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chic-a-gigot · 5 months

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Le Petit écho de la mode, no. 51, vol. 20, 18 décembre 1898, Paris. 19. Toilettes de bal. Robes et manteaux de Mme de Mirebourg 9, rue de la Pépinière, Paris. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

I. Toiletté de bal pour jeune femme en moire blanche et tulle. La jupe ronde, doublée de taffetas, est garnie de trois lés ruchés de tulle blanc. Le corsage, en taffetas blanc, est recouvert de tulle chenillé orange. Ce corsage se compose d’un dos drape et d’un devant également drapé, rattrapé par un nœud de ruban de satin blanc; autour du décolleté, grosse ruche de tulle; manches courtes recouvertes de ruches; tour de taille en ruban de satin, gants longs en peau de suède blancs; collier de velours. Mat.: 10 mèt. de moire, 6 mèt. de tulle, 1 mèt. de ruban, 3 mèt. de taffetas.

I. Ball gown for young women in white moire and tulle. The round skirt, lined with taffeta, is trimmed with three ruched strips of white tulle. The bodice, in white taffeta, is covered in orange chenille tulle. This bodice consists of a draped back and an equally draped front, caught with a white satin ribbon bow; around the neckline, large ruffle of tulle; short sleeves covered with ruffles; satin ribbon waistline, long white suede gloves; velvet necklace. Materials: 10 meters moire, 6 meters tulle, 1 meter ribbon, 3 meters taffeta.

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II. Toilette en taffetas rose, guipure et gaze. Le corsage, décolleté en carré, est en taffetas rose recouvert de tulle brodé. Sur le devant, gracieusement drapé, est posé à gauche un boléro rond en guipure coupé par des ruchons de mousseline de soie; une même ruche entoure le décolleté; ceinture ronde en ruban terminée sur le côté par un nœud; manches courtes bouillonnées. Jupe ronde garnie de petites ruches de gaze et d’entre-deux. Cette jupe, très collante du haut, est doublée de taffetas. Gants longs en suède blancs. Mat.: 12 mèt. de taffetas, 3 mèt. de gaze, 0 m 50 de guipure.

II. Ensemble in pink taffeta, guipure and gauze. The bodice, with a square neckline, is in pink taffeta covered with embroidered tulle. On the front, gracefully draped, is placed on the left a round guipure bolero cut with silk muslin ruffles; the same ruffle surrounds the neckline; round ribbon belt finished on the side with a bow; short ruffled sleeves. Round skirt trimmed with small ruffles of gauze and inserts. This skirt, very clingy from the top, is lined with taffeta. Long white suede gloves. Materials: 12 meters taffeta, 3 meters gauze, 0.5 meters guipure.

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III. Toilette en soie brochée Louis XVI fond blanc à bouquet de mousseline de soie vert raisin. La jupe, collante, doublée de taffetas, est garnie d’une chute de mousseline de soie plissée descendant en cascade sur le côté et entourant le bas. Le corsage, moulant le buste, est décolleté en carré et garni d’une draperie qui retombe en coquillé à droite; ceinture drapée entourant la taille, fermée par un chou; fermeture invisible, gants blancs, collier de perles fines, souliers de peau blanche. Mat.: 12 mèt. de soie, 3 mèt. de mousseline de soie.

III. Louis XVI brocade silk ensemble with white background and bouquet of grape green silk muslin. The tight skirt, lined with taffeta, is trimmed with a drop of pleated silk chiffon cascading down the side and surrounding the bottom. The bodice, hugging the bust, has a square neckline and is trimmed with drapery which falls in a shell pattern on the right; draped belt surrounding the waist, closed with a cabbage; invisible zipper, white gloves, fine pearl necklace, white skin shoes. Materials: 12 meters silk, 3 meters silk chiffon.

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IV. Devant de la fig. 1.

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V. Dos de la fig. 3.

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VI. Toilette en satin orange, composée d’une jupe ronde garnie au bas d’un volant de dentelle pailletée posée en V devant, et d’un corsage ajusté, décolleté du haut en formant la pointe devant, garni de bandes pailletées et motifs brodés; ceinture de velours noir; manches formées par deux volants superposés; gants blancs en peau Suède, souliers en satin. Mat.: 12 mèt. de satin, 4m50 de dentelle.

VI. Dress in orange satin, composed of a round skirt trimmed at the bottom with a flounce of sequined lace placed in a V shape in front, and a fitted bodice, neckline at the top forming the point in front, trimmed with sequined bands and embroidered motifs; black velvet belt; sleeves formed by two superimposed ruffles; white suede gloves, satin shoes. Materials: 12 meters satin, 4.5 meters lace.

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VII. Toilette en soie "paille" pour jeune fille ou jeune femme. Jupe ronde brodée de délicates roses roses et cerclée d’entre-deux de guipure de Venise incrustés. Cette jupe est doublée de taffetas ou de silckrin. Corsage genre boléro ouvert devant sur un gilet de mousseline de soie encadré par un volant. Le haut, décolleté en rond, est garni d’un fichu Marie-Antoinette bordé d’un volant et terminé sur la poitrine par un nœud retenu par une boucle en strass. Ceinture drapée en mousseline de soie, manches à coude terminées par une draperie et un volant; il se compose d’un dos tendu et d’un devant blouse. Doublure ajustée fermée au milieu du devant. Mat.: 12 mèt. de soie, 1m50 de mousseline.

VII. “Straw” silk ensemble for young girls or young women. Round skirt embroidered with delicate pink roses and surrounded by encrusted Venetian guipure inserts. This skirt is lined with taffeta or silckrin. Bolero-style bodice open in front over a silk chiffon vest framed by a ruffle. The top, with a round neckline, is trimmed with a Marie-Antoinette scarf edged with a ruffle and finished on the chest with a bow held in place by a rhinestone buckle. Draped silk chiffon belt, elbow-length sleeves finished with drapery and a ruffle; it consists of a stretched back and a blouse front. Closed fitted lining at center front. Materials: 12 meters silk, 1.5 meters muslin.

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VIII. Toilette en satin blanc et velours corail. La jupe ronde, coupée à trois lés en satin blanc, est recouverte d’une seconde jupe en gaze noire brodée et pailletée terminée par un volant; ce volant est monté sous une petite ruche de mousseline de soie bouillonnée, coupée par des broderies acier, recouvert en partie par une gracieuse draperie de velours miroir retenue à gauche sur l’épaule par un pouf de roses roses ; manches courtes recouvertes de trois volants de dentelle; doublure de corsage ajustée, fermée au milieu du devant. Mat.: 3 mèt. de velours, 10 met. de soie, 2 mèt. de mousseline de soie.

VIII. Ensemble in white satin and coral velvet. The round skirt, cut into three lengths of white satin, is covered by a second skirt in embroidered and sequined black gauze finished with a ruffle; this ruffle is mounted under a small ruffle of bubbled silk muslin, cut with steel embroidery, partly covered by a graceful drapery of mirrored velvet held on the left shoulder by a pouf of pink roses; short sleeves covered with three lace ruffles; fitted bodice lining, closed at center front. Materials: 3 meters velvet, 10 meters silk, 2 meters silk chiffon.

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IX. Toilette de satin blanc brodé et pailleté, faite d’une robe princesse ajustée à la taille, drapée du haut et décolletée en carré, entourée d’une petite ruche de mousseline de soie; sur le milieu du devant, large nœud bordé d’une ruche; épaulettes froncées garnies de ruches. Cette robe princesse se compose d’un dos ajusté, de petits côtés de dos et de devant, et d’un devant avec pince; le drapé du haut est rapporté avec couture dissimulée sous le bras; collier de velours, gants blancs, souliers en satin, aigrette de jais dans les cheveux. Mat.: 14 mèt. de satin, 1m50 de mousseline de soie.

IX. Embroidered and sequined white satin toilet, made of a princess dress fitted at the waist, draped from the top and square neckline, surrounded by a small ruffle of silk muslin; on the middle of the front, large bow bordered with a ruffle; gathered shoulder pads trimmed with ruches. This princess dress features a fitted back, small back and front sides, and a pleated front; the top drape is attached with a hidden seam under the arm; velvet necklace, white gloves, satin shoes, jet aigret in her hair. Materials: 14 meters satin, 1.5 meters silk chiffon.

#Le Petit écho de la mode #19th century #1890s #1898 #on this day #December 18 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #description #Forney #dress #gown #evening #Modèles de chez #Madame Mirebourg #gigot #devant et dos

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itsmmatchaa · 1 year

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NICO

.*𓆩♡𓆪⸸･ﾟ “the red flags are big but so is my dick” :)

𓆩♡𓆪.SEX: god male

𓆩♡𓆪.SEXUAL ORIENTATION: yes

𓆩♡𓆪.SPECIES: demon? incubus prince? sex machine? the name you'll be screaming tonight? a nuisance for sure. Half demon prince, half human

𓆩♡𓆪.NAME: Niccolo Cifarelli

𓆩♡𓆪.NICKNAMES: nico, nilo, "the angel of art department", nicky, asmoday, the son of asmodeus, your highness

𓆩♡𓆪.OCCUPATIONS: prince of second circle of hell (lust), art student and a barista

𓆩♡𓆪.AGE: 246-ish

𓆩♡𓆪.BIRTHDAY: 6/9 nice (6th september)

𓆩♡𓆪.HOMETOWN: hell/woods in Italy

𓆩♡𓆪.HEIGHT: 195 cm

𓆩♡𓆪.APPEARENCE:

𓆩♡𓆪.EYECOLOR: Nico's eye color changes accordingly to his emotions, thats why he hides his eyes with glasses or his hair. Usually they are blue with brown hues, but can have hints of purple when he use his demonic powers, when he's angry or feeding himself with sexual energy, blood or flesh.

𓆩♡𓆪.HAIR: thick dark hair that cannot decide if it's black or dark brown, wavy and fluffy.

𓆩♡𓆪.BODY INFO: Nico's body is ripped. he use a lot of his time working out and carrying weight, art equipment and stones or clays since he likes sculpting. all that activities helped to turn him into a very strong guy. He also enjoys deadlifting and helping his dad with mechanics when he's fixing up cars.

𓆩♡𓆪.SKINCOLOR: Nico has a tanned skin thanks to the amount of time he gets under the sun helping his mother with orange harvest and sketching people.

𓆩♡𓆪.ABOUT NICO: son of asmodeus himself and a human woman. his mother died in Triora centuries ago being judged as a witch, when in fact she was just a very beautiful young and intelligent woman without a husband and refunsing to marry a old man.

when nico's mother arrived in hell, the demon asmodeus was amazed by her beauty and kindness, he decided to woo her and take her as his wife. she was strangely kind even though she was in hell. Asmodeus knew that someone had probably misjudged her and sent her to hell, which at this point was a daily basis (seriously heaven/hell bureaucracy is a mess), but asmodeus didn't want to lose her and decided to hide her existence. asmodeus waited years for her to feel comfortable enough to get into a relationship and copulate with him and together they had only one child: Niccolo.

Niccolo was born human and very weak, unfortunally the infernal air was not good for his weak human lungs, he was always coughing a lot so Asmodeus took his wife and children to a wood cabin to live in the human world. years passed and despite the efforts of his mother and father, unfortunately Niccolo died at the age of 13, due to the plague and his fragile health, on the island of Poveglia, along with other infected people. Asmodeus knew that he could not interfere with his son's death, otherwise the boy could become a lost soul without memories of his life, however de demon lord had a little bit of hope that maybe his son could turn into a demon when he died.

after Niccolo's death, a search was made after all the dead souls hoping to find Asmodeus's son but without success. Nico disappeared for about 200 years until a young boy suddenly appeared in hell, looking for his parents, saying that heaven was too boring

"I really tried be a good boy, but I couldn't do anything and they were already pointing their swords at me.”

when asmodeus learned that the heavens had kept his son for all this time, he was pissed, but at his son's request nothing was done and he wouldn't declare war to heaven... this time

"it took me a long time to see you father, and I don't want to look at any angels so soon"

Niccolo was now dead, and as Asmodeus predicted, he became a demon and a refused soul (when you ascend to heaven but get kicked out). asmodeus was proud while Nico's mother was slapping his shoulders while crying after so much time without seeing her only son.

after spending time with his family, Niccolo had been given the title of Asmoday, reborning as a hell's prince, and no one demon ever speak his name again. * (please check trivia for more information)

𓆩♡𓆪.PERSONALITY: even if he's flirtatious, full of shit and sometimes mysterious, he's kind and caring, he's a goofball honestly. his demonic personality does get the best of him sometimes, he can't fight the urge of making jokes and stealing people's heart with his looks (and he will seduce you in purpose, yes) but at the same time he's also clumsy and cute.

hes the type of guy that makes every woman's heart beat fast not matter the age, the type all mother want to their daughters. the way he talks to mrs. Amelia, an old lady and his neighbor, like she's young again, it's so cute, and it's so beautiful to see her smiling and blushing because of the compliments that Niccolo has said. he knows that a little compliment makes the day of the old lady.

"Oh Mrs. Amelia, you're shining today! May I have the pleasure of your company to the train station my lady?"

Nico also enjoys his time alone, listening to music or running early in the morning, calisthenics or painting. But there's nothing he enjoys more than vacation, when he goes back to Italy and can see his parents in the human form, and pretend they are normal humans for a bit, helping his mother taking care of her farm, and helping his dad when he's messing up with old cars. that one hobbie made Nico a big fan of races, it's not rare seeing him in street racings with his white nissan 180sx and believe me, he's fast as fuck when wants to win.

Nico is like a puppy dog when in love, he'll cherish and love you, you're going to be his sun, his moon and all hi starts, he'll draw you, sculpt you and kill for you if necessary. he´s the type that would wear a "my girl is hotter tahn you" shirt and he would be proud about it, even if he's supposed to be bad, if you ask, he'll be the most loyal puppy in the world. but don't be surprised if one day you wake up with a very hungry half demon boyfriend next to you needing sexual energy. after all he's kind of the prince of sex demons and when incubus fall in love they can only feed from his beloved and oh boy he's insatiable.

𓆩♡𓆪.LIKES: playing bass, cars, sculping, oranges and tangerines, messing with cars, iced coffee with 2 spoon's of sugar and milk, cats, the smell of rain

𓆩♡𓆪.DISLIKES: flu, hospitals, extreme unhygienic people and places, blank pages, when he miss a race, pure milk (he only drinks milk with chocolate powder or sugar). Cooking (he can't cook for his life), churches

𓆩♡𓆪.TRIVIA:

names are sacred to demons, so when a demon makes himself known he is given a false name or title. Some demons are so ancient that we only know their titles. If you speak the real name of a demon, you can end up dying or you will feel enormous pain. The only ones who can speak a demon's name are those close to them or to whom the demon has made a confession (the act of telling the demons name).

can't cook for shit, but he's very good at making drinks. he work as an barista with Yao Mei.

each demon has a way of protecting its name, by telling it to everyone and putting a seal on themselves, or being so powerful that even if everyone knows it won't change anything. Or killing everyone who knows their name.

#.Nico #oc x reader #terato #monster oc #oc #monster oc x reader #monster smut #demon #demon oc #demon x reader #terato x reader #monster boyfriend x reader

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sarahlizziewrites · 7 months

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9 lines 9 people

I was tagged by @tabswrites, @tisiphonewolfe and @mister-writes for this - thank you!

Been so excited for the opportunity to share the horny orange-eating scene from Brazen Sparrow. I don't know why this WIP goes so hard so early, but I'm here for it.

I can't even tag this for spice. It's just an orange guys, I promise.

“Come, Captain. Just a little taste?” The Salthawk was close now, eyes glimmering with that deep-sea beckoning; the lightning within a stormcloud. She held the orange up to Cassandra’s lips, squeezing her palm around the puckered skin to release a small amount of liquid. She turned her face sharply away, but not before a drop of the juice landed on her bottom lip. Unconsciously, her hungry tongue darted out to lap it up, and the tart sweetness burst over her palette. It tasted as good as it looked. Even before boarding the Sparrow, fresh fruit had been a rare luxury, and one she had let her crew partake in as preference. Now that she had tasted it, her body begged for more. Her stomach growled again - no sense trying to hide it, the Salthawk was so close by, there was no way she didn’t hear - and slowly, submitting to the desires of her body, she turned her head back.

I'm going to tag @nettleandthorne, @squarebracket-trick, @unclevladscorner, @ragnarokproofing, @void-botanist, @vacantgodling, @magic-is-something-we-create, @queen-tashie, @l-antre-des-merveilles (as always, no pressure!)

I floated the idea of a taglist for Brazen Sparrow but Tumblr has disappeared the post so I don't remember if anyone signed up! So let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future Brazen Sparrow snippets

#wip: brazen sparrow #tag games

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lovesosweeet · 8 months

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better left unsaid // cth

chapter one

in which orion has leukemia, and calum doesn't know.

read chapter zero

june 2, 2016

madrid, spain

orion

It’s been about a week since I got to Madrid, depending on if you count my first few days of jet lag coma that left me bound to the confines of my room for roughly 48 hours after landing. My flatmates were quite concerned, but didn’t want to wake me. It has been a week of so much fun and exploration of this city I get to call home for a few months.

The three girls I’m living with are also students, so we all have minimal responsibilities during our summer break. We spend our days meandering through Malasaña and Lavapies, popping into cafes and shops that intrigue us. We grab pastries and coffee and take them to Retiro during the day or hang around bars drinking glass after glass of tinto de verano and swap silly stories. We attempt to cook dinner together most nights, but I’ve quickly become addicted to falafel sandwiches that I can order to be delivered at practically any time of day. Life is sweet and slow, as it should be, while we get to know the city and each other before classes begin in a couple of months.

Paula and Marta, two of my roommates, are both from Spain and have promised Ilse and me an authentic night out in Madrid tonight. Paula’s girlfriend is a bartender at a popular club, so we’ll also get to have a budget-friendly night out since she promised us a discount.

It’s 9:00 now and we are all getting ready while sharing a pizza and some cheap beer. I’m still trying to decide what to wear, shuffling through the pile of offerings from each of my roommates as something to wear tonight.

As soon as I met Pau, Marta, and Ilse, I instantly felt underdressed and unfashionable. My wardrobe of simple tees and jean shorts don’t seem to cut it here. Thankfully we are all relatively close in size so I can borrow things, but I will probably be spending a lot of my money at Zara trying to catch my wardrobe up with the way Spaniards dress.

Eventually I settle on a light blue slip style dress with lace trim—I think it’s Ilse’s. I pair it with my white sneakers and throw my hair up into a loose ponytail. It’s so hot out, and our apartment doesn’t have AC, and to add another layer, the sun doesn’t go down for another 30 minutes! It isn’t worth bothering with too much makeup since I’ll sweat it all off, so I keep it minimal but add a sparkly lip gloss to seem a bit more done up.

Pau and Ilse are discussing which shoes they’ll wear.

“Orion, my love, you cannot wear sneakers to the club!” Ilse says as soon as she sees me in the doorway to her room.

Our apartment is small, but it’s in a really cute neighborhood and right next to a metro station, so we don’t plan to spend a ton of time at home anyway, especially not once classes start.

I look down at my worn sneakers and quarter socks, feeling a little embarrassed. “I mean, I’m not wearing heels. Those cobblestones will roll my ankle instantly.” Truthfully, though, I’ve never gone clubbing. I’m 19 and live in the US. It’s not exactly legal for me to go clubbing, and I’m a big rule follower.

Ilse opens her mouth to continue, but Pau stops her. “Actually, you should be fine. We’re not going to that kind of club.” She gives me her signature warm smile. “Light blue looks nice on you!”

I grin back at her. “Thanks! That orange looks so good on you.”

Paula is what I think of when I envision a pretty Spanish girl. She has rich olive skin, brown hair with lighter streaks from being in the sun, and striking green eyes. Her nearly neon orange one shoulder top contrasts and complements her coloring beautifully. She has her long hair pulled back with a claw clip, but a few stray strands frame her face effortlessly.

“Okay, back to me,” Ilse jokes. Well, partially jokes. “Are we thinking sandals or boots?”

We decide that Ilse should wear sandals since it’s so hot out, and after that we check in on Marta who had been staying silent in her room this whole time. By the time we get out the door to head to the metro, it’s already 10. Are we going to have a hard time getting into the club? Should we have tried to leave earlier?

I try not to question it, knowing that Pau’s girlfriend will be there to sneak us in if needed.

We all swipe our metro cards and head to the platform for the line we’re taking. Pau knows exactly where to go and the rest of us just follow. I’m still getting the hang of the different lines and stations, so it’s nice to have Pau and Marta with us since they’ve been using the Madrid metro their whole lives.

“Pau, I don’t feel like you’ve told us much. What’s your novia like?” I ask.

A wide smile takes over her face and her eyes light up. “Oh my god, she is the best! She’s so funny and she remembers like, everything anyone has ever said to her which is so nice. I never have to wonder if she remembers what I’ve told her and she is always, always on time and I never am. She loves running and, of course, football. She’s so easygoing and always makes everyone in the room feel welcome. Oh, and—sorry. I’m talking too much!”

What Paula doesn’t realize is that all of us are smiling at her description.

“She sounds incredible,” I tell her, resting a hand on her arm. “I’m excited to meet her!”

When we get to the club — discoteca — there’s absolutely no one outside aside from the bouncer. He smiles when he makes eye contact with Paula.

“Buenas, Pau!” He wraps an arm around her loosely in a quick hug.

“Hi, Jorge! Podemos entrar?”

Jorge nods and holds the door open for us, not even bothering to make sure we’re over 18. Pau was already smiling when we walked in, but when she sees her girlfriend her smile overpowers her entire face and she runs over to the bar.

I notice that the club is basically empty, aside from a group of three hanging out off to the side of the bar. It’s 10:30 and it’s empty? This is the authentic Spanish experience?

Marta, Ilse and I trail after Paula and smile at her girlfriend, whose name I still don’t know.

“Marta, you know Lucia,” she starts.

Marta smiles. “Of course! Siempre es un placer.”

“Lucia, these are our new flatmates, Ilse and Orion. This is both of their first times in Madrid, and I said, ‘what better way to see the city than to visit Space Monkey?’ So, here we are!”

“Space Monkey?” Ilse asks.

“Space Monkey! That’s where we are right now!” Lucia says, gesturing to the space around us.

A Green Day song echoes from the speakers and there are posters of the band on the walls, accompanied by posters of Blink 182, Nirvana, The Rolling Stones, and the like. The lighting is dim and the floor is a bit sticky, and still, the place is practically empty.

“Is it normally this… dead on a Saturday night?” I ask, trying not to sound too negative.

My question sends Marta, Lucia, and Paula into a unified laughing fit while Ilse and I exchange slightly worried glances.

“Oh my sweet American friend, 10:30 here is like 7:30 in the US. Just give it a few hours!”

We aren’t too late for the fun, we’re too early. I’d heard that the Spanish run on a much later schedule, but I didn’t realize just how much later it was.

“What can I get you guys? On the house.” Lucia throws her bar towel over her shoulder and awaits our answers.

“Do you have tinto?” I ask, scanning the bar for some kind of menu or something that indicates their selection.

“Only been in Madrid for a week and you’re already hooked on tinto?” Lucia laughs, grabbing a cup from under the counter, scooping in some ice, and pouring my cup of lemony wine deliciousness from the tap. She sets it on the bar and slides it toward me. “Plenty more where that came from!”

The next few hours pass by in a blur. Paula was right, Lucia is wonderful. She slid me a fresh glass of tinto each time I neared the bottom of the one I was holding, which quickly put me into a tipsy stupor. We sang along to the throwback punk pop songs that played on the speakers and had so much fun talking to Lucia that I didn’t even realize Space Monkey was no longer an empty, sad bar, but was now full of dancing people. Lucia had pulled away from us to help paying customers, so it was just the four of us congregated in a huddle at the end of the bar.

“Wanna dance?” Ilse asks us, setting her beer glass onto the bar and holding her hands out for us to take.

Marta grabs her hand and chugs the remainder of her own glass. “Yes, please!”

I look down at my basically full glass. “Let me finish this, then I’ll come find you!”

“I’ll hang here for a bit too!” Paula says, and the next thing we know our two friends are long gone, swallowed by the crowd.

I lean closer to Paula so she can hear me without having to scream. “Lucia is great!”

Paula, who’s more outgoing than anyone I’ve ever met, suddenly is shy. She gives me a sheepish smile and blushes, looking away from me. “She is, isn’t she?”

When I go to say something else, I get cut off by the song that starts next because the entire room starts screaming.

Coming out of my cage and I’ve been doin’ just fine

Paula shrieks and starts to sing along, grabbing me by the shoulders as she screams every word. Lucia runs over to us to sing with her girlfriend, and in the blink of an eye Lucia is standing on the bar, holding her hand out to Paula.

“Give me a lift!” Pau says to me, motioning for me to help her onto the bar as well.

It takes me a second to process what she wants, and then I’m locking my hands together so she has a step up to join Lucia. The two start jumping around and keep screaming the words, acting out the lyrics with massive smiles on their faces. With my phone in one hand and my fresh glass of tinto in the other, I try to grab a picture of the cute couple while they dance, but am having a hard time getting the image to stay focused without the flash coming on.

I’m so focused on taking the picture that when a hand places itself on the small of my back, I practically leap a foot into the air, startled. My phone clatters to the floor and my drink sloshes everywhere, cold wine splashing onto my arm and the floor.

“Fuck!” I curse, setting my now half empty glass onto the bar and bending down to grab it.

But, at the same time, a deep voice says, “Let me.”

Next thing I know I’m whacking my head on something hard. The stranger’s head.

“OW!”

I reach for my phone on the ground at the same time as a much larger, tattooed hand reaches for it. It retracts as soon as mine clutches the sticky iPhone I’m hoping isn’t shattered. Within a split second I feel the same pressure on the small of my back.

“No me toques!” I say frustratedly. This stranger’s touch has already made me spill my drink and drop my phone and feel somewhat concussed as I stand up. They need to keep their hands off me.

I turn around to yell at the person more, but am just met with a person’s chest. Rather, a chest covered in a freshly stained (with my red wine drink) white cotton t-shirt. Oops.

I look up to meet the eyes of this stranger, unsure if I’d like to keep scolding or apologize for the stained shirt. I gaze into rich, deep brown eyes framed by thick lashes and warm skin. I mentally curse the stranger for having beautiful eyes and scowl at him.

“Sorry, what?” He asks.

I stare at him blankly and blink. What? I thought we were at an “authentically Spanish” club? Why is he defaulting to English?

“Oh, er… lo siento? Inglés… uh, por favor?” He slowly sputters out a few words, each syllable taking a lot of effort for him to say. Clearly he doesn’t speak any Spanish.

I take in the rest of his face. Groomed eyebrows and full cheeks. Pouty lips. Fluffy, nearly black dark brown hair. A few freckles to decorate his smooth skin. He’s beautiful, to say the least. Or, I guess his face is beautiful. I don’t know if unconsensually touching strangers is a particularly beautiful trait.

“Fuck, and you don’t speak English, great…” he mutters, grabbing his own phone out of his pocket.

“Oh, no, I speak English.” I blankly stare at his face. I think he’s still typing out Google translate on his browser while my words sink in. He then looks up.

“Oh, sweet. I um… sorry to startle you, I was just going to ask what you were drinking.”

He has to stand pretty close to me for me to hear anything he says, with Mr. Brightside still blaring through the room and every single other person singing along. I glance over and see Paula and Lucia behind the bar now, instead of on top of it, still dancing and singing while holding hands.

Possibly in an unwise decision, I decide flirting with this pretty guy is the move for the moment. Maybe I’m tipsy, maybe there’s just something about him… maybe it’s both.

My mouth curves up into a slight smile. “Before or after I spilled it on you?” I say back, feeling like I’m almost yelling to speak clearly.

The pretty stranger smiles and lets out a tiny chuckle. “Both.”

This time I grin. “First time in Spain?” I ask.

His smile falls a little. “No, why?”

I give him a jokingly judgmental look. “You’ve been to Spain and haven’t had tinto de verano?”

He shakes his head. I roll my eyes and hold my glass out to him.

“Here, take mine—or, rather, what’s left after I spilled it on you. I’ll get another when the song’s over!”

I watch him hold my cup up to his nose and smell it, frown, and then he takes a sip. As soon as the sweet drink is in his mouth he looks pleasantly surprised. He takes another drink, and then another, and then he’s chugged the whole thing in about 10 seconds, placing the cup back on the bar just as Mr. Brightside ends.

“Shit, that’s good,” he muses, looking back at me with his pretty smile. “Is that like sangria or something?”

Sharing things I like with people is one of my favorite things, especially when my recommendations are appreciated. “It’s called tinto de verano! Kind of like a very dumbed down sangria.”

I wave my hand to try to get Lucia’s attention, and when she sees me, so does Paula. Paula’s eyes dart back and forth between me and the stranger who is still standing quite close. She gives Lucia a kiss on the cheek before she runs back around to the customer side of the bar.

When Lucia walks over to me, I open my mouth to ask for another glass, but before I can say anything, Mr. Tall Stranger is holding out a 20€ note and leaning over me, pressed against my back. “Two of the uh, tinto de…” he trails off as Lucia grabs the bill from him.

“Tinto de verano?” She asks, her Spanish accent thick.

“Yeah, that.”

Lucia quickly gets the cups together and places them on the counter. When she steps toward the register to get his change, I feel that same hand from before graze my shoulder, but this time I mind it a little less.

“Keep the change. Gracias!”

Lucia is taken aback since tipping isn’t super common and his change would have been at least 10€, but she doesn’t say anything else, just smiles at him gratefully and quickly returns to serving other customers.

The guy’s tattooed hand grabs the glasses and holds one out to me. “Sorry, I should’ve asked if I could buy you a drink, but it’s too late now.” I glance up at his face and swear he’s almost blushing.

I bite my lip and shrug. “You owed me one, anyway.” Taking the glass from his hand, I clink it against his. “Salud.”

“Salud.”

Now they’re playing some less popular Nirvana song that the whole crowd appreciates but isn’t as eager to hear as they were to hear The Killers. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to leave this guy alone now or not. I mean, he’s cute, and he bought me a drink, and he tipped generously, but I don’t know that that means he wants to actually talk to me. I take a few sips of my fresh glass of tinto and try to scan the crowd to find my friends.

When I finally locate them, only because of Paula’s bright orange top, they’re already staring at me. Marta is grinning with a thumbs up held in front of her face. Ilse is wiggling her eyebrows, and Pau just smirks at me. I shoot them a quick death glare that means “stop staring” and take a step back with my back against the bar now, making the stranger face away from my flatmates if he chooses to keep talking to me.

He steps right in front of me and takes a sip of his own drink, scanning the crowd for a second before he looks down at me. He has to be like 6’2—he’s towering over me and it almost hurts my neck to make eye contact with him.

“You know,” I start, catching his attention again. “The next time you order this,” I hold up the cup, “just ask for tinto.”

He nods, looking down at the glass in his hand. “Tinto,” he repeats. “What does that mean?”

“Tinto de verano means summer wine! Tinto is just easier. The Spanish love to shorten things.”

He chuckles, and I watch the crinkles around his eyes appear with his laugh. It’s cute. His hand ruffles his hair for a few seconds and then he starts to nod to the beat of the music. His brown eyes look down into mine and it almost feels like he’s staring into my soul. “What’s your name?”

“Orion.”

“Calum.” He puts his hand on his chest to refer to himself.

His accent is hard to place, and I’ve never met anyone else named Calum before. “Where are you from?” I ask. An unoriginal question. I kick myself mentally.

“Australia. What about you? You don’t seem like you’re from here either.” I’m not sure if it’s because I’m short or if it’s really loud or if he just wants to be closer to me, but I feel him step closer and lean his head down.

I shake my head no. “No, I’m from the US. Unfortunately.”

Calum laughs, or it’s almost like a giggle. “When I’m not traveling for work, I live in LA.”

My mouth falls agape for a second but I quickly close it. LA is a big city, it’s not that crazy to find someone else who lives there, but still. “No way, I’m a sophomore at UCLA! I’m studying here for the semester but I’ll be back on campus in January.”

“Do you speak Spanish?”

I grimace. “I wish. I’m trying, but definitely have a lot of room for improvement.”

Calum smiles. “Seems like you’re getting on just fine.”

I roll my eyes and nod. “So far, I guess. Only been here a week.”

“Only a week and you’re recommending traditional Spanish drinks to a random guy at a club? I’d say you’re doing great.” He puts his hand on the bar and leans against it, inching closer to me yet again.

“You’re here for work?” I ask.

He nods.

“How long are you here?”

He hangs his head and laughs. “We’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow.”

I wonder who this “we” is, but ignore that. So this guy is looking for a little one night stand… isn’t that part of the study abroad experience? Well, maybe I’m supposed to hookup with a local.

Locals haven’t talked to me this much, though. Or been this cute. I’m zoned out trying to wrestle with my decisions in my head. A one night stand couldn’t be that bad? Maybe that’s the alcohol talking… Maybe a traveling Australian giant can fill the role. It’s not the craziest thing I’ve ever done. Actually, it probably is. I don’t do a lot of crazy things.

“Orion?” He asks, snapping me back to the moment.

“Hmm?” I hum, looking back up at him.

“The uh, bartender is trying to talk to you.” Calum nods in the direction of where Lucia is standing behind the bar.

I spin around to face her and she just slides me a napkin with some writing on it.

OMG GIRL DO YOU KNOW WHO THAT IS

ORION GO HOME WITH THAT SEXY MAN RIGHT NOW

be safe love you xoxo

-i, m, + p

A hot blush rises to my face and I crumple the napkin and shove it into my bag as quickly as I can, hoping Calum didn’t read it. At least I have their blessing.

I clear my throat and chug the rest of my drink. “Do you want to dance?” I nervously look up at him.

His wide smile appears again. “Normally, I’d say yes. But I think I’d rather talk to you more? Is that weird?”

I try not to look too stunned. He wants to talk? Am I that interesting? Or is he just eager to get back to his hotel?

I must have failed in trying to not look shocked because he quickly starts to correct himself.

“Is there a park or a McDonald’s or something nearby? Maybe we can grab a snack, or go for a walk?”

I let out a sigh of relief and nod. “Yeah, actually I know a place. Did you want to go now?”

Calum also looks relieved when I agree. “Let me find my mates and tell them I’m leaving. I’ll meet you out front?”

I agree and try to push my way through the crowd to find my flat mates, getting shoved back to the bar almost instantly. Downside of being small—you get pushed around pretty often. Calum, who’d started in the direction of wherever his friends are, notices my struggle and strides back to me.

“Here.” He grabs my hand in his, and it feels like the crowd parts like the red sea. Somehow he knows which group of girls is my friend group — he must’ve remembered Paula from her dancing on the bar — and leads me to them. The girls are all staring at me with practically bulging eyes as Calum waves a quick hello to them. “I’ll see you out front?”

I nod and watch him meander through the sea of sweaty bodies again before I’m jolted back to my friends by Ilse shaking my shoulders. Hard.

“Do you know who that is!?” Ilse yells.

I raise an eyebrow. “Uh, his name’s Calum?”

“I could smack you right now!” Ilse hisses. Jeez, harsh much?

“That’s Calum Hood!” Marta explains, as if I should get it now.

“Okay?” I say, looking between the three of them. I guess Calum is famous for something, but for whatever reason I’m unfamiliar. I cut them off when I see Calum wave to me from the door. I nod to him and then turn to my friends. “I’ll see you at home. Guess you’ll know who to call the cops on if I don’t show up at home tomorrow. Love you!”

I can feel their eyes burning into me as I make my way to the door, catching up with Calum who’s already having a chat with Jorge at the door. When he sees me, he gives Jorge a handshake and walks toward me. It’s the first time I’ve really taken in his outfit, which is simple, but still seems cooler than I’ll ever be. Must come with the fame.

His now stained white shirt hangs from his broad shoulders and the short sleeves show off the tattoos on his arms. He’s wearing some black jeans and a pair of black boots, a bold move in the Spanish heat, but the sun has finally gone down, so it’s a little less smothering at this point.

“Where are we going?” He asks and claps his hands together, taking long legged strides toward me.

“Do you like falafel?” I ask, pulling my phone out from my purse to route us to my favorite shop.

“Love it.”

I look up to catch him staring at me with a dopey grin. “What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing, nothing, I’ve just never heard of falafel being someone’s post-club snack.”

I scoff. “Look, first off, falafel is delicious.” He nods. “Second, I’m vegetarian and that limits things at…” I check the time. “1:52 am.”

“Hey, no hate from me! I am all for a 2 am falafel run.”

I purse my lips, still unsure if he’s making fun of me. “It’s this way. The metro closes at 2, are you good with a bit of a walk?”

I start walking before he can answer, but I hear his footsteps following as soon as I start. I am once more relieved that Paula said it was okay for me to wear my sneakers, although I feel extra tiny walking next to Calum. Most people are taller than me, but he especially towers over me.

“So, Orion,” Calum begins, breaking our brief silence.

“So, Calum,” I mock, attempting to mimic his faint accent. I fail, miserably, but he doesn’t comment on it, just chuckles.

“Why Madrid?” He asks.

I smile. Maybe I’m too tipsy to know any better, but he seems genuinely interested in me, which is a welcome change from my normal dating situations. “Short answer or long answer?”

“Long answer, of course. You said it was a bit of a walk, we’ve got time.” He gives me that bright smile again and I think I start to melt a little. “In the meantime, do I have permission to hold your hand while we walk?”

It takes everything in me not to laugh. Not that long ago he was placing his hand on the small of my back and startling me, now he’s asking for consent to hold my hand. It’s sweet, just unexpected. Instead of answering, I just reach across the space between us and interlock our hands.

“Okay, long answer,” I begin. Calum squeezes my hand.

“So, I want to be an immigration lawyer, and of course, a large percentage of the immigrants moving to the US come from Spanish speaking countries, so I’d really like to be as close to fluent as I can be. Growing up in San Diego, though, I felt pretty close and intertwined with Latino culture, so when I was trying to figure out where to study abroad, choosing Latin America wasn’t my top choice. I wanted to do something different, I guess.

“I’m a Spanish major — well, double major — so of course a Spanish speaking country just made sense, and that left me to choose Spain. I love big cities, and I thought it was cool that Madrid is the capital while Barcelona is more… touristy? And there’s the whole Catalonia and Catalan thing, so yeah, didn’t want to go to Barcelona, and, I guess of the programs offered through UCLA for studying abroad, a direct exchange to Madrid felt like the perfect fit.”

I feel his eyes trained on my face the whole time I speak, like he’s listening intently, even if it feels like I’m rambling.

“What does a direct exchange mean?” He asks.

“Basically, I’m enrolled as a student at UCLA and paying my tuition to them, but taking my classes through a university here. There’s a longer name but everyone just calls it UC3M. So instead of registering for fall classes at UCLA, I applied through the international office to UC3M and when I was accepted I just chose some classes here. Because it’s a direct exchange, there isn’t a group of other UCLA students I’m living with or anything, I had to find my own housing and figure out how to get here and all that on my own.”

I look over to catch him nodding. “I didn’t go to uni, so I’m not super familiar with all of that. But it sounds really, really cool.”

I laugh and think back to my flat mates and their reactions to Calum. “My turn to ask you a question.”

Calum beams at me. “Go for it.”

“Why did my roommates know who you are and I don’t, Calum Hood?” I give him a side eye and squeeze his hand to let him know I’m being playful, but he instantly groans as the words fall from my mouth.

“Nooo,” he curses. The hand that’s not holding onto mine rubs his face over in mild frustration.

“What? Is it that bad?” I laugh, now even more curious.

Calum sighs and shakes his head. “No, it’s not bad. Or at least, not really. Do you know One Direction?”

I accidentally let myself cackle in front of him but smack my hand over my mouth as soon as I realize the awful sounds coming from it. He laughs at my reaction, but leaves silence for me to continue whatever my response is. “Yes, I am familiar with One Direction.” Who isn’t?

He nods. “Yeah, so I’m uh, in a band. We opened for One Direction a few years ago on some of their tours.”

Oh, shit. How uncultured am I? I guess I didn’t follow One Direction that closely, but still, the band has to be somewhat successful if they opened for multiple of their tours.

“Wow, that’s… huge? I don’t know, am I an asshole for not knowing who you are? I swear, I don’t live under a rock.”

“No, no, honestly, it’s refreshing that a pretty girl at a bar doesn’t know who I am and wants to take me for 2 am falafel just because she wants to, not because I’m… who I am.” Calum rubs his thumb over the back of my hand.

“It would be my greatest honor to take you to get 2 am falafel in Madrid, Calum Hood.”

read next chapter

—

A/N: soooo this is how orion and calum met and just gives you a glimpse at their dynamic and orion’s personality and stufff… and aaaahhhh okay i do wanna say the 2016 bits will not be historically accurate bc madrid is the last stop on the slfl european leg and (spoiler) orion and calum will be hangin across europe all summer after this. i just chose a random date from that summer :)

tysm for reading if you get this far!!!

#5sos #5 seconds of summer #luke hemmings #calum hood #ashton irwin #5sos fanfic #fanfiction #calum 5sos #madrid #5sos madrid #i literally don’t know how to tag anymore #calum imagine #calumthomashood #calum fanfic #boyfriend!calum

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fruitchouli · 2 years

Text

hello lovers time for the next sale ❤️

Salvador Dali La Belle et L’Ocelot (2014) 3.4oz 95% full - old-school 80s soapy spiced floriental meets modern fruitchouli, with orange, apricot-y osmanthus, patchouli, benzoin, and incense. for fans of Coco Noir - SOLD

Montale Intense Cafe (2013) 3.4oz 98% full - “like opening a box of rose flavoured Turkish delight, sweet, sickly, slightly cloying and strong notes of rose and vanilla” -aspicmyopic on basenotes - $54

Bond No 9 Chinatown (2005) 3.3oz 95% full (cap is loose, so I put a layer on tape on the inside for it to fit more snug) - “takes the idea of the likes of Rochas Femme and Mitsouko of knitting waxy peach/plum skins together with spicy flowers and leaving them to musty up a bit inside lacquered woody chinese boxes” -pandarapt on fragrantica - $102

DS&Durga White Peacock Lily (2016) 3.4oz 88% full - naturalistic dew-kissed lily and jasmine. stemmy, salty, translucent. perfect for The Lady of the Lake - SOLD

Caron Yatagan (1976) 4.2oz 99% full - this classic green woody, and a little animalic, masculine conjures images of an herbalist mountain man cutting herbs and veggies that he will later add to stew - $34

Thierry Mugler Alien Oud Majestueux (2015) 3oz 99% full (gold paint on bottle has chipped) - this discontinued Alien flanker amps up the original with saffron, cardamom, and an industrial oud - SOLD

Estée Lauder Youth Dew Amber Nude (2005) 2.5oz 80% full - under the direction of Tom Ford, this is a streamlined take on the dusty old classic with a sparkling grapefruit ginger ale top and a spiced golden amber base. for fans of Youth Dew and Cinnabar - SOLD

Etat Libre d’Orange Putain des Palaces (2006) 3.3oz 95% full - sensual powderpuff in a fur coat. Marie Antoinette if she was hot - $56

Alaia Paris Alaïa (2015) 1oz 83% - fresh violets, mountain air, and musky suede. Luca Turin said this smells like the interior of a Concorde jet; leather mixed with perfume from past passengers - SOLD

Guerlain Apres l’Ondee (1906) 2.5oz 98% - “purple flowers deluged by foggy air” “airy, pastel pointillism impressions of spring gardens” -pandarapt on fragrantica. “the prototypical cold and melancholy perfume. Simplicity, aching nostalgia, and unadorned beauty.” -Luca Turin. a favorite of Isabelle Adjani - SOLD

Kenzo Kenzo Jungle l’Elephant (1996) 3.4oz 95% full - big sweet spicebomb of clove, caraway, licorice, cardamom, mango, and vanilla. lets you live your opulent Moroccan spice market, or your Christian girl autumn, shopping at Joann Fabrics fantasy - SOLD

Guerlain Mitsouko EDP (1919) 2.5oz 70% full - sepia toned dry fuzzy peach skins and spicy flowers on a bed of oakmoss. worn by Charlie Chaplin, Jean Harlow, Ingrid Bergman - SOLD

Robert Piguet Bandit (1944) 3.4oz 90% full - this classic leather-centered green chypre from WWII was designed to be the butch to Fracas femme. “bitter, dark yet fresh, beguiling without any softness, and several unlit streets ahead of every other leather chypre”- Luca Turin - $179

Lush Fresh As (2019) 3.4oz 99% full - originally conceived as Fresh As Fuck, this scent is described as grassy meadows and pines after the rain, combined with earthy orris and fruity marigold - $46

Prada Infusion d’Oeillet (2015) 3.4oz 98% full - soft spicy carnation and sandalwood in the signature soapy/expensive hotel lotion Prada Infusion line style - $48

Lolita Lempicka L’eau en Blanc (2012) 3.4oz 90% full - like sitting at your grandma’s vanity and seeing her pale pink powderpuff - $52

Kenzo World Intense (2017) 1.7oz 98% full - plummy synthetic candy sweetness with fresh peony - $35

Gucci Gucci Oud (2014) 1.6oz 99% full - safe and entry level rose saffron oud with a jammy sweet rose - $62

Hermès Twilly Eau Poivrée (2019) 1.6oz 95% - twist on the original white floral and ginger scent with added aspects of a fruity pink pepper and a sweet woody rose - SOLD

US only, free shipping😋❤️, payment through venmo or friends and family on paypal and please don’t leave a comment about it being a perfume, just do a cute emoji or something (so the tax man doesn’t find me) thank you!!

DM me 💌💌😋

#for sale

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floofgryph · 5 months

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Sixth OC for the Liam & Co Universe

Name: Achashwerosh

Species: Human

Birthday: December 14th

Age: Between 26 and 34 (he doesn’t bother to specify)

Sexuality: Bisexual

Occupation: Lóegaire’s henchman, thief, bindery worker for The Cockcrow Gazette

Abilities: N/A

Personality: Achashwerosh isn’t afraid to backstab people in order to satisfy his needs or the commands of his boss. As a sly individual, he’ll often use lies to manipulate others and to ensure that his daily tasks are professionally dealt with. However, he does occasionally struggle to keep Lóegaire’s criminal empire and his duties a secret due to his mostly honest and talkative nature. He has a fondness for talking, which can get him in trouble or end up annoying those he’s conserving with. He tries his best to impress both men and women alike, but often fails because of his recklessness and inexperience. Achashwerosh sometimes forgets to make a mental note of any potential consequences that might arise from his actions. He’s often kind and friendly when interacting with people who treat him respectfully or those who have a genuine heart of gold. He has a dark sense of humour and can be quite greedy when it comes to money, food, and weapons. There are instances where he’s willing to share with friends, family, and those he takes pity on when he sees necessary. He often makes goofy movements and faces when facing more serious situations in order to lighten the mood and keep his spirits up. Achashwerosh is fairly observant, but he can be easily distracted by those who sexually grab his attention or unfamiliar items. He often moves about constantly, shows extreme restlessness, and struggles to fully concentrate on certain situations and people. He’s not the most intelligent amongst The Cockcrow Gazette, but he’s quite street-smart and is well-versed in literature.

Likes: Singing, the sounds of the banjolele, books that contain numerous fairy tales and myths, watching meteor showers, and treasure hunting.

Dislikes: Awkward silence, wasting perfectly good food and weapons, apocalyptic literature, ghost towns, and being told to shut up.

Physical and outfit appearance: His approximate height is 5’ 9” (175.26 cm) and he has a lanky, ectomorphic body type with partially broad shoulders. He has very clean, wavy hair that’s a caramel brown with sideburns and chin stubble, and he has rosy beige skin. He also has the upper right corner of his lip chipped and a missing right canine and left central incisor. His eyes are a sunburst green-hazel, and he has pinkish stretch marks on his upper arms and belly.

He wears a pickled bluewood business suit jacket with a blue-eyed orange tiger that has purplish draconic wings and is emerging from a pink rose bush on the back. Underneath the suit is a pixie green button-down shirt with a velvety seance necktie that has diagonal fountain blue, confetti yellow, carissma pink, and de york. He wears olivine-to-fruit salad knickerbockers with vertical bronze stripes and a pair of glossy rust red boat shoes. For jewellery, he wears a black pearl multi-strand necklace, a pair of gold hoop earrings, and a red beryl solitaire ring on his left middle finger.

Equipment: A pack of cigars, a double barrel sawed-off shotgun, a pair of orange-tinted sunglasses, a pocket-sized maneki-neko keychain, and an azure banjolele.

Family:

An unnamed maternal grandmother

Biography: He was born into a struggling middle-class family from Crystal Bay on December 14th, but would later be raised by his maternal grandmother after his parents died in a house fire. Achashwerosh was kind of difficult to handle due to his recklessness and hyperactivity, but he respected his grandmother and tried his best to be a better person. By 19, his grandmother passed away from a respiratory disease. Unsure of what to do with his life, he became a thief in order to sustain himself. He eventually met Lóegaire when he turned 24 after he tried to pickpocket him and was convinced to join his cause due to his extraordinary thieving skills. He was also promised work and a stable income, and he was appointed as bindery worker for The Cockcrow Gazette. Achashwerosh and two other people would become his most trusted henchmen due to their dutiful dedication and sense of professionalism.

@ask-liam-and-co

#writerscorner #writing #creative writing #original character #thief #funky #street smart #henchman #printing industry #might go through a couple of changes and add ons but let's see

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disturbedwoodelf · 4 months

Note

Now that we know what they use, what do you use as skincare nd everything?

Skincare: Cerave Acne Control Cleanser, Acure Brightening Facial Scrub, Fresh Rose Deep Oil Infused Serum (occasionally), and native sensitive moisturizer

Haircare: Aveeno ACV shampoo, Monday Conditioner (occasionally), and Olaplex No. 9 on my ends when my hair is still wet. I have 2c to 3a hair type naturally.

Good Smelly Stuffs: Body wash usually varies, but rn I’m using up a Olay Fresh Outlast Rosewater I got for Christmas but my usual is Naturium Glycolic Acid Exfoliating Body Wash (it has no scent and lowkey smells bad but it smoothes out my skin lol) Frenshe Cashmere Vanilla Body Mist (I love it. It’s my absolute favorite scent ever. I buy one every month bc I use it so much), The Sol De Janeiro no. 62, and my deodorant is either Native Coconut Vanilla when it’s colder months (because that shit don’t last long AT ALL), or Old Spice Deep Sea and then I use Orange essential oils for my room 🤞👍

#I have a fear of smelling bad

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wouldntyou-liketoknow · 8 months

Text

Day 7: Needles

(Disclaimer: three of the characters in this story belong to me. You can find more information about Azalea here. For more information about Caliban, go here. For more information about K.O., go here. For my personal headcanons on Murdock, who belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe, go here. And if you’d like to learn more about the mob these guys all work for, go here.)

(Additional Note: I got some partial inspiration for this story from this lovely drawing by the extremely talented @rebar2042. Please go give them a follow and share their awesome art!!!)

(Trigger Warnings: descriptions of illegal business, physical violence, abduction, blood, syringes, poisonous substances, torture, implied dismemberment, implied cannibalism, implied murder, talk of death/dying, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 8 Day 9 Day 10 Day 11 Day 12 Day 13

Unless you counted his tinted glasses, Murdock looked absolutely nothing like himself right now.

In the place of his currant-colored turtleneck and black overcoat was a pale button-up and a half-zipped fleece jacket that was the same shade as a cornflower, complete with a screen-printed logo (an orange circle outlined with white) to match the cap resting atop his head. His raven hair was hidden, tied-back and pulled-up, though some of his bangs peeked out from beneath the rim.

Murdock understood the importance of disguises; any hitman who didn’t was a moron who could look forward to a career that would last a couple years at most before ending in humiliation rather than mystery.

Yes, he was more attached to his usual work clothes, but he took satisfaction in that particular sentimentality being more fucked-up than one would probably expect. Aside from that and the business angle of things, costumes really were just a fun concept to play around with. Even now, as he pulled into the cul-de-sac and parked near the curb, the adrenaline that’d already been slithering around his lungs spiked when he glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror.

He hopped out, stepping around the decoy mail truck to hoist the back door up. After pulling out the dolly and loading a larger-than-average box onto it, he tucked a much smaller package and a clipboard under his arm and strolled up the driveway of the nearest house.

Murdock rolled his shoulders, taking a quick, deep breath. He went over the script in his head for what was probably the eighth time today, then reached out and rapped his knuckles against the front door.

Five seconds or so passed, and then the telltale sound of muffled footsteps approached from the other side.

Murdock put on a polite, well-rehearsed smile as the door was pulled open.

He immediately had to bite his tongue to keep that smile in place as he registered the man now hovering in the threshold.

He was the same height as Murdock, appearing a bit older. . .well, that was Murdock’s best guess, at least. The amount of tattoos on his skin was truly shocking. Only a few patches of his natural skin were left in between each of them.

For the most part, Murdock didn’t really have an opinion on tattoos. He was aware of how painful the process tended to be: therefore, when any of his victims happened to be inked, he tended to take that as something of a personal challenge for interrogation and the like. He knew it was best to avoid getting any himself, and he knew whatever body art anyone else decided to get was none of his business.

But he also knew how the lines between good body art and bad body art were not fine.

At all.

It seemed his latest target didn’t have that same understanding.

“Delivery for Mr. Abbott Tudye?” Murdock announced, willing his tone to sound lighter than usual.

“Right on time,” the target replied with a nod. Glancing at the larger package, he backed up a few paces, holding the door open. Murdock took the invitation, dragging the dolly along and leaning it against the nearest wall as the door was closed behind him.

“I’ll need—” Murdock cut himself off, just barely managing not to swear in surprise at the discovery that his target was among the ranks of people who’d gotten famous online for having actual pictures of faces permanently drawn on the backs of their heads.

The target turned to face him, casually raising an eyebrow.

Murdock cleared his throat. “I’ll, uh, need a signature for both packages, please,” he amended, holding the clipboard aloft.

The target blinked at this, but simply shrugged and took the offering into his hands. “. . .Y’know you don’t have to keep that act up in here, right? Suppliers are the last people to tattle on in my book.” He then outstretched his free hand, patronizingly gesturing for Murdock to fork over the smaller package

“Look, those papers are part of the contract. I just want to be thorough” Murdock reported, giving up the box like a good little boy and biting back a grimace at the sight of the back of the target’s hand.

(Was that tattoo seriously supposed to be depicting a lion’s head? If so, then it was proof of miracles, because it would’ve made the damn Gripsholm Lion look natural!)

His sudden surge of disbelief and disappointment was quickly calmed by smugness. He could tell when he was being lied to, but that didn’t really bother him right now. The pack of lies he’d personally help to set up for this job were much more clever.

“Besides,” he added, ever-so-slightly raising his voice, “you can never really tell when there’s some extra eyes or ears around. Not until it’s too late, I mean.”

The target snorted, rolling his eyes and shaking his head with a smirk. “Okay, calm down with the conspiracy, buddy.” He walked past Murdock to set the clipboard and pen down on his coffee table, his focus now consumed by the package. He fished a small knife out of his pocket, pushing the blade toward the thick line of tape. “Since you bring up eyes and ears, though. . .have you heard anything about my trigger? It’s been a good while since I sent him out, and he hasn’t reported back to me at all.”

“I’m afraid not. I did try to ask around, though,” Murdock answered, his expression flickering.

On one hand, the target had his back to him yet again; Murdock knew he had acting skills, but just how little this guy thought things through almost made his performance way too easy.

On the other hand, the target turning his back to Murdock meant he had to look at that second stupid fucking face again.

Oh, well.

He kept speaking, making sure the sound of his voice drowned out the way he carefully dragged one of his own knives down the length of the larger package. “But I wouldn’t worry about it too much. We’ve all gotta lay low after a job, don’t we? Your guy is probably a lot closer than you realize.”

The larger package silently twitched. A pair of brown eyes glinted at Murdock through the sliver of space between cardboard folds. The hitman smirked, raising a hand to count down on his fingers and mouthing along.

Three. . .two. . .

The scream that tore through the air was at an octave usually reserved for fire alarms, but neither Murdock nor his accomplice flinched at it.

A small thump followed the distress call, which was now breaking apart into shorter wails as the target backed away from the box he’d just opened. Murdock copied those movements, making sure to stay behind him. The target turned around soon enough, of course, his face contorted in absolute horror at the fact that he’d gotten so close to a pale, dried-blood-covered human foot instead of the cocaine block he’d been expecting.

“Y-you. . !” The target cried, now charging forward, anger joining his fear. “What tHE FUCK IS—”

His words suddenly wilted into unintelligible sputters of pain. He’d been a mere inch from Murdock when a blurry shape came jettisoning out of the larger package to collide with his neck, forcing him to double over.

“Haven’t you heard to not blame the messanger?” A new voice inquired, sounding like a casual lacing of venom in sugar. A petite woman emerged from the package, holding an unusually large packing tape dispenser and narrowing her eyes at the target in a way that should’ve turned him to stone. “I mean, this whole thing was my idea, so. . .”

“I’m not denying that,” Murdock promised, jokingly doffing his delivery cap to Azalea.

Azalea, in turn, nodded, her expression shifting from composed fury to maniacal at lightspeed. The target tried to regain his bearings, tried to keep shouting, but she had other ideas. In a single, fluid movement, she stepped closer and bashed the tape dispenser against his nose. She repeated this action until the target was on the floor, and even then she kept swinging the strange choice of weapon up and down onto his head again, and again, and again, and again.

Murdock was prepared to step in, but his instincts told him that wouldn’t be necessary. His expression grew more curious than sinister as he watched his colleague convince the target that he could be a phrenologist’s dream come true. Sure, the tape dispenser had some solid weight to it, but. . .wow.

“Impressive,” Murdock mused once the target finally went still and Azalea finally paused for breath. “And I thought I’d end up having to knock him out.”

“What, am I supposed to just let you take all the credit?” Azalea huffed a laugh, rising to her feet to look up into her accomplice’s dark eyes. “This is a half-and-half job.”

“It sure is.” Murdock knelt down beside the target’s unconscious form, fishing a few zip-ties as well as a bundle of thick cloth out of his disguise jacket’s interior pockets. Once the target was properly bound and gagged, Murdock crammed him into the same package that Azalea had previously been hiding in, not being the least bit gentle. He held the panels closed so Azalea could reseal them (which was a bit awkward, since the tape dispenser was now broken due to being used as a makeshift hammer).

“I’m a little surprised Cal let me take this,” Murdock mentioned as he strolled across the target’s living room, leaning down to stuff the severed foot back into the small package.

Azalea shrugged. “Feet are mostly just skin and bones. Plus, from what he’s told me, they just sell better on some markets than others.”

“. . .I mean, do the connoisseurs of those ‘other markets’ really know if the feet they’re looking up are still attached to people?” Murdock pondered, cackling when Azalea rolled her eyes and lightly punched him in the side.

“I texted the cleaning crew while I was in there,” Azalea pronounced, nodding to the larger package and its new cargo. “They should be here in thirty minutes or so.”

“Great!” Murdock nodded, remembering that The Pentas Family’s chop-shop was in need of a new car. “And we’re still set on the site you picked out?”

At his cohort’s affirmative hum, he bared his teeth in a patented, dangerous grin. He grabbed the dolly’s handle, then gestured to the front door. “Shall we, then?”

Azalea’s smile was a bit more lively, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t frightening. “Let’s.”

___

Reilpi Woods was a quaint place. It was only a fifteen-minute drive from the Cove Port Inlets, stretching for miles and miles and miles; a good portion of it grew near the beaches and along the seaside cliffs. Sure, its title kind of sounded like the beginning of a drunk madman’s attempt at a prophecy, but it really was a nice place. A convenient place, too.

With how deep it went, it could be plausible for someone to, hypothetically, get lost on a camping trip and never come back. That also made up for many of the hardships that came with burying a body (after tricking the authorities into digging up untouched soil in a specific location with a false report, of course).

The branches on the majority of its trees intertwined with one another, forming more than enough of a shield from both the sun or the odd camera-equipped drone piloted by some background character whose life could potentially be changed for the worse.

The trees in question came in varying heights: some were as towering as houses, and others were short enough to be scaled quite easily.

Murdock had chosen a tree that seemed to be right in the middle of those categories. It didn’t take too much effort to aim and toss the long end of the rope coil over a thick, sturdy branch. He gave the line an experimental tug, just to be certain it was secure, then began pulling it hand-over-fist.

“HMPE. Nice,” Azalea complimented, watching her accomplice work as she retrieved the small, pink-stained wooden chest she’d previously hidden in the decoy mail truck’s glove compartment.

“I only work with the best,” Murdock replied cheerfully. “The hardware store had a great sale earlier this week.”

Once his and Azalea’s target had been hoisted a few inches, just able to stand upright with bound wrists suspended over his head, Murdock strode over to a smaller tree nearby, tying the end of the rope into a tight knot around its trunk.

When exactly the target had regained consciousness, neither of them could be sure. By the time he’d started making noise, they’d already driven a good, long way into the heart of the forest. He’d tried to start running as soon as Murdock reopened that package, only to collapse on his face about three seconds afterwards. Even now, strung up and shirtless, he apparently still thought there was some use in writhing. He kicked and swayed, eyes bulging, chest heaving. His attempts to hurl obscenities at his captors were well-muffled by the gag that’d been tied around his mouth.

Azalea dragged a collapsable table out of the trunk, unfolded it a few feet away from where the target stood, and set the aforementioned pink chest on top of it.

“So,” Murdock pronounced as he walked past her, carrying a long leather case he’d produced from under the driver’s seat. “How much time do you think you’ll need?”

Azalea hummed as she pried the little chest open: five empty syringes had been organized into a little pyramid, kept in balance by the line of five glass vials sitting right beside them. “Well, each dosage will need at least a few minutes to take effect. I already have some pretty good estimates, so maybe. . .twenty-five minutes? At most?”

“Yeah, that’ll be just fine.” Murdock nodded. “Becky’s a fast worker.”

Though Azalea didn’t pause as she pushed a needle into a rubber stopper, she still couldn’t help but chuckle.

Murdock refused to stop his movements as well. While opening up the leather case and lifting a shovel out, he raised an eyebrow at his colleague’s laughter. “What’s so funny?”

Azalea tilted her head, flicking at the now full syringe before setting it down to prepare one of the others. “You always give the others flack for naming their equipment, but you don’t have any room to talk.”

“Excuse you, I’ve got tons of room,” Murdock protested. “Becky is special. She’s been there for me ever since I started out.” He hugged the shovel close, some brief yet total adoration worming its way onto his face. He then spun Becky in his hands and brought her tip down into the soil about ten feet from where the target was hanging.

“Good for her,” Azalea replied. “Still, are you sure you’ll be done around the same time I am? I wouldn’t want to just keep you out here for hours.”

Slight hypocrite or not, Murdock did have a bit of a point. The blades of Becky’s cutting tip were ridged, implying that she was capable of slicing through more than just dirt. There were black grips along the socket and handle. She truly had a polish to her, one that would seem more appropriate on a blessed and/or cursed weapon of yore.

“Hours?” Murdock barked a sarcastic laugh, glancing back and forth between Azalea and the ground. He worked himself into a pattern of movement, the little pile of loose dirt beside him growing bit by bit. “Becky and I will race you, Aza!”

Azalea blinked, placing a hand on her hip. “That hole’s gonna have to be six feet deep, at least.”

“And it will be!” Murdock insisted. Nodding at the target, he added, “Plus, we’ll be putting him in vertically.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Azalea retorted. She fidgeted in place. “. . .Aren’t longer holes harder to dig out than wider holes?”

There was no response from Murdock this time. He just kept digging, though he peered up at her over his glasses. His eyes were just barely visible, but that expectant, daring look was obvious.

“Okay, then.” Azalea offered a polite shrug before turning on her heel and approaching the target.

The target snarled at her, raised a leg to try and kick her. But as she gracefully sidestepped out of the way, she saw how he finally seemed to notice what was now in her hand. His scowl wavered, his muffled insults came to an abrupt halt, the patches of skin unmarked by tattoos turned pale as the needle caught a stray beam of light peeking through the canopy above.

Azalea rolled the first syringe between her fingers, thoughtful as she paced around the soon-to-be sentient pincushion. She had the experience to know which areas were most sensitive to injections: hands, the soles of the feet, palates, that little groove between the upper lip and the nose.

She couldn’t really go for any of those areas right now, but that wouldn’t be a problem. Run-of-the-mill muscles could always make getting a shot more of a struggle than strictly necessary.

With that in mind, Azalea halted in her tracks just behind the target. He tried to turn himself around to keep facing her, but he wasn’t fast enough. He didn’t even have time to recoil as she stabbed the needle deep into his lumbar, effectively piercing the tattooed eye of a snake that had bent fangs and looked more drunk than menacing.

Azalea pressed the plunger down with enough force to almost risk crushing it. She held onto it for a few long seconds, just to be sure, then stepped back. The syringe stayed in place when she let go of it, well and truly stuck in the target’s skin.

Slowly but surely, a dark red bead rose up around where the needle met the syringe’s hub. And as it began to trickle down, leaving a thin, red streak to disrupt the tattoos below that embarrassing snake, the target started bellowing.

The cries were low at first, but they grew louder in no time, broken up by the target’s gasps for air. The skin around the injection site was already swelling—it couldn’t really be compared to an allergic reaction or the like, but it was still horribly noticeable.

From what Azalea had heard, Gila monster venom caused an intense burning sensation, as well as dizziness, a rapid heart rate, and sometimes even a decrease in blood pressure. Cases of being bitten by the lizard in question were rarely ever fatal, but that was just fine.

A dosage of something fatal would’ve been too good for the target.

About a week had passed since the incident.

That one spot on Azalea’s arm still ached and stung like no other, but she didn’t have to wrap a new set of bandages around it anymore. The dull red mark still stuck out against the rest of her skin, but it seemed to be getting a little smaller every day. Hell, by now it could’ve been mistaken for a simple scrape, as though Azalea just had a disagreement with the sidewalk pavement.

The tranquilizer gun fit shockingly well in the pocket of her vest. The weapon was a lot like Azalea, actually; it was small enough to underestimate, and it packed way more than enough of a punch to make whoever was doing the underestimating regret all the choices they’d made to get to that point.

Azalea didn’t need to use it very often—remember, her way of work was all about stealth and cunning and HAHA YOU FOOL, YOU’LL NEVER LOOK AT A COOKIE THE SAME WAY AGAIN BECAUSE YOU’RE DEAD NOW!—but ever since that fateful evening, she’d made a point to carry it every moment she wasn’t in the public eye. Once she and her peers all made sure that the threat was truly gone, she’d return it to that innocent-looking little safebox in her cabinet.

The Pentas Family wasn’t on total lockdown; just lying low for a bit. There’d been no complaints about The Boss’ orders, of course. Just like there was no doubting that they’d come out on top. But that impromptu emergency meeting had still been so tense. . .

Azalea gave the Gila monster venom about three minutes to work its magic. The target had yet to vomit, but the nausea in his eyes was painful just to look at.

She checked in on Becky and Murdock, who were still preparing the grave.

The mound of dirt had definitely grown, but the bottom of the hole was still very much shallow.

Murdock glanced up as his accomplice approached. He stayed just as silent as Becky, but the sheer amount of excited determination on his face spoke volumes.

Azalea didn’t really have anything to say either, so she just gave him a curt nod before retreating to start the next phase of the session.

Warrior wasp venom wasn’t lethal, but it could almost make you wish it was. The insect in question was aggressive and territorial, so encounters with it weren’t exactly uncommon in certain parts of South America.

Some victims likened the sting to boiling oil being poured over your skin. Others compared it to being chained down in front of an active volcano, right in the path of all that flowing lava. Perhaps no two victims could describe it in the exact same way?

Azalea wasn’t certain, and she probably never would be. It wasn’t like the target had a chance to give her a description.

Or. . .maybe he did, in a way.

Because just a moment after she stabbed the second syringe into his right deltoid, he confirmed the rumor that warrior wasp venom made people sound absolutely insane when they screamed.

Azalea lightly shook her head, drumming her nails against the box she was carrying in time with her footsteps. Aforementioned box was full of sweets, but unlike many of its predecessors, none of those sweets would end up killing whoever decided to help themself.

K.O. deserved a reward for being so quick and so efficient with the bullet graze, after all. Yes, he’d already gotten paid for taking on the last-minute assignments, but Azalea couldn’t just not thank him personally.

Due to his walnut allergy, K.O. had to be very, very careful about the treats he consumed. Anything involving chocolate was almost always too risky, but Azalea had plenty of recipes for different types of candy. She knew this gift wasn’t much, but she also knew that K.O. would still be happy with it.

As if on cue, K.O. popped up right as Azalea rounded the corner. He was halfway leaning through the door to his den, light streaming across the old platform. What a coincidence: Azalea hadn’t told him about her plan to stop by, but she’d still predicted that he’d be down here.

What she hadn’t predicted was for Caliban to be down here, too. Last she’d heard, her brother was running his own errands around town. But, sure enough, here he was, doubled-over and gritting his teeth as he trudged onto the old platform from the opposite direction.

That was what made Azalea stop short before she could call out to either of them.

Something was wrong.

Caliban always kept his back straight unless. . .

An awful type of energy slithered along Azalea’s neck as she quickened her pace, nearly dropping her cargo.

A panicked shout caught in her throat, making both Caliban and K.O. flinch as they finally looked over and realized she was here with wide eyes.

Even with the dark blue shade of the fabric, it was easy to see a stain blooming through the lower half of Caliban’s button-down.

Even in the dim lighting, it was easy to see how the hand Caliban pressed against his stomach was covered in glistening red.

Even through the immediate cacophony of questions on Azalea’s part and instructions on K.O.’s part, it was easy to hear droplets of blood plopping against concrete as they trickled out between Caliban’s fingers.

Yet another wasp’s venom was next on Azalea’s list for the session, so the syringe containing it would go in the target’s left deltoid. To compliment the other, see?

Not immediately, though.

“The guy you sent is dead,” Azalea announced, speaking to the target for the first time since she’d knocked him unconscious. Her voice was soft, and muffled, agonized, unintelligible groans were still leaking out of his mouth. But she knew that he could hear her.

“. . .Or, I’m pretty sure he is, at least. He was kept alive for a few days after his little stunt, but there’s no saving him now,” she continued.

Visible shivers had been wracking their way up and down the target’s body all this time. Azalea knew that they were involuntary, that they were just more side-effects of the poisons she’d given him so far.

Now, however, he froze in place.

Azalea smirked, practically able to see her words registering in his mind. “Nobody’s going to find either of you, y’know. Even if someone actually tries to look, they won’t get any leads.”

She resumed her pacing, never taking her eyes off the target, watching as his ragged breathing stuttered.

“I know, I know. Scenarios like that are pretty underwhelming, but that’s more on you for springing this on us the way you did.” Azalea shrugged as she passed the syringe from one hand to the other.

Her smile widened a bit. “Don’t worry, though! We’ll try to make things more interesting for your other cronies. I bet one of them will end up being found again and again for a month or so. It’ll have to happen in a different city, but that’s not too big of a problem.”

Tarantula hawks got their name from their frightening diet, but that most certainly wasn’t the only thing they were infamous for. By some terrifying miracle, their stings truly felt similar to an active hair dryer after it was dropped into someone’s bathtub. They were described as explosive

The toxin was apparently explosive enough to give the impression of electric currents literally tearing their way through your bloodstream.

“This is like a weird variation of sibling ESP,” K.O. blurted as he carefully prodded at the puncture site with gloved hands. “Really, I’m surprised some cosmic imbalance hasn’t been triggered.”

“Don’t remind me,” Azalea replied, wringing her hands. She’d just returned from washing them for the third time. The skin around her knuckles almost felt a little dry.

“Hey, if I had to be jumped, at least it was by an amateur,” Caliban mused, chewing his lip while staring at the ceiling. A good few minutes had passed since he'd stopped shaking and choking on air. It seemed the sheer awkwardness of having to lay across someone else’s workout equipment with his shirt half-unbuttoned was balancing out his stress.

“Good point,” K.O. agreed as he soaked yet another washcloth into the bucket of cold, clean water he’d brought from upstairs.“I don’t really work with knives, and I can still see how that idiot should’ve used a drill if he wanted to cause some real penetration.”

The resulting fit of snickers on Caliban’s part were so sudden and loud that he lurched forward. Said snickers automatically had to compete with the way Caliban sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth as K.O. swept the washcloth over the latest wound.

“. . .I should’ve seen that coming.” The mental image of a person’s guts getting all twisted around a drill bit wasn’t pretty, but Azalea still clicked her tongue and fondly rolled her eyes as she carried over a thick roll of gauze.“If Murdock isn’t around to make jokes like that, then someone else always will. Always.”

“We’ve all gotta do our part.” K.O. took the bandages, offering a proud, smug grin in return. “Okay, Cal: sit up slowly but don’t move your feet too much. And keep your arms above your stomach.”

Caliban was still giggling at the semi-dirty quip as he complied with the other mobster’s instructions. His face fell, however, as he looked down at the new gash on the left side of his abdomen. Sure, the bleeding had stopped, and sure, it was actively being hidden by layers of fresh heavy-duty bandages.

But even with the knowledge that it hadn’t gone deep enough to cause any serious infections, Azalea could tell that it hurt much more than Caliban was letting on. She sidled around K.O., careful to give him enough space as she stood beside her brother. She quietly rested one of her hands on his shoulder, trying to help him stay steady.

Despite the initial panic, things had moved nice and quickly. Time hadn’t even seemed to slow down and make everything feel worse for once.

It hadn’t exactly been pleasant to feel her brother’s blood spill onto her hands while K.O. rushed to get something more effective for applying pressure, but Azalea knew how much of a tough cookie he was. This wasn’t the first time Caliban had gotten stabbed; this wasn’t even the worst example out of all the other scars decorating his torso. If he could heal up from all those other cases, then this one would be a cakewalk. He was going to be fine.

Azalea stared into her brother’s eyes, hoping to somehow filter all those little reminders into his brain without speaking.

Caliban stared right back at her. And, judging by the way his features seemed to relax a bit more, her efforts were successful. “That’s the thing about stabbing,” he finally continued, the usual grin back on his face. “You have to know where just the right spots are if you want to be effective. Otherwise you’ll just make the rest of us look bad.”

“Well, I’m sure you can give that moron a proper demonstration once we track him down,” Azalea promised, madness flickering along her otherwise gentle expression.

The tired look returned to Caliban’s eyes. He let out a melodramatic sigh, shaking his head sulkily. “No, I really can’t.”

“Why not?” K.O. asked as he secured the last layer of padding.

“Because the guy was covered in tattoos!” Caliban threw his hands up in frustration, eyes growing wider and just a bit more wild than before. “And when I say covered, I mean COVERED! Ink like that just completely ruins the meat! Makes it taste horrible!” He made the mistake of ever-so-slightly stretching his stomach, which prompted him to grind his jaw, screw his eyes shut and fall back with yet another hiss.

“. . .So, you’re saying other types of ink could make people taste better?” K.O. wondered with a smirk.

“Yes, K.O. That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Caliban deadpanned, craning his neck to raise an eyebrow at his colleague, who held up his hands in mock surrender.

Azalea, meanwhile, kept drawing circles on Caliban’s shoulder, all the ideas on what to do to her brother’s attacker quickly forming a maze in her mind.

“. . .They weren’t even flattering tattoos,” Caliban murmured, gingerly folding his arms across his chest. “Seriously, there was a pinup girl on one of his arms and she looked like a random stranger just offered to share a toilet seat with her.”

“Did you seriously not see this coming?” Azalea inquired, halting right in front of the target. “That’s hard to believe.”

The fourth and final syringe was ready. It was almost as long as a pencil, wider than the three that had been used before it. Its needle was thicker, shinier, sharper, the meanest-looking thing in Azalea’s collection. But even if it wasn’t, that wouldn’t have mattered.

When you were handling a dosage of fresh, pure, unadulterated bullet ant venom—a substance that was infamous for literally being described as “walking over flaming charcoal with three-inch nails in your heels”—nothing really mattered.

“Turning the art festival into a gun range wasn’t enough, huh? You just couldn’t resist going after my brother yourself.”

The target’s head had been hanging. He must’ve been tired from shaking it side-to-side as if that would somehow convince his brain to magically alleviate the torment. But it suddenly jerked up like that of a marionette puppet.

Like a new, foreign weight had just settled around his shoulders, encouraging the tiny rivers of blood to keep trickling down his chest and back. Not chasing all the pain away, but somehow managing to distract him from it, if only for a moment. His bloodshot, watery eyes seemed to grow even wider than before as he stared at his torturer.

“What, couldn’t you tell?” A sarcastic chuckle bubbled up in Azalea’s throat. “I know he’s a lot taller than me, but still: isn’t the resemblance obvious?”

She pretended to mull the question over for a few long seconds, then snapped her fingers.

“Oh wait, that’s right! There really is no way you could’ve known about that.”

She rested her thumb on the syringe’s plunger. Her knuckles were turning white as she kept the barrel pinned between her index and middle finger.

“You probably didn’t even know I was there for your first little rendezvous. . .” she continued, drawing even nearer, now holding her little weapon aloft.

The target attempted to stagger back, attempted to turn his head away.

Azalea, in response, reached up and gripped his chin, digging her nails into the skin of his jaw as she forced him to face her. Her other hand was a blur, the syringe glinting hungrily.

“. . .Because you’re just a bottom-feeding coward.”

The needle sank into the target’s flesh; the left side of his abdomen, to be specific.

There was still half of the venom left in the syringe when the target started screaming. His legs gave out from under him as though his bones had dissolved into his blood. As his knees couldn’t touch the ground, he swayed to and fro in a very unnatural manner with such violent convulsions that he could’ve been mistaken for having a seizure.

He’d been screaming for the majority of the session, of course, but this scream was. . .something else. It was like nothing Azalea had ever heard before; and this wasn’t even the first time she’d used bullet ant venom.

Eh, what else could be expected from the brilliant, intense, undeniable crown queen of pain?

Even with the new ache in her ears, Azalea felt a smile etch its way across her face. It wasn’t calm just yet, but it would get there eventually. She’d reached her goal: there was no way in hell that this target wasn’t regretting his choice to screw around with her, Caliban, and the rest of their family.

“Looks like I’m done over here,” Azalea pronounced, wiping her hands as she turned to look at Murdock. “Sorry if all this noise has been bothering you.”

“Oh, not at all,” Murdock reassured, his voice suspiciously more chipper than tired.

Azalea was about to jokingly ask if he’d brought a second shovel along so she could help him finish digging out the grave.

She was about to. . .but she couldn’t.

Surprisingly enough, the way her jaw hit the ground didn’t disrupt the pile of dirt beside Murdock, which had transformed from an improvised molehill to a small mountain. It even seemed to be a couple inches taller than he was! The hole that’d been excavated was just wide enough to put an adult human in feet-first. It also seemed to go much, much deeper than six feet; a sunray was shining down into it, and yet the bottom was still shrouded in darkness!

“H-how—HOW—?!” Azalea stammered, glancing back and forth between Murdock and the pit.

“Like I said, Aza: Becky works fast,” Murdock explained without really explaining, smirking like a bastard as he rested his arms on his beloved shovel’s handle.

“AAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUGH!” The target tried to add.

Azalea blinked, slowly raising her hands to massage her temples and reminding herself that she and Murdock had someone to bury. There wasn’t time to question the potential reality-bending powers of some tactical shovel. “Fine, okay, whatever. Could you just bring him down, please?”

Murdock nodded. “My pleasure.” He cradled Becky in his arms one last time before setting her back down in her leather case and returning it to the decoy mail truck. After that, he made his way over to where he’d tied the line. Azalea followed him, orbiting around the target one last time before the rope went loose.

Just because those four syringes were empty didn’t mean she wanted to waste them, after all.

@rebar2042 @sammys-magical-au

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lucianinsanity-only-art · 1 year

Text

He compartido 451 publicaciones este 2022

¡Son 427 más que en 2021!

50 publicaciones originales (11 %)

401 reblogueos (89 %)

Estos son los blogs que más he reblogueado:

@lucianinsanity

@taysudon

@pocketsizedquasar

@a-hobit

He etiquetado 418 publicaciones en 2022

Solo el 7 % de mis publicaciones no incluye ninguna etiqueta

#other people fanart: 228 publicaciones

#no id: 200 publicaciones

#bnha: 125 publicaciones

#tma: 97 publicaciones

#luci an's art: 63 publicaciones

#other people art: 42 publicaciones

#fanart: 19 publicaciones

#tma fanart: 19 publicaciones

#the magnus archives: 17 publicaciones

#tma the magnus archives: 17 publicaciones

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#he grew a lot from being an imagination of a boy i liked to literally being a half elf half energy creature surgeon that can make people-

Mis publicaciones más populares este 2022:

[ID: Several digital character sheets of TMA characters as teens in a Percy Jackson AU. The background is a light blue.

The first one is Jonathan Sims. Jon is a thin latin american young man with medium brown skin, wavy greying brown hair. He uses glasses. He has a long scar on his neck, various smaller scars on his face and hands and two longer scars on his left elbow. He has a purple bag and is holding a knife, and is looking nervously to the side. He is wearing a CHB "Camp Half-Blood" T shirt and dark jeans.

The text on his sheets reads "Name: Jonathan "Jon" Sims, Age: 14, Height: 1,57, God: Atenea. History: Jon was tormented by spiders his whole childhood, he is found and brought to the camp where the spider attacks stop, but he still has to confront that, or so the oracle says. He was recognized by his mother when he gets to the camp at the age of 9. He still visits his grandmother but mostly just stays in the camp where monsters can't find him. Extra: He is extremely curious, he had some missions on the outside and came back with minimal scars (usually something spider related)".

The second one is Martin Blackwood. Martin is a chubby white young man with blonde hair, brown eyes, and freckles. He has some scars in his hands. He is smiling nervously and wearing a CHB T shirt and jeans.

His text reads "Name: Martin Blackwood, Age: 15, Height: 1,49, God: Unknown (Apollo). History: He was found fighting a monster by Sasha, who helps him get to the camp safe. He is still new and in the Hermes cabin while he waits for his divine parent decides to claim him (he wants for his mother to not be his real mother, but he knows is a hopeless matter). Extra: he survived on his own for a long time thanks to an interest on mythology that was very useful when fighting with monsters or tests. He likes poetry and tries to write some. After he discovers his father is Apollo he tries to justify his poetry with this fact but he actually has healing abilities." End ID]

Descúbrela

45 notas. Fecha de publicación: 17 de enero de 2022

[ID: an illustration of the YouTube channel of Bakugou Katsuki and Midoriya Izuku called Wonder Duo, only the backgrounds of the videos appears colored. The first video on the list is a short with the title "Yes, we are married!!!", the number of views is 420, the thumbnail shows a screaming Bakugou being kissed in the head by Midoriya. The second video is titled "QnA (Part 2) More questions", the number of views is 6.9k, the thumbnail shows Midoriya, on the left, over a blue background, with a surprised expression pointing at a text that reads "we live together?", Bakugou, on the right, is looking forward, he seems bored. The third video is titled "QnA (Part 1) Wonder Duo" with 1M views, the thumbnail shows Midoriya and Bakugou over an orange background, smiling at the camera showing their right hands, they have a black ring in the middle finger, there's a text over their heads that reads "we are both ace". The last video is titled "Spice challenge, Wonder Duo + Friends" with 3M views, the thumbnail is red with Midoriya's crying face and the text "So Spicy" in all caps.

Midoriya has a round face framed by a short mess of fluffy dark-green hair. He has large and circular eyes, their irises the same green color as his hair. He has a set of four symmetrical freckles in diamond formations, one on each cheek.

Bakugou has short, spiky, sandy blonde hair with choppy bangs that hang over his eyebrows. His eyes are sharp and bright red in color. He is using hearing aids. End ID]

Couldn't resist with the ace headcanons, I just think they are neat

I'm also very stressed by the waiting for next chapter so I might as well post all my drafts on bkdk

51 notas. Fecha de publicación: 20 de marzo de 2022

[ID: two illustrations with a text over them that say "Me and the bad bitch I pulled by being Autistic". The first one has Midoriya Izuku and Bakugou Katsuki, the second one has Iida Tenya and Todoroki Shoto, all of them from Boku no hero academia. Izuku and Katsuki are looking to the front and posing for a picture, they are holding their left hands and Izuku is doing a peace sign. Tenya and Shoto are holding hands and looking at each other lovingly.

Katsuki has short, spiky, sandy blonde hair with choppy bangs that hang over his eyebrows. His eyes are sharp and bright red in color. He has hearing aids and is wearing a black t-shirt.

Shoto has his hair split between two colors: white on his right side and crimson red on his left. He has heterochromia, his left eye is iris turquoise, while his right is a brownish dark gray. He has a large burn scar on the left side of his face, which reaches from his hairline to halfway down his cheek, his eyebrow on that side is segmented. He is wearing a plain red t-shirt.

Tenya has short dark blue hair, flattened neatly down and parted on the right side of his head. His eyebrows have the far ends sharply hooked inwards, and he wears glasses with rectangular lenses over his red eyes. He is wearing a t-shirt with a buttoned neck. End ID]

Descúbrela

60 notas. Fecha de publicación: 25 de junio de 2022

[ID: A watercolour painting of Sasha James and Jonathan Sims from the podcast The Magnus Archives. Black lines in the shape of an eye mark the center of the piece, while others reach out from the center to divide the rest of the piece into sections. Sasha, who is depicted as a black woman with light brown skin and curly hair, is depicted in the center with her hair floating above her head and holding a tan box to a brown table with a blank expression, her eyes glowing green, with blue clouds and a web coming from behind her against a dark green background. In the top left section, a closeup of Sasha's face with the lights of her computer reflecting on her glasses and face is visible. In the top right corner, Sasha is depicted with worms buried in her face and shoulder. In the bottom left corner, Sasha is facing right with a worried expression on her face; in the bottom right corner, Jon, who is depicted as a thin man with dark hair with grey streaks and light brown skin, is looking left at Sasha with a nervous expression as well, behind him are little spiders coming down from the ceiling. In between them, another section shows spider arms reaching towards a closed door. End ID]

My piece for @thevoidcannotbefilled fanfic Turn the Table; Face your Fate

for the @seasons-in-the-archives Summer in The Archives event!!

62 notas. Fecha de publicación: 25 de septiembre de 2022

Mi publicación más popular de 2022

Jon adopts a cat and some weeks later he has five instead @jonsimsandcats

[ID: two illustrations of Jonathan Sims with cats, the blush, scars and some details are colored. Jonathan Sims is a thin latin american person with white hair that has two streaks of his original hair color. He has both ears pierced and multiple scars, a big one under his right eye and smaller round ones in all his visible skin. He is wearing a sweater. In the first illustration he is wrapped with a blanket while holding a cat in his arms, the cat has white fur with orange and brown spots, the cat is purring, he is looking at it with a soft smile. In the second illustration he has three kittens in his shoulders and one in top of his head, the mother cat is besides him looking at her kittens. Jon is smiling, all the cats are purring. End ID]

71 notas. Fecha de publicación: 29 de abril de 2022

Descubre tu resumen del 2022 en Tumblr →

#tumblr2022 #Tumblr #year in review #luci an's art #gif #bkdk #bakudeku #dekubaku #dkbk #todoiida #tma #the magnus archives fanart #the magnus archives

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alextblue · 1 year

Text

I posted 2,850 times in 2022

That's 86 more posts than 2021!

5 posts created (0%)

2,845 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@shtish

@laurawatchesthebees

@lennyjamin

@artoodeeblue

@spacemanrhys

I tagged 413 of my posts in 2022

#ofmd - 59 posts

#ref - 33 posts

#the sandman - 28 posts

#alex's for later pile - 22 posts

#friend art - 19 posts

#sandman - 17 posts

#moon knight - 17 posts

#our flag means death - 17 posts

#blackbeard - 14 posts

#ed teach - 14 posts

Longest Tag: 111 characters

#though i'm starting to get worried that im damaging my sight with overuse of screens and reading in the dark 😅

My Top Posts in 2022:

oooh, 4 and 8!!!

4. what does your room smell like?

It smell like crisps and mint (though it smells a bit stale rn cause i just came back from a trip)

8. what color do you think goes best with your personality?

Well blue is the obvious 😅 but i think a combination of sky blue and bright orange fits

Obscure ask

1 note - Posted May 3, 2022

I have a question..... If you could have any snack in the world, what would you get atm?

Rn i'm craving the Bifi dried sausages (specifically the original one)

1 note - Posted May 3, 2022

Precious bean ofc

awww that's so sweet!!! 🥺

1 note - Posted May 3, 2022

5, 11 and 27!!!

5. favorite form of potato?

hmm this is a tough one because I love potatoes a lot, in most forms. I think my top one is roast potatoes (in quarters-ish) with the skin on and seasoned with 'herbes de Provence', garlic and salt. My mum used to make them all the time when I lived in the south of France so I think there is a nostalgic aspect too

11. anything from your childhood you’ve held on to?

I've kept a bunch of stuff from when I was a kid in boxes in storage. The one thing I've brought with me to uni though is a set of post it notes that my best friend ages 7-14 got me (it's pretty much this one, and though I don't really use the sticky notes I take it with me every time I move)

27. what’s your favourite or go-to outfit?

this changes regularly. At the moment, I'm quite fond of a set of denim overalls/dungarees (from Monki) and I'll wear that with these really comfortable and soft cotton T-shirts (from Uniqlo) and I'll usually wear my Geox boots (they have a water-resistant/warm winter lining so perfect for Dutch weather)

questions from weirdly specific and unrelated asks to know someone well

2 notes - Posted June 9, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

3, 6, 39?

3. what movie/game/etc. helps you calm down?

I’d have to say my favourite game to chill out is a logic puzzle game, it’s called picross/nonogram or logimage in french. It has become a bit like muscle memory/automatic logic over time, and it’s nice cause I can listen to podcasts at the same time and it doesn’t bother me (numbers and words don’t interfere with each other for me much)

6. what kind of music would you listen to if you could only choose one?

Hmm, I’d say whatever Hozier is categorised as? (Fleet foxes, the crane wives, the amazing devil... that kind of stuff)

39. earbuds or headphones?

Headphones for sure! I really struggle with audio processing so having the dampening of the outside helps a lot, though I have to say that earbuds are more practical to bring with me on outings.

Obscure asks

2 notes - Posted May 3, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #hehe my only original posts are asks #i guess i don't have original things to share #oh well

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chaosbled · 1 year

Text

MUSE CHARACTERISTICS & AESTHETICS:

Arahabaki Edition { Masc Form }

BOLD what applies to your muse, then tag others to do the same! Italicize things that apply occasionally or applied in the past!

Repost, don’t reblog.

BODY

HEIGHT

3'4" or less | 3'5" - 3'8" | 3'9" - 4'0" | 4'1″ - 4'4" | 4'5" - 4'8" | 4'9" to 5'0" | 5'1" - 5'4" | 5'5" - 5′8″ | 5′9" - 6′0" | 6'1" - 6′4″ | 6′5″ or taller

WEIGHT

Less than 100lbs | 100–125lbs | 125–150lbs | 150–175lbs | 175-200lbs | 200–225lbs | 225–250lbs | 250–275lbs | 275–300lbs | 300–325lbs | 325–350lbs | More than 350lbs | Underweight | Healthy weight | Overweight

SKIN

Pale. Light. Rosy. Peaches & Cream. Medium. Olive. Golden. Dark. Warm undertones. Cool undertones. Olive (Warm & Cool) undertones. Neutral undertones. Tanned. Freckled. Blotchy. Smooth. Acne. Dry. Greasy. Soft.

EYES

Small. Large. Average. Gray. Gray-Blue. Brown. Black. Blue. Green. Blue-Green. Gold. Hazel. Heterochromatic. Red. Doe-eyed. Bloodshot. Almond-shaped. Wide-set. Close-set. Deep set. Portruding. Squinty. Monolid. Epicanthic fold. Heavy eyelids. Downturned. Upturned. Full lashes. Thin lashes. Straight lashes. Curled lashes.

LIPS

Pink. Peach. Red. Brown. Dark. Full. Thin. Full upper/thin lower. Thin upper/full lower. Pouty. Plump. Cupid’s bow. Soft. Rough. Smooth. Chapped. Dry. Moist. Warm. Cold.

NOSE

Duchess. Fleshy. Upturned. Downturned. Roman. Aquiline. Bumpy. Snub. Hawk. Greek. Nubian. East Asian. Nixon. Bulbous. Celestial. Smooth. Sloped. Large nostrils. Average nostrils. Small nostrils. Straight. Raised. Lowered.

HANDS & FINGERS

Small. Petite. Delicate. Slender. Long fingers. Short fingers. Stubby fingers. Chubby fingers. Meaty. Bony. Pale. Frail. Skillful. Rough. Calloused. Strong. Thin. Thick. Smooth. Soft. Warm. Cold. Frigid. Sweaty. Gentle. Scarred.

HAIR

Thin. Thick. Fine. Normal. Greasy. Dry. Soft. Shiny. Curly. Frizzy. Wild. Unruly. Straight. Smooth. Wavy. Floppy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Shoulder length. Back length. Waist length. Buzz cut. Undercut. Bald. A bit below the jaw. A bit above the jaw. Mullet. Mohawk. White. Platinum blonde. Strawberry blonde. Orange blonde. Golden blonde. Redhead. Dirty blonde. Blondette. Ombre. Light brown. Mouse brown. Chocolate brown. Chestnut brown. Dark brown. Jet black. Ginger (red-orange). Auburn (red-brown). Copper. Other Color (Dyed). Thin eyebrows. Average eyebrows. Thick eyebrows. Groomed eyebrows.

TATTOOS / PIERCINGS

Full sleeve. Thigh tattoo. Neck tattoo. Chest tattoo. One tattoo. A few here and there. Wrist tattoo. Back tattoo. Multiple. No tattoo. Monroe piercing. Nose piercing. Septum. Nipple piercing(s). Genital piercing(s). Industrial piercings. Earlobe piercing. Prince Albert piercing. Eyebrow piercing(s). Tongue piercing(s). Lip piercing(s). Helix piercing. Tragus piercing. Angelbites. Labret. Stretches out ears. Navel piercing. Inverse navel piercing. Cheek piercing(s). Smiley. Nape piercing(s). No piercing.

COSMETICS

Eyeliner (occasionally). Light eyeliner. Heavy eyeliner. Cat eyes. Mascara. Fake eyelashes. Matte lipstick. Regular lipstick. Lipgloss. Red lips. Pink lips. Dark lips. Bronzer. Highlighter. Body wash. Moisturizer. Aftershave. Eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow. Smoky eyes. Colorful eyeshadow. Blush. Lipliner. Light contouring. Heavy contouring. Greasepaint. Powder. Matte foundation. Shiny foundation. Concealer. Perfume. Cologne. Deodorant. Wears make up regularly. Wears it from time to time. Uses only light makeup. Never wears make-up.

SCENT

Floral. Fruit. Earthy. Spicy. Perfumes. Aftershave. Shampoo/Conditioner. Cocoa. Candy. Moisturizer. Cigarettes. Leather. Sweat. Food. Incense. Marijuana. Alcohol. Cologne. Whiskey. Wine. Fried food. Blood. Fresh Linen. Musk.

CLOTHES

Jeans. Tight pants. Leather pants. Dress pants. Over-the-knee socks. Tights. Leggings. Yoga pants. Pencil skirt. Tight skirt. Loose skirt. Tight/formfitting dress. Cardigans. Blouse. Button up shirt. Band-T-shirt. Sports t-shirt. Dress shirts. Sweatpants. Tank top. Fur. Faux fur. Leather. Designer. High street. Online stores. Thrift. Lingerie. Long skirt. Miniskirt. Maxi dress. Sun dress. Tie. Tuxedo. Cocktail dress. High slit dress/skirt. T-shirt. Loose clothing. Tight clothing. Jean shorts. Sweater. Sweater vest. Khaki pants. Suit. Hoodie. Harlem pants. Basketball shorts. Boxers. Briefs. Thong. Hotpants. Hipster panties. Commando. Bra. Sports bra. No bra. Crop top. Corset. Ballerina skirt. Leotard. Polka dot. Stripes. Glitter. Silk. Lace. Satin. Velvet. Chemise. Patterns. Florals. Neon colors. Pastels. Black. Dark colors. Neutral colors.

SHOES

Sneakers. Slip-ons. Flats. Slippers. Sandals. High heels. Kitten heels. Ankle boots. Combat boots. Knee-high. Platforms. Stripper heels. Dress shoes. Bare feet. Loafers. Oxfords. Gladiator shoes.

JEWELLERY & ACCESSORIES

Earrings. Necklaces. Chokers. Collars. Lockets. Watches. Rings. Purity rings. Promise ring. Engagement ring. Wedding ring. Bracelets. Hair ties. Cufflinks. Ties. Bowties. Bolo ties. Brooches. Pins. Bandannas. Hairpins. Crowns. Tiaras. Garters. Anklets. Ribbons. Belts. Umbrellas. Parasols. Bookbags. Briefcases. Satchels. Glasses. Contacts. Spectacles. Monocles.

Tagged by: N/A

Tagging: @dcfygraviity & anyone else that wants to!

#VISAGE || The Darkness Settled Upon Your Soul { Arahabaki }#HEADCANON || The Forgotten God { Arahabaki }#{ Dash Games }

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chic-a-gigot · 1 year

Photo

La Mode illustrée, no. 4, 25 janvier 1891, Paris. Toilettes de mariage. Modèles de chez Mme Coussinet, rue Richer, 43. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

No. 1. Toilette de mariée. — En peau de soie neige avec dessins de broderie perles fines et soie. Bouquets d'oranger sur le côté.

No. 1. Bridal ensemble. — In snow silk skin with fine pearl and silk embroidery designs. Orange blossoms on the side.

—

No. 2. Toilette de mariée. — En faille première très mate avec ruche chicorée dans le bas.

No. 2. Bridal ensemble. — In premier matte faille with chicory ruffle at the bottom.

—

No. 3. Toilette de mère de la mariée. — En veloutine carrick et velours émeraude; devant en velours émeraude, avec applications de broderie Pompadour de tons rose, nil et beige.

No. 3. Mother of the Bride ensemble. — In carrick velveteen and emerald velvet; front in emerald velvet, with Pompadour embroidery applications in pink, nile and beige tones.

—

No. 4. Toilette de mère du marié. — En velours saphir et soie broché jonquille avec ruche frisée dans le bas en taffetas paille et rose.

No. 4. Mother of the groom ensemble. — In sapphire velvet and daffodil-brocaded silk with curly ruche at the bottom in straw and pink taffeta.

—

No. 5. Toilette de fiancée pour matinée de contrat. — Robe princesse en crépon Saïs vert nil, ornée de bandes de velours vert émeraude avec nœuds choux retenant le baldaquin.

No. 5. Bride's morning ensemble. — Princess dress in nile green Saïs crepon, adorned with strips of emerald green velvet with cabbage knots holding the canopy.

—

No. 6. Demoiselle d'honneur. — Robe en drap léger crème, avec corselet, plastron, poignets en velours vert émeraude, ornés de galons d'or.

No. 6. Bridesmaid. — Dress in light cream cloth, with corselet, plastron, cuffs in emerald green velvet, adorned with gold braid.

—

Deux coiffures de mariées. Modèles de chez M. Camille, rue du 4-Septembre, 9.

No. 1. — Les cheveux frisés par devant sont relevés sur le sommet de la tête, et entourés d'une guirlande de fleurs d'oranger, formant une touffe allongée par devant; voile en tulle de Malines posé à la juive.

No. 2. — Les cheveux sont disposés devant en petites: boucles, derrière en chignon assez élevé, qu'entoure une guirlande de fleurs d'oranger ; voile de dentelle, disposé en mantille.

No. 1. — The curly hair in front is raised on the top of the head, and surrounded by a garland of orange blossoms, forming an elongated tuft in front; Mechelen tulle veil posed Jewish style.

No. 2. — The hair is arranged in front in small curls, behind in a fairly high chignon, surrounded by a garland of orange blossoms; veil of lace, arranged in a mantilla.

#La Mode illustrée #19th century #1890s #1891 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #Forney #dress #bridal #bridesmaid #mother of the bride #veil #princess #Camille #train #gutter #Modèles de chez #Madame Coussinet

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ganymede-princess · 14 days

Text

We Share the Same Sky (Part 3)

ship: Isaac Wood x Original Female Character

warnings: light sexual references, references to mummy issues

summary: Eloise spends the weekend at her parent's house in Cambridge.

word count: 4263

a/n: Hope you guys enjoy chapter 3! I can never keep Isaac out of the story for long lol.

written by @ganymede-princess

My eyes are macro lenses, blurring the world into fuzzed out impressions of light. Though I am almost blind, the scent of orange and cinnamon candles tells me I am laying in my bed. Thoughts idle by, none catching for long in my hazy mind. Why can’t I see? Who’s sitting beside me? I am so sleepy and the bed so warm and soft, that these details feel utterly trivial. All I want is to curl up and breathe in the comforting scent of whoever watches over me.

From my right, I hear the rhythmic plucking of an acoustic guitar, the melody unrecognisable and hallucinatory in its beauty. I turn my head, dizzying lights ripple and swim, and my eyes hone in their focus on the hand that dances across the strings. It’s a man’s hand; white and pink, veined, and bony, shifting back and forth, spiderlike. My gaze drifts up to his eyes, half-lidded and heavy with downy blonde lashes. They flicker to meet with mine, grey as river stones warming in the sun, and expectant. I follow the tousle of his hair, down to his cowrie shell ear, the curve of his jaw and the hollow of his cheek, and his pin straight nose that hooks under so slightly, like Apollo de Belvedere’s, carved into stone by some sculptor in antiquity. Last, I watch his soft bow lips, how he wets them with his tongue, and the shy smile that tugs at the corners as he squirms under the weight of my eyes.

He stops his plucking now and places the guitar to his side, engulfing me with his unfettered focus. Just for a moment, he hesitates… then leans in, his hand on my thigh to steady himself, and lays his lips flush against my collarbone. He works the skin gently, almost chastely, a far cry from the insistent, bruising kisses I have gotten so used to. Tingles pass through every inch of my body as his teeth graze against my skin. I tilt my head back to grant him access to the full length of my neck. He nuzzles me, peppering kisses up and down from my chin to my shoulder, but as I bury my hand in the silken curls at the nape of his neck, he takes the hint and sucks deeply on the most sensitive spot. He sets me alight with sensation, with kaleidoscopic light and a heady concoction of endorphins. Though my throat does not permit me to speak, to moan, or to let out even a strangled whimper, my heartbeat echoes with one gorgeous word.

Is-aac, Is-aac, Is-aac.

Cambridge, 16th November 2019

My eyes snap open with a jolt. For a second, I am fourteen in a tulle tutu and James has fumbled the lift and sent me flopping into the foam pit, feeling like I left my stomach five feet above me. My hand flies up to the still tingling spot where Isaac’s kiss seemed so real just moments ago, half expecting it to be wet and bruised. I tuck my head under the covers and rub my eyes, trying to wipe away the overflowing visions of his lips, his eyes, his hair… the lean pale body that hides under his oversized clothes- Get a grip, Ellie! You can’t even bring yourself to reply to his message and now you’re dreaming about fucking him?

I push myself up and look for my phone beneath the fleece blanket, under the duvet, and between the pillows, trying to leave behind the shame growing in my stomach as I search. Eventually I find it tucked up under Gordon, my cream plush teddy. I kiss his forehead in thanks and place him carefully on top of my pillows. Last night I took the train back home to Cambridge, leaving behind the ache of Mick’s absence and the nauseating anxiety from yesterday's presentation, but the guilt of ignoring Isaac persists. The bedroom of my childhood still holds tremendous comfort for me, despite the years of pain that took place behind the baby pink walls, but not even the bookshelves full of Monster High dolls and Y/A dystopian novels can calm me completely. I check my messages, finding a meme about breaking up from Tia, nine videos from James of him emptying a bottle of hairspray on a spider and complaining I wasn’t around to kill it, and Isaac’s message laying unopened for almost two weeks now. I send Tia and James a quick reply and get to my feet, eager to get my blood flowing and clear out my head, it’s nearly 10 o’clock as it is.

With the bright sunlight beaming through my window, and the day long started, I do my stretches, feeling my muscles loosen and stiff joints make a satisfying crack. Normally, my morning stretch serves to ground me, but in the few moments it takes, my mind begins to wander back to the dream, to the feeling of his lips on my neck. Why Isaac? Why him when I tried so hard to put him out of my mind? How would it feel to lay my ear on his chest and know his heartbeat is mine alone to hear?

I get to my feet with an irritated shake of my head, and march to the bathroom. I am supposed to be taking this weekend to rest, but I know I can’t just lay around all day with nothing to do but torture myself, so I take a scalding hot shower and get dressed. I try to avoid looking too closely at my naked body, but before I pull on my too-big charity shop jumper, I take a close look at my neck. Part of me is surprised to see no purple bruise on my heat-flushed skin; after all, it had felt more real than any kiss I have had in the physical. Fighting against the piece of me that longs for him, that insists it's not too late to text him back, I make my way downstairs. My parents will be a welcome distraction, though I know that Mum will want to know every detail of each day in the three weeks since I’ve seen her. I don’t entirely blame her; after all, there are no tabloids to read about me.

As I pad down the staircase, I see the pair sitting at the kitchen table with their chairs pushed together, a newspaper laid out in front of them. They are doing the crosswords, just like they have every weekend since they moved in together, with Blue by Joni Mitchell on the turntable. I feel a pang of envy as I watch them leaning into each other, utterly content. I wish I could have that, but the process of being hurt time and time again until I find the right person feels insurmountable. Still, they give me hope. At first glance, they seem an unlikely pair; tiny ex-ballerina Mum with her type-A personality and upper-middle class manners, and my gigantic panel beating father with his hands like bear paws and simple words spoken in a Merseyside lilt; but I know from years of experience that my parents could overcome anything as a team.

I stand at the top of the staircase for a moment, unwilling to disturb them, then Prim raises her little chestnut head from her luxurious kip on the sofa, springs to her feet, and comes waddling over for a pat.

“Good morning.” Dad calls as I step down and pick Prim up, bouncing her like a baby. I have to crane my neck to avoid her tongue going up my nose.

“Don’t let her lick you, darling.” Mum hurries over to take her off me, but I dance away.

“She’s fine, Mum.”

I put Prim down on the sofa and stroke her long, floppy ears, then let Mum give me one of her tense, polite hugs. She still walks on eggshells around me after all this time. I hug her back, hard; half because I love her and half because I want her to know there is meat on my bones. Next, Dad ambles over and engulfs me in his embrace. He gives the best hugs of anyone I know, and always makes a point to lift me a few inches off the ground and spin me around, just to prove he can still do it.

“You hungry?”

“Abe!” Dad’s question has barely registered in my mind when Mum interrupts him in a voice like a whip.

“Oh, God.” His face greys. “Sorry, darling, I forgot-”

“It’s fine. You can talk about food, I haven’t been sick in a long time. But, Mum, it’s good you’re thinking. I am hungry, yeah.”

I try to let them both off the hook. I can only imagine the amount of pain I must have put Dad through, and I know Mum still lives with the guilt to this day. We are so similar in that way. I let Dad cook my eggs. He says I shouldn’t have to cook first thing in the morning when I’m supposed to be taking a weekend to rest, but I think he just wants to be sure I’m eating. He serves it on thick toast with butter, even though I try to ask for it without.

While she has me as a captive audience, Mum grills me on everything that’s happened these three weeks since I last saw her. I explain the situation with Mick, and tell her about that night at the karaoke bar, mentioning Isaac but leaving out the more illicit details. I tell myself I want to forget them. Mum claims that it’s good I found out so soon, and that I no longer have a dead weight to carry around and distract me from my studies. I don’t tell her that he convinced me I was in love with him after just three weeks, or that the first week without him felt like my entire life had been ripped apart and the burning pieces charred through my back as I laid face-down on my bedroom floor. I really don’t mention that I know another boy will come along sooner or later to distract me from the task at hand. I tell myself I will stave him off for as long as I can. I don’t fault her opinion, though. In retrospect, Mick was just like my father. My other father, that is, not the man who raised me. His name was Liam, and he left her with something much harder to mend than a broken heart.

After I’m done with my eggs and tea, and explaining the ins and outs of my presentation subject (the Borremose bog bodies, much to Mum's horror), Dad takes me for a tour of the garden. He shows me the clementines are almost ready for picking, and says we’ll have so many that he’s going to have to make marmalade. He shows me the row of chrysanthemums under the kitchen window that he put in fresh this year to fill the house with a sweet perfume, and laments that the bunnies got in and ate the snow peas before they could develop proper pods. We discuss music, as we always do, and he says he is 'rediscovering Radiohead,' which happens every year when the weather turns grey. I tell him about Black Midi, that they remind me of Devo, and then spend the next twenty minutes trying to explain that I can like a band that reminds me of Devo and still hate Devo.

As noon rolls around, I am thoroughly tired of talking and in the mood to enjoy some nature, so I decide to take Prim for a walk. First I put on some eyeliner wings and a little lip plumper, just in case, then put in my earphones and queue up Bury Me at Makeout Creek. I suit Prim up in her little pink harness and her cardigan, and head down the street. The weather is bitter, but it clears my head. Prim stops to sniff every weed that springs up from the cracks in the footpath, but I don’t rush her. I am content to drift along with the breeze and look in front gardens and through open curtains, imagining what it would be like to live in every house we pass by. As we come to the pair of palm trees at the Sorrento Hotel- brown, scraggly, and barely clinging to life in the hostile English weather- my mind wanders back to Isaac. I imagine him and I in our forties, settling down after a good twenty years of living on the road with his band. We’d buy the hotel and the villa beside it, and replace the palms with a pair of hardy green apple trees to make pies with in the winter. We’d manage the place ourselves, employ our friends when they’re strapped for cash, and let the years tick along until retirement. Every Sunday, Isaac could play a set in the bandroom, and maybe I could even learn to dance again. I think of summers on the porch, drinking ginger beer and talking for hours even though you would think there would be nothing left to say, and long winter nights in bed, where all that matters are soft touches and secrets whispered in the dark.

I stand and stare for so long that eventually Prim gets fed up and gives a great heave on her leash to wake me up. I feel my face heat up, embarrassed though nobody could guess how I was thinking. There’s something wrong with you, girl. I think as I drag a hand down my face and head off towards the park. This would not be the first time I thought about Isaac this way, though I thought I had left those fantasies behind when we graduated from Hill’s Road, back when my mouth would go dry at even the thought of looking someone in the eye. What right do I have to hold him in my mind like this? It’s a prison anyway. I dig my phone out of my pocket and turn off the music. Mitski, I love you, but you’re an enabler.

By the time we get to the park, I have stopped internally cringing and am actually present enough to appreciate the red and yellow trees that line the edge of the field. Prim goes a bit crazy, snuffling through all the fallen leaves and cocking her leg to mark every few metres. As we come around the corner and head along the dirt trail through the field, I hear a sharp bark to my right.

“Dylan!”

I turn just in time to see a sheepdog bounding across the grass, it's owner tripping over himself to catch it. I have only a few seconds to scoop Prim up and scramble onto the nearest bench before the dog is on me, snuffling around my feet and trying to jump up to Prim, who squirms and growls in my arms.

“Dylan, Jesus!” The owner clips on the leash and heaves the dog away. “Sorry. Sorry, he is friendly. He just gets a bit-”

“She’s not.” I say pointedly. I don’t take my eyes off the bigger dog, my heart hammering in my chest. “You oughta control that thing! He’s too excitable to-”

The sheepdog lurches forward, yanking his owner in until I am nose to nose with-

“Isaac?” This cannot be happening.

“Ellie?” His frown melts into an elated grin as he picks up his dog and backs away. Oh, it’s him alright. “What are you doing here?”

He’s rugged up in a khaki parka that swallows up his skinny body, and a thick woolen scarf around his neck and mouth. His nose and cheeks are pink with the cold, and it’s all I can do not to reach out and cup them with my warm hands. Still, I must act annoyed.

“I’m staying with my parents for the weekend. Look, you really should teach him some manners! That was actually very scary.”

“Sorry.” He grimaces, wrapping the lead around his hand to keep the dog at his heel and backing away a few metres. “He’s usually quite polite.”

“Is he?”

“Yes.” I see a spark of annoyance on his face as he stoops down to tie the lead to a nearby signpost. “He must really like the looks of you if he made such a fuss to get over here.”

“You sure he doesn’t want to eat Prim?” I try to break the tension.

Isaac pauses, looking up at me through squinted eyes. Then he laughs. All my resolve to keep him at arm’s length vanishes at that sound.

“No, no. He eats enough as it is.” He steps closer and offers me his hand. “Here, you can come down.”

“Thanks.” I maneuver Prim over my shoulder and let him hold me steady. His hands are cold and soft, but strong as well. I let myself accept that I have missed holding them since the brief time they were interlaced with mine. “It’s good to see you, Isaac.”

"It's good to see you too." He's practically beaming as he lets go of my hand.

"I'm just gonna put her down, okay?" Prim is heavier than she looks. "We'll see how they go."

The little spaniel has calmed quite a bit now there is some distance between her and Dylan, though her hackles are still raised under her silky overcoat.

"Yes, go on." He nods. "He's really not aggressive."

"No, but she's quite reactive, it might spook him." Isaac smiles as if I am joking. "I know she's small, but she's a goer."

I set her down, keeping the leash short incase I have to pull her away. She does her bravado bit, growling and walking stiffly with her feathery tail straight out behind her, but Dylan doesn't care. He lets her sniff him first, a complete gentleman, and then very gently sniffs her jowls. I see her body relax, and soon her tail is wagging. I let her leash out a little, and the two dogs start to play together. I notice how gentle Dylan is, never biting or hitting too roughly with his paws.

"Wow." I remark. "She's usually terrible with other dogs."

"Dylan gets along with everyone." I don't miss the pride on Isaac's face. "Look, they're like Lady and the Tramp."

"Mm." I imagine them eating spaghetti. I think Prim would be fighting to the last noodle.

"What did you say her name was?"

"Well, we call her Prim, but her full name is Prima Ballerina Assoluta." I’m embarrassed before I even finish the sentence. I told Mick her name was Primrose. "I named her when I was still doing ballet."

"Cute." To my surprise, Isaac doesn't seem to be laughing at me. "Dyl is named after Bob Dylan. All that curly hair."

"Oh, I see it."

“Hm. How have you been?” He looks at me expectantly, and I notice that he has grown a smear of brown hair over his top lip. It somehow manages to be sophisticated and boyish at once, and frames his face beautifully. Ellie, you hate moustaches.

“Um.” I hesitate.

“You don’t have to say ‘good.’” He points out with an easy smile, then bends down to untie his dog. Without the pressure of his eyes on me, I relax.

“Thank god.” A relieved sort of laugh escapes me as I sigh. “I’ve been really bad actually.”

“Tell me about it.” I pause, trying to decipher if he actually cares. It takes long enough that he adds: “I wanna know.”

He starts meandering along the path and I follow him without question, the gravel crunching under our feet. The two dogs trot beside each other. getting along remarkably well despite their rocky start.

“Okay.” I let out a shuddering breath. “Well, the day after I posted that picture of us at karaoke, Mick came around to my flat to dump everything I left at his. We had a really ugly fight outside and I think some of the neighbours saw.”

“So, you broke up with him?” I notice a barely concealed smile. Maybe Tia was telling the truth.

“Don’t look so delighted.”

“I’m not!” He reddens. “I am happy for you, though. He sounds like a twat.”

“Thank you. He broke up with me, though. I didn’t get the chance to do it first, so now I’m the one with egg on my face, really.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Well, that’s what it felt like to me.” I can’t help wringing my hands. “The worst part is that I had to do this massive project last week, so I had to study like crazy straight after it happened. I don't know how I managed it since I was basically comatose with depression.”

“I know what that’s like.” The glimmer of a bad memory shows in his eyes. “Do you think you did well enough?”

“Yeah.” I admit. “Maybe not as well as I’d have liked. It was a presentation and I'm so awful at public speaking that I was about ready to have a total meltdown, so I came here to recuperate. And, oh god, I’m sorry. I never replied to your message.”

“Hey, it’s alright.” He gently nudges me with his elbow. “You had other things to worry about.”

“No, but I should have at least said something.” I insist. I can feel something inside me reaching for him. “It wasn’t right to just leave you in the dark like that.”

“Ellie.” He says, his voice steady. “Give yourself a break.”

“Okay.” I almost argue, but manage to bite my tongue. “How about you? How have you been?”

“Bit better than you, love. Me and the band were in Spain and Belgium last weekend."

"Ugh! How dare you have a good time?" I aim a gentle swat at him.

"I know! So inconsiderate of me. If it helps, this week has been a bit shit. We’ve had a hell of a rush at work, which is nice ‘cause extra hours means extra money, but I’m exhausted and I have no time for anything creative.”

“Oh. What do you do for work?”

“Do you know Speedy Wunderground?”

“Yes!” Of course I know them, despite never delving into the scene personally, and generally avoiding anything to do with anyone I met in highschool, the Cambridge underground is something of a special interest to me… and musicians are a weakness of mine. “I have a couple of their compilations.”

“Right, well I pack their orders. Which compilations do you have?”

“Year one and two, I think.”

“You should get year four.” He turns to me and grins, a little smugly. “One of our singles is on it.”

“Really? That’s so cool.”

“It is.” He agrees, eyes alight with excitement. “I’ll send you the song file. I wanna know what you think. If- if you don’t mind, that is.”

“Oh, yes.” I can barely contain my delight at the revelation that my opinion matters to him. Mick never asked for my feedback. “I wanna hear it.”

“Great.” He bumps into me gently, then we fall into a silence.

Dylan and Prim pause to sniff something particularly interesting at the side of a rubbish bin. I look over at Isaac, trying to find something to say, but all I can think of is how looking in his eyes feels like drowning in quicksilver.

“Are you making eyes at me?” He says it more jokingly than accusingly.

“Sorry, you just… You look different.”

“It’ll be this.” He thumbs the hair above his lip. “You like it?”

“It’s cute.” So much for staying strong.

“Thanks.” I don’t miss the way his face lights up or how he ducks his chin away from me like my eyes are searing him. Stop being so cute and give me a chance to get over this! “I’m trying to look more like him.” He gestures to Dylan. “Y’know, since he gets so much attention from the ladies.”

“And you don’t?”

He shakes his head.

“Really? But you’re lovely.”

“I-I’m not.” I bites his lip. “I mean, I’m alright.”

He produces his phone from one of his many pockets, and winces as he checks it.

“Oh, jeez, I’ve gotta go.” He puts his hand on my arm. I’m not sure if he’s telling the truth, or if I’ve just made him terribly uncomfortable. “I’ve gotta get Dyl back to the house before band practice, but, look… Do you want to meet up later?”

“Yes.” My response is so quick and definite that it makes him laugh. “Y-yes.”

“Great.” He beams. “Can I meet you here at say, 4.30? Then we’ll decide where to go from there?”

“Mm-hm.” I nod, trying hard to veil my enthusiasm behind a veneer of cool detachment. I can tell from my face-aching smile that I am failing miserably.

“Fantastic.” He pulls me into a quick, tight hug that smells of sandalwood and fresh laundry, and leaves my arms feeling empty without him.

Before I have a chance to doubt myself, I snag both his arms in my grip, push up onto my tiptoes and plant a kiss right on the curve of his cheekbone. I have never seen a boy look so pleased as he takes a step back and touches the place where my lips were moments ago.

“Bye.” He says with a bashful laugh, then takes off with Dylan in tow.

You’ve done it now, haven’t you?

#we share the same sky #wstss #isaac wood #isaac wood x reader #bcnr #black country new road #windmill scene #black midi

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