped you from doing so. “Hey, wanna hang out sometime?” Jude’s voice being heard from behind you. You look up at him. “Sure.” You smile and exit the house.

Over the past couple of days, you guys hung out. Trips to the park, cinema, having lunch at each other’s, etc. Jude was falling for you. Hard. The ways your eyes glimmered in the sun, your hair always to perfection and your personality so true and honest. One day, while going over to yours, as you guys had dinner reservations, he entered your house. (you texted him that the door was unlocked and he could come in at anytime.) He found you crying on the couch. “Y/N, what’s wrong?” He stood at the doorway connecting your  living room and hallway. 

“Do you not remember me Jude?” You said, more tears falling. You had tried to blow it over the past few days, but him not knowing you when you were friends for such a long time, just made you break down. “What do you mean?” Jude asks. You choke a sob and stand up. “JUDE YOU KNEW ME! WAS I NOTHING TO YOU? YOU DONT REMEMBER WHEN WE USED TO GO TO THE PARK AND EVERYTHING? GOD! WHY DO I EVEN BOTHER! YOU’RE PROBABLY GOING TO FORGET ME AGAIN AFTER YOU LEAVE!” You cry out. Jude was confused, upset, puzzled, but mostly upset. “What do you mean, Y/N? I’ve known you for the past couple of days!” He argues. You let out a frustrated sigh. “I CANT BELIEVE YOU!” You scream. “I CANT BELIEVE YOU! YOU COME AND SCREAM AT ME AND FOR WHAT? YOU’RE SAYING NONSENSE!” He shoots back. 

“Leave my house, Jude Bellingham.” You whisper. But he heard it.

“What?” He says, exasperated. 

“Leave. And come back when you remember.” 

You heard his breathing get uneven from the other side of the room. But a few seconds later, you hear footsteps receding and the front door slam shut.

He should remember, you thought to yourself. And then he’ll come back to the old house.

Pt.2?

[seraphimsora]

This idea was in my mind for a while now.And I wanted to share it with you

concept what if Biatrice was born during the time of artoria and mordred

As Princess From a kingdom (I don't know what's to named yet)

She and her mother Diana travel to camelot for alliance. Her beauty that made both mordred and artoria Fall in love with her

But there are some problems;

1: Artoria is married to Guinevere

2: Artoria must stay as the ideal king

3: Mordred can't Reveal herself

That's all I got for now

What do you think?

WHAT IF I TOLD YOU THAT I wrote something similar in 2022?I had even made a drawing of her at the time.

------------------

The gardens of the great palace of Camelot, one of the greatest wonders in all of Britain After the problems of scarcity and soil were solved with the discovery of the Holy Grail, the country was in a state of immersive peace, even the most distant villages were more prosperous, even in the face of the Saxon invasions there were enough supplies for the armies and the people. Apart from that war, there were no great reasons to lament… not until the betrayal of Lancelot and Guinevere was caught, not only by the knight Agravain but by the King himself.

Arthur could not close his eyes, if only it had not been him who entered that room at the wrong time, if only he had not been in the presence of not only one but two of his knights. Then things could be different.

He did not love the queen as a woman, but he had her as a trusted friend and confidant, while Lancelot was his friend and right-hand man. It didn't take much to know that that face normally carved in stone melted in betrayal, not because of a trampled love but because of the knowledge of what should be done next.

The knight's betrayal should be answered with exile. While the queen, who should be the mother of that nation, would answer with death.

Dark days began after that. Angry with the King's coldness and with the acceptance of that kingdom, Lancelot found himself returning to his lands where he sent a messenger to France, increasing the facts for his brother princes. And so, a war began.

Affected by the pressure of two formidable opponents, Arthur found himself inclined to make an alliance with a distant country, whose king had full control over magic. It was the last advice that Merlin gave him before he left to flee some trouble he had caused.

So he did so, inviting Solomon, the King of the Wizards, to a formal meeting in Camelot.

That day, the city celebrated the arrival of another crown on foreign soil, welcoming with kindness someone who would offer them a helping hand during difficult times. However, it was not only the king who drew attention with his long clothes, without the presence of armor, nor his tanned skin, but also the young lady who accompanied him at his right hand. Princess Biatrice, she had abdicated her right to the throne for unknown reasons even though she was the chosen daughter among 20 brothers and sisters. That story was whispered with disbelief among the villagers, that young woman was a bastard of mixed origin from the people of Camelot and the lands of Israel, how could the king offer her the throne? Women smiled repeating the rumors that her intelligence was enviable and her hair was as white as snow. Coveted by men, envied by women, but loved by the people and adored by her father. These were the reasons why the throne was offered to her. When they arrived at the palace, they were greeted by each knight of the table, who had recently returned. And finally, they arrived at the great dining hall where a lavish table was set for the two kings and the princess.

— Greetings to the King of Knights. — The man with a friendly smile approached, shaking hands with the handsome ally in front of him, who responded to his sympathy and respect in the same way.

— Greetings, my old friend, King of Wizards. — Arthur shook his fingers with a gentle and kind expression. — Thank you for accepting my invitation.

— Don't be like that. I haven't forgotten the help you gave me that time against the Romans. — Solomon placed a hand on his daughter's back, guiding her closer to his side. — This is Biatrice, my youngest daughter.

— Your Majesty, it is a pleasure. — The girl greeted him with a serene and balanced expression, bowing slightly to the king. — My father spoke a lot about you.

— The pleasure is all mine, Princess Beatrice. I hope he said good things.

— Of course, Lord Arthur.

Clearing his throat, the king caught both of their attention. — I would love to present her as my heir, but as you may already know, she has renounced her right to the throne.

The princess looked at her father in a bad mood, but that information seemed to take the king of Camelot by surprise. — Did you renounce?

— Yes. With all due respect, my lord, but if I became the queen regent, I would start an unnecessary war with my brothers. And let's face it, there are quite a few of them. — The young woman sighed, closing her eyes as her father's gaze fell on her.

— And then it would be your duty as queen to put them in their rightful place. — The man began, but then stopped for a second and realized where they were and Arthur's lost expression. — But well, another time, we will talk about this again.

A pleasant dinner began, the kings began talking about simple transactions, such as the exchange of seeds and materials, the adornment of each one's personal culture and the difference in the governmental categories of their powers. The conversation lasted for more than two hours. Biatrice had already grown tired of listening and was just concentrating on not getting too drunk on the wine served at the table. But then the topic of the moment began, the war and Sir Lancelot, the looks of the two kings changed as well as the overwhelming atmosphere that now made the young woman in the room uncomfortable. She knew that her father would help Arthur, but her concern was how this would be done, until the ships with troops arrived it would be months, Lancelot could have already massacred half of Britain with the armies of France.

— We will resolve these matters, for now I can help you by placing a barrier around the island until the troops arrive, ten ships with two thousand each, is that a good number? — Solomon asked carefully. — I will not offer you more because when they find out that I am allying with you, they will also go to Israel.

— Twenty thousand soldiers is enough, I believe. — Arthur closed his eyes taking a little of his glass on his lips.

— I believe that, as a traditional king, you will want to make this alliance official. What will be the means?

— Marriage. — Arthur placed the glass back on the table, making it echo throughout the room in the silence that followed.

— Marriage. — Solomon repeated calmly. He knew the king's proposal before it even left his lips, but even having foreseen it, it was still difficult to find an answer. — Do you want the hand of one of my daughters?

— I know I am older than most of them, but marriage is the most reliable way to show unity among my people… otherwise, they would remain suspicious and distressed.

— Biatrice, leave us alone. — The king of the magicians commanded, being quickly obeyed by the young woman who appropriately said goodbye to the host. — I understand that there has recently been a revolt among your people, but marriage? It would take months for one of my daughters to come to me. — It will not be necessary if you give me Biatrice's hand. — The king said each word seriously.

— No. — Solomon returned with the same intensity. — Out of the question.

Artoria blinked in surprise.—…Do you think I'll mistreat you?

— No. I know you wouldn't do that. But I also know that you love Britannia and only Britannia. Biatrice is a sweet girl who gets involved easily, she would fall in love with you and then get hurt. — Artoria paused in shock for a few long moments and then sighed.

— Well… Your reasons are reasonable… however, I have another proposal. My son, Mordred.

Outside, Biatrice was walking without having any idea of ​​what the two men were talking about inside the room.

Camelot Castle was stunning, to say the least, her eyes didn't know what to focus on, she was careful to avoid areas that could be restricted and just stretched her legs through the courtyard, the most varied flowers circling every miserable feeling. But it was a red rose that caught her attention, it was so beautiful and large, it didn't even look like a common rose. A smile stretched her lips, the person who took care of the gardens must have been extremely skilled.

The afternoon sun warmed her back as a reminder of the passing of time, a pleasant sensation that took her attention away from her surroundings. Long enough not to notice a pair of knights looking at her from afar. Sir Gawain, a man of great muscular proportions, he wore a green cape and a black blouse, with only his waist and legs covered by parts of his armor, unlike the red-haired man beside him wearing only casual clothes, the handsome gentleman with a sad countenance and fiery red hair, Sir Tristan.

— Is this Princess Biatrice?" Gawain crossed his arms, even though his tone of voice was serious, there was still a small spark of interest.

—The daughter of the king of wizards… a beautiful girl but hated by the whole family, how sad.— Sighing deeply, Tristan marked his words with melancholy. — She is only sixteen, and her brothers have already tried to murder her countless times.

— Murder? — Incredulous at that statement, the bearer of Galantine almost choked. — God, she seems so… innocent, why would they do something like that?

Before he could get an answer from the companion at his side, a deep voice full of resentment sounded venom. — She is her father's favorite, even though she is a bastard and the youngest, King Solomon had publicly named her as his legitimate heir. The older brothers did not like it.

A pale shadow approached, Sir Agravain, the announcer of that senseless war against Lancelot, he had the cold and hard expression as always, his eyes analyzing the girl in the courtyard in the distance, not with the genuine interest of the other two, but with the purest distrust and disgust.

—Sir Agravain… have you finally gotten out of the middle of those old records?" Tristan laughed at the angry look he received. "There's the look of Morgan's sons."

—I suggest you be careful with your next words, Sir Tristan, or you may end up being poisoned again." The dark-haired man snorted, taking a step forward to get a better look at the girl's expression.

the young woman's. — Hump… women always have ways of manipulating kingdoms, this princess is a great candidate to be the destroyer.

Sitting on the marble wall, Gawain followed Biatrice's attention. — She is mirroring herself too much in our mother, Agravain. We cannot judge this girl without knowing her.

— She is painfully beautiful. — Tristan hummed. — We can only confirm that by seeing her from here.

Too busy in their own thoughts, the trio did not notice when a certain crimson knight in helmet and armor approached, the iron around him creaked and that helmet moved until it was completely open. The Gallic face in contrast with the blond hair tied in a ponytail belonged to none other than Mordred, the guerrilla knight.

— What are the idiots doing? — His rude tone did not measure his incredulous expression when he noticed where everyone's eyes were. — A girl? Are you serious? Don't you have anything better to do?

When they were caught watching the young princess, the three knights looked away in embarrassment. They all seemed to have been caught doing something wrong, even though there was no malice in their actions.

—Look who's talking. — Gawain coughed, keeping his serious facade.

Agravain sighed, frowning.— In fact, Sir Mordred, shouldn't you be patrolling outside Camelot?

Embarrassed, the knight closed his eyes. — W-well, I was patrolling, but h-his majesty asked me to return for an emergency meeting, I thought the three idiots were going there, but…— Looking slightly irritated, Mordred crossed his arms. — They were just bothering some random girl.

—King Solomon's daughter. — Tristan corrected. — She's a fresh, young face… oh how sad.

— And what does that have to do with me? — Mordred rolled his eyes. — If she's the baker's daughter or a king's daughter.

— Mordred is right… we've been here too long, I think it's better for us to move on, don't you think, Agravain? — Looking to the side, the blond didn't find his older brother. Surprised, he looked around. — Agravain?

— He left a while ago. — Tristan smiled. — Some things never change.

Thus trying to leave the place with as little dignity as possible, the three knights walked away, leaving Mordred indignantly looking at their backs.

— That's all we needed. — The blond snorted, crossing his arms, his green eyes now fixed on that strange and perplexed figure, the princess of Israel, daughter of Solomon.

[camisoledadparis]

The iconic dinner scenes at Downton Abbey are a staple of the series, showcasing both the elegance of Edwardian-era dining and the intricate social dynamics of the time. During the early 20th century, formal dinners were a major aspect of aristocratic life in Britain. These grand events often took place in the evening and were marked by elaborate multi-course meals, where the upper classes gathered to discuss matters of both personal and political significance. The dinners at Downton Abbey, filmed at Highclere Castle in Hampshire, Britain, capture this period perfectly, with the magnificent dining room and luxurious table settings embodying the grandeur of the era.

The historical significance of these dinner scenes extends beyond just their opulence. In the Edwardian period, society was still deeply stratified, and formal gatherings like these were a way to reinforce class structures. The division between "upstairs" and "downstairs" was apparent in every meal, with the aristocratic family dining in the grand hall while their servants ate in the lower quarters. This distinction reflects the social hierarchy that defined British society until the early 20th century. However, Downton Abbey also highlights how the events of the time—such as World War I and the Women's Suffrage movement—began to challenge these old structures, leading to shifts in family dynamics and the roles of servants.

By the time Downton Abbey ended in 2015, it had chronicled a significant period in British history, from the Edwardian period to the interwar years. The dinner table remained a symbol of the changing social fabric. While these meals remained a focal point for drama and social interaction, the cast of characters evolved, reflecting the broader transformation of society itself. These dinner scenes became a reflection not only of the changing class structures but also of personal relationships, making them an essential part of the show’s historical and emotional depth.

[mariacallous]

Yapchik is made up of two layers of golden, crispy potato cake — very similar to a potato kugel — that sandwich a layer of meat. As the fall days get colder, it will welcome you and your guests home like a hug, and warm you up from the inside out. Yapchik has been referred to as a “Hungarian cholent” because it is traditionally cooked in the oven overnight and, while my recipe is a faster version, I have included instructions below for how to do this. 

Developing this recipe made me feel closer to the Hungarian grandfather I never knew, and brought back memories of the cooking my paternal grandmother spoiled me with as a kid. She celebrated family by always making sure each family member’s favorite dish was available to them — it’s amazing to think of how much work she put into every family meal. Her cooking methods were unorthodox. Like most Jewish grandmothers, she had an innate sense of what her food needed, despite there being no recipe or measurement in sight.

I like the idea that my two grandparents from different sides of the world — one from Hungary and the other from Britain — who would have dined on very different cuisines would have been able to connect over the flavors of this hybrid dish. I think of them both as the yapchik bubbles and crisps, filling the air of my little apartment with its hearty aroma. 

[headingalaxys-spicy]

America Birthday Sex Headcannons

It’s so obvious this is a spice post if not for you scroll on by.

From dusk till dawn, surprise sex is a must. Even late through the night, there will be no rest for you in sight. His sexual hunger is high, and so is his ego. So, you have to provide whatever he wants. 

You’re going to wake up with him being rock-hard. His Florida will be prodding at your butt as his arms keep you in place. He’ll kiss the back of your neck & say 

“Isn’t there something you want to say to me, doll?” He will nuzzle his nose in your hair and inhale it’s scent in. You’ll giggle & grab him by his schlong. 

“Okay, we can start the day with a hand job.” 

As the two of you get dressed for the extravagant day the two of you will assist each other in getting dressed. Of course, you are groping each other through the whole process. 

America will suddenly rip your pants off pin you to a wall and take you right there. Alfred is going to expect that you sing him praises and the happy birthday song at least thrice. Alfred will want you to sing to him as he rails you. Even if you're gasping, in pain, or can’t really think straight. He will have an iron grip in your hair until you are singing his name just how he likes. 

“That’s it Y/N keep going.” 

He really won’t be able to keep his hands off you the entire day. Alfred’s hands will be going up your shirt when he thinks no one is looking. Let’s be real: The two of you get caught canoodling a few times on camera. Thank your lucky stars that the Secret Service and the FBI erase any less than-savory photos & videos of the two of you having intimate relations. After all, he’s one of the figureheads of the state. There can’t be things that will squash his birthday fun. 

Be prepared to give him head while he has spilt second meetings with diplomats, dignitaries, and heads of state that classified their meetings as urgent and emergencies. (Yes, I’m talking about the ones just from Britain that give him the maximum amount of stress.) Make sure you’re quiet and swallow you can’t blow his cover. 

Prepare to have Paparazzi all in your face. You’re the power couple of Washington, D.C. & all want to see what makes you live a wonderful fantasy. Alfred will hold you close & never really let you wander away through the day. The grip he has on your hand will be incredibly intense. Arthur of course, decided to give him a fucking weird gift that Alfred doesn’t like. Bear hug time. Alfred is terrified. 

Food, lots of it fresh off the BBQ, that Alfred will want to eat off your body. Yes, it will burn some, but you do it for him in the hot summer sun because it’s his birthday. (Definitely not the day to say nay.) He’s going to “accidentally” bite down on your nipples a couple of times while he pigs out on his favorite meats and sides. ;) ‘meats’ 

The two of you will have sex in random places that day: on the rooftop, in the grass, bedroom, on the table in the grand dining room, you name it you probably had sex in it. 

Alfred will have two maids tie you up in bed with red, white, and blue ribbons, with an American flag ribbon adorning the top of your head. This, however, will only be round one for the night. 

Alfred is hard as a rock for most of the day. He will have you be front and center of him as he walks around as he holds you close while his rod is prodding you forward. 

Alfred will want you to do a lap dance for him. Cue SZA “Snooze” playing & of course, you’re in an American flag bikini while you’re holding a sparkler. Impress him. It’s his day. 

He will want you to ride him like a horse while you sing him the happy birthday song and his praises. Alfred’s large hands will have a tight grip on your hips as he bucks deeper into you. 

“Firework” by Katy Perry will be playing in the background as he rails into you. There will be fireworks to cover up your loud moans and screams of pleasure while you’re doing it on the roof. You’re getting your back blown out and no one can hear you. 

[aishangotome]

Alfons Sylvatica: Chapter 14

Chapter 13

♡———♡

Kate: I think... I've fallen in love with you.

I mutter softly -

Alfons: ...That's troublesome.

!....A gasp escapes my throat at the unexpected reply.

Kate: A-Alfons... you're... awake...!?

The eyelids of Alfons, who should have been snoring, lift, and his gray eyes reveal only a look of exasperation.

Alfons: You say you like me... This is the most troublesome development.

Kate: ...

Alfons sits up languidly and runs his fingers through his hair.

Alfons: It's just an illusion, an illusion.

Alfons: You're probably mistaking love for a man who happens to save you in a pinch and makes you feel good.

Kate: An illusion...?

(He doesn't even know how I felt before coming to his room...)

I can't help but feel my blood rush to my head.

Kate: ...I don't need you to reciprocate my feelings, but...

Kate: Please don't dismiss my feelings...!

Alfons: ...Feelings are intangible, how can you know they're real?

His fingers touch my chin.

Kate: Well...

Alfons: ...Well?

He pulls me closer, his breath tickling my lips... and my body aches with anticipation.

As if sensing this, he smiles faintly.

Alfons: Until you realize it's a misunderstanding, you're not getting any more pleasure.

Alfons: If I touch you like this... it'll only accelerate your misunderstanding.

Kate: ...

Alfons: Now, I'm injured. Would you please let me rest?

He easily releases me, not even trying to touch me anymore.

Even though he wouldn't listen to my refusals and kept reaching out to me so persistently.

(I should have known, but...)

My chest aches terribly.

It's so painful.

Kate: ...I understand. Good night...

I leave the room as if running away, and the door slams shut.

Alfons: ...Haha.

Alfons: I quite like you too, you know.

Alfons: That's why... it would be troublesome if it wasn't a misunderstanding.

--His murmur dissolves into the air, unknown to anyone.

-

From the information Alfons and I obtained by sneaking into the "Purification" club's members-only hotel, the name of Gore, a member of the House of Lords, surfaced as a person deeply involved in the East End incident. William and Victor were to thoroughly investigate him and his faction.

Victor: ---The contents of the "confidential" letter were a check. The destination is a company with an extremely clean business model.

Victor shares the details with the Crown members gathered in the dining room.

Victor: There is nothing wrong with the contents of the check itself.

William: But in reality, it's probably a reward for the perpetrator of the arson plan in Docklands.

William: The company where the money flowed had been marked as a possible front company for a criminal organization for some time.

Alfons: It's a blatant distraction.

(But even knowing that...)

Kate: We can't get the police to move with just this one check, can we...?

Harrison: Well, that's right.

Harrison: There's no physical evidence that the "arson plan" even exists, and there's no evidence that Gore is involved.

Harrison: It's unreasonable to expect them to believe that the company the check is addressed to is involved in the plan based on just this one check.

Victor: That's right. But that's why we're here, Kate.

Victor: To fight evil with evil for the prosperity of Britain - that's the mission of the Crown.

I look up at Victor's words.

Victor: It's an order from Her Majesty the Queen.

Victor: To stop the arson in Docklands and punish the "Purification" club faction, including Gore.

His jewel-like eyes, darker than darkness, gleamed bewitchingly... and a shiver ran down my spine.

Victor: -By the way, Alfons.

Suddenly, Victor turns his gaze to Alfons.

Victor: Is the injury from last night's mission okay?

Alfons: I got a little carried away with my pranks and messed up.

Kate: No, that injury...

-CHOICES--

It was supposed to be me

He protected me

..... (stay silent)

---------------

Kate: I was supposed to be the one who got hurt...

Alfons: The gun could have been pointed at either of us. The odds were fifty-fifty.

He utters another smoke-and-mirrors theory as if breathing.

(Alfons was at the back of the room just before he was shot. It wasn't a coincidence.)

(He's protecting me so that I don't get into trouble.)

(Even though he pushed me away like that...)

I don't want him to be kind to me, but part of me is happy.

(...He's really a liar and a horrible person.)

Victor decides to send Alfons, Elbert, Roger, and for some reason, Jude and Ellis on a mission to stop the arson in Docklands.

Victor: Jude, you know the geography of the Port of London and the immigrants in that area, right?

Jude: ...Yeah, I'm the most "knowledgeable" one here.

Victor: Kate, can you come with us?

Victor: If you're tired from the missions every day, you don't have to push yourself.

Kate: ...No. It's my duty as a Fairytale Keeper to accompany you.

(...I'm such a fool.)

I said it was my duty, but my true feelings were elsewhere.

(Even though he just pushed me away like that... I don't want to take my eyes off Alfons.)

I want to keep watching him, as if he might disappear at any moment.

(...These feelings are, as Alfons says,)

(It was a misunderstanding - I have to make it so.)

-I don't know how to bury the love I've become aware of.

-

"Eternal fire" punishment for the illegal immigrants of Docklands.

On the night of that plan...

Disheveled Man: Who's there!?

A figure lurking in the warehouse district under the cover of darkness is startled by a sudden visitor.

Jude: Good evenin', we're here to interrupt ya fun.

Ellis: There are... about seven of them here?

Disheveled Man: Damn it! We were told we wouldn't get paid if there were witnesses. Get them!

The men, who seemed to have been pouring oil inside the warehouse, rush towards the two with weapons in hand.

Jude: Iron pipes, huh... Ya poor guys can't even get a gun, can ya?

Ellis: I'll be careful not to hurt you.

Disheveled Man: Whoa!? What the-!?

Ellis leaps gracefully, jumping over the men's heads - and by the time I realize it, the men are immobilized as if their wrists were bound by invisible ropes.

Disheveled Man: What the hell did you do!?

Ellis: Shh, quiet... You're disturbing the neighbors.

Jude: Ya should have been sleepin' instead of playin' with fire for money, huh?

Jude taps the foreheads of the restrained men with his index finger.

Instantly, the man who was just shouting falls to the ground as if he's fainted.

Kate: ...Are those your abilities?

Elbert: Yes... Ellis can restrain anyone he touches on the head. Jude can put anyone he touches on the forehead to sleep.

Alfons: They're perfect for interrogation and assassination.

The places Jude marked as "If you want to wipe out illegal immigrants, I'd target this place" were all hits, and Crown successfully captured the arsonists in a corner of a residential area, an alley lined with bars, and this warehouse district in the harbor.

(This is the last place Jude marked.)

(I hope we were able to stop them all...)

Elbert: Roger, what's the situation around us?

Roger: ...Two blocks away, one person at 4 o'clock.

Elbert: One of their friends?

Roger: No, probably not an arsonist. They're approaching... suspiciously after hearing the noise.

Alfons: What a fool to go check out the source of a noise in the middle of the night.

Alfons: Leave the careless and pitiful witness to me.

With that, Alfons slipped out of the warehouse.

(----!)

-

Hiding in the shadows, I peek outside.

Alfons: Good evening. Lovely night, isn't it?

Alfons smoothly touches the back of the neck of the figure who seems to be the witness.

Alfons: "You didn't see anything here. You must go home and sleep soundly."

A whisper like a lullaby is carried on the night wind.

(He could scare them away by showing them something frightening...)

But when he uses his power, he only whispers words that calm the heart.

(If I asked him why, he'd probably say, "Because it would be troublesome if they caused a commotion.")

-

Alfons: Good grief... I wish they would plan their schemes in a less conspicuous place.

By the time Alfons returns, the arsonists have been tied up with ropes by Jude and the others.

Kate: ...With this, we should have been able to stop the plan, right?

I spread out the marked map, confirm that there are no omissions, and let out a sigh of relief.

Roger: If Jude didn't miss any spots, that is.

Jude: Huh?

Roger: Next, we need to confirm if the number of guys lying there matches the number of heartbeats in the warehouse, and then-

That's when Roger interrupted Jude.

Kate: !

With a loud explosion, a pillar of fire rises from the back of the warehouse.

The flames crawl across the warehouse floor, and the heat wave scorches my skin.

(Why suddenly...!? We caught all the arsonists-)

Alfons: It seems the oil spilled on the ground vaporized and ignited from some kind of spark.

Kate: S-Some kind of spark!?

Roger: That's concerning, but first we need to put out the fire. El, let's get the fire extinguisher from the carriage.

Elbert: Right.

Jude: Damn, it's troublesome when the trash burns to a crisp before we can squeeze out information.

Ellis: Jude and I will drag the arsonists out.

Crown immediately assesses the situation and starts to move.

(I'll help put out the fire too.)

A beat later, I try to run out as if propelled, but then-

(Huh?)

Something unbelievable appears in my vision, and my feet are rooted to the spot.

Alfons: Kate, inhaling smoke will burn your lungs. You should move a little further away-

Kate: Wait! Over there...!

I strain my eyes to see past the raging flames - and there, cowering in fear, is a young boy.

Alfons: ...Ah, I see.

Alfons: All his friends were captured, so he was probably hiding, holding his breath.

Kate: F-Friends...

Kate: Are you saying that child is an accomplice of the perpetrators...!?

Alfons: Look at the boy's feet.

Illuminated by the flames, matchboxes are scattered around the boy's feet.

Alfons: That boy is the spark.

Alfons: He was probably hiding in the shadows, waiting for the right timing.

(Why, a child like that... Ugh, no time to think about that.)

(Right now, I have to find a way to help him...!)

Kate: Stay there! Get low and try not to breathe in the smoke...!

Alfons: .............

(He won't be able to get out if the flames keep blocking him... If he jumps into the flames, he'll get badly burned.)

(I have to find a way to create an escape route for him...)

I look around and notice sandbags piled up next to the warehouse.

(That's it...!)

Kate: ...!

I jump and manage to lift a heavy sandbag, then throw it into the flames.

Then I run back and lift another sandbag.

(It's heavy...)

Alfons: What are you doing?

Alfons crouches down next to me and meets my gaze.

Kate: The boy might not be able to hold out until the fire extinguisher puts out the flames.

Kate: I'm piling these sandbags to create an escape route...

Alfons: That boy started the fire.

Kate: That's... irrelevant right now!

Alfons: .............

Alfons: ...Sigh.

Alfons: You really are straightforward, aren't you?

(Ah...)

He chuckles in exasperation and takes the sandbag from my hands, then tosses it into the flames.

(Alfons...)

Alfons: Hey, that boy will die if you keep spacing out.

As I desperately carry the sandbags back and forth, Roger and Elbert arrive with fire extinguishers from the carriage and start spraying around the sandbags.

--Eventually, a small path opens up in the flames.

Kate: Come on! Come this way!

Boy: ...

The boy cowers in fear, trembling.

Alfons: He won't come. Maybe his legs have given out.

Kate: Then we have to go get him...!

The moment I try to run, someone grabs my arm from behind.

Kate: Alfons...!?

Alfons: Honestly...

He pushes me back and jumps into the faint path created in the flames. With a light step as if taking a stroll, he approaches the boy and touches the back of his neck.

Alfons: There... "You're not scared, you're not hot."

Boy: ...! ...?

The fear disappears from the boy's face, replaced by confusion.

Alfons lifts the child up and returns with the same light steps as before.

Alfons: Here you go. A gift for the kindhearted robin.

Kate: ...It's alright now.

Boy: Uuu... Waaaaah!

Perhaps the terror had been too great, or the illusion of "not being scared" planted in the boy's mind quickly dissolved, as he burst into tears in my arms.

-

It seemed the boy had been tricked into aiding in wrongdoing by bad adults in his impoverished life.

According to Roger's examination, the boy had minor injuries. He was to be transferred to the special ward of the Royal Hospital for treatment.

(Thank goodness...)

An overwhelming sense of fatigue washes over me after the relief, and I sink my leaden body onto the sofa.

Kate: It's been a long... night, hasn't it?

Alfons also sits down a short distance away.

Alfons: Honestly, it's been a while since I've done that kind of manual labor.

Alfons: Thanks to you, I'm sore.

Kate: Huh...? You don't have to go, Alfons?

Alfons: They were saying they were going to interrogate the people they caught earlier.

Alfons: I'll leave that kind of thing to the interrogation professionals.

Alfons waves his hand dismissively and laughs.

The image of his back, illuminated by the flames as he headed towards the boy, suddenly resurfaces in my mind.

Kate: Thank you for helping me rescue that boy.

Kate: I was happy.

Kate: But... I also felt like I knew you would help.

He laughs in surprise at the words I add after "but."

Alfons: I was moved by your suffocating sense of justice and acted, but... I'm starting to think I made a mistake.

Alfons: I should have seen your face of despair when we couldn't save the boy.

(I know that's not what he really meant.)

Kate: ...You're the one who goes around showing illusions because you hate seeing faces like that.

Alfons: You really like that theory, don't you?

Kate: It's the "truth" to me.

I quite like our conversations with him, which are like arguments and playful banter.

-I realize that now, and my heart aches again.

(I really do like Alfons.)

(...I can't pretend it was a misunderstanding.)

Alfons: ..........

He glances at my face and stands up from his chair.

(He's trying to run away again.)

I intuitively sense it, and my body moves.

Alfons: Well then... I'm going to go get a drink.

Kate: In that case, me too.

I stand up and take a step closer to him.

Kate: Take me with you.

.

.

.

.

.

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Chapter 14 Premium Story

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