#la petite shade

[fashionseenontvblog]

01x03

Chiara Boni La Petite Robe Printed Sleeveless Side-Drape Dress Polka Dot - $750

DIFF Becky II 55mm Cat Eye Sunglasses - $105

Shade & Shore™ Packable Straw Floppy Hat - $8.00

Salvatore Ferragamo Silk Printed Scarf - $77.00 (Worn on Bag)

[hedgehog-moss]

Today was very sunny so I went on a nice long walk in the woods with Pirlouit, to stock up on kindling for the winter. He was walking jauntily, I think he really does enjoy going on little missions with his baskets! Now and then I tied him to a tree surrounded by enough vegetation to keep him busy for a bit, and I gathered wood all around him while singing to him. Avec le soleil et le vent ♪ avec la pluie et le beau temps ♫ on vivait bien contents ♪ mon âne, ma Provence et moi ♫ (Technically this song says cheval, not âne, but I always replace the word horse with donkey so my songs are more interesting to him. The only donkey songs I know are very sad, like Le petit âne gris which ends with "Poor beast of burden, abandoned by men, he died without a farewell", I can't possibly sing this to Pirlouit. He already has a resting sad face that he can't do anything about.)

I heard leaves crunching behind us, a few times. Steps. Discreet steps. I turned around, looking for the deer who was apparently following us from a distance.

^ Do you see her? Right in the middle. I saw her immediately, but only because I have had so much practice.

Hello, Pampérigouste.

Sometimes all she wants is to be witnessed. "Aha, do you see me? I'm out of my pasture!! You lost! Look at me" and then I'm like "I see you, Pampe. Wow!! How ever did you fool me again?" and she goes home, having ticked this off her Sunday morning to-do list.

But today she wanted to play. Instead of going home she kept trotting away from me in the direction of the road; this hilarious game is known as "Can you catch me before I'm on the road? :)"

I did not want to play. I had wood to gather, and Pirlouit was still tied to his tree and he hates being left behind, like a poor beast of burden abandoned by men. He was already braying angrily. I decided to wash my hands of Pampe, which sometimes works to make her go home. You need to act supremely uninterested in her for it to work. If you glance back at her she'll assume you're still playing, and continue prancing about in the woods.

I'm great at not glancing back. If Eurydice was my llama I would have saved her no problem. I went back to collecting wood, never paying attention to Pampe, even when Pirlouit turned around and stared in the direction of the road, his ears alert, doing his best to inform me that Pampe was going in this not-allowed direction.

Stop it, Pirou. We're ignoring her. Do you want me to leave you alone again? I bet she'll get bored before she even reaches the road, and if she doesn't, well, godspeed. Someone somewhere will get a free llama and she will be their problem. (I had a busy to-do list of my own for this afternoon so the question of how she escaped from her pasture is a problem for tomorrow-me.)

But then I went home and drafted some Pirlouit photos on tumblr to write a post tonight about our wood-gathering walk—and I read some asks from this week that I hadn't yet got around to reading, and I found this. (@confusedpersonsposts Thank you for sending it!) A wandering llama, terrorising horses. The article says this happened Sunday morning.

(I really love the shade that makes this look like a police lineup)

The second ask said "yesterday" (and was from a few days ago)—but the first one I saw was the message with the screenshot from the article, which said Sunday morning, which was exactly when I left Pampe walk away by herself and told her to go be someone else's problem.

For a second, in my brain, it made some kind of sense.

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode illustrée, no. 41, 11 octobre 1891, Paris. Toilette de dîner. Modèle de chez Mme Gradoz, rue de Provence, 67. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

La robe de dessus à petite traîne est faite en satin-duchesse rouge clair sur une jupe en faille de même teinte, garnie au bord inférieur de volants étroits dentelés, et recouverte devant d'un tablier en satin-duchesse, orné de larges franges en perles irisés. L'encolure de la robe de dessus est garnie de franges semblables; on l'orne en outre de pattes et de nœuds en ruban de velours rouge. Col droit en velours; manches bouffantes, terminées par des manches étroites, garnies de ruban de velours.

The overdress with a small train is made of light red duchess satin over a faille skirt of the same shade, trimmed at the lower edge with narrow scalloped flounces, and covered in front with a duchess satin apron, decorated with wide iridescent pearl fringes. The neckline of the overdress is trimmed with similar fringes; it is further decorated with tabs and bows of red velvet ribbon. Straight velvet collar; puffed sleeves, ending in narrow sleeves, trimmed with velvet ribbon.

[campingwiththecharmings]

*These weren’t necessarily written and/or posted in October, but that’s when I read them 😊

🔥 - explicit/mature content

Star Wars

Sunk (Poe Dameron x Reader) - @reallyrallyauthor

🔥An Unorthodox Method (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @the-little-ewok

🔥Kinktober Day 1 (Love Bites) (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces

🔥Kinktober Day 4 (Sex Pollen) (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces

🔥Kinktober Day 7 (Soft and Slow) (Cal Kestis x Reader) - @flightlessangelwings

🔥Kinktober Day 10 (Stripping) (Stripper!Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @youvebeenlivingfictional

I just called to say I love you (Poe Dameron x Reader) - @nowritingonthewall

Adore you (Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader) - @dailyreverie

🔥Kinktober Day 25 (Breeding) (Cowboy!Din Djarin x Cowgirl!Reader) (Part of the Gardens of Babylon Universe) - @spacecowboyhotch

Moon Knight

🔥Over the Counter (DBF!Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

Vivid (Marc Spector x Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

🔥Shades of the Moon (Virgin!Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @missdictatorme

Boundless (Witch Hunter!Marc x Witch!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

🔥Price You Gotta Pay (Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

🔥The Sweetest Sound (Mafia!Jake Lockley x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

🔥The Sweetest Taste (Mafia!Jake Lockley x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

🔥Kinktober Day 10 (formal wear) (Steven Grant x Reader) - @eyelessfaces

🔥Kinktober Day 6 (Phone Sex) (Jake Lockley x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

🔥Kinktober Day 12 (Formal Wear) (Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

🔥What a Show (Mafia!Jake Lockley x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

🔥La Petite Mort (Ghost!Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @hon3yboy

🔥Pumpkin Porno (OnlyFans!Steven Grant) - @ominoose

In the morning light (Marc Spector x Reader) - @dailyreverie

🔥Nature Boy (Werewolf!Marc Spector x F!Reader) - @hon3yboy

🔥Sleeping Dogs (Werewolf!Marc Spector x F!Reader) (Part of the Dancing with Wolves Series) - @hon3yboy

🔥What A Wicked Thing To Do (Werewolf!Marc Spector x F!Reader) (Part of the Dancing with Wolves Series) - @hon3yboy

🔥Kinktober Day 23 (Begging) (Marc Spector x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse

🔥Couch Sex with Miguel (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @romanarose

🔥Kinktober Day 7 (& 8): Soft & Slow (Cockwarming) (College!Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

🔥soft s3x and grey sweats (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @wyvernest

Ex Machina

🔥Peak-A-Boo (Ghostface!Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @hon3yboy

🔥Perfect Little Fuck Toy (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

Sucker Punch

🔥Product Demonstration (Club!Blue Jones x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

🔥Monster Mash (Rockstar!Blue Jones x F!Reader) - @hon3yboy

Triple Frontier

Under cotton and calicoes (Santiago Garcia x Reader) - @dailyreverie

Make this feel like home (Santiago Garcia x Reader) - @dailyreverie

🔥Kinktober Day 30 (Cunnilingus) (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

🔥Just A Little Push (Will Miller x F!Reader) - @missdictatorme

Scenes From a Marriage

🔥Kinktober Day 2 (bath/shower) (Jonathan Levy x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces

🔥Kinktober Day 15 (Against a Wall & Voice Kink) (Jonathan Levy x Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

The Two Faces of January

🔥Kinktober Day 7 (Slow and Soft) (Rydal Keener x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces

🔥body talk (Rydal Keener x F!Reader) (part of the Oxford Comma series) - @whatthefishh

Misc.

🔥Just A Scratch (Jack Mohave x F!Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

🔥Take Care (Anselm Vogelweide x F!Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

🔥Service Fee (Llewyn Davis x F!Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

🔥If You Wanna Be Wild (Javier Peña x Latina!sex worker!informant!Reader x Santiago Garcia) - @romanarose and @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction (i already recced this but there's more so 🙃)

Thank you to all the wonderful writers for sharing their stories with us 🥰❤️

*For more recs, please feel free to check out my fic rec tag.

**If you’d like to have your fic removed from the list, I completely understand, just let me know

[ataraxiaspainting]

Razzmatazz.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader x Yan(?) Hisoka.

[Ultraviolet Catalouge.]

Synopsis: You are a dancer with no stage and no audience. Hisoka’s carrot and stick may just fix that.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, dub-con, cigarette usage, manipulation, mentions of body transformation, religious imagery, mentions of minor character death, humiliation, voyerism, oral (male receiving), masturbation, orgasm denial, the start of Stockholm Syndrome(?), and mentions of past stalking.

Word Count: 5.6k.

Can be considered to be within the Hier Encore universe.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Rich Girl by Gwen Stefani (feat. Eve)

Always Forever by Cults

So Beautiful by DPR IAN

Décolleté by Kenshi Yonezu

Introitus by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Villainous Thing by Shayfer James

La petite fille de la mer - Remastered by Vangelis

Tonight You Belong To Me by Patience & Prudence

Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge 

A Little Death by The Neighbourhood 

*~*~*~*

i. “Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” (Matthew 26:41)

A dead leaf is pressed against the balcony window. 

“Dearest? Why are you awake so early?” 

The storm outside must be getting worse. The lightning is so bright, despite the sky itself being so dark. The thunder is getting louder too, and more frequent. Your senses choose to blissfully ignore the devil behind you to enjoy the scene ahead. This apartment is so high up that the tempest feels closer than it would if you were on the ground. A cup of tea is in your right hand. Your left is limp and stuck to your side. 

“Dearest? Dearest?”

The drink is a pleasant shade of light brown, with an even more pleasant vanilla and bergamot aroma tickling your nostrils. After much consideration from Chrollo, you were given fresh tea leaves that came from some expensive store that has locations all over Yorknew. The cost for a measly ten tea bags was ten thousand Jenny. 

Chrollo said it could not be helped to get only the best for you.

It couldn’t be helped, like everything else he had ever done. It couldn’t be helped, like how you escaped nearly two and a half years ago.

It couldn’t be helped, like how Hisoka betrayed you and left you to rot.

Or to burn.

You wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted both to happen to you.

Chrollo’s hands are slow to touch your neck, but his front was already pressed against you a while ago. They feel cold–dead, almost.

His right hand lingers just above your collarbone, while the left pinches your chin gently. His lips kiss your nape, and you resist shivering. While it would not show you are cold, it would show your cowardice. The only way to tolerate Chrollo is to ignore him as best as you can without him getting unbearable. It’s your new strategy, as the old one from back then is now dead.

There are no new sounds. Only the rainfall and Chrollo’s sighs. Then from the distance, you could have sworn you heard a knock. But you choose to ignore that too.

“Come back to bed.” 

“I wanted to see the first spring shower.”

His hands lower. You let him do that. You make him do that. 

“You made tea this early?”

“Yes.”

Chrollo’s chin rests on your shoulder as he looks down at his kneading hands.

“May I try some please?”

Before you can answer, he tips his head further down, expecting a reward for attempting to be a gentleman. You lift your right hand and he takes a few sips. His hands don’t hold the cup. He lets you–no, makes you–do that for him.

“It’s delicious.”

The clock above the living room television reads 01:01. 

The sky lights up as it is forcibly torn apart. The clouds have yet to show the dawn’s colors, and you suspect Chrollo would like it to be that way forever.

“It’s good… very good,” The praises fall from his forked tongue like morning dew dripping from a single blade of grass. “As soon as the cup is emptied, please lay to rest up for what is to come. I would hate to see my darling exhausted. Please…”

You feel three separate sensations behind you. They do not all come at once.

“Let me grant your request fully on my end, and you shall fulfill it on yours as well.”

The first is the feeling of the pain of pleasure. It came with the start of more pecks on the back of your neck. They trace the dark spots Chrollo had left, the ones that have yet to fade. 

The second is the pain of nothingness. It takes the form of a wall to remind you what he is and what you are.

The third is the pain of having company.

It exists as a reaction to the erection pressing against your lower back.

ii. “When the devil had finished all this tempting, he left him until an opportune time.” (Luke 4:13)

You started wanting to smoke again. 

A few days after you were brought back here, the craving for pitch-black smoke arrived due to no Sebaste being here to keep it at bay. He was not your only source of light, but he was the brightest one. Bedside lamps, the lit windows of buildings up high, the moon… nothing compares to someone long since withered away. You can still see, but not as good. Even the cigarette lighter from the night you met, the last memento you have of him, pales in comparison. 

The path ahead you still know, but just barely. You have no plan, no map, no route for what is to come. You are not acting like a rabbit running from a wolf, fearful and skittish, but you are alone nonetheless. You have more desires than just to live, though. You don’t let yourself be caught, but you still sneak into the hunter’s lodge to eat whatever scraps you can find. 

You refuse to let yourself fall into ruin but tempt the thought that your captor will. 

You tempt him like forbidden fruit so you can reap whatever rewards come next.

*~*~*~*

Shadows cover the better half of Hisoka’s body, but even then you know it is him. “Hello, princess. Fancy seeing you here.”

The edges of your mouth move downward, but you hold in what you want to say.

The grip on your shoulder does not cease entirely, but enough for you to slip away for a moment. The smell of grass and pollen is fresh as petals dance in the air.

Your skirt flows with the wind as you walk slowly, carefully, towards the familiar stranger. This country is known for having what is known as “The Eternal Solstice”, and so your white dress is the perfect last addition to this perfect painting. You’ll send the artist your regards soon enough, he is right in front of you after all. 

“Number Four.” Your voice is not cracked so much that Hisoka would not be able to hear you, but still enough for you to attempt to clear your throat after those two words are spoken. “What are you doing here?”

“The same reason you and the boss are here.” Between the index and middle finger on his left hand, two cards are stuck. The Queen of Hearts and the Ace of Diamonds.

“You’re lying.” The response is more immediate than you would have liked, but your anger overtakes your want to be cordial unconsciously. 

“Am I?” Hisoka asks, putting the two cards on his palm and pressing his hands together. In an instant, they are gone. “Why else would I be here then?”

“You want to mock me.” You hiss, gripping onto your skirt so tightly that the delicate fabric may break. “After everything I told you, after everything I did… you stabbed me in the back.”

A sigh. “And here I thought you would hear me out. Sad, really.”

“It’s too late for that.”

“Oh? Is it?” You choke on your words in an instant when you see a familiar silver cube no bigger than the length of your pinky in Hisoka’s right hand. “Remember this?”

Your eyes don’t possess as much rage now, and their gaze lingers elsewhere. The clown chuckles.

“That’s my girl.” He uses his thumb to open the lighter and then uses the same finger to amit a weak flame from it. “Come closer.”

You do what he says like a puppet on a string.

“Put out your hand, lovely.” You obey. When Hisoka’s own approaches with your treasure, your eyes light up. 

…

It is only one word that stops you from moving entirely.

“Cigarettes.”

iii. “And give no opportunity to the devil.” (Ephesians 4:27)

Like church bells, Hisoka’s offer rings in your ear longer than you would have liked. The words said are worse than a parasite, clinging onto a body long after both are dead.

They refuse to exit. They simply sit and stay. No matter how much you attempt to kick them out, they always come back.

“What do you think of the deal, my love?”

Ah. Should you make your real feelings known? Or simply play pretend?

In Chrollo’s world, though, all his mirrors are shattered, while yours remain whole.

Everyone lies, but only you are figured out one way or another, sooner or later.

“I think we should accept.”

iv. “When you ask, you do not receive, because you ask with wrong motives, that you may spend what you get on your pleasures.” (James 4:3)

“Ladies first.”

You follow the scent of candles and the temptation of a past where you were not content, but happy.

The start of the path is the bedroom’s doorway.

Something else drags you to the bed. Something foreign, but just something as well known to you as unbuttoning the front of your dress. It waits. It is patient. It is alive and here and oh so very excited.

Lust. It gathers from Hisoka and Chrollo… and you. It is the weapon you used to use against everyone to further your own goals, but now the sword’s blade is pointed at you.

You feel the sensation of Hisoka’s hand on your ass, and it stays there.

“Get moving, princess.”

Something looms over the bed. A shadow darker than the night’s sky itself. It stares at you with a singular eye–the orb brighter than the full moon outside. You blink, and then it disappears.

You then sit at the very corner of the bed in wait, crossing one leg over the other. Your movements aren’t as robotic anymore–they feel… raw, animalistic almost–and you hate that, but love it. 

The shadow lingers over you once more.

Love it? Have you truly fallen this far?

You, who has lost it all. You, whose soul is now stained with the blood of those you despised and adored. You… loving this feeling?

This isn’t you.

This is wrong, you tell yourself. Your entire life has been all about self-preservation. After being kidnapped, that want only grew and grew.

Has being on the run for two years made you this soft? This pliable?

Disgusting. This is disgusting. You are disgusting.

“Just do what you two normally do,” Hisoka says, crossing his arms as he sits beside you. “I’m all for it.”

Chrollo’s hands lower as his back bends forward, and you raise your hands.

He’s gentle as usual, kissing the air around your left earlobe to ease you further into this.

Button after button, the black dress gets a bit looser. The dress is put above your face like that of a bride’s wedding veil. Wait, you think, it is more like the attire of someone attending a funeral. You like this idea more after pondering on it. It ensures for at least some time you still have hate in your body. So, you love the touches no further. Your posture goes back to that of a statue.

Chrollo is the first to say something about it as soon as the dress is fully off, allowing him to see your facial expression and body language. You aren’t looking into his eyes anymore. Your legs are no longer crossed. Sebaste really made you vulnerable, didn’t he? He posed no threat to you then, but he does now. He does now. His palms no longer caress your cold heart, but his ghost curses it with warmth only found within hell’s flames.

“Are you thinking about him again?” Your eyebrows cast downward as you look at his feet. The heels of them connect and then spread out. It reminds you of a flower, in a way. “Well?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Chrollo knows this line well. Every time he mentions that man, you recite it like a preacher or an actor.

You want to believe the lie that you speak of all the same. You want to delude yourself so you regress into the calculating being you once were.

You don’t want to get hurt again. He can understand that. So he keeps himself from mentioning Sebaste any further for the night. As a bonus, Hisoka’s fun won’t be ruined.

You really have bloomed, he thinks. All it takes is a bit more time to see you at your most beautiful.

Not that you never were beautiful, of course.

“Ah, my apologies.”

He steps to your left side and grasps at the clasps of your bra. He treats each one delicately like they are gifts from the divine. Would he betray them, if they existed and he believed? You would ask, but you’re unsure as to if you would like the answer he responds with.

“You’re forgiven.” You nearly huffed.

Hisoka thinks that reaction is adorable. Unlike what the rest of the Troupe may think of you, you are just a small child in an adult’s body. Your wants are simple, and so are your tantrums when you don’t get what you want.

“Careful,” He says, his smirk wide.

“I know,” Chrollo responds, his eyes only on you. “You wouldn’t let me go anymore if I didn’t apologize here and now.”

So he’s being ignored now?

“Get it over with,” You almost hiss, looking back at both of them. “Usually you’re much rougher than this.”

Hmm? A facade?

Hisoka considered this when he asked for Chrollo’s consent. Chrollo has no real identity, he knows that well. So because of that, he isn’t surprised.

“You know why I’m taking this nice and slow, don’t you?”

You don’t say anything for a while after that.

Your arms are no longer raised when Chrollo pulls your bra off of you. Your midriff’s rolls coil into one another as your spine proceeds to move further down until you are at eye level with Chrollo’s pant’s zipper. Hisoka stifles the urge to laugh when he hears something akin to a pig’s snort coming out of you. You’re cute.

Quite cute.

Revulsion is something most things have experienced, and you are no exception. It’s bitter, like the blackest coffee, but also sweet and sour like a whole lime was cubed and boiled in a pot with it for hours until it turned into a blob of horrid distaste. After all, unveiling your captor’s erect cock was not for the faint of heart. Hisoka really cannot blame you for everything you have ever done to get away from Chrollo.

Perhaps he should join in on the action, just to feel some of the poison’s effects.

Chrollo takes off his shirt and throws it to you. That’s the signal Hisoka needed before undressing too. Even though he will not be touching you, he will have to be careful to not be too pushy with you two.

“Have you heard Magcub got a new girlfriend?” Hisoka crushes a speck of dust between his sharp nails. “Apparently she’s a veteran. Must have taken a bit of force to get her under control.”

“Why exactly did you agree to this?” You ask, grasping onto Chrollo’s forearms and having your nails dig into his pale skin. He doesn’t seem to mind, as he is more focused on already kissing your neck. 

Hisoka doesn’t know if this is a form of rebellion or pettiness, but either way, he cares as much as Chrollo does–which is not at all.

There is a dark red lipstick on the vanity, still open and no longer having any edge. In fact, it looks like there are only a few more days worth of use left in the tube. You must use it quite often. When neither of you looks, Hisoka points with his Nen in effect. It flies into his hand like a domesticated bird. 

He stores it in one of the pockets of the pants he so eagerly discarded from his person. For a moment he expected Chrollo to turn and demand for him to give it back, but instead, there was still no reaction whatsoever. 

“You don’t let me smoke at all, so why?”

Chrollo sits down next to you, sliding his hand up and down your thigh. “To be completely honest, I see this as a mutually beneficial situation. All parties involved get rewarded for their sacrifices, no matter how small.” He brushes some of your hair with his fingers. “You get your cigarettes, Hisoka gets his… delight, and I… I get to feel heaven once more.”

Heaven? Well, if your voice can be seen as an angelic choir, who can stop him from praying at your altar? Hisoka certainly cannot. Chrollo is the only one who can choose to no longer claim to have sanctuary there. 

You don’t have the power to strike either of them down.

“Tch. If I were a seraph, I would have never let darkness like you thrive in this world. Never.” Chrollo looks up at you and touches the bridge of your nose with his finger. “That I promise.”

“Hmm,” He murmurs. Then, a shake of the head. “You don’t mean that, my love.”

“I do.”

Your hands are trembling. Your mouth feels dry. Your head hurts.

“Why do you enjoy hurting me?”

“Can you hurry?”

His head turns to the side. The gesture can be seen as a heartfelt one by many. “Are you feeling less prudent this evening, darling?”

“You’re being quite ungrateful, you know.”

“No.”

Chrollo’s expression doesn’t change. For what feels like forever, his lips are so close to yours that you can smell the mint in his breath. But for a moment, you could have sworn it was smoke instead.

Your brain must be playing another trick on you.

“Am I the only thief to have ever indulged with and in you?”

You don’t answer then, either.

Hisoka starts to stroke his cock–it’s covered in green veins with the end getting pinker and pinker by the second. His hands then rest on the part of the bed neither of you chose to take, the left side. He bends backward as he looks down at himself, proud. He groans.

“You’re pushing the bed.” You glare at Hisoka as you spur out angered words without a second thought.

You’re avoiding talking about your feelings again. Hisoka knew that you refused to even when you were with Sebaste. He considers bringing you to an aquarium when Chrollo is busy, but then he buries the idea. Perhaps that would be too cruel. As much as you hate Hisoka, Hisoka enjoys your company too much–and he doesn’t want Chrollo to take you away.

Not yet. Not now. Not ever. While he could have not ratted you out much, much later, after you and Sebaste married, perhaps, Hisoka wanted to see you more strung up.

As a bonus, Chrollo was very pleased with him, further cementing his reputation among the other Spiders.

Hisoka decided not to kill you to enrage Chrollo, so it was the safest option in all aspects.

“Fix it.” You demand. With your lips busy, Chrollo decides to kiss your neck instead.

Hisoka puts his arms up with a mockingly innocent expression on his face. “Very well, princess.”

Your nose wrinkles again.

“Eyes on me,” Chrollo whispers as he pecks softly.

Hisoka isn’t sure if you heard the man, because as he moves the bedframe back to its original position, you continue to seethe.

Your wrists are grabbed and dragged above your head. That quickly gets your attention. You look at Chrollo wide-eyed, but not surprised.

The vow isn’t sealed with the sudden kiss, but it is a start. With your mind hazy from everything, you kiss back.

I don’t want him, your brain almost screams before it goes unconscious. [First] [Last], the woman who has led many people to their demise by being selfish, wanting to be ravished by the very man she abhors? Pull yourself together, and call off the deal.

Your near-dead heart beats once more when Chrollo touches you, though.

I feel alive.

His tongue is an intruder in only name. It swipes across your teeth and picks up tiny pieces of fruit with every crevice it overtakes. Before it dies, your skull demands you to bite. Spit. Run. But you want to be here, so you don’t do any of those things. 

Not like you could have, anyway.

“How beautiful,” Chrollo murmurs as his tongue collides with yours. “How soft.”

You aren’t pleased with his teasing. “Just make it happen.”

“Oh, how you have thawed,” His mouth retreats upward to your ear, hissing and rattling away. “You’re so eager now, dearest.”

His fingers let go of your wrists, wandering down to your stomach, your hips, and then your ass. He squeezes the flesh as he takes your greedy tongue yet again. His hands move up slightly as he pushes you onto his lap. Your knees sink into the bed with a slight creek of the mattress. Must be the coils. Or the bottom of the frame.

Or… was it you, somehow?

“Careful you don’t fall, princess.”

Hisoka is now facing away from you two, his chin in between the only two pillows you use. Perhaps he knows that, either from the smell they give off or how they are both one of your favorite colors.

But somehow, someway, he knew what you two were doing, in typical Hisoka fashion.

Well…

It’s not like either of your actions are vague.

“Chrollo…”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Can… you hold my back?”

Chrollo raises an eyebrow as he nods his head. “Of course.”

His left hand caresses your spine as you bend backward. Has all that ballet training stuck with you, even after these few years? Chrollo has the answer already in his smiling brain.

Two fingers on the free hand coil up, while the middle, the pointer, and the thumb remain as straight as a line. Two tips enter and curl while the third strokes up and down and side to side. Your clit follows your heart, accepting the guests with open arms. The lips clench, not wanting to let go.

“You always took them well,” He chuckles. 

Shut up. 

Shut it.

But your mouth is nothing without its brain, so it continues to moan while your heart continues to live for the chase.

“Don’t… Don’t stop,”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Hisoka hasn’t said anything else for some time, and you all know you hope it continues to be that way. He continues to sniff the pillows as he rubs himself against the mattress. You make a mental note to ask for cleaning service tomorrow, or maybe if Chrollo is in a good mood he will do it.

“I… I’m close, I’m so close, I…”

“Not now.”

You fool. You should have never made that deal.

“Don’t be upset. I’ll let you eventually.”

“Please…”

You squirm as you close your eyes, in a desperate attempt to hide what you have become. A prideless harlot bouncing on her captor’s lap. Can you really fall further into hell now? You are already so below that the morning’s star is nearly invisible to your eyes.

“Patience is a virtue, darling.” He says as if that would change anything about this situation.

When Chrollo lets go of your back, you almost crash onto the floor below. 

“Careful now,” Hisoka teases, still not looking back. “I told you so.”

The words aren’t noticed, because now you are busy rubbing your inner thighs together for some sort of pleasure.

Chrollo shakes your hands off his shoulders, and then you collapse.

For the first time in a while, you feel physical pain. You don’t feel your heart dropping or your mind going hazy or both being tempted by unimaginable things. No.

For that reason, though, it only hurts for a moment.

Then…

Then, it is gone.

Now only pursuit remains. You’re on your knees in an instant and attempt to stand. A hand plays with your hair and keeps you where it wants you to be. On the ground. Desperate for a single note of sweetness in a flavorless black sea.

Bitterness as well.

Then, the need to pursue leaves your body as it knows what is going to happen next.

Bliss.

Warmth.

Harmony.

…Self-destruction.

How unfortunate for you, that that the last thing is all your heart wants.

You open your mouth not for the first time or the last time this evening. Your imagination envisions all the desserts and drinks you have downed using the same tongue, and the same lips. Half of you is disgusted at the thought. The other half does not care in the slightest.

The member slides in like it belongs there–like it is part of you; somehow, someway. It’s as salty as the sea, not having the taste you wanted in the slightest, but you allow it to continue pressing against your hard palate. 

He thrusts up and down. Precum pools below your tongue and stays until you can’t breathe. You swallow it down in mere moments.

It’s thicker than syrup would be, but it is just as sugary. The smell is pungent like chlorine, but not as irritating. 

“Simply lovely,” Chrollo looks up at the ceiling, a light pink blush on his pale cheeks. “You always took me so well.”

A few minutes pass.

But… to you, it feels like just a second or maybe three.

Chrollo groans one more time as he orgasms, warm liquid running down your throat as his cock plunges in and out of the dark at least ten more times.

Then it exits, signaling the end of the fourth act.

Chrollo pats his thigh and finally allows you to stand up. The mattress sinks again as you climb on top of him. Once more Hisoka hears the creak sound. The source of the sound is still unknown to him.

“You’re so wet already, darling.”

Chrollo moves his hands to your legs as he pulls them apart and sees the sweet pleasure point in between. 

His thumb goes up and down, playing with the tiny tip as you spread yourself further on his lap. 

But… But…

But Chrollo doesn’t lift his hips to connect you two? But Hisoka is still fucking your pillows to his heart’s content? But you still haven’t seen any proof of either of them bringing the cigarettes? But Chrollo hasn’t made reservations to that restaurant you wanted to go to? Or…

You don’t know where you were going with that thought, that “but”.

It fades like morning’s dew falling from the grass into wet soil. It is so miniscule. So insignificant. Its destiny was made from the start. It has no use in this world; it is just a sign of something that has already happened.

You grip onto Chrollo’s shoulders for dear life, like you will fall into the depths of hell should you lose the embrace. Should… you lose yourself here, on this bed, it will mean the death of you.

“Your hands are cold.” The only thing that moves is Chrollo’s eyelids moving up and down.

“Why did you stop?”

“Hm?”

“Why… did you stop, Chrollo?”

“I did nothing of the sort.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Isn’t it normal to take breaks before resuming sexual activities?”

He’s lying; you can tell by the way he smiles and looks up at the ceiling again.

But… you don’t tell him you know.

You. Don’t Say. Anything.

“Calm yourself, dearest.”

His voice is as sweet as ever, you think.

Sometimes, when you are good, it takes all the bad feelings away…

Oh. Oh. You didn’t realize you were crying. You didn’t realize panting, hyperventilating.

“What… How long will it be?”

“Don’t worry,” Chrollo whispers, leaning close to your ear. “Only a moment longer.”

When he finally enters after what feels like an eternity, your eyes roll to the top of your head.

v. “Do not let your heart turn to her ways or stray into her paths. Many are the victims she has brought down; her slain are a mighty throng.” (Proverbs 7:25-26)

The clock above the bed frame reads 23:03.

You hug your pillow as you turn your body to the right.

Hisoka is no longer here, but the pressurized point on the mattress is still warm when your fingertips graze the middle of it.

A pair of arms caress your torso in a sort of hug, gently dragging you backward. A recognizable tongue slithers up and down the back of your neck. The bruises there don’t hurt anymore, but you are certain they will be harder to cover up than the others. You can see from the corner of your eye that the bathroom light is on and that the bathroom’s door is wide open. 

“What is he doing?” You mumble, putting your face further into your pillow.

You already know the answer, however–as much as you attempt to forget the obvious fact and the burden of your imagination. Then, you hear them both moan at the same time. At least you think so. You could have just thought up Hisoka’s since he is farther away, but Chrollo is right behind you.

“You did good…” Chrollo whispers, pecking your left shoulder.

“Of course I did.” You huff. “I never let down people who keep their word.”

You then hear the shower’s water running.

“He’s going to waste all the good water,” You grumble, rolling your eyes. “I wanted to take a bath.”

“You could always join me,” Hisoka says, his voice nearing exclamation.

You sigh. Of course he can hear you.

“I’ll pass.”

“A shame.”

The door then closes.

You sit up from the bed and pull up the blanket just enough to cover your privates. “He isn’t staying for the night, is he?”

The man beside you balances his head with his right arm, looking up at you.

“...Is he? No?” You ask. Chrollo’s only response is to pull the blanket back down. “Yes?”

“No.” He finally responds, laying on his back. “Knowing him, it’s safe to assume that he’ll be gone by midnight. Unless you ask him to stay, though I highly doubt you would. But he does have a soft spot for you, you know.”

“Mmhmm,” You groan. “If you say so.”

The front of your head suddenly aches. You rub your temple, scowling.

“What’s wrong?” Chrollo’s head tilts, and for a moment you can see something akin to concern on his face. It’s close to the real thing–too close for your liking. When looked at at just the right angle, all its flawlessness fades and only the uncanny characteristics remain. 

Your response is nothing less and nothing more than the slight creak of the bed frame as you turn to your bedside table.

Cigarettes. At least twenty of them. There couldn’t be more than thirty, though. But they are real cigarettes. Not the fake ones Chrollo attempts to place between your teeth whenever you ask to smoke. Not the bubblegum he gives you after a particularly heavy meal whenever you ask to go outside and sit somewhere near a person using a cigar or cretek. 

No, they’re real and here and they’re yours.

“Nothing,” You answer, sighing again.

You feel the part of the mattress that is behind you dig deeper. Chrollo inches closer and closer until the little bit of distance between you is a mere dip. Then it turns into a line so small not even the tip of your pinky finger can fit. The hug is more unbearable than it was before.

But then the discomfort goes away. Something in the back of your mind realizes that this, everything that this is, is horrifying. Nothing hurts you anymore, but everything can be much worse now.

Everything can be so, so much worse now. Dead anchovies piled up high in fishing markets will remind you of Sebastian's last moments, his unblinking eye still staring into you.

Smoke made of nicotine will remind you of Hisoka now, and not the beach where you met the love of your life. 

Train tracks, yams, calamari, roses, wine, lipstick, bookmarks, purses, wallets. Lighters, phones, card games, video games, computers, scarves, sunglasses. Being grasped from behind and being pushed and slapped around.

“It’s been forty-five minutes.” You say nonchalantly, almost bored, after a while, after looking up and behind you to the clock. 

Chrollo doesn’t respond–he doesn’t have to. You already have enough pieces to put the puzzle together on your own.

“He wants to stay,” You close your eyes. You don’t take deep breaths or quick breaths, just hardly notable ones. “Doesn’t he?”

Silence.

You know if Chrollo did respond, it wouldn’t be anything as nice as a “no” or a “yes”.

“Fine,” Your heart rate slows, but you attempt to not show it. “Don’t tell me.”

The silence isn’t as eerie as Hisoka’s laughter, but it still grasps around your neck just enough for you not to breathe normally. 

You don’t say “good night” to people anymore–that right is only reserved for those long since taken by death.

You hope it will be at your beck and call too, one day.

Something already is.

It is only a matter of time before you know what it is.

One day, when you either eat or be eaten.

One day, when all of your patience finally comes to fruition.

One day, when this play’s final act plays out in front of an unwilling audience.

One day.

[probably-writing-x]

Shades of Green

Summary:

Warnings: Cursing, jealous relationship, some sexual hints at the start but it's barely there

Author's Note: Tried to make this a little more fluffy because I've been writing so many sad stories recently aha !! I hope you like it <3 Thank you so much for your request and for your lovely words x

---

"Babe are you ready to leave?" Drew calls out from downstairs, where he's tugging his shoes on.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," You say, throwing your necessities into your bag and slinging the small strap over your shoulder.

You grab your heels and hurry towards the stairs.

"We're going to be la-" He turns around to see you at the top of the stairwell, "Holy shit."

"Good shit or bad shit?" You laugh, hurrying down the steps and rushing to tug your shoes on at the bottom.

"Like the best shit," He smiles, "You look incredible."

You were wearing a burgundy red dress with a square neckline and a fitted bodice, the skirt with a high split on one side, with black heels and a black purse to match.

"Very sexy," He wiggles his brows as you stand up from getting your shoes on, smoothing a hand over your dress.

"Keep it in your pants, Starkey," You taunt, "We're going to be late."

You head out of the house and he follows behind you, opening the car door for you before you can get to it as you get into the passenger seat. He looked smart too, a grey suit that made his shoulders look broad and brought out the colour of his eyes.

"So, how do we know these people?" You ask him, checking over your makeup in the rearview mirror.

"I went to school with the groom, we were all in like one big group of friends," He explains, "Well, they were technically Freya's friends first but then I got to know them all obviously."

"Freya?" You frown a little, turning your attention towards him.

"Yeah," He nods, switching the car into drive and putting his hand on the back of your chair to start reversing off the driveway.

"Wait, hang on a second," You wipe your hands on the seat, "You didn't tell me your ex was going to be there."

Drew stops the car and looks at you, as if taken aback, "What are you talking about? You knew we still had the same friends."

You can already feel the lump in your throat, the way it seems to constrict against your attempt at any words, "I just... I don't know."

"Relax, (Y/N), believe me, we wouldn't be going if you had anything to worry about," He scoffs and starts reversing the car once again, one hand moving to find the aux cable that he reaches out for you to take.

You weren't sure why your chest still felt so tight.

~~~

The ceremony was a success and, of course, you cried - you couldn't remember the last time you got through a wedding without crying. Drew had sat through the entire ceremony with his arm around your shoulders on the back of the chairs, his fingers running over the curve of your shoulder aimlessly. You were now all mingling outside before the reception, both with a cocktail in your hand and Drew's eyes scanning everywhere to find food now that he was complaining about his stomach grumbling.

"Well, look who it is!" The voice seems to ring through you before you've even turned to see who it is.

You instead watch the way that Drew smiles at the sight, outstretching his arms, "Long time no see!"

A petite blonde hurries into his arms, her hair in big curls around her face and flowing down her back. She's wearing a blue dress that hugs her in all of the right places, shaping her curves like something you'd see as a Facetune final product.

"Oh its so good to see you Drew," She grins as she pulls away, "And you must be the famous (Y/N)!"

You force yourself to smile but you know it doesn't look natural, "Hi, it's nice to meet you."

"I'm Freya, but I'm guessing you've heard about all of us from Drew already."

"No, I don't think he's mentioned you," You shake your head, "Are you friends from school?"

Freya looks between you and Drew for a second and you can feel his eyes on you, a raise in his eyebrows like he's waiting for you to look at him.

"Yeah, me and Drew go way back," Freya continues, "You look gorgeous, I love this dress!"

"Thanks," You nod, taking a sip of your drink so you don't have to say anything else.

Freya takes a deep breath and turns to squeeze Drew's arm, "Well I need to go and find the happy couple, and do the rounds so I don't miss anyone. I'll see you two later, okay?"

She dismisses herself and Drew tilts his head to look down at you until your gaze catches him.

"Really?" He raises his eyebrows, less in surprise and more in irritation, "Are you kidding?"

"What are you talking about?" You shrug nonchalantly, moving your straw to your lips to take a sip of your drink again.

"Alright, not here," He glances around at the crowd before placing a hand around your forearm, pulling you with him as he weaves his way around the bodies.

The two of you break into a clearing just outside of the crowd, where you're out of earshot of the other guests.

"What the hell was that?" He questions, nothing but severity in his voice.

"Oh come on Drew," You scoff, "She was practically all over you. Well, look who it is," You mock her tone.

"Don't be like that, (Y/N)," Drew rolls his eyes at you, "You know we're friends, and she even told you that I mention you a load so what do you have to be worried about?"

"You don't have to deal with this, though, I don't speak to any of my exes, you wouldn't see them at weddings," You point out, "It's just weird."

"Jealousy doesn't look good on you, (Y/N)," He shakes his head, "I'm going to get another drink."

With that, he disappears back into the crowd of mingling people. You sip down the rest of your drink and take a deep breath, wanting nothing more than for the hours to tick down until you could leave.

~~~

You speak to a few of Drew's friends that you did know, and speak to the bride when you congratulate her on the day, doing whatever you can to avoid going over to where Drew was chatting to his other friends from school and a couple of the groomsmen. It was obvious that he kept looking over to you, his protective streak needing to keep an eye on you despite what he'd said. You find yourself looking at him too, willing for your eyes to catch onto each other at the same time.

Eventually, the two of you are sat down next to each other at one of the tables, surrounded by a group of people you didn't know. You sit down silently and watch as Drew does the same beside you.

"Hi, I don't think we've met before," The guy next to you starts, a man about your age with the typical features of tall, dark and handsome, "I'm Josh."

"I'm (Y/N)," You offer him a smile in return.

"How do you know the couple?"

You try to avoid looking over at Drew, "Just friends, you?"

"Yeah, I work with the groom," Josh explains, "You know, finance and all that boring shit."

You laugh and he turns around a little so that he is more centred towards you. Almost as soon as the movement happens, Drew reaches out an arm around the back of your chair.

"Do you want a glass of wine, babe?" He asks, leaning forward and towards you on the table as if making certain that Josh could see him.

You turn and glance at him momentarily, "I'll have a white wine please."

He smiles and presses a kiss to your shoulder, "Okay, honey."

Josh glances at the two of you and clears his throat, "I'm going to run to the bathroom before the food comes out."

You turn your head back towards Drew as he pours out the bottle of wine into your waiting glass.

"Really?" You try to fight back a smirk, "You know jealousy really doesn't look good on you, Starkey."

He doesn't look at you, but you see him clench and unclench his jaw, "That's not the same thing, that guy was all over you."

"Is Freya single? I'm sure they'd make a great couple, they have a lot in common," You taunt and he sets the bottle back down into the middle of the table.

He can't help but smile at your comment, leaning back into his chair.

"You're lucky you're cute," You mention, leaning to him to press a kiss to his jaw.

He smiles brighter at the touch, leaning into you just a little.

When you pull away, he brings up a hand to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear, his gaze flicking between each of your eyes as if searching for confirmation that you are listening to him, "You know you have nothing to worry about with Freya, right? She's just a bit full on but we're friends, we just stayed friends because it was easier than trying to split the entire group when things ended. I don't know why I didn't tell you, I should've done. I just didn't think it would matter because you should know how crazy I am about you."

"Crazy, huh?" You fight back the smile tugging at your lips.

He runs his thumb down the side of your jaw, his fingers hooked behind the back of your head as his other hand brings your fingers up to his lips, "Something like that," He presses a kiss to your knuckles.

"Nothing to worry about?" You say and he draws his eyes back up to yours.

"Not with her, not with anyone. Not now, not ever, okay?"

"Okay," It comes out as a whisper as you smile at him, your cheeks heating up.

He leans in and kisses you firmly, longingly, as if solidifying his erasing of every worry you'd ever had, his confirmation that you were his and he was yours.

[tallestsilver]

50. “It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night.”

Okay, I don't know what it's not posting with the *whoops* 5 pages, but I will post it.

EDIT: I am thwarted by tumblr. Have these links: AO3

FFN

To infer that I am a haunted man is an understatement. I have a personality apt for obsession. To throw myself entirely into my passions with reckless disregard to my surroundings. At times such as these, my attention is consumed by, more often than not, composing. I may go days without moving from my post, neither sleeping nor eating; nothing of this earthly realm can deter me when I focus on the divinity of music.

That is, of course, until one Mademoiselle Christine Daae haphazardly entered my domain.

Nothing so pure with child-like whimsy and naivety has shaken me to my core as resolutely as one Mlle. Daae.

Initially, I could sweep her from my thoughts. She is a young woman with many prospects. No doubt, could easily find a patron that lurks in the corners of the ballet corps. Many other young women and girls have succumbed through desperation to those demanding aristocrats with too much time and money to spare, and plenty of disregard for the fairer sex.

Convincing myself it was just my carnal base desires leaching out from the pits of my own desperation could only go so far. Although the thought of hand to hand, flesh to flesh was undeniably enticing, it was the thought of domesticity with Mlle. Daae that plagued my every thought: how comforting the warm embrace of her arms must be. A petite sigh of boredom, deciding on what book to read. Slight quibbles on what to eat for the evening supper. Her jubilant enthusiasm for the next aria I undoubtedly would encourage her to sing.

Above all, the care and ritual that she would engage in for her own beauty. How rapturous it was, to gaze upon her as she gazed upon herself at her vanity. Vanity - the very word loathsome to me, suggesting as though men did not participate in gazing at women in the very same regard as a mirror.

These quick glances I so abashedly stole while she sat preening, unbeknownst to my very presence, were not lecherous albeit voyeuristic. No, the careful application of rouge upon her cheeks and lips entranced me. Fur-soft puffs laced with powder enhance her brilliance. Waxed perfume enticing all the senses upon her wrist and decolletage. And sin against sins, the way her bristled brush caressed through her golden tresses. That, truly, was my undoing.

The carefully laid witchcraft of feminine makeup was inspiring to me, for it could potentially do wonders for even the most macabre of faces into looking somewhat respectable. I had dabbled in the venture myself, using theatre techniques to adhere attributes to myself that were so sorely lacking.

But the spell Christine cast upon me while brushing her hair was my undoing. Alas! To be the silken ribbon tied behind her graceful neck to keep the mass of riotous curls at bay so she could study her scripts, movements, chords... To run my spindly claws through her hair...

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. I wanted nothing more than that domesticity, accumulating to be able to assist her in her womanly needs. To fetch the shade she needed for her next scene or to comb out the tangles of the divine. I wanted, nay, needed to be a house husband to her. Fawning over her every whim, cooking, cleaning, making sure my Nordic Goddess could never want. And then, hope upon hope, to stroll in a park on a Sunday.

After exposing myself as the fraudulent Ange de la Musique, we did settle into a somewhat harmonious existence. Not exactly to my fantasies, but surely we held each other in some regard.

Maddening silence was often my punishment if I did anything she deemed untoward. Granted, my violent outbursts were getting more and more frequent as she gained more notoriety, attracting the attention of other men. She was not mine, not truly, but I could see fit she was not theirs, either.

I found myself in one of those sullen moods of hers. Dark circles plagued my Angel's under eyes. She no longer cared for her rouge, perfumes, or trinkets. She was no longer amused by my antics of sleight of hand, stories, or even songs.

Christine slumped into a morbidity that I knew only too well. True, her boy did indeed leave for the Northern Pole, and we're slowly acclimating ourselves to a potential future, whatever that may be, but the disdain in her gaze strikes me as sharply as a knife. No, perhaps not disdain that she feels for me; resignation may be the proper term for the hollow look in her eyes.

I never considered myself a timid creature, but the thought of her unhappiness sends me spiraling in isolation, to shun myself from her presence.

It was in this meekness, that I carefully approached the creature of all my desires, as she stared numbly at her vanity.

"Good evening, Erik," she stated automatically, not bothering to turn to face me. My eyes gleamed yellow in the reflection. If she wanted to speak to me thusly, I would acquiesce and respond in kind.

"Good evening, Christine." My voice was low, not demanding, but certainly not The Voice. I had refrained from using The Voice on her in many months after she berated me that she did not like losing her faculties as such.

"Around me," was the unspoken phrase that she had not explicitly stated, but the implication was thus.

No matter, I did not want her to be hypnotized to tolerate me. This 'case of the morbs', my dearest had, was better than utter disdain or calmness against her will. My desires were simple, to enjoy each others' company, for a smiling bride awaiting her gruesome husband and to welcome me with kindness.

Reason dictated that I repair the contemptuous relationship we found ourselves in. But women are fickle creatures and any means of being contrite seemed to annoy her. Could I not read the emotions of other creatures well enough? Are humans not but animals with longings to be loved as well as any?

In my coveted ideal of domesticity, I found myself liking Christine to be a feral feline that one should be cautious to approach, lest she hiss and strike you with an open paw. But perhaps in providing for her needs, she might allow a gentle pet.

I stood behind her, my hands wringing, uncertain of how to broach the question that had plagued my mind.

She sighed heavily, her eyes closing in - annoyance? Trepidation? - before asking, "what is it, Erik?"

I nearly bristled at the directness of her question, but Christine had mentioned it is easier to get what you want with honey rather than brute force - whatever that is meant, I took a cautious step toward her.

The precious girl did not run away.

"Erik wanted to know-" I froze as her mouth deepened into a frown at my slip. She admonished me frequently for not speaking in the first person. "I wanted to know-" I quickly corrected, "if you require some assistance with brushing your hair?"

Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at me through the mirror of her vanity quizzically. I took another step forward, rubbing my wrists in uncertainty. She once mentioned she liked my cuffs a little shorter, exposing my wrists, and I adjusted my entire wardrobe accordingly, but instances like this made me feel exposed all over.

"What?" Her hands automatically ran over the ends of her hair, indeed, finding a mass of tangles and knots. She looked down in an all-too familiar expression for me: shame at her appearance.

My hands dropped to my side, my body rigid in fear, that I caused the anguish that shadowed her beloved features. "What I mean to say- not that you require it- I thought it would- no, no you mustn't-" My thoughts were a jumbled mess as did my words, usually so mastercrafted, fell so flat into nonsense.

As I rambled, Christine turned in her seat, witnessing my awkwardness. She toyed with a stray lock of hair, plucking at some split ends, her usual proper posture hunched and withdrawn. She was quiet as I hurriedly decided to dismiss myself and wallow in my awkward misery into my own room, when her voice called in a meek, considering way, "all right."

"I shall see myself out because you certainly do not wish for me to-" I snapped to attention and whirled back around, "-all right?"

She nodded and retrieved her hair brush, silently reaching it toward me.

My mouth gaped open and shut like a gasping fish before moving toward her once again.

"All right," I responded in kind.

Reaching for her brush, our fingers touched, ever so slightly, and I held the gasp that threatened to escape my throat. I was touch-starved, this is true, but the demure sensation was a relief to one more step toward normalcy. I looked to her to see if she was offended that my skeletal hand should touch her radiance, but no screams were heard. She simply nodded and turned back to face the mirror as I stumbled to stand behind her. Heat blossomed across my masked face, my ears betraying my blush that she would allow me to touch her.

My hands trembled, unsure where to begin, unwilling to hurt the angel in front of me. This was a foolish endeavor, I know nothing about caring for long hair, particularly the mass of curls before me. I pressed the brush to bundle of tangles at the nape of her neck and tried to pull down. The bristles stopped dead in their tracks, but Christine's head went down with the motion with a gasp, "ow!"

I froze in terror, all feeling draining from my person. I had wounded my Christine. I hurt her unintentionally once again. "Apologies, my-m," I bit my tongue to prevent myself from saying out loud, "My Christine." I wanted to run, to flee, to have her never look upon me again and to give up this silly dream. But I also wanted to persevere, to be of use to her, to see that smile once again.

Christine sensed my hesitancy, and with the patience of a saint, she mimed how to start in the mirror. "From the bottom," she said quietly, just above a whisper. "Work your way up to the top. That will help with the tangles. I have not felt like myself, I can do it-" she reached for the brush and I snatched it away from her grasp.

"No!" I barked, too loud. She winced from the loud exclamation, but the poor dear did not run in terror. I cleared my throat and inhaled deeply to settle my nerves, "No," I stated more gently, but firmly. "Eri-I wish to do this for you." I looked at her earnestly. "Please."

She looked warily at me and I inwardly chided myself. My emotional outbursts were more and more infrequent, but they still bubbled to the surface now and again. She slowly nodded and repositioned herself in front of the mirror.

Cautiously, slowly, I started brushing her hair out. Her curls separated and poofed before me. I gripped a few locks and ran the brush through it, marveling how it shimmered in the candlelight. The tangles persisted, but as did this magnificent angel, nary a peep out of her lips. I moved through delicately, sections unraveling themselves and it became easier and easier to maneuver.

I restrained myself from burying my face in sunshine made tangible, to inhale her sweet perfume, but I shall admit it was a struggle. I did not want to cross the boundary of this tentative truce.

As I managed to make it all the way to the top of her scalp, the brush gliding through the rest of her tresses easily, Christine gave the sweetest feminine sigh and leaned back, against my frame. While I continued with my ministrations, my mind roiled in delight and fear. How do I navigate a situation like this? This was suddenly more intimate than I was prepared for and a quick excuse to leave became very appealing. I need to sleep? She would never believe that. Compose? Make some tea?

"I feel," her voice interrupted my frantic thoughts once again, "that if I were a cat," she paused, as if carefully examining her next words, "I might purr." She smiled - oh! How that angel blessed me with her smile- and looked at me once again.

Dumbfounded and skittish, I could only nod. The two of us fools, navigating dynamic we were naive to explore. I did not want to cease the brushing, but as her hair no longer needed attention, I was at a loss for what to do.

"Thank you, Erik." She reached back and separated the fluffy mane into three segments and deftly plaited her hair into a neat braid.

I took a step back from her, holding my hands, "You're welcome, Christine."

Silence enveloped us once again and I took that as a signal to leave.

"Will you tell me another story? It has been quite a long time since you read to me or told me of your travels."

She stood and offered her hand to me. Tentatively, I embraced it.

"Yes."

[mustainegf]

SO OBSESSED with how dave talks about his love of reading--like I just picture him grabbing small moments to have a coffee and read in between his hectic touring or recording schedules.

ok but imagine 90s dave going in a bookstore (since he is always mentioning that he likes to read and do lyric research) and he see you, you are just soooo small trying to get a book from the top shelf while the staff keep helping other customers. He loves to lend a helping hand to a pretty lady--and you are even more enchanting once he gets to really see your face. Being an experienced flirt at this point in his life he asks you about the book--you pick up a book for yourself every Monday just as a little treat. He starts to get a little anxious because you seem much more educated than him, so instead of mentioned the martial arts books he was going to pick up he lies and says he was looking for his favorite poet, who you love too. He is just SO a-flutter with your intelligent charisma that recognizes a piece of him that others don't take the time to see beyond the rockstar persona (maybe it's because you don't even recognize him!). He definitely returns the next week to try and catch you again and take things to the next level--he just happens to have a book you would love... but you have to go to his apartment to get it. oh, and it just happens to be on his nightstand.

I SCREAMED WHEN I SWEAR THIS REQ!??? HOLY SHIT THIS IS SOME OF THE BEST STUFF IVE EVER GOTTEN I LOVE THE DETAILS

PART 2?????

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 ¹⁹⁹⁶

𝐆𝐎 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐

Monday again, a drizzly afternoon diagonally opposite LA's downtown area, both pretty anti-climactic, and I was hunting for something more. This small, inconspicuous bookstore, whose entrance is slightly concealed from the rest of the city.

It was that kind of place where I could get lost on shelves, trying to look through worlds inside pages to find inspiration for new lyrics, and maybe even learn something new about myself. Not that I was ever very open to it.

I loved the smell of books and the quiet, plus the feeling of anonymity, a great gift this place had given me. No paparazzi, no screaming fans, just me, books, and my thoughts.

Exactly how I liked it.

I pushed open the door, a soft tinkle of a bell at the entrance. That familiar smell of aged paper and polished wood grabbed me once again, and things were calm.

I walked back to where they have a small section, wanting to find a book or two on martial arts before I went on to search for inspiration.

Turning the corner, I came face to face with her.

She was tiptoeing, her fingers barely brushing the top shelf to reach a book. Petite, nearly delicate, with long hair down her shoulders. Her fingers were hardly brushing against the spine of the book she was trying to retrieve.

No one in the bookstore staff seemed to be noticing her struggle.

I held my breath for a second, enthralled by the image of her.

I finally stepped up to her with a smirk playing on the corners of my lips. "Need some help with that?" I asked, the silence broken by my voice.

She turned to look at me, her eyes grew wide with surprise. They were an exceptionally striking shade, very intelligent and knowing, as if they could see right through me.

She responded, her voice soft and melodious, "Oh, um, yes please." Her cheeks went pink, like early lilacs.

I reached up and easily grabbed the book she was after.

Our fingers brushed briefly as I handed it over to her, and a jolt of warmth went through me. "Here you go," I said, trying to maintain my cool.

"Thank you," she said, smiling up at me. Her smile was warm and real. "I pick up a new book every Monday as a little treat for myself, normally I don’t have this much trouble..." she tried her best to shrug it off, averting her gaze.

Something about her seemed interesting. She didn't seem like the kind of women that had been filling my head lately, she was classier, much more thoughtful.

"That does sound like a lovely tradition," I said, nodding at the book she held in her hand. It was some volume of classic poetry or other.

She nodded. "It helps me after a long day. There's something so soothing about a good book."

I felt a slight bit of anxiety as I realized I wanted to impress her, to let her know that there was more in me than met the eye, than just that of some rockstar persona everyone else seemed to know.

I swallowed hard and said the first thing that came into my head. "I was actually looking for my favorite poet, too." Completely disregarding the martial arts book I was searching for.

She lit up with interest. "No way, really? Who's your favorite?"

"Rainer Maria Rilke," I lied, hoping she wouldn't see through me. IT was a name I knew from a short class I took in Highschool. Though, I had been looking for some books on martial arts, but I didn't want to appear shallow or uneducated to her.

She beamed at me, clearly pleased. "Rilke is wonderful! His stuff is so well done. What poems do you like the best?"

I drew a blank as I tried to remember something, anything, about Rilke from my junior writing class. "Uh, well, definitely one of my favorites is 'The Panther.' The imagery is rich, and it does play on that sense of containment."

She nodded vigorously. "Yes, exactly! I love how he used the panther as such a perfect metaphor. So beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time."

God, the way she spoke was like butter, slipping through the cracks of my mind. She was so passionate about the poetry, that my knowledge from Highschool was slowly resurfacing.

The more we talked, the more engrained I became, smart, articulate, impassioned about this literature.

She seemed not to recognize me at all, and that was quite refreshing. It allowed me to be just Dave, the guy who enjoyed books, instead of Dave Mustaine, the Megadeth frontman. I wanted to see her again, to get to know her better. I craved it.

The following Monday, I went again to the old bookstore to look for her. I had brought with me a manuscript on which I thought she would take interest in, but I did not wish to be too obvious.

I pottered around the shop in a good feign of browsing, with my glance popping out every few seconds to await her entry through the door.

There she finally was, as lovely as she had been the first time that I ever saw her. She came back to the poetry section, and I went in, taking a deep breath.

"Hi," I said, trying to sound very casual.

She looked up and smiled warmly. "Hi! Nice to see you again."

I felt relieved and elated. "You too. I actually, uh, brought a book I thought you would like..”

Her eyes widened in surprise and delight. "Really? What is it?"

I handed her the book, a collection of poems by Pablo Neruda, a book Id bought at a separate shop only days earlier. "I thought you might like this. Nerudas stuff is pretty good, I had it around my house for a couple years, so I thought you might be interested."

She took the book from me again, and my fingers touched hers. "Thanks so much, Dave. This is really sweet of you."

I shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. "No problem. I figured you'd like it."

I knew I had to make a move as that afternoon was wearing away. "You know," I said, feigning indifference, "I have another book that I think you would love. But It's back at my place."

Those sparkling eyes took an interest. "Oh? What book is that?"

"A rare edition of Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet."

She paused a second, then smiled. "I'd love to see it."

[chicinsilk]

US Vogue October 15, 1967

Model :  Jean Shrimpton

Left, the youngest enchantment now in white and misty mink; double-breasted with grey suede buttons and belt, white collar and cuffs. By Reiss & Fabrizio, from 'Jasmine', Emba white mink, and 'Morning Light', Emba natural pale blue-beige mink. Earrings by Marvella. Pale pearl mink, centre, to give a glow to the skin. Light shading through each skin - an ingenuous coat with a small collar, cuffs, narrow belt. By Christie Bros., from Breath of Spring 'Azurene', Emba natural blue-grey mink. Earrings by K.J.L. Chained mink, right, a pale mink coat dress with a large gold chain on the front above a hidden zipper. Made to order at Maximilian, from Breath of Spring 'Rovalia', Emba natural pale pink mink. Earrings by Napier. With the three pale mink coats: Evins boots. Hair: Ara Gallant; Tovar-Tresses hairpieces.

À gauche, le plus jeune enchantement maintenant en vison blanc et brumeux ; croisé avec boutons et ceinture en suède gris, col et poignets blancs. Par Reiss & Fabrizio, de « Jasmine », vison blanc Emba, et « Morning Light », vison bleu pâle-beige naturel Emba. Boucles d'oreilles par Marvella. Vison nacré pâle, au centre, pour donner de l'éclat à la peau. De légères nuances à travers chaque peau - un manteau ingénue avec un petit col, des poignets, une ceinture étroite. Par Christie Bros., de variété Breath of Spring « Azurene », vison bleu-gris naturel Emba. Boucles d'oreilles K.J.L. Vison en chaînes, à droite, une robe-manteau en vison pâle avec une grande chaîne dorée sur le devant au-dessus d'une fermeture éclair cachée. Fabriqué sur commande chez Maximilian, de variété Breath of Spring « Rovalia », vison rose pâle naturel Emba. Boucles d'oreilles Napier. Avec les trois manteaux en vison pâle : bottes Evins. Coiffures : Ara Gallant ; postiches Tovar-Tresses.

Photo Richard Avedon vogue archive

[yannleguen]

🇫🇷 Cette été, lors d’une sortie au parc zoologique de Branféré, j’ai eu la chance qu’un wallaby reste sommeiller à l’ombre d’un arbuste tortueux ; posant ainsi assez longtemps pour que j’aie le temps de dessiner cette petite scène sympathique. Stylo Tombow rehaussé d’encre au pinceau sur carnet de croquis A4.

🇬🇧 This summer, during an outing to the Branféré zoological park, I was lucky enough that a wallaby remained dozing in the shade of a twisted shrub; posing long enough for me to have time to draw this nice little scene. Tombow pen enhanced with brush ink on A4 sketchbook.

[hecatemoon87]

This story will eventually have smut. Minors DNI.

Chapter 4

Summer had come to an end in Chicago. And now the crisp air of autumn started to change the leaves from emerald green to brilliant shades of amber.

Johnny had helped Amelia move into her new apartment almost four weeks ago. They stayed in touch as friends, which was fine with Johnny. He could see she was coping with some pretty traumatic things and decided to focus on his biker club.

He even started having a little fling with one of the biker girls, though to him, it wasn't serious.

Amelia hadn't stopped by Sal's for some time. He wondered if she decided to keep her distance from the activity that caused her mother to physically abuse her.

Either way, he wanted to keep moving on with his life, but hoped Amelia would be okay.

However, one late afternoon, Amelia was suddenly there. Johnny was seated at his usual table, his biker girl sitting on his leg as he played cards. At first, he didn't look over, but once he glanced over and recognized it was her, his mouth went dry.

She was holding two boxes that looked like they were for taxes, and she was heading to the bar's back office. She made eye contact with Johnny and managed to give him a little wave and a smile before disappearing in the back.

Johnny quickly, but gently pushed the biker girl off his leg and stood up. Benny almost fell to the floor laughing, his other friends grinned like a bunch of jackels.

"Hey, what's the big deal?" The petite biker girl said, folding her arms and glaring at Johnny.

"Nothing for you to worry about," he said, adjusting his jacket and glancing in the mirror that shelved the hard liquor behind the bar. He made sure his hair was neat and sat back down at the table, sitting in a way that made the biker girl understand she was no longer welcome to sit on his lap.

After about thirty minutes or so, Amelia came back around the bar. Johnny waved her down and walked her out.

"I haven't seen you in a while. How you doing?" Johnny asked.

"Been busy with work, I got a promotion, so a lot more responsibilities. And also helping Uncle Sal prepare his taxes for next year."

"Congratulations. I'm glad you're doing well," Johnny said earnestly.

"So, um, who was that woman?" She asked, off handedly.

"Who?" Johnny said, not recalling the biker chick.

"The woman that was sitting on your lap?" Amelia said, laughing softly. She moved a lock of hair behind her ear, making Johnny weak in the knees.

"Julie, she's just a friend," he said, then smiled, "Are you jealous?"

"Huh?" Amelia's eyes got wide, and her cheeks grew slightly pink. "Jealous? Oh, I...you know...I didn't..." she said, stammering over her words.

"Amelia, I'd really like to take you on that second date," Johnny said. He knew he needed to take charge of the situation because she would never outright tell him she was interested.

She nibbled on her bottom lip, her honey colored eyes looking deep into his before she quickly looked back down again.

"Yeah, John. I think I'm ready. That'd be great," she said shyly.

"You sure? I'm not rushing you into something you don't want?"

"Yes, John. I'm not that fragile, but thank you for asking," she said.

"I know, I know, just making sure we're on the same page," he said, smiling. "I'll call you, let you know when and where."

"Maybe...I choose this time. I mean...I'd like to choose where we go," she said.

"Yeah, wherever you want to go, Princess," he said.

"Okay. There's an Opera in the city, La Traviata, by Giuseppe Verdi," she said, speaking the Italian flawlessly.

"An Opera?" Johnny asked, not entirely sure what it was. He knew it was like a play and strange singing, but never in his life had he attended one. "Sure, alright"

"Great! I'll get the tickets and call you," she said happily.

Johnny returned to the card table, and Cal delt him into their new card game. "So, you finally get her on the hook again?" He asked.

"Yeah, but I let her choose the place. Now I need to find a suit," Johnny said.

"What? You going to a wedding or something?" Another biker asked.

"Opera," Johhny said.

There was a pause at the table, then an eruption of laughter. Johnny let them have their fun. Hell, he'd laugh, too. But this was Amelia. There was just something about her that pulled him in. And if she wanted to go to the Opera, then that's exactly what they'd do.

[wiccawrites]

Childhood best friends kinnporsche au where Kinn is quite literally the prince of the underworld and he's sick of putting up with his asshole father so he decides to fight his way through the levels of hell just to make it to the surface but he neglects to tell Porsche -- who is death personified btw -- and now Porsche is sulking because he thinks his best friend is leaving him forever.

Which is preposterous if you ask Kinn because he has never been that good at denying Porsche anything, but Porsche seems to be upset enough to make himself scarce and avoid Kinn at any opportunity he gets so Kinn makes it a point to save all the ambrosia he gets on his numerous attempts to break out of the underworld and gift them to Porsche when they finally run into each other.

Their next meeting is purely out of coincidence and Kinn doesn't know when he'll next see Porsche after the latter disappears into the shadows so Kinn hands his best friend his gifts and makes sure that Porsche understands Kinn is looking for a break from the underworld but of course he'll come back. After all, the surface didn't have Cerberus and they sure as hell didn't have Porsche.

And maybe Porsche takes a while (aka a few dozen bottles of ambrosia) to come around but when he finally does, their whole dynamic shifts.

Kinn thinks it might be his fault.

Sure he initially gifted Porsche the ambrosia because he wanted to get back into his best friend's good graces but Porsche's face had lit up every time he received those gifts and Kinn... well, Kinn might have grown too fond of seeing Porsche smile like that.

"I already forgave you," Porsche says when Kinn comes back from another failed escape attempt and offers him three bottles of ambrosia.

"I still want to show you I care," Kinn shrugs, looking at a corner of the hall. He wasn't avoiding eye contact or anything -- Cerberus was just trying to figure out which of its three heads could best scratch an itchy spot on its back and Kinn was very interested in finding out the answer. "This is the only way I know how."

"Oh, there are other ways," Porsche hums, voice suddenly low and sultry and so, so close that Kinn feels like he has no choice but to look at him. "Would you like me to show you?"

Kinn doesn't even get the chance to try responding to that when Korn arrives and summons him just to berate him for being an utter failure of a son.

When Kinn next runs into Porsche, it's at Elysium. Porsche challenges him over who can kill more enemies and awards him a centaur heart when Kinn wins. Before he leaves, Porsche gives Kinn a coy smile and leans in close enough that his lips brush against Kinn's cheek.

"Good luck."

When Kinn fails yet again (seriously, damn his father), he crawls into his room bone tired and finds Porsche waiting for him with a very convincing alternative to sleeping his frustrations away.

Hours pass and Kinn holds Porsche in his arms as he tries to catch his breath, knees weak and a mess between his thighs.

La petite mort, Porsche says, is best received from death himself.

Kinn finds it hard to disagree.

....Basically what I'm saying is kinnporsche hades au 🙃

because can u imagine rebellious Kinn not giving a fuck about anything else because he just wants to piss Korn off?? He makes that first attempt to reach the surface without thinking to tell anyone and fails spectacularly. every shade in the underworld knows. they start talking.

and suddenly Porsche is SULKING and AVOIDING HIM and Kinn is like WTF WHAT'S WRONG???? but Porsche is just like YOU NEVER CARE ABOUT ME 😾 BEFORE DIPPING and it bothers Kinn so much but he doesn't know how to fix it 💀

[chic-a-gigot]

Mode-palace : album mensuel des dernières créations parisiennes. No. 7, juillet 1908, Paris. Planche coloriée no. 257. Toilettes d’été. Bibliothèque nationale de France

Première figurine. — Toilette en shantung de nuance mode, ornée de larges biais quadrillés de soutache line. Tunique-corselet, légèrement drapée devant et ornée de petits glands en passementerie sur une jupe unie. Corsage à triple bretelles, descendant sur les manches ballon en guipure, volantées de dentelle. Guimpe en guipure. Chapeau en paille anglaise, drapé de tulle et orné d’un panache de plumes.

First figure. — Shantung ensemble in a fashionable shade, decorated with large squared soutache line bias. Corselet tunic, lightly draped in front and decorated with small tassels in trimmings on a plain skirt. Bodice with triple straps, falling over the guipure balloon sleeves, ruffled with lace. Guipure guimpe. English straw hat, draped in tulle and decorated with a plume of feathers.

Métrages: shantung, 10 mètres; laize de guipure, 2 mètres.

—

Deuxième figurine. — Toilette en voile de laine uni. Jupe-corselet croisée, ornée de boutons avec ganses. Corsage en linon brodé et mantelet en voile bordé d’une frange de soie. Manches courtes, bordées de franges sur les manches ballon en linon brodé. Chapeau en paille yedda, orné d’un nœud de soie claire et de plumes.

Second figure. — Ensemble in plain wool voile. Crossed corselet skirt, decorated with buttons with braids. Embroidered lawn bodice and veil mantellet edged with silk fringe. Short sleeves, edged with fringes on the balloon sleeves in embroidered lawn. Yedda straw hat, decorated with a light silk bow and feathers.

Métrages: voile, 6 mètres; linon, 3 mètres.

—

Troisième figure. — Tunique princesse, drapée devant en lainage ou crêpe de Chine, bordée de soie pékinée et ornée de boutons avec ganses. Le corsage fournit les manches courtes, garnies comme la jupe et volantées de dentelle. Col en soie pékinée et cravate de dentelle. Chapeau en paille manille, orné de plumes.

Third figure. — Princess tunic, draped in front in wool or crepe de Chine, lined with pekin silk and decorated with buttons with braids. The bodice provides short sleeves, trimmed like the skirt and ruffled with lace. Pekin silk collar and lace tie. Manila straw hat, decorated with feathers.

Métrages: tissu, 7 mètres; soie, 2 mètres.

[storkmuffin]

Oh what ballets have you gone too and would you recommend them? The ones I do want to go to havent been put up locally yet so im thinking of widening my horizons until im in a better position to travel.

OKAY Omg I'm so happy to spout off about this!!!!!!!

My absolute favorites are ballets by the choreographer Balanchine, who founded the New York City Ballet. To start I would recommend Serenade (Tchaikovsky music to die for), Concerto Barocco (Bach), Symphony in C (Bizet), Jewels and Chaconne as entries. He has GREAT leotard ballets set to modern classical music but you have to like dissonant or atonal music (like Hindemith) and have patience for no costumes no sets no story and only movement which is not friendly if you don't already know his style. He also made a wonderful Nutcracker and a Midsummer Nights Dream if you want a story ballet. The New York City Ballet owns that repertory but! The Paris Opera Ballet has for years been doing a FABULOUS job of it too as have Stuttgart Ballet.

I have been to 4 types of ballets (my own categorization) put up by the following companies - New York City Ballet and other Balanchine type ballet companies, the American Ballet Theater, the Marijnsky, the Bolshoi, the Royal Ballet, the English National Ballet, the Royal Danish Ballet, the Paris Opera Ballet, the Korean National Ballet, Universal Ballet, San Francisco Ballet and the Bulgarian Varna Ballet too.

The four types of ballets are

1. Story ballets. 2. No story ballets 3. Modern ballets (sometimes story sometimes costume sometimes neither) 4. Total reworkings/Broadway adjacents

The Story ballets are Nutcracker, Giselle, Swan Lake, La Bayadere, Romeo and Juliet - that most companies will cycle through and put on. Oh Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty too - I like the English National and the Royal Ballet versions of these a lot.

The English, French, Danes and Russians all have very distinct styles from each other in terms of how they like to do movement and narrative using very similar steps and the same music so I would start anywhere and just dig in. I wish I could say stuff about the Italians like the Scala but I have only seen individual dancers like the IMMENSELY AMAZING Roberto Bolle and Alessandra Ferri doing guest spots with the ABT so I can't say.

The no story ballets are mostly Balanchine to me bc I see them as separate from the work of Jerome Robbins who sometimes had little plots and sometimes didn't.

These I would call Modern Ballets. Jerome Robbins is another WONDERFUL choreographer who is known for West Side Story which is sad bc I don't like those dances and his modern ballets are so much better! Like Afternoon of a Faun (two dancers meet in an empty rehearsal room and have a whole compact romance), Dances at a Gathering, Goldberg Variations. Fancy Free puts three Ballet boys in sailor outfits doing the cutest moves ever. He also made The Cage where female insects kill their males after mating. I recommend all of these but for Goldberg - the pianist can have a hard time lol.

Roland Petit made a Carmen for Paris Opera Ballet which is super sexy, which I also recommend.

Once you've seen a couple Swan Lakes - I would go with Bolshoi and Paris Opera just for comparison - and you like more Broadway type dancing you might want to watch Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake with boy swans. Completely reworked but so good.

I want to know more about Danish Ballet because of Bournonville- there's this wonderful friendly energy, a relaxed elegance to Danish Ballet that is very unique to that country but I haven't had that much chance.

Shading over into straight up modern dance, Twyla Tharpe made In the Upper Room which I saw danced by the American Ballet Theater which I found so cathartic I went into a crying jag of hysteria in the elevator down to the parking lot of Lincoln Center. Jerome Robbins also made a Ballet set to music by the same composer, Phillip Glass, Glass Pieces, which is so fun and feels very loving to New York City.

Uhh I think I have to stop even though I can say more. Anyway Ballet is great and I think everyone should go. Even bad Ballet performed badly is always worth it to me

[garnetrena]

Tag Game: Writing Pattern

Tagged by @calimera62 , thank you! 💙

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

1. band-aids don't fix bullet holes (Bad Blood by Taylor Swift, Arsyn/Catastrophe - T)

La flèche bardée de matériel technologique s’enfuit de la corde tendue par Cat, décrivit une belle arabesque parabolique… et échoua lamentablement dans le sable, à quelques mètres de sa cible.

2. La Fille du Roi Arthur (Kaamelott, OC - G)

Arthur avait rêvé de marcher dans les champs, main dans la main avec son enfant, qui lui brandirait fièrement le petit médaillon qu'il lui aurait offert - tout comme son père de substitution, en son temps, lui en avait forgé un, pour lui montrer son amour et le placer sous la protection des dieux.

3. Poètesse cosmique (The Cosmic Wheel Sisterhood, Rangimarie - G)

Rangimarie s’est éveillée au cœur d’une étoile déchue, où l’espace et le temps n’avaient plus de sens, et c’est ainsi que son existence a commencé.

4. It's not the shade we should be casting (The Dragon Prince, Ezran - G)

« Nous ne pouvons faire face à cette menace seuls », s'était dit Ezran.

5. Deux facettes de la même pièce (Good Omens, Arizaphale/Crowley - G)

Une librairie bien tenue, dont aucun livre n'est jamais vendu.

6. Actes Manqués (Kaamelott, Guenièvre/Mevanwi - G)

Elles sont assises sur le lit, côte à côte.

7. Infodémie (Inside Job, Reagan et Brett - G)

« Brett, tu as fini le dossier COVID qu'on doit passer aux journalistes ? »

8. La pollueuse (fiction originale sur les légendes guyanaises - G)

Joséphine préférait être appelée « Fifine » par ses amis… du moins, ceux qui prétendaient l'être.

9. Caprice (Interview With The Vampire, Claudia - G)

Louis essayait de faire preuve d'autorité.

10. Guerrière des songes (fiction originale - G)

Vous l’ignorez encore, mais chaque nuit, je vous sauve la vie.

*

J'ai l'impression que je commence souvent par des prénoms ou par des pronoms, sauf dans quelques cas où je décris plutôt le lieu ou l'action. En tout cas, c'était un exercice agréable et cela me donne envie de me remettre à écrire !

Et je tagge @azzzryel , @blatterpussbunnyfromhell , @chonaku-things , @kabbal et @kaantt !! Vous êtes également libres de le faire si vous en avez envie ^^ Et aucune pression pour celleux que j'ai taggé'e's, idem, ne le faites que si ça vous dit :)

[ineffablymanic]

Behind the Scenes and smol cut section of A@tB under the cut!

For the nerds who would like to know more (also I worked too hard on the background and I just wanna show it somewhere so here we go)

Déjà vu was first used in 1876. What can I say, Crowley has always been a trend setter 😌

Hor-Aha is considered the second pharaoh of the First Dynasty of Egypt. Ancient Egyptian retainer sacrifice was a type of human sacrifice in which pharaohs and occasionally other high court nobility had servants killed after the pharaohs' deaths to continue to serve them in the afterlife. In Egypt, the custom only existed during the First Dynasty, from about 3100 BC to 2900 BC.

Commodus was a Roman emperor 177-192 AD. Megalomanic dictator. Created a deific personality cult, performed as a gladiator in the Colosseum.

Gladiators weren't covered in oil. But it's hot, so... Shh

The Great Schism of 1054 is the break of communion between the Catholic and Eastern Orthodox churches. Greek East (Byzantines) and Latin West (Romans) had a series of theological disputes for hundreds of years until they finally separated. I'm imagining this time period must've had a big overturn on the politics of Europa. I made the artist up, as well as the Phallus Bible (sadly).

Soho was not in fact a calm, hospitable area that agent was talking out of his ass 😂

The first attested use of the expression la petite mort in English was in 1572 with the meaning of "fainting fit". It later came to mean "nervous spasm" as well. The first attested use with the meaning of "orgasm" was in 1882. Mayhaps Aziraphale had something to do with that...

During the Reign of Terror, when noble heads rolled down the streets, folks working for them found themselves without a job. Their cooks soon invented à la carte, menu, to serve gourmet food to the lower classes. La Tour d’Argent sits at the Place de la Bastille since 1640, and played an active role in the conflicts of 1789 as a principal gathering site.

And here's what was cut from the end of chapter 1 due to repetition!

They left the massacre behind as the revolutionaries dragged Aziraphale’s executioner-to-be out to the scaffold.

(“Dressed like that, he was asking for trouble.”

Crowley looked straight at Aziraphale while saying it. They were both refreshed, not a sweat bead or streak of dirt in sight. Crowley's shades were back on and his curls looked immaculate once more. Aziraphale's new clothes were scene-appropriate, but the ghost weight of the shackles and the bites and bruises around his body still ached deliciously, underneath– Not to mention the dull, satisfying throb inside him. He wetted his lips, knowing it wasn't left unnoticed.)

Aziraphale tried his best to focus on the sunlight warming his face instead of the cacophony his other senses offered him, even if they were getting further away from the plaza. He tried to put some more, what is it called? Ah, pep in their step. 

“I suppose I should say thank you? For the uh, rescue.”

Crowley looked away and stayed silent, rubbing his arm. Aziraphale pitied him.

“Well at least let me offer you a meal. I think I know just the place.”

The demon turned to look back at him. His lopsided smile had Aziraphale relieved. “What’s for lunch?”

Aziraphale returned the smile in double. “I have it on good authority that their menu is ample enough for some crêpes.”

He also had a hankering for some fish.