#my dress looks like it’s from one of those detailed sculptures and my hair is flying just right

[yellobb]

My bestie’s wedding photos came in and they’re SO GOOD. I almost cried again over how absolutely gorgeous she is 🥺❤️

This is a bestie loving account, btw. All three of them are literally the best people I’ve ever met and I love them so much

[nor-4]

Hey pretty do you still take requests? If you do please write something about Lewis Hamilton x Fem Reader and their relationship is like that one video of rihanna and asap where rhi is looking lusty at asap. Lmao I'm bad at explaining I'm sorry, anything will do tbh i trust you. 🥰

Those sinful eyes - Lewis Hamilton x Fem!Reader

ᝰ.ᐟ A/N: Oh i just know what you mean lol. All the requests in my account got deleted and this is recent so if you are one of those peeps who sent me a requests back then you are free to send it again, I'm very sorry for the long take. 💋

ᯓ★ One of the things you can use against lewis is your eyes. They have a big impact on him it can be staring up at him or staring down at him.

"Don't move so much babe, I'm trying to do your hair." You giggled as you place your feet behind your ass resting it on his knees to comfortably sit on his lap while he wiggled like a child, "I'm sorry missus." as his eyes traveled from your lips to your eyes.

"fuck.." he muttered looking at you breathlessly, "What you have a staring problem now?" you joked as your fingers made their way into his curls before carefully tugging a piece as you continued your work with braiding his hair since the fronts are the only thing that was left untouched.

"You are so beautiful and beautiful and beautiful." Lewis blabbed looking back at your left to right eyes as if he is watching a tug rope competition fighting over which side is he gonna look at with how close you are.

The biggest hate love he has on the way he folds quickly just by the eye contact. The intimate eye contact and smile does something to him that will make him want to go on convulsion.

George once pointed it out on him which became a whole joke on the grid.

"The family guy is here again." Max said as lewis approach the drivers who just sat down and talk after the practice race, "What do you mean, we don't have a kid yet?" lewis cluelessly said as he sat down between all of them.

"With how whipped you look at her oh you will be soon" George marked spreading his arms on the back of the chair to welcome lewis more to share a detail about both of yours relationship. "Have you seen how his girl look at her? If she looked at me that way i would even faint, lewis is just a humble guy." Lando pointed out to side lewis and to give him a concrete reason on why lewis acted like that when you look at him.

"I mean have you seen lewis? I would look at him that way too" max stated before sipping his redbull.

ᯓ★ Get dressed, get your nails done, buy all your make up, own him up.

Another weakness of his is seeing you all ready and pretty for somewhere you guys are going for a date or whenever you go to the paddock.

"Hey guys i wasn't informed we are all meeting in here." Lewis entered as the laughter and talking went down to silence, "What's that on your face?" Lando was the first one to speak up which broke the silence.

"What what??" Lewis asked as he rose his phone up using it as a mirror to look at himself

"That kiss mark.."

"Oh it's from my missus." Lewis answered confidently before sitting down as a big smile still plastered on his face like a kid who's proud of his medal, "Yeah of course.." George bitterly said rolling his eyes and smacking his lips.

"Wow the missus really wifed you up."

That's one of his title that he is very proud of, hell have you guys checked on lewis when both of you first talked? He is very proud of it bragging it to everyone as if he won the most luckiest man alive. What worse when you said yes to his proposal of being your boyfriend who will definitely be your husband soon.

One of his dream is making a family with you, finally hearing his surname beside your name.

"Hello Mrs. Hamilton you look beautiful in that dress." Lewis addressed walking at your back feeling his palms on your back like he is sculpturing like those statues in museum, "Thank you Mr. Hamilton, you look handsome as ever.." You complimented back placing your hand on his face caressing his jaw and cheeks, holding up an eye contact on him with pure admiration.

"Of course i do, you are the one who picked my outfit" he commented and yes he lets you pick on what he wears. There are times where both of you wear a matchy outfit or just a same color shirt just so people can't tell you both apart. "Did you like it?"

"Oh i love it Mrs. Hamilton, look how good we look besides each other" He kept the nickname before looking at both of you in the mirror holding your waist like the mirror will take a picture any time moment. "I think something is missing hmm.." he said looking at you.

"What do you mean, you look really good." You muttered looking back at him, "My kiss.." he pouted as you smack his chest feeling a sigh of relief. "Darling you scared me" you giggled before grabbing his face with one hand and placing a kiss on his cheek.

Looking at the pigment that rests on his face is like looking at the painting of work from the history. The memories and moments of how many times you have did this, it's like reminding everyone that you own him, The seventh time world champion who makes everyone know that he can't function without feeling the affection you give to him by the daily basis.

"How i love looking at that on my face everyday, God knows you will walk down the aisle as a scene and confirmation to everyone that i am gifted with a gorgeous wife like you."

[furiarossa]

"Danny looked down, thinking. Only then did he notice an inscription on the pedestal holding the three statues. “Madeline Walker | Vlad Masters | Jack Fenton The ghost friends honor them, April the 3rd, 1983: For the heroic saving of our lives" «They… they never told me anything» Danny looked at the statue, then at Skulker, then back at the statue «Why?»."

Okay, this lineart is so good that inspired a scene in me (I wrote it, even though I practically never write in English) and TWO different color versions.

7th submission for the @green-with-envy-phandom-event! This is a collab: the lineart was created by the awesome @ecto-stone, while we did the color. 

Alternative (golden) version + ficlet under the cut!

Danny approached the sculptural group, vaguely in disbelief. At first he didn't really understand what he was seeing... he just had the feeling that it was something familiar, that the shapes of those greenish bodies reminded him of something. There were three people, dressed like ghostbusters, with tools and protective goggles. There were also other details, rays and small figures.

Danny squinted. One of the three was too similar to his father... but younger, with more hair, with a cheeky smile. So the other two, they were... yes, he had only seen them like this one other time, in a photograph from their college days, but... they must have been his mother Maddie and Vlad Masters.

It was quite impressive, to see a statue of three people he knew so well as adults, but immortalized forever, frozen in time, as the version of them that had been real only years before.

«Why is there a statue of them in this place?» He asked Skulker «They are ghostbusters, why did you immortalize them here, in the Ghost Zone?».

Skulker looked up at the sculptural group, his gaze unreadable, machine-like. But his silence, which lasted a few moments too long, spoke for him.

«It's a celebration» He said «From the times of the ectoquake. We all risked dying... or losing all the information in our cores, due to altered magnetism» he touched his chest with his large gloved hand «We would have forgotten who we are, we would have become a bunch of babbling ectoplasms devouring each other to survive, unable to recognize ourselves. A fate worse than death».

Danny looked down, thinking. Only then did he notice an inscription on the pedestal holding the three statues.

“Madeline Walker | Vlad Masters | Jack Fenton

The ghost friends honor them, April the 3rd, 1983:

For the heroic saving of our lives"

«They… they never told me anything» Danny looked at the statue, then at Skulker, then back at the statue «Why?».

Skulker pulled his gun from the holster, a handkerchief from his back pocket, and began cleaning it. That gesture worried Danny, but the other ghost didn't seem to want to attack him.

«They never told you anything because they don't know anything» Skulker revealed, speaking in a low voice «They themselves asked for their memories to be erased»

«Why?» Danny shook his head «Vlad certainly wouldn't have thrown away the opportunity to be adored as someone's savior»

«You know nothing about Vlad» Skulker's voice was thick, sticky, full of menace. Danny realized that they had never talked about Vlad before: how had he and Skulker met? What did they think of each other?

«Vlad wouldn't let anyone, not even himself, see him as a hero» The ghost hunter continued, moving the cloth more rapidly on the butt of the gun, as if he was trying to remove a stain «That's not what he does. But on that distant day… he and your parents saved the lives of all of us. They saved the entire Ghost Zone ecosystem»

«My parents probably did all the work and he joined the group only to take the glory» Danny snorted

«You don't know anything» Skulker said slowly

«I know Vlad quite a bit»

«No. You are a fourteen years old boy who thinks he knows how things go, but he doesn't. I've known him for twenty years, and you for... how long? Less than a year? And most of the time you just argue like two children»

«The fact that he fights with a fourteen year old» Danny pointed to his chest «I think already says a lot about him»

«He's training you, brat. For my part, if I could I would have taken your head off a long time ago... but he saved you, remember?».

Danny blinked. Yes, the first time they had seen each other… he had been trapped in the cube, powerless, with only his head sticking out, like a trophy. And Skulker would have gladly used his new blade on him, if it hadn't been for Vlad, who had stopped him.

«He's only doing it because he wants to have me as his son» Danny muttered

«Doesn't sound like a bad reason to me» Skulker growled.

For a few moments, there was silence. Only the movement of the ectoplasm could be heard, like the riptide of the sea in a bay, there wasn’t even the sound of breathing.

«So...» Danny, who had no intention of arguing with Skulker, continued «What's this about the ectoquake?»

«It's something that... happens» explained the ghost hunter «Every now and then. It's not exactly cyclical, but almost. And anyway, you can predict it, but you can't stop it. An ectoquake is the most terrible circumstance the community can experience: it not only destroys the lairs, but also the physical forms of the ghosts and their memories. It is a magnetic storm of such magnitude that it destroys everything it touches, rearranges it and turns it into something different. Every time an ectoquake occurs, thousands of species disappear forever and those who survive become mindless cannibals. It takes years for species to re-evolve and for ghosts to regain a minimum of reasoning»

«Wow. It really sucks...»

«Indeed. Usually very few ghosts survive: those who have access to a portal and can escape into the material world, for example. You get out of here» Skulker pointed up, as if there was a ceiling (which wasn't there) «The ectoquake can't get you. But the problem is that ectoquakes can also be predicted by humans»

«And so?»

«And so the ghost slayers remain stationed outside any natural portal, trying to kill every ghost that is escaping. It's a sealed fate»

«The ghost slayers?» Danny wrinkled his nose «I've never heard of them...»

«You're used to seeing those ridiculous ghostbusters... the Guys in White, those bad copies of Mystery Incorporated, your parents... but there are real monster hunters out there, with real weapons capable of blowing your head off. They don't go hunting for flying kids, they want to collect large quantities of ectoplasm at once, and to do so they predict ectoquakes and capture and kill those who escape»

«Terrifying».

Even though he was in his ghost form at the moment, Danny still felt goosebumps. Perhaps his ectoplasmic body simply remembered the reactions of his flesh body, or perhaps the idea disgusted him enough to change the surface composition of his ghost.

«At that time I was… little. Small. In the physical sense of the term» Skulker seemed a little embarrassed at this revelation, but he didn't stop recounting «I didn't have the armor yet, I was a small and defenseless body, and I managed to get out early, without the ghost slayers noticing. The ectoquake was a month away. But I was captured by them» he pointed to the three statues «They were in college and still studying, they weren't dangerous. Maddie and Jack wanted to dissect me, study me and then kill me» Skulker's voice softened «Vlad begged them not to do it. He saved my life»

«I can't imagine it»

«Too bad for you, kid. Too bad that you can't imagine that your parents, exactly as they do today, try to destroy the ghosts, while Vlad, exactly as he does today, helps me»

«Touché»

«I told them about the ectoquake. And they did something incredible: they built a portal for the first time. Not that little thing that would later destroy Vlad's life: a real portal, bigger than all the others. Huge, inside an abandoned building. Six meters in diameter, so that ghosts of any size could fit through. No ghost slayer expected us to escape from there, because they didn't know that portal existed. And then they invented something else, the Fenton thermos, a device capable of capturing ghosts, with which I was able to collect and transport the slowest or weakest ghosts, or those who were too afraid, into the material world» Skulker frowned «When the ectoquake came, the damage to the Ghost Zone was incalculable, but… but we didn't have to start from scratch. There had been many casualties, but many of the plants and animals were safe, my friends and I were still sane, we were fine. We had spent all the necessary time inside the abandoned building. Some inside the thermos, others free… we were all alive. Thanks to them: Madeline, Jack, Vlad»

«I… I didn't know. Why didn't I know?»

«I’m telling you, they don't remember anything»

«Why?»

«They knew ghost slayers were dangerous, boy. They knew they might have let some information slip: how to build the portals, where the escape route they'd created for us was. They decided together that they would forget it. There is one of us who can make wishes come true...»

«Desiree»

«Yes, exactly, Desiree. To protect us all, they wanted to forget what happened»

«Couldn't you just wish the ghost slayers would stop hunting you? Or that ectoquakes didn't exist?»

«You have a skull as thick as a bison's» Skulker placed his index finger on Danny's forehead «Do you really think ghost slayers are stupid? They are protected by amulets, ghost powers do not work on them. As for ectoquakes, they cannot be avoided in any way, they are an integral part of the Ghost Zone!»

«Well, yeah, I didn't know» Danny's cheeks turned a light shade of green.

Skulker withdrew his hand and approached the sculptural group, placing his hands on the pedestal. «Their heroism, their intelligence, their sacrifice… we will never forget them. They have already forgotten them» He sighed «It's a real shame that Madeline and Jack betrayed him and abandoned him like this. He didn't deserve it. Together they could have conquered the world, obtained everthing, but instead...»

«They didn't betray and abandon him!» Danny exclaimed

«You weren't there, ghost boy. How would you know?» Skulker looked at him over his shoulder, a single green eye visible, luminescent like a light bulb «You should listen to the story as told by others too. And maybe even your stupid parents would be ready to admit what they did to him. You weren't there, but I was. And I don't wish for anyone to see what I saw».

Danny looked up at the statue, feeling a myriad of emotions boiling inside him. An invisible hand squeezed his stomach. He didn't know about this, about how they had become heroes of the Ghost Zone… what was there that he still didn't know about them?

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

(I will definitely expand this thing later... for now, you got the idea XD).

Aaand here there is the golden version (of course there are gold statues of the saviors, somewhere!):

[Oh, and a lot more of our Danny Phantom fanarts: Here’s our tag!]

★ Instagram|Facebook|FurAffinity|Deviantart|Commission prices|★

[sparkrls]

Bonus: The Brits

MASTERLIST

Summary: Bonus content from my series Keep Driving, available on Wattpad

Author’s Note: If you enjoyed this, feel free to check out the full series. PS, contains small spoilers for the series

•••

11 February, 2023.

London, UK.

"ALL BECAUSE I LIKED A BOY!" Alliah belted, the highest note she had ever sang in her life. And then softly and gently, letting emotion leak through her voice, "All because I liked..." Her words were barely a whisper, "a boy."

She searched through the crowd, finding Harry's face, and those familiar green eyes. He was wide-eyed and blushing when she pointed at him.

Alliah bit her lip, trying to hide her smile at his reaction, and instead focused on the screams and cheers from the crowd. The applause lingered in her mind like smoke, and she stood taller as she found herself pleased by how loud the crowd was.

This was one of the most elaborate performances she had ever done, wearing a glamorous red dress that was draped in dangerous and elegant ways, with backup dancers and sparklers. The whole performance was supposed to be similar to the upcoming music video, set in a circus.

And sure enough, it did look like a circus on stage but in the most glamorous way possible.

She'd designed it all to be a metaphor, of the way her life was treated as if it were designed to be a circus, all her flaws and creases pointed at for entertainment. She would jump through hoops, walk tightropes and play with fire, just for the applause of other people.

Alliah had to admit she was proud of herself for coming up with the whole concept.

The lights shut off, the cameras turning to look at the crowd, and Alliah made her way off the stage as they quickly prepped it for the next award and the next performance.

She went backstage, where Harry was waiting for her, still dressed in the outift he'd used for the performance, red and black pants and an open jacket. No shirt.

His torso was like a sculpture of marble, embedded with black ink in lines and curves of beauty. Alliah could spent forever tracing her hands over his body, memorizing every little detail.

Alliah grabbed the skirt of her dress that was dragging on the floor, and ran up to Harry, hugging him tightly.

All she wanted was to celebrate this moment with Harry, bathe in the happiness of this day with him, the one person who truly mattered to her.

As soon as she backed away, she exclaimed, "Oh my God that was so cool! Holy fuck, I've never felt so confident. And did you see that little move I did with my hips? Did it look good? It felt good."

"You were incredible!" Harry agreed, kissing her full on the lips as she smiled into the kiss. "You looked beautiful and I loved the concept- you have an amazing mind, Mendoza."

Alliah grinned at the ground, blushing at his compliments even after being on the receiving end of them for years now. He always knew the right thing to say.

"I loved your performance, though," Alliah added, placing an arm around his waist as he placed one on her shoulder. She raised her hand to intertwine her fingers with the hand around her shoulder as she rambled, "You looked so happy and comfortable. Not like you were performing to a bunch of strangers, but the way you look when you're with fans."

Harry nodded, smiling softly as he gazed at her. "I just love being home."

"I get it," Alliah agreed, knowing how the location made all the difference. It's why she had been so comfortable at the Grammys and why Harry was so comfortable at the BRITs. "It really does make a huge difference, a little thing like geography."

"It does!" Harry agreed as they made their way into their dressing room and were helped out of their outfits and back into their 'normal' ones.

Once they were in their usual glamorous award show outfits, Harry hugged her around the waist, burying his face in the crook of her neck. "But I'm always home when I'm with you."

Alliah's fingers found their way into his hair, holding him close while still being careful to preserve the shape of his curls. She kissed the side of his head. "I love you."

"I love you too."

liked by harrystyles and others

alliahmendoza that's my boy 🫶

view all comments

harrystyles thank you, love xx

-> username WTFFFF OMGGGG

-> username they're such couple goals 😭

miraduncan congrats hazzy!!!

-> username the fact that alliah's friends are so close to harry that they have nicknames for him 😭

username her first post about the BRITs wasn't even about her performance, it was about her boyfriend <3

-> username *her fiancée

username alliah is proud of her boy and we love to see it 🫶🫶🫶

username thank you alliah for the backstage pic of harry!!! this is why we love you

username the character development from being afraid to go on stage because of backlash from harries to unashamedly posting how proud she is of harry... i love alliah sm 😭🫶

[liked by alliahmendoza]

liked by alliahmendoza and others

harrystyles my girl xx

view all comments

alliahmendoza omg i slayed in that last picture

-> harrystyles you 4+4

jefezoff proud of you two ❤️

username i like to think that alliah is the one teaching harry all the internet slang

-> username oh she is. there's no way harry would've known what '4+4' meant without her

username WHAT THE FUCK. DID HARRY JUST POST HIS PERSONAL LIFE ON SOCIAL MEDIA FOR THE FIRST TIME???

username this is the first time harry posts a girlfriend on his socials

-> username screaming crying throwing up, he really loves her

username neither of them posted about themselves at the BRITs, just about each other 😭

username AAA THE BTS PIC OF ALLIAH I LOVE

-> username imagine all the unseens in their camera rolls

-> username if their camera rolls were leaked, it'd be the end of both fandoms

username oh our man is down BAD

-> harrystyles no regrets

   -> username LMAO ILYSM HARRY

[cuntyko]

alll righty on to the met gala looks that did the job... and did it correctly in no particular order ofc cause I don't have time to do rankings or anything... plus I would add zendayas look but I feel like everyone has seen both of them everywhere but yea she did the damn thing.

Taylor russell for Loewe

this is like renaissance art... Loewe? more like Louvre. like absolutely sickening

Erykah Badu for Comme Des Garçons

duh... ok at first I didn't like it with the theme.. but then I thought about it and like sure its not giving fairytale princess but that's not Badu so her wearing something from rei a more avant grade designer is like her way of fitting with the theme so I appreciate that... plus I really like the look

Teyana Taylor for The Blonds

YES! YES! YES!!! like her cavaliers benchwarmer ex husband had to admit she looked drop dead gorgoussss no other words. im not familiar designer but it doesn't matter in fact kudos to her that's dope.

Chloe sevigny for Dilara Findikoglu

she ate the theme down that's all I gotta say... this is what I expected to see more of like STANDARD

Sienna miller for Chloe

I love this I feel like it gives woodland fairy it totally encompasses her boho vibe its not that out there which is why I kinda struggled to where I liked it for like any red carpet atmosphere or if it actually fit the theme but again I do feel like its true to Sienna miller's style so ill give it to her.

precious lee for Bad Binch TongTong

again not familiar with this designer but come on do you see those wings the crystal details WOW just wow

Mona Patel for Iris van Herpan

gagged... fav look of the night period... idc idc and the arm pieces moved... STOP just stop

Dove Cameron for Diesel

yes... I saw how she her and her team came to putting this look together on vogue and I just loved how she described it I couldn't have said it better so im not gonna try. but this is again one of those looks where I was like yes read the invite and followed it to a T

Harris Reed for Harris Reed

again renaissance art... sculptural gorgeous both of these looks by Harris reed actually

Demi Moore for Cartier and Harris Reed

giving queen of hearts... yes I love the silhouette

Queen Latifah and Eboni Nichols for Thom Browne

I really don't have much to say about this one I just rlly like it its just soooooo Queen Latifah so yesss auntie you betta work

Eliza Gonzalez rivera for Del Core and Cartier

this dress literally looks like a flower petal and its just sooooo pretty.. I couldn't not say anything

Amelia Gray for Undercover and Messika

I really really like this look... I like how out there it is ... I think its like wicked step sister in a Tim Burton movie I think its really cute idk

Laufey for Atelier Prabal Gurung

pretty sure the theme was like sleeping beauty something something and this dress is deadass giving aurora slay....

Ivy Getty for Conner Ives

in love with this look and I don't have much to say besides that... miss girl nailed it

Jodie Turner-Smith for Burberry and Chopard

absolutely gorgeous and I love the all white with the dark eye makeup and dark blue accents absolutely stunning

Nicki Minaj for Marni

this is so onika and I love it she's like the kitchy fairy godmother like this is how I imagine her in the beginning of my beautiful dark twisted fantasy

Barry Keoghan for Burberry

ok victorian slayyyy and I love the brown velvet and the silver details yess.

Jessica Biel for Ralph and Cartier

again... aurora slay its really about the color and the hair with this look for me... do I digggg the feathers? no but idk it works for the theme

Lana Del Rey for Alexander McQueen

YESSSSSS motherrrrr y'all should know by now I loveee me some Alexander McQueen baby and the lil rose touch... yes a lot of people where just throwing flowers on their looks just to "be on theme" but you can tell this is intentional it works here and she deadass is giving woodland storybook princess

lil nas x for Luar

I really like this look and the draping and the silhouette I think it looks very posh like a wedding cake topper... honestly one of my favorite looks from him... ever

Nelly korda for Oscar del la Renta

at first I thought maybe this dress was too busy and it made it look like a grandma dress HOWEVER I do kinda like how cooky and kitchy this looks maybe I would put the hair up but other than that I kinda diggg this look

Elle Fanning for Balmain and Cartier

Gorgeous regal wow and the shoulders they look like birds pulling cinderella dress up as she was getting ready or whatever... and I love how theres no necklace cause it totally wouldve distracted from this beautiful dress.

Aurora James for Ana Khouri

I diggg the drapery like Taylor Russell and the wood bodice and the wooden jewelry such a nice touch but this definitely is giving renaissance art

[irish-dress-history]

Identifying J.C. Walker's Illustrations

An Historical Essay on the Dress of the Ancient and Modern Irish by Joseph Cooper Walker published in 1788 was the first major work published on Irish dress history. Due to a combination of the limited information known at the time, and his erroneous assumption that Irish dress didn't change for the entirety of the Middle ages, Walker got a lot of things wrong, so his writing isn't cited much anymore. Some of his illustrations, however, are still used.

Because Walker lived before the invention of photography, he used drawings of historical Irish art created by colleagues and family to illustrate his book. I decided to track down the original works of art to see how Walker's drawings compared. I am resorting these into roughly chronological order, because Walker's lack of regard for chronology makes my head hurt.

The High Crosses, 9-10th centuries:

Ireland's high crosses have unfortunately lost a lot of their detail due to erosion, making these hard to identify. Sadly, the breeches with a fitted knee-band and the skirt gathered to a waistband look more Late Medieval or Early Modern than they do Early Medieval, so I don't think these are reliable depictions of the lost detail.

Plate 1: Figure 1 (right) is supposed to be from the Clonmacnoise Cross of Scripture. At a guess, it's based off the guard on the right arresting Jesus:

Figures 2 and 3 are based off a high cross fragment at Old Kilcullen, County Kildare. Unfortunately, I don't think the original carving survived. I initially blamed its loss on the United Irishmen, but this drawing from 1889 convinced me that acid rain was the real culprit.

Plate 5 Figure 1 is supposed to be a king from Muiredach's cross. The closest image I could find on the actual cross is Cain killing Able:

Ironically, Cain and Able have more embellishment on their clothes than the "king" based off of them.

12th century:

Plate 1 Figure 5 is from the capital of an arch at St. Saviour's Priory in Glendalough, County Wicklow. The drawing gives the impression that the sides of the head were shaved and the hair was deliberately curled at the end. In the actual carving, the hair is slicked back at the sides and interlaced with adjacent design elements. These are stylistic elements of Irish Romanesque art and not intended to be a realistic depiction of an Irish hairstyle.

13th century:

Plate 4 is the late 13th century effigy of Felim O'Connor, Dominican Priory of St. Mary, Roscommon with a frontal of gallowglasses added in the 15th c.

This drawing is pretty accurate, although the gallowglasses are lacking some details like their quilted cloth gambesons.

photos by Edwin Rae

I cannot find a good photo of Felim O'Connor's effigy, but Conor O'Brien's contemporary effigy at Corcomroe Abbey, County Clare wears the same style of clothing.

13-14th century?

Plate 6 is based on a sculpture from Athassel Priory in County Tipperary. I can't find a solid date for this one. Athassel Priory was built c1200 and then burnt and rebuilt twice before it was dissolved in 1541. The clothing style of the carving makes me think it's from the earlier part of this time frame.

The biggest thing the drawing gets wrong is the gender. This is a man, not a woman. The "necklace pendent" on his chest might have actually been a brooch holding his cloak, but the sculpture is now too damaged to tell. The drape of fabric at his side, which Walker calls a train, is actually the edge of his cloak. The drawing also leaves out the way his become more fitted below the elbow.

15th century:

Plate 3 Figures 1-3 are based off a painting at Knockmoy Abbey.

I'm pretty sure those are houppelandes on the left and center figures. This continental fashion influence shows up elsewhere in 15th c. Ireland (Dunlevy 1989). The drawing omits the massive houppelande sleeves and shortens their hems.

The painting is now badly weather and difficult to see. This is a more accurate drawing published in 1904. Recent photograph here

Plate 5 figure 2 and plate 1 figure 6 come from a 15th c. grave at the Dominican Friary, in Strade, County Mayo.

Figure 2 is a decent representation, although it adds a center front slit to the leine which I don't think is actually there. Figure 6 gets the silhouette of the cotehardie a bit wrong and omits the hanging belt accessories, but its greatest crime is that it makes the top of the hood look like a separate object. Walker actually misidenifies it as a Scotch bonnet.

photo again by Edwin Rae

Plate 7 is Anne Plunket's effigy at St. Mary's Church, Howth, County Dublin. This drawing is decent, though the sleeves are a bit too slim. The cross necklace and belt decorations are no longer visible on the effigy.

photos by MVP Edwin Rae

Plate 8 figures 1 and 2 are both based on a late 15th c. tomb at the New Abbey in Kilcullen, County Kildare. Figure 1 is based off a carving which is probably depicting St. Brigid, which makes her headwear the wimple of an abbess, not a laywoman's kerchief Walker. The drawing, however, omits her telltale crozier. The drawing makes it look like she has cuffed sleeves, but that is actually just the folds of her brat draped over her arm. It also shows her as wearing 2 layers of skirts when she is actually wearing a single lower garment with a hem circumference so large that it puddles at her feet.

Figure 2 is based of Margaret Janico's effigy. The effigy is now too badly eroded to make out details, but it originally probably looked very similar to Margaret Janico's other effigy in St. Audoen's Church, Dublin. Unlike Anne Plunket's effigy above, the necklace and belt decorations are still faintly visible on the Dublin effigy. Figure 2 distorts the construction of the gown and headwear. This drawing makes the bodice of the gown look heavily stiffened or even boned like 17th c. stays. The houppelande on the effigy does not have stiffening in it.

effigy of Margaret Janico and husband at St. Audoen's Church, Dublin (photos, once again, by my man Edwin)

The headpiece in the drawing looks like a linen kerchief wound up to form a turban with a decorated fillet tied over it. The headpiece on the effigy is probably actually a truncated hennin with a veil pinned to it like the one in this mid-15th c Burgundian painting by Petrus Christus.

16th century:

Plate 9 is based on Katherine Molloy's early 16th c. effigy at Fertagh Church, in County Kilkenny. According to the artist's notes it was in "nearly perfect" condition at the time. I wish he had put more detail into the drawing.

(photo also by Edwin Rae)

17th century:

Plate 10 is based on The Taking of the Earl of Ormond in anno 1600. Walker's artist clearly fabricated some detail here, falsely giving the impression that triús were ankle-length. We know from extant examples from Kilcommon, Dungiven, and Killery that triús actually extended past the ankle, covering part of the wearer's foot (Dunlevy 1989, Henshall et al 1961).

Plate 11 was taken from the tomb of Sir Gerald Aylmer (died 1634) and Juliana Nugent. Sadly, it appears to have been destroyed in the early 19th c, so I have no further pictures of it. The clothing looks to me like typical 1630s English fashion with loose gowns over doublets, falling bands, and linen cuffs.

? Century

Plate 1 figure 4 is apparently from Old Kilcullen, County Kildare. I am not sure what this is based on. I haven't seen any Santa hats at Old Kilcullen. Or anywhere else in Medieval Ireland.

Bibliography:

Dunlevy, Mairead (1989). Dress in Ireland. B. T. Batsford LTD, London. 

Henshall, Audrey, Seaby, Wilfred A., Lucas, A. T., Smith, A. G., and Connor, A. (1961). The Dungiven Costume. Ulster Journal of Archaeology, 24/25, 119-142. https://www.jstor.org/stable/20627382

Edwin Rae's invaluable collection of photographs of Late Medieval Irish art accessed via TARA.

[vibratingskull]

Exhibit emotions

Part1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15

Tags : showcase, gallery, argument, fluff, angst

FemaleReaderxThrawn

You go on your date with Thrawn at the gallery, but the evening won’t go as planned

It’s just a date with a friend, you tell yourself, it’s just a friend.

But you can’t help but feel nervous. You brush your hair with care and arrange it in an elegant manner. You pepper some makeup on your face, a bit of this, a dash of that… Then you pass the next 30 minutes hesitating between a corseted dress and one with a slit. Why do I care so much? He won’t care, you scold yourself, I should put in this care for Arzel, not Thrawn!

But the butterflies in your stomach tell you otherwise.

You opt for the black slitted one and take some heels with that. Feeling bold, you chose some stockings that accentuate the length and the curve of your legs. You vaporize your favorite perfume and check yourself in the mirror. A shame Arzel didn’t get to see you first in this beautiful dress, he chose it for you. Feeling cute and on fire you wink at yourself, grab your vest and head toward your door. The evening promised to be good.

You sat down in the navette, feeling a bit overdressed for the public transport. You take out your comlink and send a confirmation text to Thrawn. He responds shortly.

“I am waiting for you”

You stare at the text. He’s waiting for me… You repeat in your head. You feel your heart palpitate at those words and your face heating up. You shake your head. No! Don’t be ridiculous. You take a deep breath and feel yourself calming down, you smile, relaxed and peaceful as someone who will visit a simple friend.

The gallery is in one posh quarter but in one of its little alleyways, consequently you lose your way. Great! The evening when you wear heels you have to run everywhere. You finally notice the sign on the wall, and underneath, leaning against the wall, Thrawn. Dressed in a white turtleneck with a black vest, he wears purple straight pants with black shoes, really different from your usual green uniform. In fact it’s the first time you see him in any other clothes than his uniform, outside the time you saw him…naked. Your cheeks burn at the memory of your younger self spying immodestly on an innocent man. What a shame! You approach and apologize profusely.

"Sorry, I lost my way!" 

He shakes his head. 

"It is alright. You are beautiful tonight, those colors suit your complexion very well."

You smile blissfully. Finally someone who appreciates your efforts! Nather stopped complimenting you despite the fact being the one pushing you to do make up. 

"Thank you. I have had numerous occasions to practice since the academy."

A mischievous grin comes lightning his face 

"Indeed. I remember your skills weren’t as sharp back then."

You nudge him. 

“You are mean, sir.”

His grin doesn’t depart as he gestures to the door of the gallery.

“Shall we go?” 

You reajust your purse on your shoulder and take the lead. Your stiletto heels clac on the ground, rhythming your walk. He comes to place himself next to you and you get a whiff of his cologne. You smile at him and enter the building arm in arm. The gallery is more massive than what it first appeared, you could actually lose someone in there. He picks up a leaflet and you start the visit. 

“What did you say your friend does?” Thrawn asks

“He does paint and sculpture.” You respond, leafing through the prospectus to find his part. “He has been grouped with other little creators at the end of the visits.”

You walk through a multitude of rooms, observing and detailing each piece. You see countless of different oeuvres, paintings, sculptures, scenographies, mini holos, live representations, even a piece consisting of only odors.Your heels start hurting you. You walk among the oeuvres looking at Thrawn, despite his collected appearance and stern demeanor his eyes sparkles like a child during Nüg. He walks to each and every piece with his hands clasped in his back and serves you a thesis on each species, detailing every subtleties of each piece in lavish details and interminable sentences.You don’t mind. You listen with great pleasure to his unstoppable flow of words, you encourage it by asking questions and laugh at his flashes of wit. 

"What can you tell me about this tea set ?" 

"Inspect the angles and the curves. We can deduce this species acquired the prehensile digits only recently in their history…"

"What about those terra cottas?" 

"They most probably see in black and white, if you see those veins running…"

The conversation pursues, jumping from subject to subject, flowing like a river. You let him expose you to his knowledge and what you assume is crazy theories on his part. You smile brightly, feeling light in this moment.

You decide to take a break at the refreshment area, different exotic dishes are available, you nibble at different ones, tasting a bit of all of them. You take a glass of liqueur and drink it in one gulp, it burns your tongue and all your throat down your stomach. Thrawn commands a fizzy drink and watches you knock your glass back with wide eyes. You let out a satisfied gasp as you put the glass down the bar and click your tongue, it shakes you and wakes you up deliciously. He sips his drinks through a straw observing the room, you do the same and recognize three people from the church. You decide to go and say hi.

“Hey! Are you here for Vez too?” You ask with a smile.

“Indeed. We heard he would showcase here. We started by his work.”

“Did you see him? I would like to salute him.”

“No. He’s not here tonight.”

You pout.

“In fact, it’s been a while since I saw him.” One of them notes.

“Bah… Artists. He’s surely buried inside his studio…”

You wave them goodbye and get back to Thrawn that took care to stay away. 

"Church friends?" He asks 

"Yes! How do you know?" You demand, surprised. 

He raises an eyebrow, without answering, sipping on his straw. You gulp down another glass and take a third for the rest of the showcase. You continue the trail, arriving on a large room with people on turning stages, replicating great moments of the Empire and some of the former decadent republic. The mass of people is considerably higher in this room and you have difficulty reaching the different stages, squeezing yourself between the different bodies. You manage to reach the first one and observe the scene showing the glorious ascension of the Emperor to power. The stage turns slowly, leaving you times to appreciate the details of the reconstitution, of the costumes…

"Ascension speech of the Emperor to the Senate." Says Thrawn reading out loud the sign.

You go for a second one but you're met with a wall of people, and Thrawn walks faster than you. It only takes you a gaze away from him and you lose him in the sea of people. You look around frantically but don't see him. You're being pushed around by the masses and navigate your way with difficulty, you hold your breath and try to walk past the tsunami of bodies but succeed with little result. You're being pressed and squeezed, and actually blocked. 

Suddenly, a hand grasps yours and pulls you out. You release your breath as you're not contrived by the others. Thrawn reception you and held close, squeezing your hand. 

"Let's not lose each other, lieutenant commander (y/l/n)." He tells you, eye in eye. He uses your title in a professional manner, but doesn't let go of your hand. 

You nod, feeling the fire on your cheeks, but trying your best to remain dignified. He leads the way out of the room, to a more breathable area. Your conscience chastises you again, commanding you to release his hand, but your heart cries to let it appreciate this moment. You remember the kiss and decide you had the right to hold the hand of your friend, you squeeze him and he tightens his grip. You take the time to check your shoes, they were hurting you badly now. But you don’t say a thing in front of Thrawn, not to appear as a whiny child.

You finally arrive at the small creator section! You immediately search for Vez art pieces, you remember some of them when they were still draft. You realize none of his paintings made the cut and only his sculptures were there. Without warning, you pull Thrawn towards them, he follows you willingly picking up the pace to stay at your side. You're not sure but you think you hear chuckle, but you can't be certain. You point to the sculptures of Vez with a large gesture of the hand and a large smile on your face, proud to show your friend's work to Thrawn. He details each and every one with an expert eye, his hand on his chin, not letting you go. 

"So, what can you tell me about it?” You ask.

He takes a minute to observe the figure in front of him, looming over it. You look at him looking at the statue, with a bright smile and the slightest pinch of impatience, ready to know what he could determine about your friend’s art. He straightens his back with a deep murmur of concentration, his hand still on his chin.

“Your friend is a male Twi’lek…”

You look at him with wide eyes.

“Well yes! Exactly!” You applaud him.

He side eyes you with a slight grin, proud of himself for entertaining you.

“And… He’s younger than you by a few years.”

“I’m impressed! How do you see all that? Could you teach me one day?”

This time he smiles frankly, but shakes his head.

“I am afraid it will be out of the field of my capacities. This is not something I can explain clearly with words, but something I… know. By instinct. I can teach you art history instead, it would be a great start.”

You act as if you think about it for a second.

“I would love to! It would be an occasion to see each other more, I’ve lost contact with so many people, I should call them back.” Unconsciously you press yourself against him, so happy at the prospect to connect again with your former friends.

You giggle like a blissful woman, in her world. He doesn’t reject you, nor did he invite things to go further. He just keeps his face straight and stern as usual but keeps your hand in his embrace.

You reopen your eyes and see your friends of the church looking at you and whispering to each other. They know Nather. You gulp and immediately move away from Thrawn, letting go of his hands and keeping a modest distance between you. He doesn’t try to hold you back and release your hand. You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear in embarrassment, you just spoiled the mood. You moisturize your lips and go to the next sculpture.

“And what about this one?” You ask with a voice too high pitched to be relaxed.

“Well this one…” His voice dies. 

You look at him surprised, but can’t decipher his severe expression. He keeps his icy gaze on the statue.

“He sculpted it after he came to the church.” It is not a question.

You look back at the statue, wondering what he could see in it. It is a marble of two torsos embracing each other, their necks elongated to form a single, perfect sphere. One of the two torsos is damaged but still provides for the sphere. It looks beautiful to you, to give yourself fully at the service of Beauty. You gaze back at him to see him frowning, his lips forming a single line.

“Let us get out.” That is not a proposition.

With long strides he walks toward the exit without waiting for you. 

“What? Wait!”

You run after him the best you can with those damn heels. They’re tearing your skin apart, and you’re sure you're bleeding by now. Your legs give way beneath you and you collapse on the floor with a sounding thud. You take off your shoes. One of the heels broke off. Indeed you are bleeding, and not just a little. You hiss at the burning sensation, searching in your bag if you had any bandages.

“Are you okay?” You hear Thrawn’s voice.

He came back for you.

“Oh, it’s just… It’s so stupid. My shoes are new and now I’m bleeding. But it’s okay.” You reassure immediately, embarrassed to be seen in such a silly situation. 

He takes your foot and examines it, massaging it a bit. You let him do, praying for your dress to not unveil your undergarment, you’re ashamed enough as it is. Without warning he takes your shoes and scoops you up. In shock, you don’t protest, letting yourself be carried like a bride. He walks straight, with long strides, unbothered by your weight. You slowly look up to him.

“You know… I can walk…” You suggest.

“Hold onto me.” It is not a suggestion.

You wrap your arms around his neck without discussing the order. It presses you even more against him and you get to breathe his Cologne once more, you deeply inhale it. The fire on your cheeks comes back, it smells delicious. And as close as you are you can also smell his musk. It wakes you up down here. You shift a bit, uncomfortable with the newborn fire between your legs. You have to fight your inner demons to not kiss him on the cheek. You take advantage of your position to look at him close. 

"What might you be looking at ?" He asks, his gaze straight ahead. 

"A real piece of art…" You respond lovingly. 

He snorts.

"My, these drinks are potent." 

"You know? The last time we were this close, we were in the same bed…" You start rambling. 

"Indeed."

"We should do that again… It was nice…" 

"Perhaps. Your fiance might not approve." 

"He would. Because we will do it as friends. Because… That's what we are. Friends. Just friends.. The best of friends… " 

"My friend, I think you are drunk." 

"No… Maybe. But just a little…" You put your head on his shoulder, breathing deeply, appeased. 

Indeed you're drunk. The alcohol slowly took effect, spreading into your organism, bringing its usual cocktail of warmth and bliss. Thrawn is also warm and you appreciate it by snuggling against him, heating you up in the fresh evening despite your little dress.

 You realize only now that you could have taken the bus. But you feel so good in his arms. No need to tell him, you're almost home anyway. 

The walk back is peaceful, people move away at your passage, young girls giggle looking at you… You hope it doesn't embarrass him too much. He remains stern and cool through and through, looking unbothered. 

You finally arrive at your complex, he gently puts you down on the cold pavement. 

"Thank you." You murmur. "Do you wanna take a last drink at my place?" 

He just looks up at your window, silent for a moment.

"I appreciate the offer, lieutenant commander (y/l/n). But I am not welcomed here. Have a good night."

He bows his head to you and walks away before you could say anything. You just look at him disappear in the fog of the night before a gust of wind comes to freeze you in place, your little dress is not designed to keep you warm. You run inside your building to your apartment, leaving a thin trail of blood on your way. Once inside your apartment you lean against the door with a sigh. Every good thing has an end, tonight is the end of the dream. 

You walk to your living room, pesting after the blood you leave. A lamp goes on behind your back and you jump when a well known voice echoes. 

"Did you have fun with him?" 

"Oh dear maker, Arzel! You scared me!" You try to play it off, but his expression clearly indicates he's not amused. "What do you mean ?" 

"Your friend, you had fun with him?" He detaches each word with a cold tone. 

“Well… Yeah! We went to Vez showcase, pretty great even if we didn’t get to see him.”

“Great.”

Okay, you know this attitude.

“What?”

“I just don’t understand why you feel the need to associate with him.”

“He’s my friend.”

“That’s the problem.”

“What?! Aren’t you happy for me? You who used to worry about my loneliness, you should be relieved that I socialize with other people.”

“Oh but I’m happy… When it’s with the proper people.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing.

“How can you say that?! What is “improper” about him?”

“I got to talk to him a few times.” For some reason, hearing that ties your stomach in knots. Arzel talked to Thrawn behind your back?  “And one thing is clear with him, he isn’t interested in partnering with us.”  

“So what? He isn’t of the spiritual type, he doesn’t need to associate with the church. What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong with that?! I’m sorry, I didn’t know that the equality of all the species was something to compromise with!” 

“That is not what I meant..” You try to defend yourself.

“Oh I hope so, because this is not something I’m willing to trade off!” He retorts. “Not even for a relationship! If you are willing to sell short all our values for a single friendship we will run into a problem, you and I.” 

You’re taken aback by what you hear, he isn’t suggesting…

“Wait, Nather… Let’s not precipitate things…”

“On the contrary, Roween, I think it is important we have this discussion. I’m a man of principles and I am not willing to trade them, even for you. I thought you would be the same, but I was obviously wrong.” He pokes at you. “We might need to reconsider us as a whole, and I will be force to take back what’s mine, starting by this apartment-”

“This is my apartment!” 

“I’m paying for it!” He retorts 

You’re so mad you can’t say a thing. You cross your arms, breathing through your nose trying to calm down and gather your thoughts, feeling lost. Arzel looks at you silently and sighs.

“Look at us, look at what he did to us… Some years ago you wouldn’t have budgeted off our principles for nothing, and now you go mingle with people who profit from this unjust system. I’m just worried, Roween. Six years ago we promised each other to change the empire for the best and tonight you sneaked out to party with them… Just tell me you won’t see him again, and you’ll come back on the right path with us… With me.” He slides his fingers under your chin.

You shake your head away.

“He’s my superior, it’s not like I can do anything about him.” And you’re his landlord, but you let that detail out.

He snarls.

“Fine! As you please!” He takes his coat. “I’ll leave you alone to freshen up your mind. And don’t bother contacting anyone from the church, I can assure you that, contrary to you, none of us want to affiliate with a deserter.” And like that, go.

You run after him in the staircase.

“Arzel! Arzel!” He walks away without turning back “Nather!”

He stops… Then disappear without a word.

“NATHER!”

But he’s already far away. You run back to your apartment, throw your bag in a fit of rage and collapse in your bed in tears.

[tev-the-random]

Deteriorated

Sausage stared at the statue in awe.

It always amazed him, the goddess that guarded these catacombs. Not in a artistic way, though her opulence by itself impressed the builder side of him. Instead, he looked at her with warmth.

Don't get him wrong, Sausage firmly believed that this "Angel of Death", as Pix called her, could slay dragons if she wasn't literally set in stone. But instead of fear or reverence, he felt a strange sense of comfort whenever he looked at her.

And a pinch of sorrow.

Trying to remind himself that he didn't come here for sightseeing, Sausage managed to tear his eyes away from the ancient sculpture to look for Pix. More often than not the archaeologist would be in his campsite doing research, analysing crumbling books, unreadable documents and rocks that honestly all looked the same. But he did have a tendency to wander about the ruins, always looking for something new - or rather, something old.

Not feeling like getting lost in the underground labyrinth that were the catacombs, Sausage opted for searching the nearby structures. He called for Pixl, looked inside the occasional hole and overall had this eerie feeling in his gut that made him look over his shoulder a few times.

Nature mourned here. This abandoned land once housed the several people that now rested underneath that statue. And although time had clearly left its scars, it almost felt like those souls should still be wandering here, longing to not be forgotten. They could jump at him any moment.

He should really stop taking Hermes' requests to read him ghost stories.

Sausage had the growing urge to leave and come back some other time, but despite the creepiness that covered the ruins around him, he was drawn to an old castle - or maybe it was a big church? - on the far end of the savanna. Pixl had marked its perimeter, which lead Sausage to believe he had already started studying it.

Though he could very easily go around the collapsed walls, he chose to open the door. It creaked, dry and loud and heavy, then fell to the ground with a dusty thud once the hinges gave up on it.

'Oh god- no one saw that, right?' He looked over his shoulders once more. 'If no one saw it then it wasn't my fault.'

Sausage regretted opening the door in the first place. But now that it's down, he might as well enter.

Sunbeams bathed the spacious room through the open ceiling. Greenery grew in the walls and the stone floors were covered in moss. Sausage could hear a series of chirps as birds made their nests in the peaceful ruins.

He thought about asking them if they had seen Pixl around, but no sooner he found himself hypnotised by something else.

On the far back wall, there was a mural. Sausage approached it, scrutinizing the small faded details like they held some secret. At first, it felt out of place ‐ like the pillars on the floor had been knocked down just to make it more visible, and the sun changed its position to emphasise its presence. But this odd feeling didn't come from any of that.

The mural pictured a woman standing solemnly in a sunflower field. Her brown hair sprinkled with blond streaks cascaded over her bare shoulders, pristine and braided with flowers. Her flowing green dress and cape were stitched with gold, and golden were her shoes and the jewellery she wore. A crown of gilded leaves sat atop her head, adorned by a large emerald front and centre.

On one hand, the woman cradled a sheaf of wheat. On the other, she held a delicately ornamented sword pointed at the sky.

Time had destroyed her features too much for anyone to tell what her expression said, though Sausage could definitely see a glint of blue eyes staring ahead.

Her wings framed her much too perfectly, and there was still enough of the chipped golden paint on the feathers for them to glitter in the sun.

It was quite the piece of art, he had to admit. And yet, Sausage couldn't help but feel that it looked... wrong.

The woman resembled, in a way, the statue of the goddess that so often caught his attention when he visited. Maybe it was the whiplash between sculpture and painting that had him weirded out.

But the more he stared at it, the more Sausage thought there was too much gold. Even though the paint hardly had any of its original shine anymore, it just felt like too much. How could one fight with such a crown? How could one feel the earth with such shoes? How could jewellery replace the armour that belonged to her?

Though Sausage wasn't one to disrespect past civilisations, it was almost laughable. He could imagine a voice commenting on how poorly held the sword was and how the thin cape would only get in the way and be torn to shreds in the end. He knew the delicate braids would come undone during the course of a sparring session, and that she that would never stand so straight and poised for so long.

He imagined a fierce warrior in need of adventure. A young soul who would sail viking territory by his side, defeat entire raids and challenge the most supernatural forces without a hint of fear. Someone who could throw a good punch and draw a good blade in the same breath.

He thought of a humble farmer in need of peace. A girl who would walk barefoot on her wheat fields and take in the warm sun like she was one of the sunflowers that crowned her. He had good memories of sunflowers. And so did she.

He saw a queen who didn't act like one in front of him. Who would behave like a deranged, chaotic creature when she lacked sleep. Who, when faced with a challenge, would become possessed by a determination that would inspire the mightiest Monster Slayers. Who wouldn't care about titles, who never thought of legacy and whose castle wasn't composed of tall towers and flying flags. Someone who was much more laidback than elegant, yet held more honour than most people.

He knew a Pearl who could grow a home in corrupted soil and connect to her land as easily as she breathed. Pearl, who never let go of his hand when he lost sight of himself. She would rather follow Sausage into the abyss than give up on him. And when nobody else looked him in the eyes, she smiled at him, concerned and kind and persistent.

Pearl didn't need all of this. She was never a Goddess or a Saint. Her land was simply golden because she cared for it. If there was something truly gilded about the Farmer Queen, it was her heart.

And he watched it all wither away with her.

'Hey hey hey, don't touch that!'

As if hooking him with a fishing rod, Pixlriffs pulled Sausage from his own thoughts and back into the ruins.

Sausage reached for the mural in what could be described as longing. He couldn't recall what exactly he was thinking about, and it rubbed him in all sorts of wrong ways. Pulling his hand back and to his chest, he took another look at the work of art.

It was just an old painting on a wall. Stationary. Symbolic. An imitation of a time long gone that didn't pertain to him at all.

So why was he holding back tears?

'Sorry, Sausage.' Pix walked over the collapsed walls and approached him. 'This is a very old piece and quite deteriorated as is. I'd like to avoid any further damage.'

The archaeologist joined his friend in staring at the wall.

'She seems to be depicted a lot around here. I'm still not sure if she was a religious figure or a ruler, or both.' He crossed his arms in contemplation. 'But whoever she was, she was very loved.'

There was no response.

'Anyway, I wasn't really expecting you today. Did you need anything?'

Sausage couldn't come up with an answer. If because he forgot what he came here for in the first place or because his voice failed him, it didn't matter. He clung to his chest, and it hurt. Like grief, like guilt, like longing. And then fear.

There was someone missing in his life. Someone important. He had no idea who or why, and it terrified him.

'Are you alright, Sausage?' Pix finally asked. The guardian of Sanctuary had paled considerably. He cleared his throat, however, finally looking away from the wall.

'Ah. Yeah, haha! I just... I just have a little bit of a headache right now.' Sausage took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. 'Just a little, tiny headache...'

The way he murmured his answer didn't give Pix any reassurance. He wasn't one to murmur. But before the archaeologist could voice his concern, Sausage was already turning around to leave.

'Sorry to disturb you, Pix! Imma come back when uh... when my headache's gone. Have fun with your history stuff, bye!'

And with that, Sausage was gone. Pixlriffs watched him fly away until he was just a dot in the distance, and only then did he sigh.

He would have to do some more research on the mysterious figure with golden wings. There seemed to be very little left about her, and he was almost certain she was only a myth.

But the look in Sausage's eyes was one he knew quite well. It was that of someone had just seen a ghost.

[genderkoolaid]

I'm also interested, like, super interested in the queer masculinity and queer femininity in butch femme dynamics! I want to know if you know about the difference between queer masculinity/femininity aside from the exaggeration aspect? Also do you have any tips on how to incorporate exaggerated femininity in daily lives while living with unsupportive parents? I really want to be exaggeratedly feminine but IDK how to do that because my mom often say that I shouldn't be too extravagant, too flamboyant, in my style, that I have to "dress appropriately to the occasion" and it's so tiring arguing with her that no, I don't have to be those things, so I think I want to take it slow and be queer in my femininity in subtle ways, you have any tips or idea? Maybe you can ask followers if you don't have any?

Going back to the "wearing a ballgown to McDonald's" example from that one post: the key here imo isn't just the hyper-femininity, but how out of place it is. Queer femininity is, at it's core, abnormal. Its weird (it doesnt fit in and it doesnt WANT to fit in, have you ever seen it without this stupid dress on? its weird).

Things I would associate with queer femininity is like… wearing weird earrings, painting sculptures on your nails and dying your hair bright colors, because those are expressions of femininity that are not the norm. They are weird and vibrant and funky! It's about making the choice to do femininity in a way that goes against the grain. Straight femininity is very "follow the rules, path of least resistance, do it because its what i was always told to do", while queer femininity is an active choice to do what makes you happy, instead of what society wants femininity to be. Maybe sometimes it falls in line with what is expected (girl wear dress), but in other ways its still clearly about the queer self over straight society.

Queer femininity is about being feminine in a way that says "fuck the rules", and because of that, what "femme" looks like can be so diverse. The "flamboyance" part of femme doesn't always have to be physically big or obvious. The core of radical queerness is that heteronormative society doesn't want to see queer happiness, so queer happiness and blatant queer existence is radical.

Makeup and jewelry might be a good things to play with, since they can be taken off relatively quick and you could put them on after you leave the house. Things like bright makeup or fun jewelry (rings, necklaces, headbands, bracelets), or nail polish/fake nails. Also, since these are smaller details of the overall look, you might be able to get away with a relatively small flamboyant part of the outfit if the rest looks straight enough. But ultimately, focus on expressing your femininity however feels best for you. The queerest thing is being happily queer without apology.

(also, everything here goes for queer masculinity as well! straight society hates when you do stuff in weird ways that only appeal to yourself, so be weird as all fuck)

[littlespace-imagines]

Little Muse pt. 2

Part one

Pairing: CG!Vincent x Little!reader

Contains: fluff, short slow burn, Vincent Sinclair figuring out how to be a caregiver, CG/L dynamics, !Nonsexual! Dd/lg dynamic, reader is GN but wears skirts and dresses a lot (they’re so comfy and cute), cursing, Bo doesn’t understand but tried to be supportive, Lester is high key a middle

**Ageregression and Littlespace will never be sexualized on this blog**

You woke up and stretched the smell of food permeated the small room you were in and quickly caught your attention.

“There’s food?” You grumbled and could hear Brandon chuckle

“Yeah, Bo brought it this morning said it comes with the hotel stay.” You nodded and went to go freshen up before sitting down to eat

After breakfast and getting dressed you and Brandon decided to go wonder around the town and look at stuff. He mostly wanted to check out the House of Wax and so you relented.

On your way you saw Bo and you called out to him and waved he waved back and came over. You thanked him for the breakfast he looked confused for a moment before nodding, you brushed it off and figured he just didn’t know why you were thanking him if it was included.

“Where are y’all headed?” He asks and Brandon points to the House of Wax and Bo nods

“There’s a closed sign on the door but it’s unlocked you can look around just don’t touch anything, those figures break real easy and my brother works hard on em.” He says and you nod before thanking him again and walking off you could’ve sworn you saw a glint in his eye that was almost apologetic but you once again brushed it off as you barely knew the man.

The two of you came to a stop outside the House of Wax and you took a deep breath not yet knowing what you would find inside and pushed your way. You and Brandon went in two completely opposite directions he was looking at the figures but you were looking at the paintings and the mini sculptures as you admired them you caught movement out of the corner of your eye and turned to see a man standing there. He was tall with long black hair and a mask on you stared at him for a moment before smiling

“Oh, hi! You must be Bo’s brother? Is this your work? It’s amazing!” You compliment and he just nods slightly before walking closer to you you turned and once again looked at the detail on one of the beautiful pieces until you felt a sharp pain in your neck. You looked to see the man was no longer there after a few minutes you felt dizzy and black dots clouded your vision and it wasn’t long until you felt yourself falling and you heard screams.

When you came to you were in a bed you looked around confused until you heard the door open you looked up and saw Bo you looked at him confused and scared and he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Listen, you’re lucky, my brother he likes ya think you’re real nice. You gonna be staying with us from now on if you listen and be good we’ll all get along real nice.” He said slowly and you felt the tears bubbling up and you looked away before covering your mouth to hide the sobs, your mind racing as you tried to wrap your head around what was happening.

Where was Brandon?

Did they find out about you being little?

What did they know?

Why would they keep you?

Your brain kept coming up with questions and wouldn’t stop. The tears flowed freely as you just gave into the stress. You heard a soft knock on the door which pulled you back into reality slightly and Bo stood up you stared at him in disbelief. You had actually allowed yourself to trust him, why did you. This was so unlike you you were careful.

“I’m gonna let y’all get acquainted.” He said before walking out and squeezing past the man standing in the doorway. You locked your eyes on the mask and he walked into the room slowly you pulled your knees to your chest and wiped your eyes, trying to not cry, no one likes you when you cry.

“M sorry, this is just a lot to take in.” You say, trying to keep calm trying to justify what was happening. Aslong as you made them happy they wouldn’t hurt you. You flinched as the masked mans hand came in contact with your face, you braced yourself preparing for the worst but instead he was wiping your tears away. You found yourself leaning into his touch, his hands were soft, warm, and inviting and you were in desperate need of comfort.

“What’s your name?” You asked looking into the eyes of his mask you took note he only had one eye, you had questions but decided to keep them to yourself for now. You watched as the man pulled out a notepad and began writing.

Vincent

You looked at his neat handwriting

“Your name is Vincent?” You asked feeling his name roll off your tounge. There was Bo and Vincent, a very fitting name for the two brothers you thought, maybe Bo was short for something. Vincent nodded, his hand stroking your face still he seemed to be taking in all of the features you picked at the comforter on the bed.

“Can I have my stuff, if I’m going to be staying here I’d like to atleast have my things.” You say with a weak smile and Vincent nods furiously. He seemed to perk up when you mentioned staying, almost as if he was happy there wouldn’t be a fight about it. Almost as if on cue your stomach rumbled Vincent looked at you.

“I guess I’m a bit hungry.” You thought aloud and Vincent looked around before pulling you over to the door of the room he opened it to show a bathroom, the other door to the room was the closet and the last was the exit leading into the hallway. You thanked him for his mini tour and he held a finger up signaling he’s be right back before disappearing out the door. You heard the click of the lock and sat down on the bed, you just need to do what they want and behave and you’ll be okay.

(Vincent’s POV)

I exited their room and made my way down to the kitchen where I came face to face with Bo. He was angry I could tell but I brushed it off, this was for me, finally something for me. I deserve to have them just as much as he justifies keeping girls under his shop, I’m not letting him talk me out of this one.

“D’ya even know what you’re doing with em?” He mumbles with his hands on his hips obviously trying to keep his voice down so he doesn’t scare them upstairs. I looked at him and shrugged

‘I’d figure it out.’ I signed quickly hoping to shut him up, I’ll learn I’ll adapt I’ll be everything they need and more.

“I was talking with that guy that was with them, they’re a ‘little’ whatever the hell that means, sounds like they needs a lot of extra attention. Are you gonna give them that?” I sighed as I dug through the fridge for leftovers, why would he even care, he just uses the woman keeps and dumps them down the basement when he’s done.

‘Why do you care?’ I signed as I plated the leftovers I found

“Listen, you’re the one who’s insisting on keeping this one long term. Atleast take care of them.” He grumbles before leaving out the front door. I pick up the plate and pop it in the microwave heating it up before taking it upstairs. I knocked on the door before unlocking and opening it I handed the food to them before walking back out and locking the door. I needed to collect their things and bring them to them so they can feel more comfortable here.

I walked into the hotel room Bo set up for them and began collecting their stuff. I heard a truck pull up outside when I was done and saw Lester I gave him a small wave and my younger brother came bounding over.

“Heard from Bo you were keepin someone, I found their car and grabbed all the bags.” He said and I signed a quick ‘Thank you’ to him and grabbed the rest of the bags it seemed like they were packing for a long trip. I made my way back to the house to sort through everything and see what I could get my hands on. What was theirs and that other guys? Maybe I could learn more about them.

[moralesispunk]

Better Than the Art

Marcus Pike x Female Reader

Summary: as you guided a school trip around the museum you were joined by a handsome stranger who just so happened to be an FBI agent working in art crime.

I was inspired for this when I found the photo below on Pintrest!

Thursdays are your favourite day to work at the museum and that is because on Thursdays the museum is open for school trips. 

It was a routine you had grown to love. You start your day walking a group of tiny humans around the exhibits from Renaissance to Baroque to Neoclassicism to Romanticism, winning them over just before moving them to the canteen. After lunch you let them run free around everything from surrealism to pop art, watching their faces react to the strange and wonderful works of art that line the room. By the end of the day they are lying on their stomachs in a room full of classics, legs kicking in the air while they draw their own piece of art to stick to the wall on the way out. As their teacher walks them towards their bus a little more interested in art than they had been before they walked in they yell a chorus of thank you and you get to pay attention to their small works of art in more detail. There are drawings of them and their friends, or their dog, or the occasional attempt at a recreation of one of the paintings they saw during their tour. It is a wonderful day, listening to them talk about the art in the most simple way rather than give a twenty minute, or pretentious, response to “how does this art make you feel”.

They say exactly how it makes them feel; happy, sad, excited, bored. It is refreshing to listen to what they have to say about the art that you get to look at every day.  

As you walked around with the group of 10-year olds today you noticed they were a lot quieter than your usual groups. You had spent most of your morning hearing your own voice and for once you were excited that lunch was coming up after this next room. You stopped at the first painting in the room and turned to the circle that had formed around you.

"How does this painting make you feel?"

The question echoed around the hall for a moment before a voice that was far too deep for a ten year old came from your side.

“Happy.”

You turned to the man, dressed in suit trousers and a shirt with a suit jacket folded across his arms. You were taken aback by how handsome this man was; his hair slightly messy and a few crinkles by his eyes from the small smile on his face.

“Look at the way their smiles are painted,” he stepped closer towards you so he was now in line with the group of children in front of you, “the way she paints a smile is just so... real. I feel as though I’m right there, dancing with all those people. I can feel their happiness.”

You couldn’t help the wide grin that was now covering your face at how enthusiastically this man spoke about the art on the wall or the warmth that was now creeping up your cheeks at how his eyes never once landed on the actual painting but stayed locked on you. 

“I agree,” you sighed contently, a moment passing where you almost forgot that you were in the middle of a busy museum guiding a school trip rather than standing alone with this stranger. You cleared your throat, shaking yourself and turning back to the children, “does anyone agree with Mr...”

“Pike. But please, Marcus.”

“Marcus,” you smiled at the man, “does anyone agree with Marcus.”

A sea of hands flew up as the quiet group finally began to speak about how they liked that the people were dancing in bare feet or that they could see them singing along to the band painted in the background. As the chatter continued you mouthed a thank you to Marcus and he shook his head with a smile.

“Let’s move on then,” you called out, stepping round the group to lead them to the next painting.

“Mind if I tag along, get the free guided tour?” Marcus walked next to you.

“Not at all,” you smiled back.

You guided the tour around the rest of the room, the children now more involved than they had been before Marcus joined you and were talking about their favourite parts of the art you were showing them. Marcus stood a few paces behind, listening carefully to your description for each painting or sculpture, biting back a smile when you got really excited as you spoke about your favourite part of the painting and your voice got that little bit louder while you spoke a little faster. 

At the end of the hall you walked into the canteen and the children’s teacher sat them all down at one of the tables, pulling out their lunchboxes as the loud chatter began.

“I’ll come back and collect you all in forty-five minutes?” you said to the teacher and she nodded before you turned back to Marcus.

He had waited for you at the edge of the room, half reading one of the information plaques next to a painting as he watched you walk towards him. You never were usually this forward with someone but he was handsome and you were intrigued.

“I know this might be a strange request but do you want to get lunch with me?” you asked when you finally reached him, clasping your hands in front of you to stop yourself from fidgeting.

“I would love to,” Marcus held his hand out towards the exit, “lead the way.”  

There was a cafe next to the museum that you liked to frequent on your lunch breaks and you decided to take Marcus there, telling him that they sold the best sandwiches you had ever had on the walk over.

“Its the ratio!” you laughed when Marcus asked how the sandwich could be that good, “the bread to sauce to contents, its a perfect balance.”

Marcus threw this head back in a laugh before speeding up to reach for the door before you could. When you stepped inside you were glad that it was quieter than usual today, leading Marcus towards a table in the corner beside the window. A waitress you recognised walked over towards the table and you ordered two sandwiches before she headed into the back.

“I hope you like the sandwich after I hyped it up so much,” you laughed.

“You seem like you have good taste so I trust you,” he flashed you a smile and you could feel your cheeks warm before you cleared your throat.

“So, are you from around here?”

Marcus shook his head, taking a drink of the coffee that had been placed in front of him.

“I moved from Dallas a couple of months ago but things had been so hectic with work that this is the first chance I have got to check out the sights, the museums.”

You hummed, letting the cup of coffee warm your hands before taking a sip.

“What kind of work do you do?”

“FBI. Art crimes,” he replied plainly.

“Oh, wow,” you laughed, “well Agent Pike, busy with all the undercover work since you arrived then?”

“Yes actually,” your eyes went wide in time for the sandwiches being placed in front of you and Marcus laughed, “it’s not as exciting as it sounds.”

“I doubt that. Anyway, Bon Appétit.”

The both of you went quiet as you bit into the sandwiches, Marcus letting out a groan that almost made your cheeks flush before he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“This is... the best sandwich I’ve ever had. You sure didn’t lie about that.”

“Told you!”

“You’ve got a little,” Marcus waved towards the side of your mouth before lifting his thumb to the side of your mouth and swiping some sauce away, “got it.”

“Oh, thank you,” you dipped your head down to hide your blush, hearing Marcus chuckle a little as you did so.

Lunch went by quickly, the conversation never stopping between you both as you told him why you moved to DC and more about your friends and family. He told you about his move here, slightly divulging into a failed engagement that made the smile fall from his face and so you quickly changed the subject. 

Laughing at something he said your eyes caught the clock on the wall.

“Oh shoot, I need to head back,” you pulled your purse from your bag and Marcus leaned across the table to stop you with a palm on top of your hand.

“Please, let me,” he pulled out his wallet to leave some money for the check and a tip.

“Marcus, I-”

“No buts, my treat,” he smiled.

“Thank you, Marcus. How about I let you join in for the second half of the tour then, if you’re not busy?”

“I’d love that.”

By the time you and Marcus reached the canteen the children were all ready to go and so you took off in the direction of this afternoons exhibits. The children were a lot more enthused with this art; the bright colours and wacky subject matter setting a chatter among them that didn’t stop until the end of the day.

Every so often you would look up to Marcus who was focused on what you were saying and he would flash you a smile. There wasn’t a time that when he smiled that gorgeous smile you didn’t lose track of what you were saying and had to shake yourself to get back to the tour.

When you reached the final room, filled with the most famous pieces of art that the museum held, you gathered the children in the middle of the room. 

“Now, I want to see your art,” you pulled out the paper and pencils, handing them to each child sitting on the ground, “you can draw yourself or you friends, or a landscape piece...”

You headed towards Marcus who was now sitting on a bench a bit further back from the group.

“Can maybe even attempt drawing a piece of the art,” you handed a piece of paper to Marcus as well and gave him a wink before turning back to the children, “whatever you want.”

You let them draw for fifteen minutes, walking around quietly as you watched their art come to life. Every so often you would glance over to Marcus who was now sitting with one leg over the other as he leaned on one of the gift shop tour guides. His face was set in stone, his tongue peeking out slightly whenever he sat back to look at what he was drawing before leaning back down to finish it.

“Alright, I think everyone is about done. On the way out there is a wall of art and I want you to stick yours up there so add your name at the bottom.”

When the group of children were finally herded together by their teacher, their art pinned on the wall and a cheer of small thank yous shouted in your direction, you finally turned back to Marcus.

“I drew something better than the art,” he handed you a piece of paper.

When you looked down at the paper there was a shaded in drawing of yourself. It was... beautiful. You smiled down at the paper, your finger tracing over it for a moment.

“Today was the best day I’ve had since... since I can remember and I would love to get to know you more,” Marcus’s voice brought your attention back up to him.

“Marcus, this is- I- thank you,” you finally managed, holding the paper to your chest, “I would love to see you again.”

“I don’t really know the area that well but theres a nice Italian near my place if you like that sort of food?”

“Sounds perfect,” you nodded, turning around and grabbing a spare bit of paper to scribble down your phone number, “call me?”

Marcus nodded, folding the note and placing it in his trouser pocket. You decided to lean into the new-found courage you had gathered today, leaning forward while balancing yourself on Marcus’s arm and placing a kiss to his cheek.

“See you soon, Marcus.”

//

Permanent tag // @phoenixhalliwell @asta-lily @hb8301 @princess76179 @sarahjkl82-blog @spideysimpossiblegirl @blackmarketmummy @bison-writes @dihra-vesa​ @queridopascal

[dracosaurusrex]

Muse (Draco x Reader)

Summary: Draco Malfoy may be perceived as a heavily flawed  being within the eyes of others, however underneath them lies a boy  who’s perfectly capable of loving.

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: Sexual themes, pero lyke not too smutty lol

A/N: I forgot what I wanted to say. Nvm.  I’ve been feeling suppressed and quite...stuck with my writing  abilities. Here’s a lil ‘detox’ fic if you will. It’s not perfect, but  it’s just something to reset my juices. I hope you enjoy! :D

Sounds  of precise scribbles could be heard as Y/N filled her little book with  sketch lines. She had an observant mind, paying great attention to the  smallest of details. Her senses were her friends, and they aided her as  she created sculptures of the world around her--that's what she usually  specialized in. However, what was depicted on her sketchbook  in that  particular moment was nothing of that nature. No. As her lines became  more defined, the drawing on the page drew close resemblance to the  figure of her Slytherin prince.

Descriptions such as foul,  loathsome, rude, and arrogant were accurate depictions of the boy, but  there was beauty within him all the same. When class was in session, you  witnessed how vile he can be. However, when you found yourself wrapped  in his warm embrace, when his signature scowl was absent from his face,  you took in the sight with much gratefulness. He didn’t deny that side  of him to you. In fact, he reserved it just for you, and because of  that, Draco Malfoy was your muse.

Recollections of sensations  that characterized your relationship embedded themselves within the  surface of your pages. As the sketch begins to develop itself, the  imagery of your love vividly infiltrates your mind.

Sight.

It  was when morning light had shone through water, through his window, and  onto his face that you observed him with much scrutiny. His closed  eyelids, his slightly parted lips, the way his fringe brushed his  forehead--you took everything in. The way his breaths were soft and  gentle, the way his chest lifted and lowered itself, the way his hand  was lazily slung over your waist--you took everything in. It was in  these whispers of moments that you took in all that he was--everything  that was inherently Draco--and fell in love all over again.

Smell

His  scents felt like home. There have been countless moments when you  rummaged through his closet, snagging some of his sweaters, so that when  you were alone you wouldn’t feel as though you were. You’d even  purposefully spray his cologne on the shirts he gave you, so that his  scent would be preserved. After quidditch practice, you didn’t even mind  if he was sweaty. The boyish scent that filled your senses upon every  embrace comforted you regardless of how dirty or pungent he thought he  was. Furthermore, the look of disapproval as he tried to push you away  always faded when you forced him into your embrace. In those moments,  his heart palpitated as his nose pressed against your hair, taking in  your own scent. Just like you, to him your scents felt like home.

Taste

Every  kiss with Draco always felt better than the last. It wouldn’t matter  where you were--a corridor, the common room, courtyard, your dorm,  anywhere--every single one was laced with desire and longing. They would  start off with a slight brush of the lips, blooming into a melting pot  of passion, love, smiles, and adoration. A quick pinch or tickle from  him would cause your mouth to open, prompting his tongue to swirl in as  you produced sweet melodic sounds of laughter. Tongues would battle, but  in such a satisfying and harmonious way. They seemed to convey  different messages at different times of the day, but one thing remained  the same--he was sweet.

Touch

It was when the  darkness of the night enveloped you both that you felt the intimacy of  his love. The feeling of his lips greeting yours induced flips in your  heart before they spread all over your body. You could recall their  softness in the way they fit the crevices of your collarbones, the way  they brushed over the valley in between your breasts, on them, and over  the expanse of your stomach, before trailing ever so teasingly along  your hips. You could recall the way his hands rubbed and squeezed your  naked sides before gripping them firmly as he entered you. His fingers  would then trail up your arms wounding up clasped within your grasp.  The warmth that emanated from his lips, from his palms, from his  fingertips, from his hips--they all whispered “I love you”; and with  your body pressed against his own, you made it known that you love him  too.

Sound

His voice was melodic. It typically took  on a silvery tone when in conversation, embraced a velvety complex at  night, and an oddly hoarse, low, and gruff character in the morning. The  words that would be cruel when directed towards others, embodied a  gentle and caressing nature when with you. Actually, that was dependent  on the situation. Nevertheless, in all instances, they were him. It was  his voice--Draco’s voice. The one that bestowed your ears with much  comfort, much peace, much love. The one that caressed and secured you in  times of doubt. The one that turned you one with the slightest, most  subtle alterations. Just like all else, it was home.

--

The  feeling of clay scrunching underneath your fingernails represented the  concentration you dedicated in formulating the features of your  boyfriend’s face. Sounds of your soft breaths could be heard as your  work grew more characteristic of him over time. As you paid close  attention to his carving out his details, a small creaking of the door  into the Room of Requirement could be heard from a distance behind you.  You knew these steps. Even their sounds had ingrained themselves in your  mind. A soft smile graces your lips. Within a moment, you’re confronted  by the sight of long arms as it circles around your waist. A deep  exhale of air was felt traveling along your back while a familiar pair  of lips pressed itself on the crook of your neck, leaving a trail of  soft kisses along its expanse.

“Hello, my darling.” His voice was low and velvety this time.

“Hello, love.” You reply softly.

“That’s  a handsome sculpture you got going on there.” Draco presses his nose to  your hair; his eyes marvel at the sight of your work.

“Really? I  wonder who it could be.” He releases a laugh before turning you around  to face him. He took in all of your glory. Your hands were interlaced  with clay pieces, white stains covered your shirt, your pants, as well  as your nose and cheeks. Your hair was tied up in a low, messy bun, but  still had managed to compliment your graceful facial futures. It didn’t  matter if you were overly dressed, under dressed, or not dressed at  all--you were beautiful.

“Come here.” He whispers. He reaches  to cup your cheeks before bringing his lips down on yours. They were  always as they were, but even better. The feeling of his lips never  failed to throw your mind in a spiral. They were soft, and petal-like,  yet they held so much expression, ramping up your heart rate, and  inducing a flush on your cheeks. You both break away panting.

You  gaze at the boy in front of you as he presses his forehead against  yours. He was flawed in many ways, but handled your heart so carefully,  so well as though it was glass. Within his brash exterior was a boy  worth loving. The boy you loved so dearly.

As Draco regains his composure, he looks deep into your eyes.

“I love you.”

A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you have a wonderful day, you beautiful beautiful  people! <3

Just a couple of tags :)

@beiahadid @rottenhexrt @ccabian @hahee154hq @ceeellewrites @xoxohollands @fadesbrina @karamelssunflowers @mushi98 @kaye-lantern

[mymedicine]

Love and Other Drugs

or, 5k of new bf harry

moodboard/inspo tag + my masterlist

sum - yacht parties are cool and all, but harry really just wants to spend more time with his girl

warnings - alcohol (have I even written a fic where both mc’s are sober the whole time yet lmao), light sexy stuff (lil bit of ch*king k*nk if you squint), swearing probably, harry being a little shit, fluff to the maxxxxx

notes - good lord, this fic has been the absolute death of me. I stg, murphy’s law is real. anyways, the driving home scene is completely inspired by real life events that once made me swoon, but now I am lonely and so so tired so pls be nice to me thx much love <3

“Hold still!”

Harry whined and craned his neck away from his girlfriend’s hand, but he wasn’t able to go far with his back flush against the car door. “No baby, we’re already late!”

“But you’ve got jam on you!” Y/N cried. She reached her fingers up to rub the reddish marks off of his face, but, once again, he turned his head away like a stubborn child. “And we wouldn’t have been late if you hadn’t spent two hours combing your hair.”

“S not jam, it’s lipstick,” He insisted, deliberately ignoring her second (valid) point.

“Whatever. It’s on your cheek.”

Y/N made one final attempt to clean him up, but this time, he managed to escape the circle of her arms. He ran backwards toward the dock, taunting her playfully as he went, “Come on, baby!”

“Harry!” Given no other choice, she frantically pushed the lock button on the car key and chased after her child—er, boyfriend. She winced as her high heels hit the asphalt, feet aching against the gold sandals already. He’d slowed down a little to give her a break, but she was still panting as she yelled, “You can’t go to a fancy yacht party with lipstick on your face!”

He finally stopped running—thank God, because they were right in front of the ship and the last thing Y/N needed was to embarrass herself (or rather, be embarrassed by her man-child boyfriend) within sight of all the famous people that would surely be onboard already.

“But I like it.” He pouted as she reached him, entwining his fingers with hers before she could use them to try to scrub his face again.

Before she could reply, a familiar Irish accent boomed over the loud purring of the boat’s engine, “Harry! Y/N!”

Y/N really hoped someone was keeping an eye on Niall tonight. It was barely dusk and he already looked a little too buzzed to be leaning over the railing on the top deck. She craned her neck up to look at him, giggling to herself at the flush in his cheeks and the blonde mess on top of his head.

“Welcome abooaaard!” He waved far more aggressively than was necessary.

“Happy birthday, Niall!” Y/N yelled back at him, blocking the bright sun with one hand—a hand she discreetly wrestled out of Harry’s.

Harry, too, looked upward and was squinting into the sky. The sun was just beginning its descent into the horizon, and soon the evening would be hanging behind the silvery moon. In the mean time, the sky was bright and painted with delicate strokes of soft pink and peachy orange.

While Harry waved back at his friend, Y/N took advantage of the distraction—and his exposed cheek.

Without warning, she hurled her hand up to his face and swiped at the pink mark as hard as she could.

“Hey!” Harry whipped his head back to her, mock hurt written all over his face.

Y/N flashed him a cheeky, victorious smile. “Got it!”

September in south Florida was as hot and humid as summer anywhere else. Even out at sea, with the cool ocean wind surging throughout the top deck of the yacht, it was plenty warm enough for the guests to enjoy the outdoors.

“H, can you hold my phone and keys in your pocket?”

Harry was standing awkwardly near the railing of the boat, fiddling absently with the plume of lace and chiffon on his black top. He still had a faint reddish mark on his cheek (she wasn’t sure if it was leftover lipstick or just irritated from her rubbing at it) that Y/N, despite the turmoil that had ensued over it, found very endearing. She always thought he was handsome. She had since the first day they met four months earlier. But tonight, he was positively glowing. He shined in the fabulous black number, his skin further brightened by the setting sun and the utter joy coursing through him (the entire flute of champagne he’d already downed certainly didn’t hurt, either).

He took the phone and keys from her while she admired him, happy to help her but not without a smart remark: “You should’ve worn the dress with the pockets, love,” he chastised her playfully, a smirk dressing his berry lips.

Y/N’s eyes widened, “You said you liked the pink on me!”

Choosing her dress for the night had been an ordeal that rivaled even Harry’s complicated hair routine. She’d originally chosen a black long sleeved one with pockets that was comfortable and appropriate and matched Harry’s own all-black ensemble (which he’d had picked out for weeks). Her boyfriend rejected the black dress, pointing out that she’d be hot it in because “It’s practically summer in Miami, love.” Instead, he chose a silky pink number, midi-length and tight in all the right places with a tastefully low cowl neckline. She’d dressed it up with a few gold bracelets and a single pearl earring in her left ear that, to her satisfaction, matched Harry’s. And yeah—it didn’t have pockets, but Harry liked it and it made her feel sexy and that’s all that mattered.

Harry hummed with a tight lipped grin. “Yeah, you’re right,” His tone was innocent, almost regretful as he looked her up and down. The pink sunset behind her was highlighting her figure just right, wind rushing through her hair, exposed skin supple and tempting. Harry was mesmerized by her.

His hands moved on their own accord to gently hold her by the waist. “Your ass looks really cute in the silk…I reckon the color makes your skin glow a bit, too. And matches your makeup, and looks nice with my earring…” He continued spewing some breathy compliments at her, even after she sort of stopped listening when a waiter holding a tray of delectable looking hors d'oeuvres caught her attention.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Of course, honey,” she replied (mostly) honestly. He was always a mushy little sap for her, but she truly did love the way he appreciated the little things she put effort into. “Thank you for noticing those little details.”

“You’re welcome. Know ya don’ just do it f’me though,” His ring clad fingers drummed against her waist, the metal cold through the thin silky material she wore. “Love that about you.”

Y/N cracked a smile in spite of the nervous shiver washing over her at his words. She couldn’t help but notice it was already the second time he’d said that word since they’d embarked. He was treading dangerously close to the vast, uncharted l-word territory. He’s a little buzzed, she reasoned with herself, despite also knowing it was silly because he’d only had a single champagne. But then again, he was a lightweight—and judging by the way he suddenly dropped her waist to chase down a passing waitress for two more glasses, he wouldn’t be slowing down any time soon. If he told her while he was drunk, would it really count?

He returned to her side, keeping one flute for himself and presenting the other to her. “Thank you, honey,” she said, grasping the stem of it (even though she still had a half full one resting precariously on the railing behind her). It was a fitting nickname for him, she thought. She hadn’t really meant for that to become her little pet name for him, but he loved it just as much as she did. “You’re sweet.”

“You’re sweeter,” her boyfriend hummed happily, “even when you’re checking out that waiter…”

“No! I wasn’t!”

“You kinda were,” He smiled cheekily at her.

“Was not.”

“’S alright, baby. He’s handsome. You’re allowed to have a little look.” But the way he held her protectively by the hip betrayed his words.

“You know I only have eyes for you,” If that wasn’t a hint, she didn’t know what was. “I’m just hungry. He was holding bacon wrapped shrimp, I think.”

“Mmm, me too,” Harry replied, the interaction already forgotten in favor of a savory snack. He tugged on her hand so they could follow that waiter, grumbling as they padded around the crowded deck. “Niall’s a fuckin ass for not serving dinner at an evening party.”

“Oh give him a break! It’s his birthday.” she let him pull her toward the middle where more people were gathered around the bar and admiring the decor—

“Is that an ice scultpure?”

Harry was right. It was a giant clear sculpture of a guitar made entirely out of ice. People were around it, admiring the intricacies and mingling and sipping on expensive looking drinks.

“How long you bet til it melts?”

“Not before Niall accidentally knocks it over,” Y/N laughed and gestured toward the man of the hour, who indeed was stumbling over his feet while trying to maintain a conversation with a group of several strikingly beautiful looking people—models? Probably.

It was obvious that Niall hadn’t planned this for himself. The whole thing was far too elegant and classy. His drunken ramblings were entertaining, sure, but he stood out amidst the black tie formals and live R&B music floating around the large deck of the luxurious vehicle.

Harry chased down the waiter and grabbed shrimp skewers for them both while Y/N continued quietly giggling at Niall’s antics.

Minutes drifted into hours as alcohol, shrimp skewers, and joyful conversation flowed liberally about the deck. Y/N had separated herself from Harry—much to his drunken dismay—to go and mingle with some of the “famous people.” She did it all on her own, confidently striding over and striking up a conversation with anyone worthy of her attention.

“Long time no see, mate.” Mitch’s voice interrupted Harry’s inner thoughts surrounding his girlfriend. He tore his eyes away from her and turned to face his friend, who was standing with his own girlfriend beside him.

“Been busy,” Harry replied.

Sarah’s eyebrows rose as a grin spread across her cheeks. She glanced at Mitch, who wore a matching one.

“You both have been quite busy, yeah?” Sarah cocked her head toward where Y/N was, grin widening along with Harry’s eyes.

Harry hid his smile in his glass, taking a large gulp of the bubbly. “What d’ya mean?” He asked innocently.

“We saw you staring at her, buddy.”

Well, fuck. He can’t exactly deny that. He was indeed watching her as she mingled with a group of people—exceptionally beautiful people. She fit in perfectly with the models, her smile bright and dress shiny, hips swaying tantalizingly to the beat of the drums. She engaged effortlessly in what looked like an exciting conversation with A-listers and held their attention with sweeping hand gestures. Even from across the deck, he swore he could feel her joy. Light just radiated off of her and sent a gentle flutter through his belly and a heat wave through his heart.

Sarah studied him. The way his eyes twinkled and his cheeks flushed with happiness…it was obvious. “You love her.” She deadpanned.

Harry shrugged in response, a knowing smile on his face which he didn’t bother to hide this time.

“You do!” It was Mitch this time, who wrapped an arm around Sarah and looked at her with the same happy smile his friend wore.

“No comment.” A twinge of jealously bit his heart as he watched a handsome brunette lean down to whisper something in his girlfriend’s ear. He frowned instinctively, picturing the man muttering flirtatious compliments or dirty suggestions to her like he should be doing right now.

Sarah continued to watch Harry watch Y/N, unsure if he was even listening anymore. “It’s alright to admit it. Love is a beautiful thing.”

“Don’t listen to her,” said Mitch, “it’s a drug!”

“Hey look!” Harry shouted a distraction, pointing somewhere behind the two of them. He spotted two waiters bringing out an impressive tiered cake swirled with white frosting and topped with those sparkling candles. “It’s time to sing for the birthday boy!”

The boat erupted in a cacophonous rendition of the birthday song as the cake was placed on top of the bar. Night had fallen over the deck, making the sparkly decorations shine blindly bright against the moonlight. Meanwhile, Niall was dancing hysterically among the crowds, even singing along to his own birthday song in a drunken spree. At the final, …to you! he performed a dramatic bow and roared, “Thank you, beautiful people!”

Applause died slowly as Niall began grabbing peoples’ faces to kiss their cheeks in thanks. Y/N looked around for Harry, quite certain that her boyfriend would be perfectly willing to accept a kiss from the birthday boy, especially when he was inebriated. Sure enough, she caught sight of him wrapped up in an embrace with the blonde, a wide smile on his face as Mitch and Sarah laughed hysterically at the interaction.

Harry accepted the cheek kiss, just as his eyes met hers over Niall’s shoulder.

“Y/N!” He screeched and broke the embrace. He started running over to her in an uncoordinated stride, limbs flailing and most definitely spilling alcohol on other peoples’ expensive clothes.

“Y/N!” he slurred, finally reaching her side, “Gimme a kissy!”

She laughed. “You just got kissies from Niall, honey.” “But I want your lipstick on me. Yeh wiped it off.” He frowned deeply, no—melodramatically as his hand cupped his own cheeks where the pink lipstick mark once was.

She called him a little baby but obliged anyways, stamping a firm lip shaped mark on one of his flushed cheeks. He grinned wildly in response and looked at her with that look in his eyes that she absolutely adored. He was looking at her like she was royalty, like she hung the moon and commanded the sea and granted miracles upon mere mortals such as himself.

“Wish I could give you one too…” Harry trailed off, eyes wandering around the room. “Maybe then all those hot models and waiters would leave you alone.”

“Aw, you jealous baby?”

He nodded shamelessly and, with a pouty look, tucked her into his arms. He pressed a series of hard kisses on her cheeks and temples, squeezing the silky pink fabric at her waist. The feeling made her heart squeeze in the most delightful way—chest tight and warm with…with love.

“Wanna go check out the lower deck?”

And Y/N hadn’t known this man too long, but it was long enough to know that he had anything but innocent intentions with his sweet request. She was still only nursing her third glass of bubbly, but Harry’s suggestive stare and wandering hands seemed to ignite the slight heat flowing through her veins into an inferno.

It engulfed them both as Y/N’s back hit the inside of the door to the lower deck bathroom.

Harry’s lips were soft and playful and sexy all at once—just like him. He trailed hot kisses down her cheeks and jaw much like he had earlier, only now there was no audience. No need to hold back. Only hot, sweet skin swathed in pink silk and black chiffon.

“You marked me already, ’s my turn.”

Just when she was feeling a little too sober, Harry’s words drenched her in the heat of desire. This was definitely a bad idea, but it didn’t sound like one when he put it like that.

His fingers slipped from her jaw and followed his lips down to her throat, enticing her with a gentle squeeze—a warning? Or a promise for later? Either way, this bathroom escapade was fucking sliced bread and she was putty in his hands.

He sucked harshly on the supple skin of her neck without warning. A gasp slips out of Y/N’s mouth and Harry’s ringed thumb pressed deeply into the center of her throat in reprimanding. His other fingers gripped the crook of her neck, just enough to make her head spin and keep her body pliant.

Meanwhile, his other hand slithered down the smooth silk to her waist, his hold on her heavy and warm. Harry’s swollen lips retracted from her bruised neck, not before pressing a few gentle pecks to the hickeys to soothe the pain.

Y/N felt dizzy with pleasure and enveloped in love. She couldn’t help but chase his lips for a few more desperate kisses as he pulled away from her neck. She suddenly wished she could admire the marks he’d left, but the glazed, hungry look in his eyes would definitely suffice. The little bathroom felt ten degrees warmer—leaving Harry looking hot and flushed and absolutely irresistible.

“You okay, baby?” Harry whispered in the tiny space between them, words slightly slurred and dipped in bliss.

Y/N nodded aggressively, letting her hands wrap around the back of his neck where his skin was hot and hair curled adorably. “Please kiss me again.”

He did as he was told, of course. His lips moved tenderly with hers and his hands trailed lower, gently caressing her waist and hips. His fingers started a course back up to her ass, this time taking the fabric of her dress with them.

Y/N’s head felt light as a feather, no thoughts besides Harry…Harry’s hands…Harry’s lips…Harry…

She curled her thighs around his hips and he responded effortlessly, hoisting her up by the backs of her thighs and pressing taut between the cold bathroom wall and his own hot chest. The temperature in the room seemed to rise impossibly then, the sounds of breathy moans and gentle sucking kisses seamlessly diffusing into the heat and surrounding them in a delightful symphony.

Y/N was thrilled by the way Harry’s tongue tasted like champagne—as sweet and plushy as always. She decided then that she would never get tired of the feeling of his mouth on hers, of the dizzying joyful feeling his lips gave her every single time.

“Harry…honey…”

“What ’s it pretty girl?”

The pet name in his raspy accent went straight to her core. She let out another shameless whine, squeezing his waist tighter with her legs.

“I need you, Harry…”

“Hm? Need what?”

She groaned—now he wanted to be a tease. After he’d gotten to give her the hickeys like he wanted.

“Harry, please.”

“‘M just messing, pretty girl. I know what you ne—“

Suddenly, a loud crash rang out in the little cabin. Y/N let out a screech and sprang away from Harry, landing awkwardly on her stiletto heels. Wide eyed, she and Harry both looked up toward the source of the sound. Muffled shouts followed, in the midst of a horrible shattering sound, like broken glass, or hail or—

“The ice sculpture!”

They were both wide eyed and panting and a little sweaty, hair tousled and lips swollen red.

“Oh shit,” There were more muffled shouts and some shuffling of feet above them. Even through the ornate ceiling of the bathroom, it was clear there was an ordeal going on up there.

Breathy pants lingered between them, and the room suddenly felt even smaller, even more swelteringly hot and stuffy. Of all things to ruin the heat of the moment…a fucking ice sculpture.

They looked at each other blankly, as if to say what the hell do we do now?

“Let’s head back up while everyone’s distracted.” It was Harry’s alcohol-induced idea, cooked up in his foggy brain.

“There’s no way we can go back to the party like this.” Y/N gestured between them—the sweaty foreheads, messy hair, skin dotted with hickeys, and most prominently, her boyfriend’s obvious arousal.

Harry sighed, glancing down at himself. “Let’s leave then.”

“What, you wanna swim home?”

Harry frowned, “Huh?”

“We’re on a fucking boat, dumbass.”

Harry looked away from her with wide eyes and burning cheeks. Right…Absently, he thought it was funny how she could go from making out with him against the wall of the bathroom, practically begging for more, to mercilessly making fun of him, all within seconds. His thoughts bled into his expression, a happy smile tugging on his lips as he thought about her and her unparalleled sex appeal and her cute laugh and her mock insults and her more and more.

And just like that, he was laughing. His wild laughter seemed to echo in the small bathroom. Despite their hot rendezvous being rudely interrupted, Y/N swore she could smell the happiness in the room—almost as poignant as the champagne on his breath.

Seconds later, she couldn’t help but join him in happy laughter.

Turns out, the fallen ice sculpture was even more of a hazard than they’d initially realized—so much so that the captain of the yacht demanded an early return to shore and a continuation of the party on land. Many patrons were disappointed by the early end to the yacht cruise, not including the birthday boy himself, who Y/N would be surprised if was still walking at this point.

As they sailed back toward the shore, Harry was nursing yet another flute of champagne while Y/N clung to him in the boat’s interior—half because she wanted to cover his erection from any passerbys, and half because she just really wanted to hold him. He’d also managed to produce a slice of cake on a porcelain plate, which he’d presumably snagged when he left her on the couch to find more alcohol.

“You look cute,” she mused at him while he chewed the forkful of cake she’d just slid into his mouth. She was sideways in his lap, bare feet rested on the arm of an expensive looking couch. She vaguely realized that this area of the boat was probably off limits for guests, but fuck it, she thought, no harm no foul.

“Hm?”

“I said, ‘you look cute.’” Y/N repeated. He really did look cute like that, with his face flushed and hair messy and a tinge of lipstick still lingering on his cheek.

“Oh yeah,” he mumbled with frosting still between his teeth, “I heard you the first time.”

“Oh my god, you’re so annoying. I take it back.”

“You can’t take it back!”

She gathered another forkful of cake and brought it up to his lips, “I just did.”

“Fine then,” He said, “I’ll just toss you overboard. Out of sight, out of mind.”

At that, Y/N gasped. She quickly turned her hand away and brought the cake into her own mouth, licking her lips for extra impact.

“Noooo!” He held her by the hip and dragged her even closer to him, as if she were about to get up and actually go overboard and take the cake with her. “I’m sorry baby, you’re cute, too. So cute. Like, so cute that I can’t believe you like me.”

Like? I think I more than like you.

“I can’t believe it, either.”

The words were on the tip of her tongue, dancing around in the tiny space between their lips like electricity. Harry leaned forward and kissed her tenderly, sucking on her bottom lip as if trying to pull them out of her.

Yet again, they were interrupted. This time by a loud horn blare and the captain’s voice over the intercom. “Land, ho!”

“Finally.” Harry sighed in relief, already trying to stand up from the couch, “Can you take me home now, please.”

“We can’t just leave when the party’s still going! What about Niall?” Y/N pressed her hands against his chest to slow him down.

“Niall won’t remember a damn thing.”

She considered his words. He wasn’t wrong; Niall had already knocked over the ice sculpture, after all.

“Take a left here,”

“Here?”

“Ye—wait, no.” Harry slurred, shaking his head from the passenger seat.

But his girlfriend had already turned the wheel to the left, inevitably sending the car in the wrong direction, again.

“Shit, M’ sorry baby.” he said with a drunken giggle.

“Good lord Harry…”

She threw the car into a random driveway, grumbling as she executed a clumsy K-turn.

She could hear the cranky frown in Harry’s voice as he groaned, “You’re a shit driver.”

“Well you’re a shit navigator!” Y/N looked over and gave him a pointed look. But the look only fell on his droopy, half-open eyes. “Where the fuck do I go?”

A beat of silence passed as Harry’s head lolled around. He hummed a bit, imitating the low rumble of the car’s engine. Finally, he murmured, “Keep goin’ straight.”

“Are you sure?”

He didn’t reply, just turned to look at her with that mischievous drunken smile.

“Aw fuck, no. We passed it up.”

“Harry!” She couldn’t help but laugh. Despite her annoyance, his antics were amusing. “Are you sure you actually know where you live?”

“Of course I know where I live!”

Y/N sped into another middle-of-the-road U-turn, and Harry dramatically fell into her lap with a low yell.

“Slow down, you minx! Gonna get us killed!”

“You’re so dramatic, Harry. If you’d just tell me where the fuck you live!”

“Can’t remember.”

She craned her head up to ceiling, letting her own eyes fall shut as she inhaled her frustration.

“Okay, fine. It’s that blue one over there.” He gestured vaguely to the right, but it was too dark to see the colors of the houses anyways.

Y/N let out her deep breath, “Somehow I don’t believe you.”

His growing smirk gave him away. After only a few seconds, his foggy brain would not allow him to contain his giggles.

“Harry!” she whined. He was always kind of silly and clingy, but the excessive alcohol made him an actual baby. He was still laying in her lap over the center console.

“Why are you like this?”

He pouted, feigning hurt. “Maybe I just wanna spend more time with you.”

Y/N’s fingers loosed on the wheel. She slowed the car to a stop against on of the curbs in the quiet neighborhood, poised under the soft light of a street lamp. Her annoyed expression softened and the familiar urge washed over her—the urge to kiss his cheeks and tell him she loved him and squeeze him tight and never let him go. How could one person be so annoying yet so fucking adorable?

She pushed his hair back (not without thinking about how he would’ve scolded her for messing it up at the beginning of the night when he had been sober, but now he was far too drunk to care) and wrapped an arm around his neck. It was definitely an awkward position and Harry couldn’t have been comfortable like that, but he didn’t seem to mind. He held her arm in both hands and snuggled into her lap as she cooed at him. “Aw, baby. You could’ve just told me.”

“But we’ve only been together for a little bit…and I don’t want ya to get sick of me.”

“Could never get sick of you, honey. Not even if I wanted to,” she said earnestly, continuing to stroke her fingers gently through his curls.

“Really?”

Now if that wasn’t a hint…this man was even stupider than she thought. In spite of his endearing idiocy, Y/N still could not resist the urge to just love him.

The idea that he could possibly love her back crossed her mind several times, especially in the past few weeks.

But they’d only been officially for a month and a half…was it too soon? Would she scare him off? Was there some unwritten rule of love to wait until they’d at least seen each others’ homes? Although, if she did tell him now, Harry was so drunk he may not even remember. If it went horrifically wrong, maybe she could forget it happened. (No, she definitely would not ever be able to forget if that happened, but the lie comforted her a little nonetheless). But if it went well, she’d be more confident telling him again when he was sober tomorrow. And at last, she didn’t even think she could hold the words in for another second while he was cuddling into her and kissing her arms like a baby kitten.

“I love you, Harry.”

“You do?!”

Suddenly, he seemed alarmingly sober.

“Ugh, yes. How could I not?”

He looked appalled, really. As if the idea of her loving him was absolutely insane. “Well, I annoy you, I kiss you in public, I drink too much, I spend way too much time on my hair, I’m not as handsome as that waiter…”

“And you’re pretty stupid.” Y/N interrupted with her own addition to the growing list.

“Yeah, you’re right. I am pretty dumb…But,” he paused, flipping over in her lap to look her in the eyes, “I did get one thing right.”

“What’s that?” She asked, fondly stroking his gelled hair with trembling hands.

“Falling in love with you.”

And loving him was that easy, as easy as sipping champagne and eating cake and falling overboard. She loved his flamboyance, his confidence, his kindness. She loved his silly tattoos and his bunny teeth and the little scar under his chin and the faint lipstick stain on his cheek. She loved the way they teased each other like children. She loved the way his mouth felt against hers. She loved the way he adored her. And so, she couldn’t help but smile wide.

“Alright, let’s add you’re super cheesy to that list, too…”

thanks for reading! please reblog if you enjoyed <3

feedback is welcomed, encouraged, and highly appreciated!

[yespolkadotkitty]

So I read Elixir and I love how you write sex pollen and I was wondering if you could do one for our other federal agent, Marcus?

Jump Start

Warnings: smut. A lot of smut. Unbeta’d writing; soft Marcus. 

Words: 3,500

Summary: What if Marcus only went to DC for a while? And what if he came back for you?

Marcus: Still game for tonight?

You: Are you kidding? Cho and Lisbon have bigged up that Aladdin’s Cave for months. I’ll be there.

Marcus: You sure this is what you want for your birthday?

You: Yes.

Marcus: Okay then… Bring a pillow because I’ll probably bore you to sleep with all the art stories.

When the elevator doors part to reveal Agent Marcus Pike, you’re standing by the door to the lock-up. A smile lights up his face when he sees you, and your heart bumps hard in your chest. He slides his hands in his pocket, a blush creeping up his neck.

“Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, Marcus.”

He ducks his head, a little shy. You know he isn’t always. You’d seen him in the interview room a few times last year, when your team and his had co-run a case. Watched his eyes go hard, his face stern. He’d slammed a file down on the desk inches from a suspect’s face and the surprisingly rough side to him had made you shiver.

Lisbon had sent you a knowing look and you’d ignored her.

She’d had her chance and she’d blown it, and frankly you didn’t want to know what she and Marcus had shared; how close they’d been.

Marcus had gone to DC after that. A year’s undercover work has helped him heal, you think. Get his head back in the game.

He came back for another co-op case, and thankfully, Lisbon and Jane had been away on honeymoon then.

You and Marcus had worked this one together, sometimes late into the night, sharing take-out and anecdotes from other old cases, and then, you’d started hanging out, a little.

He’s interesting. Funny. Friendly. Panty-melting gorgeous.

Heart-stoppingly gorgeous.

Cho dropped that it was your birthday at last week’s after-work drinks, and then Marcus had texted offering you a tour of the art lock up. You’d been rota’d off the day Cho and Lisbon got to see it, last year.

Patrick Jane hadn’t been allowed in. Marcus had muttered something about sticky fingers when you’d asked him about it.

“You ready?” He ducks his head to buss your cheek and you meet him halfway, breathing him in, minty gum, sandalwood, and the gourmet coffee he hides in his office. He shared it with you once and it’s like him, memorable, decadent, addictive.

“Ready.” You pull away, reluctantly, wanting him, but he’s never given you any overt hints that he sees you as anything more than a colleague.

He and Lisbon are cordial to each other when they meet, but for all you know, he’s still pining over her.

You daren’t ask; you don’t want to know the answer.

Marcus punches in a code to the first gate, then plucks the rings of keys from his pocket and opens the dinner door of the lock-up, a smile playing on his scruffy face. He grew the patchy beard during his time in DC and it really suits him, highlights his beautiful jaw and makes his soulful eyes a deeper brown.

This time on a Saturday, no one else is around.

“A private museum,” you breathe as you see all the paintings, sculptures and other art set carefully in frames or on desks or custom made plinths.

“Yeah, I always feel like Aladdin.” He scoffs at himself. “I say that every time. What a dork.”

You turn and grin at him. “I like it. You’re an art geek. It’s sexy.” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them.

Marcus’ brow wings up. “That so?”

“Um, sure.” You duck your head, embarrassed. “So. Tell me some art stories,  Special Agent Pike. What’s new here?”

He brightens, soulful chocolate eyes going wide for just a moment. “Well. There’s this equine sculpture. Maker’s mark is Italian but we seized it during a raid for paintings. Wasn’t expecting it.” He snaps on white gloves and offers you a pair, then gently turns over the statue to show you the swirling signature on the bottom. “We’re still not sure where the other two are.”

You trace a gloved finger over the horse’s detailed mane, wrought perfectly in cherrywood. “Other two?

“Sure. This is part of a set. You can tell here-” he points out a divot in the base that you wouldn’t even have noticed, and another on the opposite end. “And here. The two connecting statues are missing - other horses, I’d guess.”

“Wow.”

Marcus sets the horse down and meets your gaze. “You bored yet?”

“Nope! More!”

He chuckles indulgently. “Okay. Why don’t you choose.”

You wander around the various lock-up cages for a while, examining instruments, more statues, even a huge quilt that looks woven with gold.

After a few moments, a painting about your height catches your eye. It’s an orgy, but tastefully done, painted in shades of amber and gold, the bodies fluid, enchanting.

“I’ve never seen such a… soft depiction of a group bang,” you smile.

Marcus’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “That came in last week. Rumour has it, the artist was quite the lothario back in the 1800s. A steady stream of, ah, callers to his penthouse in Florence. The accounts of his sexual prowess are something else.”

“I bet.” You eye the curves of the women in the painting; she looks soft, welcoming, her eyes closed in ethereal bliss. “So, how’d you get this?”

“Allegedly, found in an attic. We went to the house to pick it up. The man who gave it to me - said they just moved in - seemed kinda high.” Marcus’ brow furrows. “Very mellow. Pretty sure he’d been smoking something. He was half-dressed.”

You crouch, examine the painting more closely. “And you didn’t… arrest him?”

Marcus shrugs. “Art’s our deal. I did note the address with a colleague in the DEA, so if it gets flagged again, they’ll investigate.”

Something about the painting keeps you enraptured. You spy a little notch in the frame. “Do you think something’s hidden in here?”

Marcus bends next to you to examine the area you point to. He’s been working today, so he still wears his suit, the red tie the little bit of flash he allows himself on the job. His scent weaves around you, the lick of coffee, the gasp of mint, and something uniquely Marcus.

“It looks like something…. Comes undone?”

You both lean in together, and you edge your gloved finger along the groove in the ornate gold-effect frame.

Marcus does the same from the other end. “Wow,” he breathes. “A hidden compartment?” Then his eyebrows shoot up as part of the frame depresses under his finger, clicking. He grins hugely. “Well, now I really do feel like Aladdin.”

“Don’t suppose you’ve got a little monkey wearing a fez around here, do you?” You tease.

“Maybe a magic carpet. I-”

He’s cut off when a hissing noise pops from the painting. You and Marcus both lean in to try and hear it more closely, and just when you get close, powder sprays from the frame, light gold in colour and smelling faintly musty.

You cough, reeling back, your hands over your face. “Gross.”

Marcus steps back too, wiping a gloved hand over his face and examining the golden-hued powder on the cotton fabric. “What the hell-”

You slowly sit down on the floor. “I feel… sort of dizzy. Hot.”

Marcus crosses to you, crouching in front of you, and if you didn’t feel so discombobulated, you would appreciate the closeness of him, the amber shot through his irises, the slight curl of his cowlick. “I’ll go get help. Maybe some water?”

You’re burning up. A slow dance starts in the pit of your belly, something that you think was always there, maybe, but intensified now Marcus is so close. “Please don’t go.”

His brow furrows in concern. “Of course.” He smoothes a gloved hand over your hair, and then you see it; the change in his eyes, the way they go dark and hot. “I… what the fuck is this stuff? I feel…”

You clutch at his forearms, feeling the play of lean muscle under his suit. “What if…. What if this was the reason that painter was such a, um, lothario?”

Marcus’ gaze has dropped to your mouth and at your words, he blinks. “What? Oh. Oh.”

“Yeah,” you say slowly. “Marcus, I…”

He stands up, backing away. “I can’t be near you. Not when I want… I can’t.”

You reach out to him. “What if you stayed?”

He gazes down at you, longing in those bottomless eyes, and now you can clearly see the outline of the powder’s effect on him. “I can’t. Can’t do that to you.”

A flash of hope pierces the haze descending on you. “You want to? Because of the.. Stuff,” you finish lamely.

An expression of half desire, half pain, sketches itself over Marcus’ features. “I’ve wanted to for a while. That night we worked late.” He’s half-panting now, the fingers of one hand curled around the wall of his side of the lock-up. “Wanted to take you over the desk. I - fuck- can’t do it.”

You make to move. “Marcus-”

“Not like this,” he groans, that voice of sin and sex dropping half an octave, California with a lick of the drawl of Texas. “Not… like this.”

“Don’t go!” You beg. Your insides are burning up for him. If he’d just touch you. Just for a moment.

Marcus is shaking his head, fumbling with the door on this section of the lock-up. You lunge for him but he pulls the door closed, locking you in and him out.

He turns the key, then tosses the ring across the room.

“I’m sorry. I can’t. Not like this. Goes against everything.”

“But I want you,” you say. You crawl over to the fencing separating you. “At least… touch my hand.”

You pull your gloves off, slide your fingers through the holes in the mesh.

Marcus takes his gloves off too, tangles his fingers with your the best he can. He sighs deeply. “I had this whole date thing planned. Dinner at an Italian that reminds me of a place I ate at in my gap year.”

“Marcus,” you whisper. “So you do really like me.”

He groans. “Sweetheart, I haven’t been able to think about anything but you since I got back from DC, and there you were, pretty as a picture, working late with me, sharing Chinese food. Making me laugh.”

You swallow, wanting him so badly it hurts. Every inch of you burns for him.

“I wanted to go slow,” he rasps out. “I know I jump in. Get overexcited. But with you.. I wanted to do it right. Fuck.” With his free hand he, almost unconsciously, palms himself through his suit pants, his eyes rolling back. “What the hell is this drug?”

You hungrily follow the path of his hand with your gaze. “Lothario, remember?”

“I remember.” Marcus groans, pressing the heel of his hand against his erection. He’s sitting awkwardly. “Bastard.”

“Marcus.” You squeeze his hand. “I want this. I want you. It’s lonely up on that white horse.”

He shakes his head, vehement. “It’s….not… not right.”

You press against the caging and just the pressure of the mesh on your breasts makes you moan. “So I can’t touch you, and you won’t touch me, but you also won’t leave me.” You watch him squeeze his eyes shut, look at the tent in his suit pants. “Touch yourself.”

His eyes pop open. “What?”

“If you won’t leave and you won’t… give in to whatever this is, although I want you more than I’ve wanted any man, ever…. Let me see you.”

A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead as he looks at you, big brown eyes considering. He’s weighing every option. Marcus is thoughtful, considered. Considerate. He always thinks two steps ahead, encompasses everyone in plans and strategies.

But he’s blindsided by this, and you can’t say it isn’t sexy as hell to see him unravel this way.

“Please,” you add, holding his gaze.

He squeezes your fingers and the air changes between you, and then he leans heavily against the mesh and you take the opportunity to stroke his hair, a little, and it’s so soft. Feels like silk, and you have to touch more of him, but maybe you’ll get to at least see more, so you will your breathing to calm, just a bit, as he fumbles one-handedly with his belt buckle and then slides the zipper of his suit pants down to reveal plain grey boxers, darkened in the centre by a damp patch, and your throat is so dry.

“Have you…” your heart bumps hard, the rush of seeing new parts of Marcus making you even dizzier. “Ever gotten off in this evidence locker before?”

“Can’t say I have.” Marcus’ gaze stays on your face, earnest. “I can go. I can just go.”

“Please. Please don’t go. Come in.”

“Can’t do that.” He closes his eyes; looks like he is silently praying for the power to resist you. His fingers curl into the parted edge of his suit pants.

“Let me see you?”

He sucks in a deep breath, then exhales shakily. “This is not how I planned to seduce you. Just so you know.”

Your pulse rabbits. “You seduce me every moment, Marcus. With every sweet text. Every time you smile at me. All your art stories. When you say my name. Your voice, oh God.”

Marcus’ hand trembles as he holds your gaze through the wire mesh of the lock-up, and he finally, finally parts the opening of the plain grey boxers and draws himself out, and you just drink him in with your eyes, the shape of him, the swollen tip, his length and girth, the curling hair at his base. It looks as silky as the hair on his head and you hear yourself groan needily.

“Marcus.”

He fists himself, his gaze hot on yours. “Not how I planned this date,” he repeats. “I feel like I’m on fire for you.” He rasps out your name and you watch his hand move, and suddenly it’s too much, the heat between your legs cannot be ignored, and you shove your skirt up and mirror Marcus on the floor.

His head jerks around. “Fuck,” he hisses.

“Never knew you had such a potty mouth,” you half-gasp, half-tease.

“For you, I’ll do whatever you want with my mouth.”

You groan at that as you circle your clit with a finger.

Marcus almost growls “Underwear off, I want to see.” His voice, that voice, is gentle-rough, and you think of the day you watched him in the interview room.

“Whatever you say, Agent Pike.”

“Christ.” He’s jacking off in earnest now, his gaze riveted to you as you pull off your underwear with one hand, letting it fall wherever. Your skirt is rucked up around your hips and the fact it’s Marcus watching you is a huge turn on, but honestly you’re not sure if you could have stopped, for anything.

Your combined pants fill the space. You’ve never been so wet. When you slide two fingers inside yourself the sound is obscene.

“It’s.. a wonder..  He ever got… any painting done,” Marcus grits out.

You laugh. “Now?  You wanna talk about art now?”

He huffs. “Art is the reason we’re here. Like this.” Then he sucks in a breath and you look down at him, his balls drawn up tight, his cock wet with his own pre-come.

“Marcus Matthew Pike, I swear to God, if you don’t get in here right now, I will never ever speak to you again.”

He hesitates.

“I swear on Van Gogh’s ear,” you add, your internal muscles fluttering.

Marcus half-yanks up his pants, scrabbles for the key. The seconds feel like hours until he appears again, boxers and pants around his knees, shirt tails hanging, and he opens the mesh door and you yank him in and kiss him and you tumble to the floor together, and Marcus grabs both your wrists and pins them above you with one hand, his face dark and determined, and it makes your heart pound.

“Please,” you grate out. “Marcus. I need you.” You spread your legs and try to hook your feet over his calves, but he shakes his head.

“Not yet. Sweetheart, not yet.” He curls your fingers into the wire of the mesh. “Hold on. Don’t… don’t touch me. I wanna make it good for you, first.”

You hear yourself keen his name as he shucks off his clothes from the waist down, then slides down your body and puts that gorgeous mouth to work. Your favourite thing he did with his mouth until now was talking, but this-

Maybe he’s writing his name, maybe he’s writing a sonnet, but whatever it is, the way he curls his tongue is obscene, and you don’t know if it’s partly the drug, but when he puts two fingers inside you, you come so hard you almost black out. And then lust rears its head again and you grab for him, carding one hand through his hair and cupping him with the other, and he’s slick in your palm and the ridges and heat of his cock feel so good.

“Marcus.” You fist a hand in his hair, pull a little, and he groans and pants, and you take the opportunity to pump him in your fist until he swears under his breath.

"Condom. Oh fuck. Condom."

He hesitates, then drops a soft kiss on your lips - your first, you think, a bit giddy - and you taste yourself, and he licks into your mouth and whispers your name and it's pure, unadulterated bliss.

Then he extricates himself, rummages in his suit pants, and as soon as he has the foil square in his hand you grab for him, pulling him down on top of you.

"After this," you murmur, "you're gonna bend me over the desk." And you roll the condom down his dick and he lets out a long, slow breath and pushes inside you and it's everything.

Everything inside you quiets for a moment that stretches as he starts to move, caging you in with his braced forearms, and you look into his dark chocolate eyes and his heart is on his face, with Marcus it always is. It's your favourite thing about him.

He nibbles at your lips as you make love to eachother, and you hook your legs around his hips to stop him pulling out too much. You want him close, want to feel his skin under your hands. The buttons of his shirt rasp against your dress, and if you were more aware you might think it's ridiculous, him bringing you to orgasm with you both half dressed in the floor of the art squad lock-up, but you can't care. Not when his cock hits you right there, and then you're keening his name and he tumbles over the cliff edge with you, pressing hard in those final thrusts as your muscles milk him.

You curl around him. "Marcus."

He sighs, presses his forehead to yours. "Was that… are you okay?"

You chuckle lazily. "I've never been more okay."

He cuddles you close, nosing at your cheek, murmuring sweet nothings. "Christ, what is this stuff? I could go again."

At his words desire rears its head. "There must be a desk in here somewhere, right?"

And his eyes go hot.

And that's how you find yourself bent over a desk recovered from an abandoned shipping off, the edges intricately gilded. You cling to them as Marcus fucks you hard and fast, just the way he'd fantasised about, and it's so good that you sob his name over and over.

Afterwards he cuddles you so gently, stroking your hair as he whispers praises about how good you felt around him, how next time he's gonna give you a bed covered in rose petals.

You shake your head, kissing him deeply, helping him into his jacket. "You're all I want, Marcus. Any way I can have you."

A flush colours his cheeks as he cups your cheeks. "Dinner? Let me take you out to dinner."

"I'd rather have it in bed. Have you in bed."

His eyes go wide for a second. "The drug.."

"This isn't the drug and you know it." You loop your arms around his neck. "It just jump-started us. Never been so grateful to a horny nineteenth century painter."

Marcus laughs out loud, hugs you, then releases you to hold your hand, tug you towards the elevator. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me. You know that, right?"

Happiness unfurls slowly inside you. "I could stand to hear it again."

Tagging the Pedro pals! @soldade @beccaplaying @heatherbel @mourningbirds1 @alldatalost @songsformonkeys @agirllovespasta @nelba @chews-erotically @mrschiltoncat @gamingaquarius @alienprincesspoop @dornish-queen @lackofhonor @agentpike @jaime1110 @thegreenkid @pedropascallion   @mrsparknuts @buckstaposition @winters-buck @oloreaa @mstgsmy @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @holographic-carmen @cryptkeepersoul @alwaysbethewest @poenariuniverse @starlight-starwrites @keeper0fthestars @alwaysbethewest @kindablackenedsuperhero @abuttoncalledsmalls @f0rever15elf

And @arch-venus25 did you wanna be tagged in Pedro stuff?

[deathonyourtongue]

Sanguine Nocturnus | 2

Summary: Even after 2000 years, the world can still surprise you. Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x OFC Word Count: 3K Warnings: It’s a vampire fic. Death. Blood. Gore. Sex. Horror. Not for the kiddies or the squeamish. I mean it. A/N : Couldn’t leave y’all hanging a week without meeting our main character, now could I?

It was rare that he woke to an empty bed. Rarer still that he woke feeling as though every cell in his body was vibrating. Checking the time on his phone, he sat upright and looked around, keen eyes searching the pitch-black room for any sign of his previous night’s companion. His two dobermans, Phobos and Deimos, marked the spot, the dogs framing the corpse of last night’s entertainment. She’d been a pretty thing, fresh into her 20’s, and still so naive that she’d hung on every word he’d whispered in her ear. 

At least she didn’t die a virgin.

Bending down, he picked her up easily, slinging her over one shoulder as he made his way to the cold room. Too restless to take care of her immediately, he slipped her into one of the five drawers built into the wall and locked the room behind him. By the time he made it back upstairs to shower and dress, her face was already a half-forgotten memory in his mind.

Deciding on an all-black ensemble with a ruby-toned, velvet brocade waistcoat, he showered, dressed and stepped onto the wet cobbles of Rome’s quiet streets, still feeling as though electricity was coursing through him. The moon hung over the Pantheon, looming and casting a reddish glow on all below it.

Feeling none of the restless energy dissipate despite the fresh air, he turned in the direction of the Vatican, needing to take the edge off.

He’d been a customer of the club for years; ever since it opened in fact. Over the thirty years Romulus had been serving the public, the staff had come and gone, but thankfully the owner had stayed the same. Nodding to the man as he came in, the owner automatically motioned for the bartender to set up his drink, knowing his most loyal patron only ever drank one thing; Sanguinem. A blend of wine and other, more secretive ingredients, it was the oldest drink the owner ever kept in stock. The owner had tried it once or twice, always wincing when the metallic taste hit his tongue, always confused by the popularity of the drink among many of his patrons. 

 He sighed as he took a seat at the bar, his blue eyes gazing up at the artwork that adorned the walls. Seldom seen when the club was in full swing, the paintings were recreations of those who had encountered a brutal end. Everyone from Marie Antoinette to Kurt Cobain lined the walls, their images altered to show them post-mortem. Sometimes gruesome and always detailed, each painting was a one-of-one, and if times ever got tough, an easy sell to a discerning collector. 

As the name suggested, Romulus’ atmosphere evoked the age and bloody history of the city it called home. Dim lights, chaise lounges, and arched stone ceilings all lent to the feeling like one were in the catacombs beneath the city. Most nights, the place was flooded with red neon, the gleam of the lights off the dance floor emanating to every other corner of the establishment.

For a Saturday night, the place was oddly vacant, until he remembered that tonight was All Souls’ Day and most of Italy was either in church or in their homes, celebrating the holiday. He had never had much respect for religion, especially Catholicism; as far back as he could remember, the church had been the instigator of more deaths than any other group in the world.

“They can all go fuck themselves,” the patron muttered under his breath before taking his first swig, the bartender giving him a look as though the drinker had just murdered his mother. The owner smiled, knowing the man was referring not to the employees of the club, but to the religious fanatics that kept most of the country in church on a night like this.

“Non è cattolico.” The owner told the bartender, explaining the man’s religious views to the slightly offended man, who nodded in understanding as he connected the cussing to the holiday.

“Non cattolico a tutto.” The patron agreed, his tone low and sharp, his accent different than that of his fellow countrymen.

“Thank you for the drink, old friend.” The man said as he took his final sip, standing to his full height before extending his hand to the owner who shook it happily, his smile filled with the usual wonder that came across his face whenever he observed his patron up close. Although years went by and the world changed, his loyal customer never seemed to age a day. 

No money was ever exchanged, the owner having long ago gifted his patron with a lifetime supply of Sanguinem in exchange for a certain…favor he’d needed done. 

Herminius Calvisius, Henry as he was known these days, had indeed done a few favours for a select few in Italy over the years. Personally, he adored when said favours had to do with the Vatican, for he loved the food there; if you could call it that. 

Food for Henry was not exactly appetizing fare for most others he resembled. Henry's idea of a meal usually consisted of a glass of Merlot followed by a pretty young thing looking for a good time around one of the dark alleys surrounding Vatican City at midnight. He never failed to get a laugh out of the shock that came from the Swiss Guard when they would find the woman the next morning, pale as St. Peter's Basilica, with the exception of two gentle circles in her throat.

 Yes, he was un vampiro, as they liked to call him; a vampire.

Tonight however, the meals would be scarce, and since he was quite selective of his dinner—despite favouring the occasional streetwalker—Henry found his feet guiding him towards one of the few places where blood was a commodity.

Located just outside the Porta Settimiana, the old villa was vast, and most found it disturbing, in a way they simply couldn’t define. It made the hairs on their arms stand, and quickened their step, but if one were to ask, not a single soul could say why they avoided the piece of history. 

To Henry, it was like gazing on the picture of heaven. 

It was the first place he had deemed worthy enough to call home after he became immortal, and it had yet to lose its value in his eyes. Prying open the gate, which badly needed oiling, Henry smiled as he saw Brutus stand from the front door to greet him.

“Hello, boy. It’s been ages, has it not?” He greeted as he pet the mastiff that eagerly sniffed him for bones.

“None today, boy, my apologies.” Henry’s lips turned downwards at the same time as the dog’s, both spending a few more silent moments together before the large black door of the Italianate house was opened.

Had a human have witnessed the action, their blood would have run cold, for like many of the other houses of the period, the front door of this one was unbelievably heavy, usually taking the strength of two men to open. The hand that gripped it however, was delicate, manicured and thin; precisely the hand belonging to the woman he had come to see.

“Lucrezia, my love, hello.” Truly, being in her presence over the years had provided Henry with a great many memories, and fond ones at that, something which was scant for one such as himself.

“Hello, my little hermit.” She smiled. Others in the Roman coven had always called her grin wicked, but to him, it was beautiful and warm; one of the few smiles that had ever pervaded his dreams, turning nightmares into impish fairy tales.

Lucrezia, as her name would suggest, was also Italian, and although younger than him, she had seen the days when Rome ruled the earth—or what was known of it at the time. She had seen several Caesars come and go, and had been just outside the senate when Julius himself had met his end at the tip of Brutus’ blade.

Her hematite locks descended past her shoulders in loose waves, only serving to accentuate impeccable bone structure, a creamy complexion, and burgundy lips she methodically painted every time she awoke. Henry could tell she was feeling dramatic today, as she was wearing an old Roman gown, given to her by a courtier during the reign of Octavian.

“What’s the occasion, Lucy?” Smiling at the intended reaction he got at the nickname, he did not hesitate to kiss her cheek in pardon.

“I do hate it when you call me that, Henry; Makes me sound like a child.”

Indeed to any onlooker, she might be confused for one, Lucrezia having been made an immortal at the tender age of twenty. He did not know her then, but news of her beauty spread quickly among the covens of the Empire, her likeness drawn on both papyrus and walls alike, so that any who felt the need could gaze upon her visage. Henry smiled, remembering how the portraits did her little justice when he finally gazed upon her in the flesh.

“If you must know however, I had company over just an hour ago, and there’s some very exciting news coming from the coven.”

“Will I have to be there?” Henry rolled his eyes, knowing that any news from the coven could only be one of two things; either there was to be a new celebration, or one of the elders had gone to ground and a new one had been chosen to take his place.

“Hush. I haven’t even told you the news yet. Marius was lovely enough to come and keep me company tonight on such a dreadful holiday, and since he had just been to the house, he was brimming with new gossip that I just had to hear. Apparently, Cassius has decided to sleep, and a new elder will be taking his place. According to Marius, this one is…different.”

“Different how?” Henry asked, his interest piqued despite his detestation for any and all gossip to come out of the coven he had so long ago abandoned in favour of a life less formal.

“Well, first off he’s apparently quite…awe striking, fear-inducing, etcetera. A real Roman sculpture is how Marius described him. And secondly, he’s of the…Greek persuasion, if you will.”

Her grin became even more deviant as the two headed inside towards the parlor, Lucrezia immediately pulling a decanter off a small flame and pouring two glasses of blood so good, the scent alone was enough to make Henry’s head spin.

“A boy lover?” He asked, looking curiously at his companion. It was not uncommon for those of his kind to frolic with their own sex, but among the elders and those next in line, it was a rarity, simply because it was a public imbalance among the sexes of the coven and their kind liked nothing more than to appear egalitarian.

“MAN lover, actually. If Marius was looking at the right man, then apparently our next elder has already found a companion in Fares.” Henry raised his eyebrows, indifferent to the news.

“Where do you find them?” He asked, tipping his glass in reference to the fine liquid he soon after began pouring down his throat.

“Oh, you know…The old money, the papacy, the brothels, the usual.” They shared a laugh, both knowing that no matter what a person’s station in life, their blood did little to hide their history.

“Well, my dear, for someone as young as you, you have fine taste.” And with that, he took a full drink, feeling his body reconstitute in seconds.

“Back to this fledgling, my love, and pay attention. The ceremony is taking place two nights from now, at the house, and yes, you must attend.”

Henry tried to hide his annoyance at the fact that despite severing ties to the house, he was still required to go to such frivolous functions, for the sake of tradition alone. For all he knew, the fledgling was already in power, probably getting the youngest members of the house to do his dirty work for him. 

Above all though, he felt bitter that despite his lack of connection, he had yet again been passed over as elder of the coven. It was not as if he were the youngest of vampires. Over 2,000 years old and plenty educated in the ways of the coven, Henry found it an insult to be passed over time after time; it was one of the many reasons he’d separated himself from their ancient ways. 

“How old is this boy lover and what’s his name?” Henry asked, feigning interest for Lucrezia’s sake, only mildly interested in knowing whether this new elder was an acquaintance or not.

“He is a 26, and his name is...Gab-No! Gregory, from what Marius could gather. Do you know him?”

“Is he Italian?” Henry asked, knowing that the chances of this man being familiar to him would increase tenfold if he was of Roman descent.

“When have you known the elders to ever pick a foreigner as the next in line? Of course he’s Italian.” Lucrezia laughed, thinking Henry foolish for even entertaining the notion.

“Well, there was the time when we put in a Frenchman, temporarily. That didn’t go over too well though.” He reminded her, every member of the coven all too eager to forget that one particular mistake in their history.

“And you said he was my 26? As in, older than me?”

“No. 26, as in he was born yesterday,” Lucrezia’s eyes went wide, her gaze speaking volumes to Henry as she took a sip from her chalice. He, like her, was scandalized that they’d pick someone so young to their ways to be the next leading elder.  

Licking his lips, he tried to remember all the faces he had come across in the last three decades, linking each to a name and finding that none of them matched the one he’d been given.

“Unless my memory deceives me, or he has changed his name, I do not know him.”

“Pity, for I was hoping you’d introduce me.” Lucrezia grinned, a single line of blood falling from the corner of her lips, making her indeed look like a celluloid vampire.

Finishing off her chalice, Lucrezia’s blue-green eyes turned to the night beyond her window, Henry smiling as he sensed where the night would go.

“Everyone’s tripping over themselves, naturally; either in love with his youth and beauty, or wanting to maim Cassius for choosing a fledgling who hasn’t even weaned yet, as far as Marius could tell.”

“It’s little wonder Cassius decreed you--” Lucrezia stopped short, her eyes traveling up and over the lip of her chalice, a devilish smirk exposing her fangs as she waited for Henry’s reaction.

“Decreed me to what, Lucy?” Henry asked with a warning tone, one eyebrow raising as he waited for her to spill the rest of the gossip she’d received second-hand.

“Decreed that you will be his tutor in all things...Vampiric.” Her delicate fingers slipped through the air, creating a ballet all their own and momentarily distracting Henry from his own ire.

“He has no power to do so! Lucrezia, tell me this is another one of your humorless jests!” He finally barked, teeth bared as he stood and began to pace around the room.

“I’m afraid not, my darling. If Marius was correct, the decree came with an ultimatum as well. Come to heel, or…” 

“That pompous bastard. He knows full well what he does. I knew it would be another century of trouble once he rose. Had to get one last kick to the teeth in. I swear, if this is still because I told him his mother was a beautiful as a donkey’s prick, I will have his head while he SLEEPS!”

“Easy, Centurion. It’s generally frowned upon to decapitate an elder nowadays. Come, let us slake your lust elsewhere. I ordered in.” Her smile turned even more secretive as she rang a bell next to the snifter, Lucrezia’s gentle hands pressing Henry towards the area of the parlor that she’d long ago turned into something more closely resembling an Andaruni. 

Slipping her hands into the collar of his jacket, Lucrezia helped Henry undress before allowing him to do the same to her, the sweet tone of her giggle as she spun out of her dress completely dissipating any of the lingering anger Henry felt. When they were both nude and relaxed among the many cushions that separated them from the floor, Lucrezia’s day man sent in a feast. 

“Twins! Lucy, you’ve outdone yourself.” Henry’s eyebrow raised for a very different reason as both he and Lucrezia opened their arms for the two young blondes who had been ushered in, bare, and more than a little tipsy if their footsteps were anything to go by. 

“What did you give them tonight?” Henry questioned with a chuckle, reaching up and catching one of the girls before she could crash headlong into the low table that held a variety of accoutrements for pre and post-dinner. Undeterred, the woman found her way easily into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck as she did a sloppy grind of her hips against his hardening shaft.

“Just the usual. Bit of Absinthe, touch of Laudanum for the nerves.”

“I owe you dinner.” Henry smiled as he sank into the girl in his arms, watching as she arched back instinctively against the exquisite pleasure he provided.

Moans filled the air before a deathly silence blanketed the villa, two more souls joining the countless others being prayed for on that sacred night.

[moody-blues-requiem]

Dullahan of the Opera (afab reader x Dullahan!Prosciutto)

SPOOKTACULAR FICS GO!

First up is the winner of the poll in a 3:1 victory, Dullahan Prosciutto! 

Fic is n/s/f/w, mild warning for semi-public sex. 

Enjoy!

Deep in the heart of Venizia and dressed to the nines on a temperate October evening, Prosciutto clasped your delicately gloved hand to his side as he guided you carefully along a narrow sidewalk. You were blindfolded, eyes hidden behind black silk, matching the simple, open-backed gown and elbow-length gloves you wore. Walking blindfolded in heels was a feat in itself, but one you managed with grace. You hoped Prosciutto wouldn’t be too distracted with guiding you to notice your impressive performance. Before he had put the blindfold on you, you’d gotten to see him in a different suit than his usual patterned one; rich black with gilded details, and of course, his usual pendant dangling from his neck. 

When asked why a blindfold, you were told to trust him. When asked where you were going, you were told to trust him. You trusted Prosciutto with your past, present, and future, but that didn’t stop you from playfully pouting at your lover. “Can I get a hint, at least?”

“Alright,” he said. “You’re wearing the blindfold because I want to surprise you with where we’re going.”

Even without your sight, you could feel the smug aura practically radiating from him. 

The sounds of the city around you changed as you approached your destination. You hear more voices, softly murmuring and mingling together, indicating a crowd of people. The light shifted just a touch warmer, you were approaching somewhere bright. Soft music played from some unseen source. Where…

Prosciutto placed his hands on your hips, stopping you from going any further. Sturdy fingers removed the blindfold over your head, carefully brushing your hair back into place after. The sudden light took a moment to adjust to, but once you could see you immediately recognized the building before. Tall and grey, with beautiful stone pillars, statues, and decorated with colorful flags. A sculpture of a bird adorned the entryway sign, but you didn’t need to read it to know where you were. One of the most famous opera houses in all of Italy, Il Teatro La Fenice. Prosciutto flashed two tickets in your direction, with a sly smile. “Private opera box,” he said. “Just for us.” 

It was rare for Prosciutto to splurge like this, but when he did, he went all out. Waiting for you in your private seating was a chilled wine that you knew had to cost at least half a job for him. Was it wrong to enjoy such finery at the cost of blood money? Maybe. Were you going to indulge yourself anyways? Absolutely. 

The show opened with a beautiful duet piece sung by a couple, a young woman and a slightly older gentleman. Something about restrained love-- even as a fluent Italian speaker, the way they sang could make the words difficult to understand, but you enjoyed it nonetheless. The passion in their voice spoke (or rather, sang) for them. The wine was delicious, the music beautiful, and your lover had his hand protectively on your thigh the whole time. Even alone in the opera box, he liked asserting a subtle dominance over you. 

It was a bit less subtle when, out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw Prosciutto begin to nod off, but when you looked, his head was off his shoulders completely. 

You knew he was a dullahan. He’d taken his head off in front of you countless times. You’d never adjust perfectly to the sight of his stump neck, glistening red with blood that didn’t flow like the blood in your body. He’d explained that it was perfectly natural for his species of fae to be able to remove and reattach their head at will, and no, it didn’t hurt. He could still talk, and even eat with a detached head and the food would still make it to his stomach. “Fae magic, I don’t know”, he said, as if that were a perfectly good explanation. “Why is that harder to believe than a detachable head?” 

The blonde passed his head from one hand to the other, delicately placing it in your lap. You tore your eyes away from the singer on stage to look down, met with the sight of a smirking Prosciutto. “You *did* get my text about what to wear, didn’t you? Or more specifically, what not to wear?”

You… had an idea of where this was going. Prosciutto had asked you to forgo your panties for the evening, though you assumed that would be for when you got home, or maybe the car ride… and a while back, months ago, he’d asked your thoughts on sex in public. 

“Not just out in the open, no,” you’d said. “Maybe something more private, where we could get caught but probably won’t… I think I could do that.”

And then he just… never acted on it. So you forgot. Until now, of course, as he looked up at you with a fire in his eyes. “Pull up your dress, love. Let me see.” 

You kept Prosciutto balanced expertly in your lap while you maneuvered the dress up over your knees, the slit over the left leg making it easier to pull the material back and expose yourself. The thought of anyone other than Prosciutto seeing you like this made your cheeks flush a deep pink, which only darkened as Prosciutto spoke again. “Show me, [y/n]. I’m afraid you’ll have to hold me, my hands are a bit occupied.”

Careful not to mess up Prosciutto’s hair, you held his head back and spread your legs, giving him a nice view of you. You’d shaved everything, just as he liked. Already the thought of being so impure with your boyfriend, here of all places, had you glistening wet with excitement. You turned your head just a bit to glance over at Prosciutto’s body, and nearly dropped the man’s head when you saw his cock out, flushed a deep red and leaking precum, hard and desperate for attention. 

“Careful!” Prosciutto hissed. “But I could see just how you responded to that…. You got even wetter, didn’t you, naughty little girl? Give me a taste, before I let you play.” 

You brought his head in close, enveloping him between warm thighs and the scent of your desperation, earning an aroused growl from Prosciutto’s clenched teeth before he dove in with his tongue. For as prim and proper as he was in other respects, there was absolutely no decorum when it came to eating you out; he went at you like a man starved. Lapping at you with feverish strokes, fucking you with his tongue, letting the end of his nose rub over your clit just to heighten your sensations farther. Your hips bucked and rolled against his severed head, but he was kept firmly in place by your clenching thighs. 

When you felt your thighs growing shaky, Prosciutto growled. “Enough,” he said, between gasps for air. “Set me on the table, where I can see my body. I want you to fuck yourself with my cock, darling. Don’t stop until you cum on me, but if you dirty that suit one bit the dry-cleaning bill is on you.”

Prosciutto’s eyes were practically glued to your body as you, pulling up your dress a bit to give him an even better view, slid yourself down onto his waiting cock. Prosciutto groaned, the combination of your wet walls surrounding him with the sight of his cock disappearing into your tight hole was incredible. You groaned as his length slid perfectly inside of you, as if you were made to take him. Prosciutto regularly reminded you that you were. 

“Move,” he commanded, barely audible over the voice of the opera lead beginning an emotional solo piece. “Fuck yourself on me, amore, go…”

You wasted no time, swirling your hips over his lap before setting a slow pace up and down, bouncing, feeling his length push just a bit further with every thrust. His hands grasped your hip bones like handles, commanding you to go deeper and faster. You tilted your head down to nip at his collarbones, both to tease your boyfriend and to help silence your desperate little sounds. The opera singer’s voice dominated the large auditorium, but you didn’t want your own little solo to accompany hers. 

You found your hips moving in pace with the song, a ballad fiery with passion and… maybe anger, you weren’t exactly paying attention, but the tempo and feeling of the song compelled you to move faster and faster, moan a little louder, clench a little harder around Prosciutto’s cock… The man’s head was biting his lower lip, blue eyes blown wide with lust. “Fuck, amore, I’m close,” he whispered. “Keep going. I want to feel you cum, I want-- I *need* to fill you up.”

“Prosciutto, please!” you gasped. You could feel your end approaching as the song reached its’ fervent peak. “Please please please--”

Prosciutto growled, wilder and more unrestrained than you’d seen him before. His manicured nails were digging into the skin of your hips. “Cum for me, amore, now!” 

You fell apart at his command. Stars danced in your vision, the song faded in and out of your ears, masked by the waves of pleasure overtaking your whole body. Distantly you could feel something thick and warm filling you up, Prosciutto’s cock pumping into you, his hands pulling you in close. You were sweaty, disheveled, but you didn’t care. Let those fancy opera-goers see who gave you pleasure unmatched. Let them see the inevitable stain on Prosciutto’s suit (oops). The body beneath you leaned over, grabbing Prosciutto’s head and returning it to his shoulders before the man leaned in for a kiss, ruling his fingers through your now-messy hair. 

“That was incredible, Pros,” you whispered against his lips. “Thank you.”

“The pleasure was all mine, dear. And besides,” he looked over your shoulder, just in time to see the woman on stage bow at the crowd’s thunderous applause. “We still have two acts left.”