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george-weasleys-girl · 8 months

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Could you write a fic where George is doing everything he can to get the attention of the reader who doesn’t notice him because she’s just a really studious bookworm who hasn’t really thought about relationships until he finally does something big enough to get her attention? 😄

The Bookworm

George Weasley x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

~•~

Y/N was always reading. In the library, reading. At mealtimes, reading. Sitting outside, reading. Walking down the hall, reading. Never once looking up and never once bumping into anyone else. George was certain she possessed some sort of ancient, forgotten magic.

He'd been trying to get her attention for weeks, and nothing he did worked. Right now, he was standing next to the bench where she sat engrossed in her book.

"Mate, what are you doing just standing here?" Fred glanced over at Y/N and rolled his eyes.

George sighed and leaned forward to whisper in Fred's ear. "I'm shielding her from the sun." He looked briefly down at the object of his affection, who was lost in her book, oblivious to the conversation going on less than a foot away. "She'll get scorched otherwise."

"My brother, the parasol," Fred teased. "The family will be so proud."

"Shut up," George hissed.

Fred waved him off. "Calm down. It's not like she's paying attention anyway," he looked down at Y/N. "Are you?"

Her only response was to turn the page.

"See," his brother motioned toward her. "Now c'mon, I need your help with something."

George cast his gaze back to Y/N, who was yet to notice his existence. "Fine," he huffed and followed Fred, keeping his eyes straight ahead until they reached the castle doors. He turned back before stepping inside to see Y/N looking around in confusion, her hand shading her eyes from the sudden direct sunlight.

'She may not have noticed me,' George thought with a smile. 'But she noticed that I was gone. That was something. Wasn't it?'

~•~

George slid onto the sofa at warp speed, slamming into his twin. "Her hand brushed mine in the hallway!"

Fred turned to focus on his brother, who was grinning like a fool. "What in Merlins name are you babbling about?"

"Y/N'S. HAND. BRUSHED. MINE. IN. THE. HALLWAY," George's wide eyes sparkled and gleamed.

Fred blinked.

George bounced in place.

Then the older twin sighed. "I guess it's time for me to get involved."

"What do you mean?" George's giddiness faltered only a little.

"I mean," Fred cleared his throat. "Is that you've been trying to get this girl's attention since forever. And she can't manage to pull her nose out of a book to notice you. Is that correct?"

"I... uh... yeah, but don't you think that's a little harsh?"

"No, not really," Fred continued. "But, that's beside the point. The point, George, is that you've been pining after Y/N for so long that the slightest accidental touch is sending you into hysterics."

"I'm not in hys - " George began, but Fred cut him off.

"I'm not going to argue this with you," he said. "But what I am going to do is help you get this girl."

~•~

"So, what have you tried?" Fred asked.

"Aside from everything?"

Fred looked at him.

"What?"

"You've tried everything?"

"Everything I can think of that might work."

Fred sat back. "Hmm, a fireworks display..." He pondered, "that would definitely get her attention.

George shook his head. "I thought of that, but she doesn't seem like the type of girl who'd appreciate some random guy she's never spoken to asking her out with pyrotechnics. I don't think she likes being the center of attention."

Fred nodded thoughtfully. "Probably right," he concurred. "So, nothing flashy..."

"I wish I could do something with books," George flopped back on his bed.

"Books, you say?" Fred jumped up. "I have an idea that might work."

"Really?" George hopped off his bed. "What is it?

"I'll explain on the way," his twin headed toward the door. "We need to find Hermione."

~•~

"A romantic scavenger hunt? With books?" Hermione tapped her chin. "It's unconventional, but considering who we're talking about, it just might work."

"So, will you help?" George looked hopeful and maybe a little desperate.

Hermione thought for a minute and then grinned. "Okay. But, first things first. We need to acquire some books."

~•~

The book arrived outside Y/N's dorm room two days later, wrapped in tissue paper with "From your secret admirer - Clue # 1," scrawled across the front.

Y/N sat on her bed, staring down at the collection of Shakespeare's Sonnets in her hands. "Who do you think it could be?" She asked her best friend, Sarah.

"Could be anybody," Sarah shrugged. "I could ask around."

"Yeah, ok," Y/N mummered absent-mindedly and reopened the book, going straight to the bookmarked page. "Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day?" She read as her eyes returned to the inscribed bookmark, instructing her where to find the next clue in three days' time.

~•~

Three days later, Y/N found herself standing outside the kitchen as a friendly house elf handed her the second book and a chocolate cupcake.

"Who gave you this?" She asked.

The elf put his finger to his lips and made a shushing noise before giving her a mischievous grin and running back into the kitchen.

"Hey!" She called after him, but he was long gone.

Y/N groaned in frustration and headed off to find Sarah. Hopefully, she had some leads by now.

For the next two weeks, Y/N followed the trail of clues from one book to another until the clues led her back to her dorm room, where yet another novel sat propped up beside the door with a note saying, "Meet me at The Black Lake tomorrow at 2:00 pm."

She nearly dropped the book as she hurried to find her best friend.

~•~

Y/N got to the lake early and hid at the edge of the treeline. She wanted to see who her secret admirer was before approaching him.

She didn't have to wait long. A few minutes later, a boy sprinted out from the path and began laying out a picnic. Much to her surprise, it was one of the Weasley twins, though she wasn't certain which one until he turned and she saw the "G" on his sweater.

Sarah had told her it might be one of the infamous pranksters, but Y/N just couldn't believe it. For one, they'd never even spoken to each other. And two, one of the most popular guys in school would never be attracted to her, a shy, quiet bookworm.

And yet, here she was, watching the handsome redhead prep for their first date.

~•~

George arrived early to get everything ready before Y/N got there. He immediately began laying out the picnic blanket and the food. Then standing back he stared at his work for a few long moments before proceeding to spend the next fifteen minutes fiddling with the snacks and drinks, arranging them and rearranging them to make them look as aesthetically pleasing as possible.

He was still fussing about with them when a soft "hi" caused him to jump and knock over the bottles of Butterbeer, which, much to his relief, he'd not opened yet.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to Y/N, and his mouth fell open. She seemed to glow in the afternoon sun like some sort of goddess. Everything he wanted to say flew right out of his head.

"Hey... um... hi," he stammered. "You came."

"How could I not after such a beautiful gesture?" Y/N grinned. "Well, that and the suspense was killing me.

George chuckled. "Sorry about that."

"It's okay," she shrugged. "It was pretty exciting, actually."

"Oh, yay! I'm glad you had fun." A goofy grin spread across his face. "Did you like the books?"

"Every single one," she beamed.

"Good, yeah, that's good," he was still grinning like a loon. "Hey, um, would you like to sit down?" He motioned toward the picnic.

"I'd love to."

~•~

Three years later

It was George's favorite part of every day. He lay with his head in Y/N's lap, eyes closed and grinning, as her voice filled the room. She was so adorable when she read to him, always so full of emotion and doing different voices for each and every character.

"No! Please! I'll tell you whatever you want to know!" the man yelled.

"Really?" said Vimes. "What's the orbital velocity of the moon?"

"What?"

"Oh, you'd like something simpler?"

Y/N paused to take a sip of water.

George opened his eyes, watching her. "I could listen to you read all night."

"You say that every night," she teased.

"And I mean it every single time."

Y/N smiled and leaned down to give her fiancé a gentle, lingering kiss. "And that's why I'm marrying you."

"Because I'm a good kisser?"

"Well, it's definitely a perk," she giggled. "But I was more referring to how you make my heart nearly explode every time you open your mouth."

"You mean that metaphorically, right?" George gave her a lopsided grin.

Y/N laughed. "Of course, silly. My heart isn't going to actually jump out of my chest."

"Oh, that's good," he gave her an impish grin. "I worried you might keel over before you finish the story. I gotta know what happens next."

~•~

@milivanili99 @fancy-pantaloons @turvi @zvummyummy @xmjthewitchx @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @georgie-weasley @samberriejams @nighttimemoonlover @jsjcue @wzrd-wheezes @mrsgweasley @hufflepuffie @morally-grey-obsessed @fredweasleyyyyy @anvaaryn @lastwandastan @samshifts @asuperconfusedgirl @hmisa11 @superduckmilkshake @mysticsheepsoul @gemofthenight @1lellykins @junerprsh @sierraluvz @wolfkill16 @kaysau2510 @qmylovexoxo @planetkt @costheticbabe @drama-queen-fromthevault @thatonepersonwhocantwrite @smallsweetvanillabean @themaraudersslut @hanne-montana @greenapplegrass @el-de-phi @lizzytrees @scooby-doo1995 @phant0mkitsune @spididerman @yoursarahg @marvelgirlstories @theimpossible-girl-whowaited @ceehance

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x fem!reader #george weasley x you #hp fandom #hp universe

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random-brushstrokes · 13 days

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Thea Proctor (Australian, 1879-1966)

Alethea Mary Proctor's life as an artist encompassed more than half of the twentieth century. Born in Armidale in 1879 to parents who were soon to divorce, she weathered a disrupted childhood and a choppy education before beginning art study under Julian Ashton in Sydney when she was sixteen. At the Ashton school her fellow students included George Lambert, with whom she was to be closely associated in public and private over the next thirty years. In 1903, burning with a need to learn to draw, she travelled to London, where Lambert and his family were established. She became one of his favourite models, a regular in his household, and his pupil. Although she was desperately poor, her beauty and livery nature allowed her to meet many of the leading figures of the fin de siecle art world, and all her life she was to carry with her the modernist precepts and influences she absorbed from figures such as Clive Bell, spectacles such as the Ballets Russes and exhibitions such as the post-Impressionist show at the Grafton Galleries in 1910-11. Aside from a return to Australia in 1913-14, she was to remain in England throughout her twenties and thirties. Upon her return to Australia in 1921, which coincided with Lambert's, she immediately came to occupy a significant role in Sydney's volatile art world, and to disseminate her very strong ideas on modern art, interior decorating, fashion, costume, ballet and matters of taste in articles, lectures, formal classes, sketch clubs and at all conceivable social and artistic events. Strikingly beautiful, she never married, but supported herself into her eighties through art alone. She lived in a tiny rented flat in Double Bay, but until the early 1960s she was also able to maintain a studio in George Street, where she had lived before World War 2. In the inner city and the Eastern suburbs she became a familiar figure as immaculately dressed in brilliant purples, fuchsia and petunia shades she made her stately progress, parasol in gloved hand, seeking out the beautiful. (source)

The scenes of female intimacy in many of Proctor’s works have always been open to lesbian and queer readings. Women gaze intently at each other holding unfurled fans or proffering roses, symbols associated with female sexuality. Proctor moved in queer circles in Sydney in the 1920s and 1930s and was a valuable ally. JS MacDonald, the Art Gallery’s extremely conservative director from 1928 to 1936, wrote in 1934 of ‘the emergence of numbers of what the Americans call “pansies” … They rule the art world today, and, unless real painters speak up for themselves and right art, the women and their near-men abettors will ruin both.’ (source)

#women painters #thea proctor #australian art

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hauntedbystorytelling · 6 months

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Elias Goldensky ~ Woman with Parasol, 1916. Autochrome (shot with a Hicro camera). George Eastman House Collection, Gift of 3M Company, ex-collection Louis Walton Sipley | src Time

#elias goldensky #autochrome #early color photography #early colour #portrait #pictorialist portait #pictorialism #1910s #parasol #pictorial portrait

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otherworlds-inside-my-mind · 8 months

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Xenofiction (& similar) Media Masterpost

PS. This list is for keeping track only. This is not a recommendation list and I won't be advocating for any Work, Author or Company listed. There will be footnotes about a work/author for undesirable behaviour or themes if necessary.

This is a WIP and will be updated whenever I have the time to. Feel free to recommend works or inform me about an author so I can update the post. Be Aware works on this list might have been cancelled or on indifinitive Hiatus and not all works are available on English.

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To search is Ctrl + F (Windows) or Command-F (MacOS), on phone browser you have "Find in page" (Drop menu at top right)

Literature

Age of Fire - E. E. Knight

Adventure Lit their Star - Kenneth Allsop

Alien in a Small Town - Jim Cleaveland

Alien Chronicles (Literature) - Deborah Chester

Animal Farm - George Orwell

Animorphs - K. A. Applegate

Am an Owl - Martin Hocke

At Winters End - Robert Silverberg

Avonoa - H.R.B. Collotzi

Astrid and Cerulean: A Parrot Fantasy - Parasol Marshall-Crowley

A Wolf for a Spell - Karah Sutton

The African Painted Wolf Novels - Alexander Kendziorski

The Alchemist's Cat - Robin Jarvis

The Amazing Maurice and his educated rodents - Terry Pratchet

The Amity Incident - C. M. Weller

The Ancient Solitary Reign - Martin Hocke

The Animals of Farthing Wood series - Colin Dann

The Art of Racing in the Rain - Garth Stein

The Author of Acacia Seeds and Other Extracts from the Journal of Therolinguistics - Ursula K. Le Guin

A Magical Cat Named Kayla: Whiskers of Enchantment -Carlos Juárez [AI Cover]*

Bambi: A life in the forest & Bambi Children - Felix Salten

Bamboo Kingdom series - Erin Hunter

Bazil Broketail - Christopher Rowley

Beak of the Moon & Dark of the Moon - Philip Temple

Bears of the Ice series - Kathryn Lasky

Beasts of New York - Jon Evans

Beautiful Joe - Margaret Marshall Saunders

Beyond Acacia Ridge - Amy Clare Fontaine

Birddom - Clive Woodall

Black Beauty - Anna Sewell

Blitzcat - Robert Westall

Blizzard Winds - Paul Koch

Books of the Raksura - Martha Wells

Bravelands series- Erin Hunter

Broken Fang - Rutherford Montgomery

Bunnicula series - Deborah Howe & James Howe

Burning Stars - Rurik Redwolf

A Black Fox Running - Brian Carter

A Blue So Loud - Tuesday

The Ballard of The Belstone Fox - David Rook

The Bear - James Curwood

The Bees - Laline Paull

The Biography of a Silver Fox - Ernest Thompson Seton

The Blue Cat of Castle Town - Catherine Cate Coblentz

The Book Of Chameleons - José Eduardo Agualusa

The Book of the Dun Cow - Walter Wangerin Jr.

The Book of Night with Moon - Diane Duane

The Books of the Named series - Clare Bell

The Bug Wars - Robert Asprin

Call of the wild - Jack London

Callanish - William Horwood

Catwings - Ursula K. Le Guin

Cat Diaries: Secret Writings of the MEOW Society - Betsy Byars, Betsy Duffey & Laurie Myers

Cat House - Michael Peak

Cat Pack - Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

Cats in the city of Plague - A.L Marlow

Celestial Heir series - Chester Young

Charlotte's Web - E. B. White

Chet and Bernie mysteries - Spencer Quinn

Chia The Wildcat - Joyce stranger

Child of the Wolves - Elizabeth Hall

Clarice the Brave - Lisa McMann

Coyote's Wild Home - Barbara Kingsolver; Lily Kingsolver & Paul Mirocha

Crocuta - Katelyn Rushe

Cujo - Steven King

The Calatians Series - Tim Susman

The Cats of Roxville station - Jean Craighead Georde

The Chanur Novels - C. J. Cherryh

The Cold Moons - Aeron Clement

The Color of Distance || Through Alien Eyes - Amy Thomson

The Conquerors - Timothy Zahn

The Council of Cats - R. J. F.

The Cricket in Times Square - George Selden

The Crimson Torch - Angela Holder

The Crossbreed - Allan Eckert

The Crucible of Time - John Brunner

Darkeye series - Lydia West

Deadlands: The Hunted - Skye Melki-Wegner

Demon of Undoing - Andrea I. Alton

Desert Dog - Jim Kjelgaard

Dinotopia - James Gurney, Alan Dean Foster

Doglands - Tim Willocks

Dimwood Forest series - Avi

A Dog's Life: The Autobiography of a Stray - Ann M. Martin

Dogs of the Drowned City - Dayna Lorentz

A Dog's Purpose series - W. Bruce Cameron

Dolphin Way: Rise of the Guardians - Mark Caney

Domino - Kia Heavey

DragonFire series - Lewis Jones Davies

Dragon Fires Rising - Marc Secchia

Dragon Hoard and Other Tales of Faerie - Cathleen Townsend

Dragons and Skylines series - Rowan Silver

Dragon Prayers - M.J. McPike

Dragons of Mother Stone series - Melissa McShane

The Deptford Mice series - Robin Jarvis

The Dogs of the Spires series - Ethan Summers

The Dragons of Solunas series - H. Leighton Dickson

The Duncton Chronicles - William Horwood

The Destiny of Dragons - J.F.R. Coates

The Diary Of A House Cat - Ileana Dorobantu

Die Wilden Hunde Von Pompeii - Helmut Krausser (DE)

Dogtown - Katherine Applegate & Gennifer Choldenko

The Eyes and the Impossible - Dave Eggers

Eclosión - Arturo Balseiro (ES)

Fantastic Mr. Fox - Roald Dahl

Faithful Ruslan - Georgi Vladimov

Feather and Bone: The Crow Chronicles - Clem Martini

Feathers & Flames series - John Bailey

Felidae series (1) - Akif Pirinçci

Fifteen Rabbits - Felix Salten

Fire, Bed & Bone - Henrietta Branford

Fire of the Phoenix - Azariah Jade

Fluke - James Herbert

Firefall series - Peter Watts

Firebringer - David Clement-Davies

Flush: A Biography Book - Virginia Woolf

Fox - Glyn Frewer

Foxcraft series - Inbali Iserles

Frightful’s Mountain - Jeanie Craighead George

Frost dancers: A story of hares - Garry Kilworth

The Familiars series - Adam Jay Epstein

The Fifth - Saylor Ferguson

The Firebringer series - Meredith Ann Pierce

The Fox and The Hound - Daniel P. Mannix

(1) Felidae's Author - Akif Pirinçci - is known to be a Xenophobic, Anti-muslim, Anti-Lgbt and Extreme Right-Wing guy (A N4zi by his on words). Won't be going onto details just know he has a non-fiction work called "Germany Gone Mad: The Crazy Cult around Women, Homosexuals and Immigrants." His works has been out of print ever since.

Guardian Cats and the lost books of Alexandria - Rahma Krambo

Guardians of Ga'Hoole series - Kathryn Lasky

Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett

Griffin Quest - Sophie Torro

Gryphon Insurrection series - K. Vale Nagle

The Ghost and It's Shadow - Shaun Hick

The Golden Eagle - Robert Murphy

The Golem and the Jinni - Helene Wecker

The Good Dog - Newbery Medalist

The Guardian Herd series - Jennifer Lynn Alvarez

The Goodbye Cat - Hiro Arikawa

Haunt Fox - Jim Kjelgaard

Haven: A Small Cat's Big Adventure - Megan Wagner Lloyd

Heavenly Horse series - Mary Stanton

Hive - Ischade Bradean

Horses of Dawn series - Kathryn Lasky

House of Tribes - Garry Kilworth

Hunter's Moon/Foxes of First dark - Garry Kilworth

Hunters Universe series - Abigail Hilton

A Hare at Dark Hollow - Joyce Stranger

The Hundred and One Dalmatians & The Starlight Barking - Dodie Smith

The Hunt for Elsewhere - Beatrice Vine

Hollow Kingdom Duology - Kira Jane Buxton

I am a Cat - Natsume Sōseki

I, Scheherezade: Memoirs of a Siamese Cat - Douglass Parhirst

In the Long Dark - Brian Carter

The Incredible Journey - Sheila Burnford

Joe Grey series - Shirley Rousseau Murphy

Jonathan Livingston Seagull - Richard Bach & Russell Munson

Julie of the Wolves - Jeanie Craighead George

The Jungle Book - Rudyard Kipling

Journey to the West - Wu Cheng'en

Kävik the Wolf Dog - Walt Morey

Kazan duology - James Curwood

Kine - Alan Lloyd

Kona's Song - Louise Searl

The Killers - Daniel P. Mannix

Kindred of the Wild - Charles G.D Roberts

Lassie Come-Home - Eric Knight

Last of the Curlews - Fred Bodsworth

Lazy Scales - D.M. Gilmore

Legends of Blood series - Ethan Summers

A Legend of Wolf Song - George Stone

Luna the Lone Wolf - Forest Wells

Lupus Rex - John Carter Cash

Lutapolii: White Dragon of the South - Deryn Pittar

The Last Unicorn - Peter S. Beagle

The Labrador Pact & The Last Family in England - Matt Haig

The Last Dogs - Christopher Holt

The Last Eagle - Daniel P. Mannix

The Last Great Auk - Allan Eckert

The Last Monster on Earth - L.J. Davies

The Life Story of a Fox - J. C. Tregarthen

The Lost Rainforest series - Eliot Schrefer & Emilia Dziubak

The Lost Domain - Martin Hocke

The Last Whales: A Novel - Lloyd Abbey

Mammoth Trilogy - Stephen Baxter

Manxmouse: The Mouse Who Knew No Fear - Paul Gallico

Marney the Fox - Scott Goodall & John Stokes

Mattie: The story of a hedgehog - Norman Adams, & G.D. Griffiths

Matriarch: Elephant vs. T-Rex - Roz Gibson

Migon - P.C. Keeler

Monkey Wars - Richard Kurti

The Mistmantle chronicles - M.I. McAllister

The Mountain Lion - Robert Murphy

The Mouse Butcher - Dick King-Smith

The Mouse Protectors Series - Olly Barrett

New Springtime series - Robert Silverberg

Nightshade Chronicles - Hilary Wagner

Old One-Toe - Michel-Aimé Baudouy

Of Birds and Branches - Frances Pauli

Outlaw Red - Jim Kjelgaard

The Old Stag - Henry Williamson

The One and Only Ivan - Katherine Applegate

Painted Flowers - Caitlin Grizzle

Pax & Pax: Journey Home - Sara Pennypacker

Petrichor - C.E. Wright

The Plague Dogs - Richard Adams

The Pit - Elaine Ramsay

Pride Wars - Matt Laney

A Pup Called Trouble - Bobbie Pyron

The Peregryne Falcon - Robert Murphy

Pork and Others - Cris Freddi

Queen in the Mud - Maari

Quill and Claw series - Kathryn Brown

Rak: The story of an Urban Fox - Jonathon Guy

Rats of Nimh series - Robert C. O'Brien

Raven Quest - Sharon Stewart

Raptor Red - Robert T. Bakker

Red Fox - Charles G. D. Roberts

Redwall series - Brian Jacques

Rose in a Storm - Jon Katz

Rufus - Rutherford Montgomery

Run With the Wind series - Tom McCaughren

Runt - Marion Dane Baeur

Rustle in the Grass - Robin Hawdon

Rusty - Joyce Stranger

The Remembered War series - Robert Vane

The Rescuers series - Margery Sharp

The Red Stranger - David Stephen

The River Singers & The Rising - Tom Moorhouse

The Road Not Taken - Harry Turtledove,

The Running Foxes - Joyce Stranger

Salar the Salmon - Henry Williamson

Scaleshifter series - Shelby Hailstone Law

Scream of the White Bears - David Clement-Davies

Seekers saga - Erin Hunter

Serpentia Series - Frances Pauli

Shadows in the Sky - Pete Cross

Shark Wars Series - EJ Altbacker

Silverwing series - Kenneth Oppel

Silver Brumby series - Elyne Mitchell

Sirius - Olaf Stapledon

Solo's Journey - Joy Aiken Smith

Sky Hawk - Gill Lewis

Snow Dog - Jim Kjelgaard

Song of the River - Soinbhe Lally

Spirit of the West series - Kathleen Duey

Survivors series - Erin Hunter

Stray - A.N Wilson

String Lug the Fox - David Stephen

Swashbuckling Cats: Nine Lives on the Seven Seas - Rhonda Parrish & Co.

Swordbird series - Nancy Yi Fan

The Sheep-Pig - Dick King-Smith

The Sight & Fell - David Clement-Davies

The Silent Sky - Allan Eckert

The Silver Claw - Garry Kilworth

The Stoner Eagles - William Horwood

The Stink Files - Jennifer L. Holm & Jonathan Hamel

The Snowcat Prince - Dina Norlund

The Story Of A Seagull And The Cat Who Taught Her To Fly - Luis Sepúlveda

The Story of a Snail Who Discovered the Importance of Being Slow - Luis Sepúlveda

The Story of a dog called Leal - Luis Sepúlveda

The Story of a Red Deer - John Fortescue

The Summer King Chronicles - Jess E. Owen

Schogul, Rächer der Tiere - Birgit Laqua (DE)

Tailchaser's Song - Tad Williams

Tarka the Otter - Henry Williamson

Three Bags Full - Leonnie Swann

Thy Servant a Dog - Rudyard Kipling

Tomorrow's Sphinx - Clare Bell

Torn Ear - Geoffrey Malone

Thor - Wayne Smith

Trickster - Tom Moorhouse

Two Dogs and a Horse - Jim Kjelgaard

The Travelling Cat Chronicles - Hiro Arikawa

The Trilogy of the Ants - Bernard Werber

The Trumpet of the Swan - E. B. White

The Tusk That Did the Damage - Tania James

The Tygrine cat - Inbali Iserles

Ultimate Dragon Saga - Graham Edwards

Under the Skin - Michel Faber

Varjak Paw duology - S.F Said

Vainqueur the Dragon series - Maxime J. Durand

War Bunny series - Christopher St. Jhon

War Horse - Michael Morpurgo

War Queen - Illthylian

Warrior Cats series - Erin Hunter

Watership Down/Tales of Watership Down - Richard Adams

Ways of Wood Folk - William J. Long

Welkin Weasels series - Garry Kilworth

West of Eden - Harry Harrison

Whalesong Trilogy - Robert Siegel

Whale - Jeremy Lucas

Whispers in the Forest - Barbara Coultry

White Wolf - Henrietta Branford

White Fang - Jack London

Wild Lone - Denys Watkins-Pitchford

Wild Animals I Have Known - Ernest Thompson Seton

Wings of Fire series - Tui T. Sutherland

Winterset Hollow - Jonathan Edward Durham

Wolf: The Journey Home | Hungry for Home: A Wolf Odyssey - Asta Bowen

Wolf Brother series - Michelle Paver

Wolf Chronicles - Dorothy Hearst

Wolves of the Beyond series - Kathryn Lasky

Woodstock Saga - Michael Tod

A Whale of the Wild - Rosanne Parry

A Wolf Called Wander - Rosanne Parry

The Waters of Nyra - Kelly Michelle Baker

The Wolves of Elementa series - Sophie Torro

The Wolves of Time - William Horwood

The Wolf Chronicles Series - Teng Rong

The Way of Kings - Louise Searl

The White Bone - Barbara Gowdy

The White Fox/Singing Tree - Brian Parvin

The White Puma - Ronald Lawrence

The Wild Road & The Golden Cat - Gabriel King

The Wildings & The Thousand names of darkness - Nilanjana Roy

The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame

The Wind Protect You - Pat Murphy

The Wolves of Paris - Daniel P. Mannix

Yellow eyes - Rutherford Montgomery

The Year Of The Dinosaur - Edwin H. Colbert

Zones of Thought series - Vernor Vinge

Z-Verse series by R.H

Comic Books/Graphic Novels

Animosity - Marguerite Bennett

Age of Reptiles - Ricardo Delgado

Legend - Samuel Sattin Koehler

Mouse Guard - David Petersen

Pride of Baghdad - Brian K. Vaughan & Niko Henrichon

Rover Red Charlie - Garth Ennis & Michael Dipascale

Stray Dogs - Tony Fleecs & Trish Forstner

We3 - Grant Morrison & Frank Quitely

Beasts of Burden - Evan Dorkin & Jill Thompson

LOBO: Canine Crusader of the Metal Wasteland - Macs-World-Ent

The Sandman: Dream of a Thousand Cats - Neil Gaiman

Animal Castle - Xavier Dorison & Felix Delep

Blacksad Series - Juan Díaz Canales & Juanjo Guarnido

Scurry - Mac Smith

The Snowcat Prince - Dina Norlund

Rankless - Maggie Lightheart

Picture Books

Steve the Dung Beetle: On a Roll - Susan R. Stoltz & Melissa Bailey

Hot Dog - Doug Salati

The Rock from the Sky - Jon Klassen

Whoever Heard of a Flying Bird? - David Cunliffe & Ivan Barrera

A Cat Named Whiskers - Shana Gorian

Ocean Tales Children's Books Series - Sarah Cullen & Zuzana Sbodová

Jake the Growling Dog - Samantha Shannon

Webcomics

Africa - Arven92

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#xenofiction #fantasy #masterlist #wip #scifi #fiction #Youtube

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acrosstheeuniv3rse · 6 days

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quick little geo sketch :)

#the beatles #drawing #send help #george parasol #george harrison #i love rockstars #i love old men #old rockstar man bbg #hes so pretty

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headfullofpresley · 1 year

Text

𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 | 𝟐.

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Word count: 7,1K

Summary: Elvis realises you aren't as clueless about what you are as he thought when you confide in him about your past. With revenge on your mind and a heart that needs healing, there's nothing else he can do but be there when you make the decision to embrace the part of you that's always been hidden.

Warnings: vampire!Elvis, flashbacks and background information on reader's life, murder and gore-y scenes, angst, blood consumption, use of the word "cross-breeding"(?), small mention of suicide, that's itttt i think!

A/N: since i don't have time to post this weekend and i can't stop writing for this, here's part 2! y'all think reader will believe elvis when he finally tells her who he really is? and you think she could beat elvis' ass during training next chapter? 👀

masterlist | story playlist | part one.

August 10, 2012 – 3:25PM

August was your father’s favorite month. The heat mixed hellishly with the humidity of New Jersey wasn’t something you enjoyed yourself, so you never understood why your father did.

To others it may have not seem like he did, as he always sat underneath a parasol whenever the sun was out. Your parents had been feeding you the lie of your father having an extreme sensitivity to sunlight and even some UV lighting- it had a name, but you were young and clueless, too occupied with other things.

Simpler, teenage things.

You never questioned why it was your mother who worked seven days a week to put food on the table nor why you heard your father leaving the house in the middle of the night on some days. Maybe you should have.

You wished you would’ve asked why August was your father’s favorite month- he would’ve told you it was because you were born on the 10th day. He had never felt more alive, more human.

You never did quite like your birthday. You had a few friends from school but you could’ve done with a simple dinner with your parents just as well- your mother had other plans, though.

She decided that you’d only turn thirteen once and you deserved a party. You were grateful, you just hated whenever the house was too crowded. And right now, it was exactly that. The backyard was filled with people- the few friends you had, some family members from your mother’s side, neighbors.

Never once did you wonder why your father’s family never visited, or why you weren’t supposed to come into the living room whenever he was having friends over. But you were getting older and you were starting to become more curious.

You had always trusted your parents and believed every word they told you, but lately you felt as if they were keeping secrets from you. And you were starting to think it had something to do with you- in that case, you had a right to know.

“I’ll get you another piece of pie, grandma,” you told your mother’s mother who was sitting next to you in the backyard, getting up the same time as your father did to make his way into the house. Your grandmother ignored you which didn’t bother you all too much- for some reason, she never liked you and although she never said it, she didn’t do much to hide her feelings.

Creeping past your mother, who was too busy talking to some of her friends, you silently made your way into the house and down the hallway that led to the living room. You recognized the voice of your father and those of a few other men- neighbors, family friends. It made you slowly halt your movements, making sure they didn’t see you standing near the door opening.

“Beaumont and Harris have been spotted in Montclair. It’s not safe for you to stay here any longer, Richard. It’s not safe for her,”

You heard George, your next door neighbor and father’s best friend, say. There was a hint of panic lingering in the back of his throat, but the urgency in his voice was more dominant. He sounded worried. When your father spoke, he sounded calm to unknowing ears.

But you knew your father. He was worried too.

“I know, George, I know.. but.. not today. Now is not the time,” you were frozen in place as your father heaved a deep sigh and you stood pressed against the wall, fighting the urge to peek around the corner. “We’ve been keeping them at bay for years, we can do so for one more night,”

“Your time is up, Rich. You have to tell her,”

“No,” your father raised his voice, shutting up everyone else in the room and making you hide your mouth behind your hands, holding your breath. “Not today, not tonight. It’s her birthday- she’s only thirteen years old. She isn’t ready for this yet, maybe she never will be and maybe that’s for the best. It’s.. it’s best if she never finds out,”

“If she never finds out, she’ll be in more danger and you know it. She deserves to know,”

Know? Know what?!

You were starting to get nervous now. It was obvious that they were talking about you. They knew something you didn’t and this both frustrated you as much as it scared you.

“I decide if my daughter finds out about what she is or not. You take care of keeping the big city guys and the Council away and I’ll take care of my family,”

With your father showing dominance, the conversation ended and the shuffling footsteps that moved around the room got you to push yourself off the wall and back into the backyard. Your father caught a glance of you just when the screen door shut behind you- still, just like all your thirteen years of life, he couldn’t read your mind.

And if things worked out the way he wanted them to, meaning you’d never find out about your true self and trigger any of your abilities, he would never be able to get inside of your head.

You went on with your day like nothing happened and so did everyone else- you hung out with your friends, thanked your company for their presents and for coming and helped your mother clean up the mess and do the dishes when everyone left after dinner. You didn’t mind the fact that everyone left, spending the night watching a movie with your parents and trying to forget about the conversation you overheard.

But you couldn’t, it was all you could think about when you were laying in bed that night. You heard your parents talking to each other in muffled voices as they went to bed, but you couldn’t hear what they were saying. As much as you wanted to eavesdrop on their conversation, your mind was scrambled and you were tired from thinking too much and too hard.

You weren’t strong enough to win the battle with your body, slowly but surely drifting into a deep slumber.

Present Day

You awakened to the soft melodies of Clair de Lune being played by someone on a piano. Despite the throbbing headache you unfortunately had to deal with, the music wasn’t unwelcomed.

The bed you found yourself in was unfamiliar to you and while you had to get used to your surroundings for a few minutes, you could take a wild guess who the soft mattress belonged to. You had been wanting to get close to the raven haired stranger that had a knack for saving you every time you got yourself in trouble, but you never expected to wake up inside of his penthouse with a truly breathtaking view of the city.

You simply couldn’t explain your reasoning for wanting to be around him, but it was like you were drawn to him out of your control. Even now that you woke up with a hangover and it felt like someone was pounding the inside of your head with hammers, he was still all you could think about.

Putting your messy hair up with the hairclip you found in your purse, you stepped out of the heavenly soft bed and out of the room, following the sound of the piano that was still echoing gently through the penthouse. You tugged the white button up you had slept in down a little more, luckily you were a lot smaller than the owner of the house and his shirt looked like a dress on you.

“Good morning, Aaron,”

Elvis had been getting lost in the music and didn’t hear you walking down the stairs and into the living area where he was sitting at the piano, but as soon as he heard your voice, his fingers halted on the keys of the piano.

He tried not to grimace at you using his middle name, although that was kind of his own fault- when you and him exchanged names before he allowed you to have his bedroom for the night, he figured he couldn’t exactly tell you his first name. Especially not after the comment you made. He had kind of hoped you were too young to even know who Elvis Presley was, but unfortunately for him, he was more famous than he realised at times.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he smiled at you, his eyes following you as you walked closer to him and sat down next to him on the bench at the piano. “I’m sorry if I woke you,”

You hummed, shaking your head. You brought one hand up to the piano, ghosting your fingertips over the keys. Elvis was surprised as you lifted your other hand as well, playing a little bit of the song he just ended.

“Debussy,” you whispered as you stopped again, way too soon for Elvis’ liking. He looked at you, smiling softly as he saw the fond smile gracing your own features. “Claire de Lune was the first thing my father taught me on the piano. We used to drive my mother crazy with it,”

“Your father has good taste,” Elvis said, his smile widening a little as you looked at him with a hint of surprise in your eyes when he put his hand close next to yours on the keys. He slowly resumed the song, ignoring how it felt as if there was a fire ignited in his bones when his skin touched yours- he was pleasantly surprised when you played along, your fingertips following his lead.

You weren’t a terrible player, but you were rusty. It had been over ten years since you even sat down at a piano and your new friend here seemed like he played nearly every day. His fingertips were graceful and light as they danced over the keys of the instrument, never missing a melody not even when his eyes were on you.

Before the song could pick up intensity, you slowly removed your hand and let it join your other that was resting in your lap. Elvis smiled showing his teeth for a second as he put his other hand on the keys as well, effortlessly and perfectly playing the entire song as if he had done this for a thousand years, as if he had composed it himself.

You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from bursting into tears the entire time. After your thirteenth birthday, you hadn’t played nor listened to the piece of music. It brought back too many memories- all good memories at first, but they’d always morph into the horror-like ending of your parents’ lives. If you had lost your parents due to an illness or simply old age, you could’ve given your grief a place. But the way they had met their end was something you wouldn’t wish upon anybody, not even your worst enemy.

So lost in thought, you didn’t realise the song had ended nor felt the tear that managed to roll down your cheek from the corner of your eye. Elvis didn’t even hesitate or hold back as he took his hands off the piano and thumbed your tear away, making you stumble back into reality and look at him again.

“I was that bad, huh?” he grinned at you, hoping to make you laugh. Because something told him the entire mood was to shift soon enough- he was going to have to tell you about what he was, what you were and what it meant for your future.

For now, he succeeded in it though and he found himself laughing along with you. He liked the sound of your laugh, it was contagious. It was better than music.

“No, you were great. Amazing. Just brought me back to Jersey for a little while,”

He never expected for anyone to be transported to New Jersey when hearing Clair de Lune- most people aimed high and opted for Paris, Prague, or any other sophisticated European city. Elvis didn’t judge and nor tease. He needed to get this conversation rolling, needed a way to bring up the topic, and you basically kicked open the door yourself.

“You’re from Jersey?”

You nodded as you smiled at him, wiping away another tear that escaped before swallowing the forming lump in your throat down. You didn’t want to be emotional, but you had always been bad at hiding your emotions. It was like you felt things a hundred times more intense than others- your mother had always blamed it on puberty, but she knew better.

“Yes, from Montclair. It’s small and there was never much around to do, not like in the city anyways, but I had a good life there. At least for a little while,”

Elvis reached out his arm in front of him, placing his hand atop of the piano as he looked at you so intensely that you found yourself unable to look away from his blue hues. He was trying so hard to just get into your head and see your childhood memories for himself, but even now that you were in his home and vulnerable, he was blocked.

You weren’t opening up to him, wasn’t asking for help because you weren’t in danger- it frustrated him that he couldn’t use his abilities to get a glimpse inside of your head, but it also intrigued him.

It was refreshing to feel curious about what someone was thinking. It's been a while since he'd been in such a position, as most people he came across were like open books.

“What happened for it to turn bad?”

You inhaled a deep breath of air, straightening your shoulders a little as your fingers tugged at the shirt you were wearing nervously, breaking eye contact with him as you looked down. You never told anyone about your parents- after your thirteenth birthday, you pushed down the trauma so deep that it left you thinking it had all been a dream on some days. A cruel nightmare that was all a figure of your imagination.

But on nights where you woke up screaming in horror and feeling like someone had punched a gaping hole in your chest, you knew it was anything but your imagination. You didn’t want it to be real and you figured if you’d simply never speak a word to someone about it, you could keep pretending it was all a dream.

You didn’t want pity, didn’t want people (and especially not people in the medical field) telling you that they understood your pain, sorrow and grief. Because they didn’t. Nobody would ever understand; but right now in this moment, sitting here at a piano with a complete stranger that helped you escape a few gnarly situations in the past few weeks, the words rolled off your tongue before you could swallow them down.

Because maybe, just maybe, Aaron could understand what it was like to experience a great loss like yours.

“I lost my parents,” you told him as you slowly raised your head, meeting his eyes. “They were murdered right in front of my eyes,”

August 11, 2012 – 3:00AM

You startled awake by the sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs and glass shattering from what you guessed was the hallway. Sitting up with your heart beating frantically, your mother didn’t give you the chance to go downstairs as she bursted through the door and dragged you out of your bed.

The look on her face worried you- she wasn’t crying, nor did she give away her inner turmoil with any other expressions. Her face was set into concetration and determination like stone, pulling you out of the room and into hers.

“Mom, what’s going on?!” you screamed in fear as you heard the sounds of struggles coming from downstairs- it sounded like several people were breaking down the house. Not seeing your father in the bedroom, you realised he was one of the people. “Where is Dad? What’s happening?”

Your mother didn’t say anything. Instead, she quickly opened the doors of her wardrobe and pullled a duffel bag out of it, walking over to her window to throw the bag down in the bushes near the front porch. She turned to you and grabbed your shoulders, squeezing harder than usual. You didn’t know at the time it was the last time your mother would be able to touch you, hold you.

“Go next door to George and Lilly. Your father and I will be there soon,” she saw the hesitation in your eyes, mixed with the fear and panic, and it made her heart shred to pieces. She was promising you something she wasn’t sure she could keep. “We’ll explain everything to you, Y/N, I promise you. But for now I need you to do as I say and go,”

You were crying, shaking your head. You didn’t want to leave your parents behind and deal with whatever was going on downstairs. It wasn’t going to end well- you just knew it.

You didn’t hear footsteps coming up the stairs and doors swinging open and closed- when the bedroom door of your parents’ room was kicked in, it nearly flew off the handles and it made your mother drag you to the window for you to climb out of and make your escape. But she wasn’t fast enough and neither were you- your mother was ripped away from you faster than you could blink.

You didn’t recognize the man that had stepped in the room and you were frozen on the spot as you watched him and your mother fight. You knew your mother was a tough cookie, but she was also a small and petite lady and she was no match for the rugged looking criminal that managed to get in the house.

Because that was all you thought he was; a criminal.

Until he ripped into your mother’s neck with his teeth, tearing a piece of her flesh off and spitting it out on the carpet. You couldn’t move or cry or scream; all you did was stand there and watch with horror as your mother’s neck was snapped with a flick of the man’s wrist. The thud of her lifeless body hitting the floor made you snap back to reality and reaching your hand behind you, your fingers came into contact with the wooden baseball bat you knew your mother kept hidden behind the curtains.

The sight of the man slowly and confidently making his way over to you like a lion would approach an unknowing gazelle was one you were never going to forget. Your mother’s blood dripped down from his chin, his eyes a shade of crimson that made a chill run down your spine.

It was only when he parted his lips and let out a growl that you noticed fangs poking out and you realised this was more than just a violent home raid.

“You’re coming with me, little girl,”

They weren’t here for jewelry or money or any other valuable thing. They were here for you.

“I don’t think so, creep,” you spat at him, not giving him time to respond as you swung the baseball bat to his head with as much force as you could. It got him distracted, stumbling back a little as he grabbed his head. You didn’t wait to see what would happen next, running past him and out of the door.

Trying to survive yourself, you didn’t have the chance nor time to take one last look at your mother. You thundered down the stairs, ignoring the pain you felt when you stepped in a piece of broken glass that was shattered all over the floor as you made your way into the kitchen. You grabbed the biggest knife you could find and just as you turned around, the same man from before was right in front of you- faster than you could imagine.

There was no mark of you hitting him with the bat, which was now in his hand because you dropped it in your frantic state of mind, but somewhere deep down inside you had already established that you weren’t dealing with a normal human being here.

And you didn’t know how to take out whatever the hell he was, so you went with the first thing that came to mind. Reaching out your hand with the knife in it in a swift move, you pushed the pointy blade right through his Adam’s apple, making him drop the baseball and cough up blood as he stumbled back against the kitchen table. Your body felt as if it switched to automatic pilot, grabbing the baseball bat from the floor and running into the living room where you heard your father fighting the other intruder.

Hitting the other guy on the back of the head as hard as you could, it got him to let go of your father. But nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight of your father’s face when he turned around to look at you- just like the one you had just stabbed in the throat, he looked unhuman.

His eyes were red as veins crawled underneath his skin, pointy fangs disrupting his usual warm and gentle face. His Genesis shirt that he always slept in was ripped and stained with blood.

“You need to get out of this house, you hear me?” your father grabbed your arms, already leading you to the front door. His face had returned to its normal state. He knew that he wasn’t able to compel you to forget this- it was a good thing that you weren’t able to let vampires inside of your head, but right now, he hated it more than anything in the world. “George and Lilly will know what to do. Baby, I’m so sorry about all of this, I’m so sorry for not being able to explain, but soon.. one day.. it will all make sense. I love you, but you need to go,”

You refused, trying to stop your father from pushing you further out of the living room and to the door by planting your feet against the floor as firm as you could. You were grabbing onto his ripped shirt, not wanting to leave him behind. But you had to, you knew you had no other choice when your father’s attacker was getting up and angrily making his way over to the both of you.

Much to Lilly’s dismay, George wasn’t going to sit back and wait. He knew something was wrong and he should’ve done what he did sooner. Even if it was just a few minutes earlier, he could’ve prevented all of this.

“This will get you killed, George!” Lilly yelled angrily as she ran after him to your front door. She was human and couldn’t stop him when he kicked down the door, letting the entire thing fly off the handles and land on the bottom of the stairs.

When George saw your father in an unfortunate position in the other vampire’s grip, he made his way over to get involved. The second intruder had seemed to recover from the knife you put in his throat and focused his attention on George, ripping his heart out in a split second. Lilly had grabbed you to console you but now you were the one catching her in your arms as she let out a bloodcurdling scream, watching her fiancé not even having a chance to fight for his life.

“W-We need to.. to g-go.. go, Lilly. Run!” you whispered breathlessly, trying to push her out of your arms and out of the house. The two intruders didn’t spare you the sight of twisting your father’s head in a gruesome manner.

Before his head was torn off and you left the house, you tried to open yourself to him and him only. You filled your mind with nothing and no one but your father, mentally screaming his name over and over again.

“Avenge me,”

Hearing his voice only seconds before his head dropped to the floor made your blood run cold and tears stream down your face. He had done it, he managed to telepathically communicate with you- you didn’t know how you were able to avenge your father as a young human girl, if you even were human, but you felt you owed it to your parents to get revenge.

You didn’t know anything anymore- not who you were, not who your parents were or about the kind of life they lived, but as you let yourself get dragged into a car by Lilly, you promised yourself you would never let anyone get inside of your head ever again.

A promise you didn’t know then you wouldn’t be able to keep.

Present Day

“Lilly blamed me for George’s death. We lived together in Washington for a few years, hiding as much as we could- we didn’t know if it was just those.. two.. or if there were more,” you sighed deeply, messing with the charm bracelet around your wrist. “I guess she either couldn’t face me every day anymore or the loss of her partner was too much for her.. she took her own life when I was 17. Thinking back on it now, I wouldn’t be able to live with someone like me either,”

Elvis frowned, his hands reaching down to grab yours as he shook his head at you. You allowed him, looking at him as he squeezed your hands softly- the both of you felt a tingle of electricity crawl down your spines, but neither of you gave it away.

“Your parents’ death wasn’t your fault, Y/N. Neither was George’s. You went through something traumatic- for a thirteen year old girl, you did the right thing. You did all you could do,”

You smiled softly at the empathic gleam in his eyes. This didn’t feel like the pity you hated getting from other people. He didn’t tell you he understood and that in the end, you’ll be okay.

Something told you that he was the right person to confide in. The right person to tell about the things that you have seen in your childhood home that night, things that other people would consider you absolutely crazy for.

“It was my fault, I know it was, and it’s something I have to live with for the rest of my life,” you told him, tilting your head a little as you gave him a soft smile. “Because they weren’t there for my parents.. my mother and father were.. collateral damage. Those men wanted me,”

Elvis opened his mouth to speak but at the same time you twisted your hands around in his grip, your palms connecting and your thumbs gently pressing onto the back of his hands. Unknowingly, you sent him a flashback of that gruesome night and Elvis saw your father getting murdered with his own eyes and you being dragged out of the house.

He could literally feel your pain and while he had wanted so badly to get access to your mind, it was nearly overwhelming now. There was grief, sorrow, anger, guilt… and then, Beaumont and Harris.

Masquerade guys.

He didn’t have time to confirm it was truly them- the images flashing before his eyes were so chaotic and rushed that it was hard to make out who was who and as you let go of his hands, it was gone all together.

He was blocked out once more.

Elvis sucked in a breath of air as he watched you get up from the bench and walk over to the floor to ceiling windows to look at the city below. “Do you think they wanted you because of what your father was?”

He asked you the question you’d been asking yourself for years. You couldn’t think of any other explanation, but you had never talked to anyone about this except for Lilly. She didn’t tell you much, though- she much rather avoided you as much as she could, never answering any questions you threw her way. The only thing she told you was that she lost the love of her life and that he’d still be by her side if it wasn’t for your “stupid mother and father cross-breeding”.

You had never wanted to believe your own assumptions about your father after that night, but the older you got, the more things started to make sense.

You were starting to realise that there was a bigger reason for your father to never expose himself to sunlight, and him leaving the house for “work” after the sun had went down.

You knew what your father was, but part of you was still hoping it wasn’t so. It couldn’t be- stuff like that just didn’t exist. But it did, and you had seen it with your own two eyes.

“Yes, I think so,” you whispered, gazing at the greyish sky outside and the tall skyrise buildings surrounding the one you were currently in. People and cars looked like tiny little ants from this high- it made you feel strangely safe. Like nothing and no one could hurt you up here. Maybe you were naive to trust the man at the piano so quick, but if he wanted to hurt you or had any malicious tricks up his sleeve, he would’ve done it by now. Besides, it wasn’t like you had much to lose anymore.

“Are you a vampire, Aaron?”

Elvis stopped in his tracks as he was making his way over to you, standing a few feet behind you as he stared at the back of your head. For at least a few seconds, you had rendered him speechless. Here he was, thinking that he was the one who was going to bring up the dreaded topic and inform you that you might not be human yourself and all this time, you were already aware.

Aware, but in denial.

“What makes you think I am?” he then questioned, his voice low but calm. Any worries that he had melted away when you slowly turned around and looked at him with a small smile on your face.

“First of all, you’re not denying it and… the way you show up and then disappear just like that again,” you snapped your fingers before crossing your arms in front of your chest again. “My father was pretty good at that too. And second, you’re not calling me a crazy bitch for calling you a vampire,”

He bit his lip to hold back a soft laugh- even in a situation like this, despite all the pain you’d gone through and he assumed you were still experiencing today, you had a sense of humor.

It only made him more drawn to you.

Rubbing the back of his neck a little, he nodded and slowly made his way over to you. “I am. And so was your father,” he told you the obvious, standing in front of you now and looking down at you due to your height difference. It didn’t feel demanding or dominant, he was only looking at you- really looking at you. You felt as if his blue eyes had access to your insides and could pick apart your soul. “Do you know what that makes you?”

Yes. No. Maybe.

“A freak?” you questioned with a feigned amused tone in your voice, not wanting to look weak and shed another tear in front of him. But he was making it hard for you- with the way he was looking at you and smiling at you as he shook his head, his fingertips caressing a strand of hair behind your ear, it made you want to break down into a million pieces. Right there in his arms.

Instead, you just gazed at him, softly biting your tongue.

“No, honey- it makes you special,”

You hated how weak you were and how easy it was for your knees to turn wobbly and your guard to come down around him. You allowed it when he planted a soft gentle kiss on your forehead and then… he hugged you.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had been hugged and held. The last man to do so was your father on your birthday, but this felt like it could grow into a complete different kind of love.

Half human, half vampire.

According to Elvis, it was the rarest specie to wander the earth. Vampires were undead creatures that were turned by the blood of other vampires- in any and all cases, they had been human once that were gifted abilities and immortality upon their ressurection. Unlike human-vampire hybrids, vampires could only be made this way and not be born naturally.

Women falling pregnant by the doing of vampires was rare, but not impossible. The activity in itself was extremely dangerous to the human and the pregnancy even more so, because the child grew faster than a human baby. Elvis told you what he knew about it, which wasn’t an awful lot, so you took his word for it when he thought out loud and assumed the duration of such a pregnancy was somewhere between 4 to 6 months.

Your mother never told you things about her pregnancy in great detail and you figured what she did tell you had probably been lies to keep half of your identity a secret.

“So, if I’m half… vampire- why do I still get hangovers?” you questioned with an irritated sigh, taking the painkiller and glass of water Elvis handed to you when you sat down on his couch with him.

He laughed softly as he leaned back against a couple of decorative pillows, watching you throw back the pill and shudder when you gulped down the water. He took the glass from you and put it on the coffee table, looking at you.

“I’m guessing your vampire side has to be triggered, or ‘activated’, so to speak. Vampires complete their transition by drinking blood, so I wouldn’t be surprised if it’d be the same for you,”

You pulled your legs up and wiggled your feet underneath you, placing a pillow against your thighs as to not flash the man in front of you. You thought about his words for a little bit, humming softly as you placed your elbow on the back of the couch and rested your head in your hand.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,”

He frowned and shook his head, crossing his arms as he stretched his legs underneath the table. “No,”

“No what?” you raised an eyebrow at him as he sighed deeply, looking at you with a hint of worry in his eyes.

“Don’t you think it’s a little.. too soon? I mean, I’m all for it but we don’t know much about what you can and can’t do yet. Maybe it’s best if we wait- give yourself some time to come to terms with this,”

You lifted your head off your hand and leaned forward with your elbows on the pillow- your fingers automatically found your charm bracelet again as you twirled it around your wrist, your eyes following the movement.

“I think I’ve already come to terms with it, whether I want to or not. I made a promise that I’d get revenge for my parents and maybe I’ll get myself killed trying, but I have to try,” you told him, mustering up the courage to look him in the eye and take a deep breath. “And to be honest, Aaron, this isn’t your decision to make,”

He knew it wasn’t his decision to make. But what if this was dangerous? If he what he saw was right and vampires from the Masquerade club were really involved, they had a storm coming. Because the Masquerade meant the Council and the Council wasn’t exactly known to be flexible nor open minded.

They had their rules set in stone and they weren’t meant to be broken. Cross-breeding wasn’t allowed, as it “disrupted the balance of nature” or whatever bullshit those ancient vampires believed in.

He didn’t have the right to persuade you to make another decision on this. He knew what it was like to lose both parents in a violent death and while he had given it a place with time, it didn’t mean that it stopped hurting. Seeing the determination in your eyes, he got up from the couch and walked into the kitchen.

You were quick to follow, throwing the pillow behind you back onto the couch. You stood by his marble kitchen island as he moved around from the fridge to the counter, squeezing a bloodbag empty in two glasses. Turning around, you swallowed nervously at the sight of the crimson fluid that had once coursed through someone’s veins. He held out the glass in front of you, but before you could take it, he pulled his arm back.

“If this takes, your life is going to change, Y/N, I’m assuming drastically. You’re going to see some shit and I mean… heavy shit-“

“Been there, done that,” you interrupted him, reaching your arm out to him. You had already seen the worst you could when you were thirteen, you didn’t think it would get any more gruesome than what was already imprinted in your brain.

Elvis sighed heavily, nodding- he handed you the glass, which you quickly took before he could take it away again. He clinked the rim of his glass against yours before bringing it to his lips.

“Bottoms up,”

To him, it was nothing but a quick breakfast.

To you, it was the strangest thing you’d ever done.

It tasted exactly how you’d think blood to taste; slightly salty and very metallic. But you powered through it, chugging the amount Elvis gave you down in one go and then the taste was slowly but surely changing to your tastebuds.

The metallic hint of the blood melted away like snow in the sun and as the last contents of your glass hit your tongue, it was sweet. It was difficult to explain, but it was even more intense than any sweet food you ever ate. The grimace you had been sporting on your face disappeared and as you put your glass down and licked your lips, your hangover was ancient history.

“My headache’s gone, but I don’t feel any different,” you complained, worried that it hadn’t worked and you were still your old self. Elvis looked at you with an amused smile as he put his glass down and gently grabbed your shoulders from behind, guiding you to a tall mirror near the living area.

Any blemishes or imperfections that would pop up on some days and ruin your day were nowhere to be seen- instead, your skin was glowing. Your dark circles that were the result of your messed up sleeping schedule were traded for veins dancing underneath your flesh, your eyes intensely red as the whites of them had now turned black. You could’ve sworn even your hair had a little more shine to it.

You were beautiful in a somewhat creepy way and Elvis seemed to think so as well. Smiling, he brought his hand to your chin and pulled down a little, your lips automatically parting. Your heart skipped a nervous, and perhaps an excited, beat as you saw your new set of teeth. You hadn’t even felt them come through, nor did you feel any of the other changes on your face- it was like it had always been there. Like it was supposed to be there.

With a feeling like somewhat of the weight you had been carrying around for all these years was lifted, you realised this was the real you. You also felt closer to your father, even more so than you ever had.

“How do I change it back?”

“Put your mind to it, focus on it- always works for me,” Elvis told you as he looked at you through the mirror, watching your eyebrows knit together in concetration as you tried to do what he suggested. It took a few seconds, but it worked. Even as your vampiric features faded away like they had never been there in the first place, your skin was still more perfect and looking more alive than before.

“Thank you, Aaron,” you told him as you turned around to face him instead of looking at each other through the mirror. “For these past few weeks and for listening today and for… this,”

You pointed at your face, focusing on letting it shift again and he laughed, nodding to confirm to you it was working because you barely felt it happening. “You don’t have to thank me- it suits you. Besides, you got some avenging to do and how convenient that revenge is one of my favorite dishes to serve,” he joked, grinning at you as he grabbed your finger and pulled it away from your fangs you were poking. You laughed softly at both his words and action, but couldn’t stop the blush on your cheeks when he kissed your finger. “But honey... call me Elvis, okay?”

You tore your eyes away from his lips and the way his perfectly white teeth were visible when he flashed you a smirk- you squinted your eyes at him, before rolling them playfully and pulling your hand out of his grip.

“You wish,” you joked back, assuming that he wasn’t serious. “He’s still the better looking one,”

He raised his eyebrows as you walked away from him and back toward the window, reaching your arm out to the ray of sunlight that peeked through the clouds to see what would happen.

Just earlier today, he had been doubtful about telling you who he really was but now he couldn’t wait to see the look on your face when you’d find out.

He was going to postpone telling you for a little longer though, because right now he needed to give you some basic training on how to actually be a vampire and introducing you to Joe and the others.

The little, unimportant things could wait.

taglist: @breadsquash @generoustreemystic @woundmetender @returntoelvis @prayerstopresley @ab4eva @marriedtopresley @steph-speaks @wonka-gifs @notstefaniepresley @ellie-24 @dollksj @webbedwebs @re3kin @wivette @eliseinmemphis @18lkpeters @rosepresley @septembersghost

#elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis x you #elvis presley x you #elvis x y/n #elvis presley x y/n #elvis angst #elvis presley angst #elvis #elvis presley #vampire!elvis #tamwrites

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gogmstuff · 8 months

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More images of 1913 fashion -

1913 Ethel Mary, née Bell-Irving, later 15th Countess of Lauderdale by Samuel Henry William Llewellyn (Thirlestane Castle - Lauder, Berwickshire, UK) From centuriespast.tumblr.com/post/148847411164/ethel-mary-18911970-15th-countess-of 815X1200.

Left 1913 Gazette du Bon Ton "Le Conseiller des Dames Robe et Manteau pour le Theatre" by Barbier 643X844.

Right 1913 Gazette du Bon Ton "Tais-Toi Mon Coeur!… Robe de lingerie de Doeuillet 1913 Gazette du Bon Ton "Le Marriage au Chateau" by Brissaud artophile.com 750X1011.

1913 Gazette du Bon Ton "Le Marriage au Chateau" by Brissaud. From artophile.com 1797X1125.

Left 1913 Journal des Dames et des Modes "Manteau de velours frappe citron. Col velours blance et Renard blanc" by Dammy. From artophile.com 750X1189.

Center 1913 Journal des Dames et des Modes "Mantelet de taffetas a la vieille garni de chenille verte - Manchon brode de perles". From artophile.com 757X1200.

Right 1913 Journal des Dames et des Modes "Parure d'Hermine et Putois". From artophile.com 701X1200.

1913 Lady, traditionally identified as Rosa Lewis by Frank Moss Bennett (auctioned by Christie's). From their Web site 906X1904.

Left 1913 Journal des Dames et des Modes "Robe de charmeuse blance a tunique de mousseline de soie violette brodee de perl et bordee de skunks. Manteau de velours etrusque" by Pichenot artophile.com 750X1197.

Right 1913 Journal des Dames et des Modes "Robe de charmeuse nore avec corsage et panier formes d'un obi drape" by Barbier artophile.com 734X1200.

1913 Madame Jean Maillard-Norbert by Léon François Comerre (location ?). From tumblr.com/eirene; fixed most obvious spots w Pshop 1332X3072.

1913 Lina Bilitis with Two Pekinese by Giovanni Boldini (location ?). From Amber Tree's photostream on flickr 1510X2872.

1913 Madame Michelham by Giovanni Boldini (location ?). From wikiart.org-en-giovanni-boldini-madame-michelham-1913 1589X2356 @72.

1913 María Teresa González del Valle by Nicanor Piñole (Fundación Banco Santander - Madrid, Spain). From artsandculture.google.com; fixed spots w Pshop 2036X2698.

1913 Señora, amiga de Mr. Ryan by Joaquín Sorolla y Bástida (Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes - La Habana, Cuba). From joaquin-sorolla.blogspot.com/search/label/Retrato%20de%20Señora 1191X1600.

1913 Evening dress of Vera Karakhan by House of Paul Poiret (Hermitage). From tumblr.com/antiquebee/731802632464875520?.

Left 1913 (June issue) La Gazette du Bon Ton, "Je Suis Perdue Robe d'été de Chéruit" tumblr.com/mote-historie/729728522325753856/pierre-brissaud-je-suis-perdue-robe-d%C3%A9t%C3%A9-de?source=share&.

Center 1913 La Mode cover art La Mode par Boué Soeurs by George Barbier. From tumblr.com/mote-historie/731263453639196672/george-barbier-la-mode-par-bou%C3%A9-soeurs-french?source=share&.

Right 1913 Les Modes Dinner Dresses by Gustave Beer. From tumblr.com/mote-historie/731172312816254976/dinner-dresses-by-beer-1913?source=share& 1975X2861

Left 1913 Tanzerin by Julie Wolfthorn (location ?). From tumblr.com/random-brushstrokes 727X1024.

Right 1913 Anastasia Mikhailovna de Torby, Philip de László (location ?). From tumblr.com/la-belle-histoire/745161897381445633/portrait-of-anastasia-mikhailovna-de-torby-philip? 608X960.

Left ca. 1913 Dame in een zwarte strompeljapon met kant by anonymous (Rijksmuseum). From their Web site; fixed flaws & spots w Pshop 3542X5395.

Right ca. 1913 Dame in een geel/groen geruite strompeljapon by anonymous (Rijksmuseum). From their Web site; fixed flaws & spots Pshop 3476X5328; fixed flaws & spots w Pshop 3645X5328

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cricketnationrise · 3 months

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8.24pm, Alexia Tarabotti and Alanna of Pirate’s Swoop and Olau, outside on the terrace. Song lyric: “and I resent you just a little if I’m honest, one of us has gotta try to keep a promise”.

this prompt made me realize how long its been since i read Parasol Protectorate, so that series is back on the list and moving up -- i miss them! all that to say, I went with Alanna for your ficlet because I just reread Song of the Lioness in December so it's a lot fresher. hope you like it!

want your own ficlet? submit your prompt using these guidelines through January 31, 2024.

⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️

past the eighth bell, terrace

Alanna is not cut out for this kind of sneaking around.

She may have won the duel against Kel, may have faked good humor, may have joked around with the New Hope soldiers and commanders all afternoon, but she can’t pretend anymore tonight.

Dinner’s barely over, but she excuses herself to her quarters, waving off offers of just one more round with a forced smile. As soon as she clears the mess hall, she lets her face drop with a sigh and makes her way across the compound to the guest quarters with a purposeful stride.

Thankfully, no one stops her.

Alanna isn’t tired, per se, she just can’t handle being around people any longer—the only people she wants to see right now are miles, possibly oceans away.

Her rooms are too small to contain her frustration, so Alanna slips out onto the terrace attached to her suite—perks of being the Lioness. She leans heavily on the railing and looks up at the sky. The Cat constellation seems to wave at her somehow, and a reluctant grin tugs at the side of her lips. She can hear echoes of Faithful’s reproaches in her mind. He’d certainly have an earful for her if he could see her now.

Are you really sulking because someone else gets to be the hero this time around?

As she gazes up at the stars, Alanna lets her vision blur, trying to center herself before she retires for the night. It would be a lot easier if George had come with her. Or if he’d already found their wayward daughter and brought her back to the Swoop, safe and sound.

But they’d agreed: Alanna would go about her business as normal—saying nothing about Aly’s disappearance, so as not to draw attention from the wrong sort of people—and George would search for Aly.

Alanna wasn’t built for this, for maintaining a placid face, for lying about her family, for doing nothing. She had never been one for downtime. Gods, even during the Tusaine War as a squire she’d been helping out in the healer’s tents every chance she could. She’d never come up against something like this, a problem that some action on her part couldn’t solve.

It’s maddening, actually.

And she knows—she knows, okay?—that she can’t be the one to search for her daughter, to rescue her, to bring her back home. Alanna knows she’s too inconspicuous, too famous—that any hint of Aly being the Lioness’ daughter would put her in even more danger.

But damn it all, she resents the fact that she has to maintain a front, that she has to pretend, to friends and enemies alike, that all is well.

In her pettier moments, she even resents George.

Alanna scrubs a hand over her face in frustration. Dwelling on the impossibility of her situation won’t help her sleep tonight, won’t bring Aly back any sooner.

All she can do is hope. And put her faith in her husband, and the gods, to bring her daughter home.

#cricket writes #tintagel-or-cockleshells #ficlet fest 500 #tortall #alanna the lioness #takes place during trickster's choice

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finkinthisfrew · 7 months

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Anything (Pt.35)

cw: 18+ish :)

Chapter 35

"Look at you two! You actually made it!" I heard George's voice interrupt what had become a long-winded explanation to Matty about my favourite ceramicist as we turned to see him exiting the elevator doors.

"Did everyone leave already?" I asked George in confusion as he casually strolled up to where Matty and I sat in the hotel lobby.

"You're actually five minutes early," George replied matter-of-factly as he sat down across from us with a big smile. "I told the rest of the band 30 minutes because I knew you two would be late and I didn't want to have to wait around for you all," George said, leaning back in his chair as he folded his arms behind his head, looking very proud of himself.

My jaw dropped as I looked at George in disbelief.

"You lied to me?!" I complained, offended, even though we were technically 15 minutes late... But George didn't know that.

"Well by the looks of that fresh love bite on your neck, Anna, I think I made the right call, don't you?" George said casually as his eyebrow raised behind his yellow-tinted glasses.

I blushed as I absentmindedly reached my hand to hide the hickey on my neck, remembering the way Matty's lips had felt on my skin mere minutes ago. Matty's chuckle broke me from my flashback and I whipped my head back to shoot him a look of betrayal. He raised both his hands defensively.

"He's not wrong, darling," he said innocently. I grumbled in defeat, sinking into Matty's lap as he wrapped his arms back around me, one of his hands landing on my neck, thoughtfully covering my hickey for me from George.

"So aside from sucking each other's faces off, what have I missed?" George prompted.

Matty explained how we'd just been talking about artists that had changed our lives and we all dove back into conversation while we waited for the rest of the band to show up.

Half an hour later, Matty and I lay curled up together on a large cushy daybed, hiding from the roasting hot sun under a large parasol as he read the last few lines of a poem from a Pablo Neruda book we'd bought in town on the way to the beach. We'd gushed excitedly over the book of poetry when we'd found it, happy to see it had the English translations opposite of every poem. I couldn't help but sigh from bliss as I listened to Matty's soothing voice speak these perfect words, the hum of it vibrating his chest beneath my cheek in such a comforting way.

"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.

I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;

so I love you because I know no other way than this:

where I does not exist, nor you,

so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,

so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep"

Matty closed the book with a sigh.

"It's so satisfying to hear love spoken about in a way that resonates like that. I feel like so often I can't find the words to explain- truly explain- how it feels to be with you. And somehow Pablo figured out how to do it in a couple of sentences..." Matty ran his finger along my spine in thought as the band chattered around us, drinking beers and laughing in the sunshine.

I nodded into Matty's chest, understanding completely.

"I know what you mean. They take these complex emotions and almost simplify them..." I agreed. "Can I recite you a poem?" I asked as I propped my head up to look at his glowing face, his ivory skin growing more golden and freckled with every passing day.

"Of course, my darling," Matty said, passing me the book. I declined before taking a deep breath, looking at every freckle adoringly as I recited one of my favourite poems.

"since feeling is first

who pays any attention to the syntax of things will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool while Spring is in the world

my blood approves, and kisses are a better fate than wisdom lady I swear by all flowers. Don't cry – the best gesture of my brain is less than your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for each other; then laugh, leaning back in my arms for life's not a paragraph

And death I think is no parenthesis"

Matty's eyes, their colour even richer in the tropical sunshine, looked at me in awe.

"That's beautiful. You had that memorized?" he asked in awe.

I nodded modestly.

"I memorize my favourite ones," I said with a shrug. "There's so much I love about that poem, but I often think about that line when I'm with you: 'The best gesture of my brain is less than your eyelids flutter which says we are for each other.'" I repeated. "That's how I feel with you sometimes- you'll just look at me and I'll feel overwhelmingly loved. You'll kiss me and I'll feel like you're telling me a thousand things I couldn't even dream of summarizing on my most eloquent day," I explained in wonderment.

Matty shook his head with a smile.

"I feel like you're reciting my own thoughts to me..." Matty said in reverence. "You simply blink at me and with that say a million things about our love that I couldn't even begin to fathom trying to put into words..."

I smiled at him affectionately and smiled back at me, his eyes full of tenderness. Fuck I loved being in love with him so much.

"I hope we never wake up," Matty sighed as he looked back and forth between my eyes adoringly.

"From this dream?" I asked with a giggle.

Matty nodded before pulling me up to kiss me tenderly. I melted into his touch, savouring the way he hummed happily when I kissed him deeper.

"Fancy a dip?" Matty asked when we finally pulled apart, looking up at me from under his curtain of curls.

"Yes, please!" I nodded eagerly.

Matty took my hand in his as we walked excitedly into the water.

After a few minutes of splashing around and playing with each other, I swam over to where Matty stood in the water. He picked me up, wrapping my legs around him as he kissed me deeply, then waded us deeper into the ocean, tightening his arms around me as the waves gently pushed against us.

I looked down at Matty's chest and traced my finger over the pale pink lines that were almost gone.

"I can't lie, I'm a bit sad these are fading," I said to Matty as he spun me around gently in the water.

"Me too," Matty admitted earnestly. He paused for a moment before continuing. "I know I teased you a bit incessantly about liking me having these on stage, but I have to say... showing these off, I felt quite proud," he confessed with a bashful half-smile. He looked down at my finger which paused on his chest and I watched as a bead of water dripped from one of his curls onto his bottom lip where it clung to him. He took a breath before looking back up at me. "I was pretty proud I got to show off a bit of you up on stage- show the world that I'm yours," he grinned at me.

My stomach swooped at his words as I felt myself gloat inwardly. This man- this devastatingly handsome and deeply caring man- was telling me how he loved showing off that he was mine? I could pinch myself.

"Well now I definitely know I'm dreaming," I said as I fluttered my eyes back down to his chest, too flattered to look into his, which I knew were looking at me with overwhelming love.

"You aren't dreaming, you are a dream. You're a goddess," Matty said with adoration.

My eyes shot back up to his immediately.

"No no, hold on. I thought we agreed - you're the god. I have proof- remember the photo?" I corrected sternly.

"Anna, you may think I'm a handsome lad, but you-" he paused, his face very serious as he shook his head gently. "You transcend the meaning of goddess," he said, his eye contact unbreaking. I wanted to look away, I felt overwhelmed by the compliment, but my eyes were glued to his.

"I love you biblically, Anna," he said, his voice lowering with passion. He leaned down to kiss my collarbone delicately, then placed a second kiss just below my jaw. I shivered and I felt him squeeze me tighter in response as his lips grazed my cheek.

"If you were a religion, I would practice you every day," he said quietly, almost to himself as he ran his hand down my spine to my lower back. I felt myself grow wet at his words as a ball of desire began to expand in my chest. His hand landed on my hip where he looked down at the tie of my bikini, his fingers playing with the strings. He groaned, his brow creasing in pained frustration.

"God, I love this tiny little bikini."

He turned, walking us deeper into the ocean as he kissed the skin above my breasts. I let my head fall back as I sighed with pleasure. Careful not to attract too much attention, he waded deeper until just our shoulders were visible.

Matty cupped the back of my head, pulling me back towards his face where he pressed his forehead against mine.

"Do you have any sinful thoughts you'd like to confess?" I whispered, my voice laced with lust as his chocolate eyes bore into mine, making me want him even more.

I felt Matty nod against my forehead as his fingers pulled on the side of my bikini, letting it fall open under the water.

"Too many..." he said, his eyes lowering to my mouth before taking my bottom lip between his teeth. I groaned with pleasure.

"I'd like to worship you right now if I could," he whispered, reaching his hand to my front and gliding his hand over my clit, then pressing his finger up against my entrance. I reached my arms around to grip his hard back, digging my nails into his skin in anticipation. Our lips gravitated toward each other and we kissed each other hungrily. I found myself pressing myself into his palm, desperate for more as the ball of desire in my chest expanded, crushing my lungs as it tried to burst through my chest.

Matty pulled his face back to look at me in fascination, his eyes drooping with his own lust as he watched me grind against his hand. His brow furrowed at the moan that escaped my lips, turned on by my desperation. He wrapped his other hand around the back of my neck, careful to look casual, but subtly tightened his grip as he watched me. It drove me wild. His eyes travelled up and down, taking me in as his mouth hung open, slack with desire. The way he watched me only turned me on more.

"Please fuck me, Matty," I panted desperately as I ground against him.

He slowly shook his head almost imperceivably, his face remaining neutral as he continued to look back and forth between my eyes. He didn't speak soon enough.

"Finger me?"

He shook his head slightly again, his eyes travelling all over my face, watching my expressions intently.

"Fuck, spit in my mouth?" I didn't even wait for him to shake his head again before I continued hopelessly, "Something? Please, Matty. Anything," I begged, moving my hands to his chest, and digging my nails in once again. He groaned at this, then with what looked like a great effort, he pulled his hands away, placing them both on my lower back.

"I'd love to do all those things and more, but I don't want you to get a UTI or some other infection, darling," he said, a look of controlled pain on his face.

I believed him, and I was touched that he cared enough to have the forethought, but none of it made me any less frustrated. I groaned into his shoulder, sexually frustrated and overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness.

"I'm sorry for being a naughty boy," he whispered in my ear as he walked us back to shallower water where my feet could reach the ground, kissing me gently on the cheek. "I'll restrain myself," he said sweetly to me before placing me back down on the ocean floor and taking the strings of my bikini in his hands and tying it back up snugly.

He took my hand in his as I leaned into his body.

"I know it shouldn't be new to me at this point, but you really do get a lot of sick pleasure from teasing me and leaving me dry, don't you," I grumbled to Matty as we waded towards the shore slowly.

"Well, I'd argue I'm doing the opposite- I think I'm leaving you quite wet, aren't I?" Matty answered smartly with a cheeky grin.

I couldn't help but laugh, shoving him gently in annoyance. He laughed too, wrapping his arm around my shoulders as we strode to the right, walking along the edge of the ocean as the waves lapped at our ankles.

"I am sorry, though, darling. I just can't seem to help myself around you sometimes," Matty apologized sincerely. "I'll stop if you'd like," he said, his eyes turning to look at me earnestly.

I looked down at our feet which splashed in the water.

"Well, I didn't say I didn't like it..." I mumbled quietly. I looked up at Matty with a little half-smile and he beamed back at me, reaching swiftly down to lift my legs, swooping me up to cradle me and spinning me around as we both giggled.

"Come, let me make it up to you," Matty said after we kissed, walking us back towards where we left our belongings on the daybeds. "I know a sacred place where I can confess every single sinful thought I have of you," he whispered to me with a seductive smile, "and then you can tell me how best to repent."

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