#suitcoat

[moonbaydesigns]

I will be wearing this in March for my interview at The Hallberg Cents of the Arts in Wyoming Minnesota. Just finished embroidery on it. 🦋🦋🦋🌙 #manarch #manarchbutterfly #suitcoat #ooak @moonbaydesigns @madinahagberg @grevemuseum @hallbergcenterforthearts https://www.instagram.com/p/CpLc8_7Pl1y/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#manarch #manarchbutterfly #suitcoat #ooak

[johnny1note]

For some reason normie straight men are incapable of grasping the concept that two different garments that are the "same size", even sizes that are purportedly based in inch measurements, can still fit completely differently because of the elasticity or cut of the fabric, or shrinkage, or the skill/consistency of the manufacturer, and will adopt the most condescending attitude possible if you say that it's better to try things on rather than to go by your "number"

#''you should KNOW your shirt size'' #sir #depending on the shirt i can be between a 16.5 and 18 neck and a 35 and 38 sleeve #i have a 42 overcoat that goes over my 48 suitcoats #with pants i can be between 34 and 38 waist #i have gloves that are 8.5 and gloves that are 11 both supposedly based on hand circumference in inches that fit me the same #let me try things on in peace please

[1d1195]

Protection I

Okay I did the quickest of Google searches to get some of this info, please don't hold it against me. I have no idea what I’m doing as usual.

Hope you enjoy, I'm looking forward to writing more of it.

5.2k words

“Y’could’ve jus’ asked,” he called from behind her. “S’dangerous t’walk alone this late at night.”

She rolled her eyes, not that he could see it. “No one is going to try and kidnap me for political purposes on a Wednesday night while I get a drink with friends,” she told him.

“Love, s’not what I meant,” he said gently.

Harry was ready.

He ironed a white button-down shirt and paired it with a blue tie. He put on a grey suitcoat over it to match the slacks he picked out along with black dress shoes that he had long since broken in. In fact, he thought he could probably run a marathon in them if necessary.

He looked over his freshly shaven face, rubbing his jaw with a face lotion his sister got him for his birthday last year. He used the mirror to fix a few astray pieces of hair that refused to sit neatly but not perfectly flat on his head. Part of him wished he didn’t volunteer to do this because his stomach was flipping with anxiety. Sure, he was used to this. Used to the nerves and the first day jitters. It was a good job and was hopefully going to be a great way to see the country. While his English accent made him stick out a bit, it also helped him blend a bit into the background; no one would think that Harry was a special agent there to protect a family member of the US cabinet.

Plus, he was doing Niall a huge favor. Niall was the one that got Harry a job with the Diplomatic Security Service in the first place, so he owed it to Niall to at least try. Make his friend look good and not ruin his reputation. One of Niall’s favorite coworkers was the one that trained Harry to be an agent for the DSS, since Niall wasn’t one. But Niall was the one that had heard horror stories of the girl that wreaked havoc on many of the agents put in place to protect her. Going toe to toe with her meant a more...fulfilling job...after a couple months. At least that’s what Niall had heard and shared with Harry.

“I don’t know what her issue is Harry. But you’re all but DSS’s last hope,” he said. Niall didn’t have to take a round against her. He wasn’t an agent in the protection division. He sat behind a desk going over paperwork. Frequently the paperwork assigning and reassigning the girl’s security detail. But he knew Harry needed a job and he was happy to recommend him. He vouched for him, but Niall was certain the agency would have taken someone off the street and thrown them in the ring at this stage in the game.

Harry was on the younger side. Close to her age, so he had been told in the interview. Maybe that would help. He seemed unfazed. It was just a job. She was just a girl. They had to protect her. But through all he heard, it didn’t sound like they really wanted to protect her all that much anymore.

How much trouble could a twenty-four-year-old graduate biochemistry student get up to?

Niall wished him luck as Harry was debriefed once more about his job. Keep an eye on her, run checks on people she interacts with, make sure she doesn’t die. “Her father is Secretary of State,” they reminded Harry.

Harry nodded. “Got it.”

He took the address that was sent to him into his phone’s GPS and followed the directions to the apartment complex in the small, undercover black SUV issued to him. There was bulletproof glass protecting him from the outside world and tinted windows hiding him through the glass. His mum messaged him.

Good luck, honey bun!

He smirked. Harry may have been twenty-nine, but his Mum’s messages made him feel like a little kid. He adored her, all the way across the pond recognizing what time it was so she could make sure to send him a good luck text as she always had; first day of university, first real job, or even just a trip to the dentist (Harry hated the dentist).

The little apartment complex was inconspicuous. There wasn’t anything special about it, just a brick building with several floors—it couldn’t have been more than 8 apartments. A buzzer door and buttons along the side. The code was sent to him to let himself in.

It’s just a girl. He reminded himself.

Harry took the stairs to the top and fourth floor. It gave him time to calm his nerves and plan his approach based on the way he heard the tales from coworkers. Maybe he would try and befriend her? Harry was down to be friends with her if she wanted. Or maybe that was a bad idea. Maybe he should just try and out-stubborn her. Harry and Gemma used to have contests about who could hold their breath longest when they were young. Harry wasn’t against passing out in the name of winning.

The final steps to her apartment were silent. The current agent at the door looked at Harry with relief. He saluted him, muttered good luck, and hurried back down. Surprised by the immediate departure, Harry gently knocked on the door. The man didn’t even confirm that Harry was his relief. “DSS,” he said quietly to the door.

It took a moment, but at once the door was out of the way. She was shorter than Harry—which arguably wasn’t hard to do with his six-foot frame. Her hair was pulled back by a clip at the back of her head, some strands falling from it to frame her round face. She had a freckle on her brow line and Harry found it unbelievably cute and surprised himself that it was one of the first things he noticed. The space between her eyebrows was pinched together and Harry wanted to smooth it out because even though she was going to be a pain in his ass, she was adorable. Her eyes scanned him quickly and he hoped despite the stories he had heard that she would at least appreciate his professionalism. Her lips were pressed together—not hard, just...resting against one another. Harry was quick to realize it was the least professional thing he could think of: staring at her mouth.

Mum always re-quoted that the eyes were windows to the soul. It was always the first thing Harry noted when he pursued a girl. He loved the idea of gazing into her eyes and trying to find out more about her just through her irises. Maybe if he looked into hers, he would understand why a short little thing like her could scare an entire division of special agents with varying degrees of combat training or intelligence operations.

Her lips pursed into a mocking smile, and she spoke. “Oh, I get it. Send someone young so I relate to them. Someone that will understand my attitude,” she rolled her eyes. Harry raised his eyebrows at her in surprise. Not even a hello. No introduction. Feisty. Right away.

“I’m sorry?”

“Daddy dearest only sent you here because the last seven agents couldn’t handle the paperwork that I made them do. I escape a lot.”

Harry sighed. “Thought y’were gonna be easy,” it was a fib. He knew she was going to be difficult but maybe if he played the part she wouldn’t be as tough on him.

“Nope,” she said petulantly, like that was going to piss Harry off. He assumed it worked on the others that came before him.

Harry could play the petulant game. He was the younger sibling after all. He nodded. “Got it. Well. M’name is Harry. I won’t bother you. I’ll be here if you’d like t’get t’know me. Or when y’leave,” he pulled the door shut and stood beside it. Hands behind his back, listening to the silence inside the door.

“Is this a joke?” She asked through the wood after a full minute. He didn’t respond. The door opened.

“Going somewhere?” Harry asked without looking at her. He could see her in his peripheral.

“No,” she looked at Harry curiously. “You’re not going to...try?” She wondered.

“Try what?” He asked innocently staring at the wall opposite her door.

She shook her head and sighed. “Uh... I’m sorry,” she said awkwardly, uncomfortableness rang in her voice. Harry turned to her, honestly a bit surprised at how readily she apologized. Didn’t seem like something that would be in her repertoire. “Do you want to come in?” She asked. See? Harry thought. She could be perfectly reasonable. “I have seats... you don’t have to stand out here the whole time,” she murmured.

“Thanks, love,” he said politely and followed her through the doorway. He dropped his bag into a seat closest to the door. It just had the department issued computer inside it.

The space was homey. Again, he was surprised by the contrast of the stories he heard versus the sunny outward appearance. He expected rage which he wasn’t sure how that would translate exactly into interior design, but he thought it would be messy. The only hint of a mess was a spot on the coffee table littered with papers and notebooks and a laptop. The grey sofa was also covered with papers and a plain black backpack.

He did not anticipate it being a pretty place. It could rival a florist shop. There were prints of flowers hung on a white mat with black frames at regular spaced intervals. Vinelike garlands decorated with an array of pink flowers of all sorts draped along the slate blue (nearly grey) painted walls near the top of each of the three walls making up the big room—almost like a bordered edge. The fourth wall was the back of the kitchen and contained various appliances leaving no room for flowers, but Harry thought she probably tried when she moved in anyway.

The whole room was open: the sitting room, the dining area, and the kitchen. There were two loveseat sofas, one a modern grey facing the TV. The other perpendicular to the grey one; a solid navy blue that sat in front of three windows. Each window had a sheer grey curtain that matched the sofa, draped with more vines of flowers across all three windows of course. Between the TV and the grey sofa was a grey coffee table and besides the papers and notebooks, there was of course a little vase with pink sunflowers. A large bookshelf was to the left of her TV stand.

In the back corner beside the door was a round dining table and four mismatched dining chairs where Harry had dropped his bag. Another little vase sat in the middle of the table with more pink flowers. The kitchen smelled yummy. Like bacon. That was as much as he could see from the entryway. There was a short little hall but hidden behind a wall he couldn’t see around but assumed a bedroom and a bathroom were around there.

“S’a very nice place,” he murmured.

She was still staring at him as if he just said he liked to eat handfuls of dirt and drink from the river. “Thank you,” she said kindly after a beat of silence. Like she thought maybe it was a trick. “I...I don’t really have any plans tonight. I’ll be studying for an exam I have tomorrow...you could honestly probably leave if you wanted to,”

He thought she sounded genuine but given all the stories, he wasn’t sure. “I’d rather stay put. I can go back in the hall if that would make you more comfortable,” he suggested. “But may I see the rest of the place or would y’rather I wait till later? When you’re less busy?” He asked.

She blinked almost surprised. Harry imagined she wasn’t used to privacy but since he wanted her to like him, he thought respecting her boundaries was going to be the easiest way to do it. Most of her previous details were older. They probably had children of their own around her age or younger and thought treating her like one of their own and bossing her around would be easy. In all the meetings Harry attended and interviews and explanations of the girl before him not once did they seem to note she was an adult.

“Oh...uh...yeah,” she mumbled and gestured for him to walk down the hall. He was right: a bedroom and a bathroom, but he was surprised to find a second bedroom. It didn’t seem like the space was big enough from the outside. She opened all the doors. “This one’s the spare,” she said and showed him the room with nothing but a bed and small three drawer dresser and a chair that looked like it belonged in a college dorm in the corner. There was a door leading to a closet (he assumed). Compared to the main room, it was lackluster given there wasn’t a single flower in the room.

Along the same wall was the bathroom. The room was the same slate grey as the sitting room. The shower curtain was white, with a pattern of pink flowers. The fuzzy bathmat and hand towels matched the pink flowers. A little flowerpot was placed on a shelf hanging above the toilet, but Harry could have predicted at this point that pink flowers would be in the little pot. A chic gold brushed mirror that doubled as a medicine cabinet hung over the sink with the same gold brushed faucet fixtures. A linen closet opposite the light switch right as you walked in, no door to it so he could see her well-stocked array of bathroom necessities, extra towels, and cleaning supplies.

“My room,” she shrugged and pushed the door open. Another bookshelf was draped with green vines. Fascinating. She liked to read a lot, it seemed. A long dresser was beneath the window along the back wall. A nightstand with a biochemistry textbook and a copy of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest was closest to the door near the top of her bed. A weird pair of books for late night reading, he thought. Harry would have to pick the non-textbook one up at the bookstore later. Find another way to relate to her. This room was painted a light blue—so light it was almost white. More vines and flowers. Her bed was made neatly. This time slate-blue-almost-grey color again. Once more pink flowers.

“Are y’a botanist?” He asked, turning back for the main room. He didn’t want to spend a lot of time staring at her room and make her uncomfortable.

She smirked, closing the door following behind him. “Just love color and flowers,” she shrugged. “The grey makes it pop,” she explained. “But I wanted a little bluer for my bedroom. Didn’t want it to seem all dreary.” It was the furthest from dreary.

“S’lovely.”

“Well thanks,” she repeated, just as graciously as before.

She sat on the floor in front of the coffee table. “You can make yourself at home, there’s some drinks in the fridge—non-alcoholic of course, since you’re on the job, but I wouldn’t tell anyway,” she murmured and began scribbling on her papers almost instantly.

Harry felt deeply surprised. He pulled his laptop out and checked the emails. The internal messaging system alerted him that Niall had sent a message. How is she?

Fine. He responded.

Harry’s phone vibrated in his pocket immediately. It was Niall. “FINE?” He asked in shock.

Harry shrugged. “Yes.”

Niall released a breath through his lips in surprise. “I can’t believe it. Usually she has people begging for reassignment after five minutes.”

Harry looked over at the girl working at the coffee table. He looked back at his laptop. “Don’t know,” he murmured.

“You can tell whoever you’re talking to that I’m not the bitch everyone makes me out to be if you’re fucking nice to me,” she grumbled.

Harry smirked. “I like her,” he said loud enough for her to hear. But she didn’t pause at all. Nor did she stray from her position or what she was doing to notice Harry’s kind comment.

*

She left Harry in the main room. He would stay until midnight when some woman would take over the detail. She didn’t hate the woman. She at least allowed her privacy when she wanted it. But she was surprised how much she liked Harry and they’d hardly interacted beyond an exchange of pleasantries. Him leaving in a couple hours seemed unfair.

Harry already had her phone number and he told her he would send her a message, so she had his in case of an emergency. “Not sure what emergency exists in my bedroom,” she muttered. He smirked and shrugged.

“Protocol, love,” he said. So he was one of those. She thought.

She liked his accent. Honestly, she liked everything about Harry. He was gorgeous. It was shocking. There was a moment where she forgot she was supposed to be agitated by her security detail when he introduced himself. It was almost instinctive that her hand wanted to reach out and play with his brown locks that curved every which way around his head. His eyes were this piercing green that she felt the desire to repaint her room the same emerald color. She nearly had to crane her neck to see all six feet of him. And in a simple suit, he was just...beautiful.

But then he pulled the door shut not taking her shit for even a second. Her brain felt out of sorts as she tried to reconcile the attitude, she wanted to have against the one she felt. Not once did someone just back off her. Maybe having someone closer to her age was the trick. But she didn’t want a security detail. Right?

Harry was so utterly polite, complimenting her place, respecting her boundaries as much as possible given his position. Ugh. He was ruining all the hard work she had put in to be a bitch toward DSS.

Fortunately, her phone vibrated as she closed the door to her bedroom. It was a friend from one of her classes telling her they were having a round of drinks before their final exam in the morning. She didn’t want to go. It was ten o’clock and her brain was exhausted from the marathon studying all afternoon and evening with her only breaks introducing herself to Harry and when she ordered them pizza.

Harry insisted on paying. Another weird notion from him. She never really ordered food for her security details, but she always did offer, and she always paid. Her mother taught her to have manners and be polite, even if she was mad—it would make her more amicable. However, she thought a lot of her previous agents assumed she was trying to poison them when she ordered them food. Harry didn’t talk much to her while they ate. He asked her what she was studying and if she felt confident about the exam.

She worked her ass off to be successful in her classes. She was one of the top students, she knew it. But everyone else saw it as the Secretary of State’s doing, not her own. But yes, she was confident about the exam.

But now it was 10:04 and she wanted to be included. She didn’t want to come off as “Daddy’s little princess” and the goody-two-shoes she was accustomed to being. Biting her lip, she pressed her ear to her door. She couldn’t hear Harry at all. Harry seemed cooler than her other details, she could probably just ask him to take her and hang back as far as humanly possible. He told her he was going to read the files on the people she surrounded herself with while she went to sleep.

He would be back first thing in the morning for a full day of watching her every movement. She quietly changed into an easy, comfy outfit. Jeans, t-shirt, her most comfortable broken-in Keds. She glanced at the mirror on the back of her closet and put on a couple dabs of concealer around her eyes and a few swipes of mascara. It was one round of drinks; she would be back before Harry left his post and she wouldn’t even have to worry about locking up her apartment. She shoved her ID and her credit card into the back of her phone case and then put it in her back pocket.

Carefully, she opened the window pausing around the part that always groaned in the humidity from the outside August air. She quietly pulled the screen in and laid it on her bed. With cat-like soft feet, she got out onto the platform of the fire escape. Closing the window behind her, once more minding the swelled portion. She made her way down the fire escape. The walk to the bar was less than half a mile.

As she turned the corner of the building to walk along the streetlamp-lit roads she was pushed suddenly and almost violently against the building. She nearly lost her footing, but the person kept her upright and was surprisingly gentle with her before she slammed into the bricks. Her lungs inhaled, ready to let out a scream, but a hand was covering her mouth at the same time causing her heart rate to skyrocket. “Seriously?” Harry’s accent cut through her terrified mind.

The terror seeped out of her mind as anger coursed through her. Maybe the close in age thing wasn’t going to be a good plan after all. If this was one of her other agents, they wouldn’t have known she was gone until she had finished her drink and was walking back home. She shoved his hand from her mouth, and she glared at him. Her body was shaking with her fight or flight response and a lot rage. “What?” She snapped and started marching down the road.

“Y’could’ve jus’ asked,” he called from behind her. “S’dangerous t’walk alone this late at night.”

She rolled her eyes, not that he could see it. “No one is going to try and kidnap me for political purposes on a Wednesday night while I get a drink with friends,” she told him.

“Love, s’not what I meant,” he said gently. The kindness in his tone made her attitude waver again. But she was mad that he caught her. That never happened. She didn’t want to be sneakier. She thought she might actually like Harry. He even said he liked her to whoever he was on the phone with—that made her heart warm despite how she pretended not to hear. If Harry liked her, it would be much harder to maintain the isolated, bitchy attitude she gave all the other security agents.

“What’s there to worry about? Someone shoving me against a building and covering my mouth?” She grumbled.

“I didn’t want t’scare you; I was jus’ trying t’show you that someone could’ve snuck up,” he was keeping his distance from her, but she listened intently for the practically soundless footsteps. The only reason she could hear him was because it rained and made the little scratchy pebbles and dirt crunch under his feet ever so slightly.

“By scaring me,” she stated, still not looking at him.

He sighed. “M’sorry. I thought...” he trailed off. She didn’t make him finish his sentence. She thought too—he knew the stories of her, but he thought he would be different. They walked probably two tenths of a mile in silence. “M’sorry, love,” he repeated. “S’my first day. Didn’t want you t’get hurt.”

She sighed. He did sound remorseful. And she still kind of liked him. Mostly because as tragic as it sounded, he seemed to be more worried about her safety as a female walking dark streets and not a political official’s daughter. “It’s alright,” she mumbled. “I should have just asked,” she agreed a bit begrudgingly. “Just figured it was one drink and I’d be home before you left.”

He didn’t say anything. She stopped in her tracks. She could see the sign for the bar where her friends were down the long street before her. She turned to Harry. He looked relieved.

They gazed at each other a moment. Harry would be a worth adversary, she thought to herself. It was like he heard her thoughts because his next words almost tried to refute the idea. “I don’t like t’do paperwork,” he told her those pretty green eyes focused on her intently. He was serious. His jaw flexed tightly.

She smirked. “No promises.”

*

She spotted Harry at the end of the stairway, leaning against the wall as she exited the building where she had taken her exam. He had to be sweating in the suit slacks and button down—even if the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His left arm had several tattoos lining his arm while the right only had one or two. He wasn’t wearing a tie today nor a suit coat—she wanted to tell him she didn’t really give a shit what he wore, but he seemed the professional type. Being the middle of August, it was hot as could be. He didn’t seem to care, glancing every which way through a pair of black sunglasses. She couldn’t see his eyes and she suddenly realized she missed seeing the green even though she’d only gotten one good look at them.

Unfortunately, in all her ogling she missed the last two steps sending her straight into someone in front of her and she fell to the ground on the hot sidewalk, scraping her knee like a child. Fortunately, as a biochem major, she had to wear pants whenever setting foot in the lab so the yoga pants she wore—while hot for a summer day—probably saved her just a bit from a worse cut. It did cause a few tears in the fabric and her knee would surely bruise.

Harry started to rush over but the guy she bumped into helped her back to standing. “You okay there?” He asked.

Harry stood back a few feet as the guy helped. “Uh...yeah. Sorry, I missed the last step,” she said with a slight awkward laugh. She brushed the dirt from her hands that were also scraped as well as the length of her forearm since she was allowed to wear short sleeves (especially since it was exam day).

“Oh hey! You’re—” As soon as she realized he recognized her she closed her eyes and sighed.

“Yeah,” she mumbled. “Sorry,” she hurried off, limping slightly as she realized she really smacked her knee and the way it scraped definitely made it sore to bend. She didn’t want to be recognized. She wanted to be herself and not have this political precursor follow her everywhere.

They were making their way back toward the SUV Harry had parked nearby when he had dropped her off this morning so she wouldn’t be late. Good luck he had called out when she closed the door behind her. “Are y’alright?” Harry’s accent was a few paces behind her. She felt embarrassed so she didn’t turn around. She nodded.

“Yeah. Just a scrape. Want to go home and take a nap in the AC.”

“Can’t argue with y’there,” he chuckled.

She smirked; glad he couldn’t see her. “You don’t have to wear a suit all the time,” she told him. “It’s a thousand degrees out. You’ll die of a heat stroke before you can protect me.”

He seemed to ignore her joke, but she was still a bit genuinely concerned he would overheat. “How was your exam?” He asked.

She turned finally and looked at him. He stopped short, still a few steps behind her. They probably looked odd beneath the shaded trees. Both dressed not for a summer day. Harry looked threatening, surprisingly. He didn’t when she saw him in her apartment or even when he walked her home at eleven last night. He looked like a regular guy even if he was overdressed in a half suit. She noted the gun in its holster on his hip and she wondered how good of a shot he was. Not because she thought he would be bad or because she thought he would ever need to shoot it in her presence but because she was genuinely curious about him. She still had her backpack on of course. Her knee bent slightly with a tear in her pants. Quite the pair.

His glasses were still covering his eyes, hiding probably the most assured way to understand what he was thinking. But despite all she thought about the DSS, Harry was nice. Even if it had only been the inside of 24 hours.

It was shame she was a bitch to her security detail.

“Uh...easy,” she said. “A lot of my friends complain about studying and it sucks, but obviously it was worth it,” she shrugged. “I only struggled with one long response question, and I knew that I would going into it,” she explained.

“S’good, m’happy for you,” a little smile twinged at his lips and he sounded so genuine. It surprised her. Like he was really taking an interest in her.

But then she remembered this was his job and he probably couldn’t give two shits about her or exam. She tilted her head and scanned the man before her as if that negative thought would reveal itself. Of course, it didn’t. The glasses were hiding his true emotions. She would have to figure out Harry later. It was too hot, even in the shade.

Silently she turned on her heel looking at the air-conditioned oasis of that SUV. Harry opened the door for her, something she was not used to before closing her neatly and safely inside. Once Harry opened his door she asked her question. “Can we get coffee?” She asked.

“Coffee?”

“My treat,” she smirked.

“I thought you wanted a nap?”

“Yeah, but I have to work later and if you drink coffee before a nap, the coffee will kick in right when you wake up.”

He tilted his head at her before he pulled into the road. “Didn’t know y’have a job.”

“It’s remote,” she shrugged.

“Oh.”

“So coffee?”

“If that’s what you want, love.”

Harry drove in silence to the closest coffee shop he could find, and she got out of the car quickly before stopping at the driver’s window. “Can I get you anything?” She asked kindly.

“Uh...an iced tea would be nice,” he said curiously.

She was not the bitch everyone made her out to be. “Sure,” she said and rushed inside. Harry kept the window rolled down and could see her perfectly through the window. It took no more than ten minutes, and she was back at the car handing him iced tea through his open window before she got into the car. Harry wasn’t really sure what to make of her. But he was sure that he liked her. She was funny. In her own sort of way. He watched her sip her drink as she settled back into the car.

It would be fun.

Protecting her.

“I could send you a picture if you’d like to stare at me longer,” she blinked in excess at him. Fluttering her pretty eyelashes as her quick witted tone pierced his thoughts.

Right?

--

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @youdontcaredoyou @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

Protection tag list: @youcouldstartacult

Please let me know if you'd like to join the taglist, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :) If you would like for me to start a taglist for this series, please let me know as well!

#harry #harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles blurbs #harry styles blurb #harry styles reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles one shot #harry styles concept #hs #hs fic #hs writing #one direction #one direction writing #bodyguard!Harry #agent!harry #protection

[ddejavvu]

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader

contents/warnings: bau!reader, christmas in november because i'm impatient

There's icing on your nose. You can see it if you cross your eyes, but your hands are too occupied to brush it off.

They fumble with a piping bag, trying to squeeze air out of the top while squeezing icing out of the bottom. The formerly white frosting has a black tint now, and if it lands on your cookie, the stain will be permanent.

You trace the shape of a suitcoat, tongue sticking out of your mouth as you leave enough room for a button-up. The pants are equally as simple, two rectangles merged in the middle.

"Whatcha makin'?" Penelope leans over your shoulder to peer at your gingerbread man. You glance over at her christmas tree, decked out with green swoops of icing and light-shaped sprinkles.

"It's a surprise," You mumble, still lost in thought as you search for the white icing, "Has anyone seen-?"

It's in Derek's hands. He's making an angel cookie, halo already wound around her head. It's for Penelope, you're sure.

"Morgan?" You peer up at him with shiny, pleading eyes, "Can I steal that? Just for a second."

"Snow for your tree?" He guesses, as your hand covers the shape and design of your cookie.

"Nope!" You grin mischievously at him, "You'll see."

"I love a good surprise," He chuckles, eyes crinkling at the corners as he hands over the piping bag with a smear of the frosting on his thumb. You're surprised he doesn't ask Penelope to lick it off, and you're even more surprised that she doesn't offer.

"That had better be good," Prentiss peers at your hidden cookie, what little she can see of it from how you're hiding it, "'Cause you used up all the black icing."

"More on the way," Rossi reaches for the big bowl of white, food coloring already in-hand, "Does anything else need a refill?"

"Red," Spencer hums from where he's surveying your cookie-decoration, gingerbread crumbs stuck to his fingers, "It's empty."

Your head shoots up to glance at the flattened red piping bag, the next one you would have asked for. Something akin to annoyance prickles in your chest at the inconvenience, but Rossi's already whipping up another batch, and JJ's santa cookie does look good.

You're happy to have Rossi on kitchen duty for many reasons. He's efficient at filling each bag when you need it, and he's too busy to complain about the mess you're making of his kitchen. When the red bag is set back on the table, plump and slightly sticky, you set down the white one, dress shirt in place.

Now for the tie, a dot at the neckline and a line down the shirt. You realize too late that you've already sacrificed the black piping bag to Emily, leaving your cookie faceless, but when she spots your eyes on it she hands it over with a kind smile.

The finishing touches are a line of hair over the top, two eyes, and a frown. You think, as you glance stealthily at Hotch, who's nursing a water and listening to Reid's explanation of the evolution of Christmas, that it looks uncanny.

"Done." You huff proudly, pushing your seat away from the table. Everyone's eyes flit towards you, although it takes Spencer a minute to finish his sentence.

"Let's see, kiddo," Rossi raises his brows expectantly, waiting for you to uncover the cookie you've been crafting.

With one swoop it's out from behind your hands, displayed proudly between your fingers as everyone peers at it.

"It's Hotch." You grin proudly, "Frown and all."

The first person to laugh is Derek. He throws his head back slightly, glancing back at Rossi when the man snorts. Penelope lets out a sharp ooh!, but covers her mouth with her hand so that her giggles are stifled. Emily and JJ share an incredulous laugh, still decorating their own cookies, icing bags frozen in their hands.

Reid squints intently at it, amusement twinkling in his eyes, "That's pretty accurate, Y/L/N."

"Actually, I think his frown is usually deeper," Rossi chuckles, "But the tie is spot on."

You've been so caught up in everyone's instant reactions that you realize you haven't glanced at Hotch himself yet, and your breath catches in your throat. Maybe, just maybe, you shouldn't have joked about it.

But when you see his face, it's mangled into a barely-withheld smile, his teeth digging into his lips to keep it at bay. He knows if he reacts you'll only be egged on, but it's hard not to chuckle at the teasing.

"No," He finally pipes up, "My ties are straighter than that." His eyes are narrowed and softened as he razzes you back, and you can feel a weight fly off of your shoulders at his good-natured response. His eyes linger on the cookie a moment longer, then flit up towards your face. Everyone's going back to their own work now, and Spencer's starting up his spiel again. You hold eye contact with Hotch for only seconds more, but it's long enough for him to let his smile appear, twisting up the corners of his mouth. You duck your head before you can blush, and reach for a napkin.

Off goes the frown, on goes a smile.

You drop the newly-grinning cookie off in front of him when you refill your water, slipping it onto the counter in front of him while Reid rambles. He doesn't have time to thank you amidst a fact about old religion, but the christmas card he sends you only two days later contains his gratitude.

Jack liked the cookie you made of me, he says you should be an artist. I think so, too, the BAU's personal cookie decorator. Have a wonderful holiday season, Y/N, and I'll see you at Penelope's New Year's party.

#new year's kiss <33 #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

[airoarts]

[Image description: A digital drawing of a character who is a fusion of several different Tumblr Sexymen. He is tall and thin, standing with his hand on his hip, with purple skin, cat ears, and a cat tail, Komaeda-esque wispy white hair, a permanent smile with sharp yellow teeth, and one blue-and-yellow eye with a black sclera. He has red dots on his cheeks and skeleton feet. He is wearing a navy-and-red train conductor cap; large glasses tinted pink on one lens and yellow on the other; a gray suitcoat that splits into two near the end, with a yellow pyramid pattern on the inside; green elbow-length gloves; pinstriped black-and-green pants that are cut at the mid-calf; a white dress shirt that is layered and trimmed with lavender at the bottom, with a thin brown belt visible; a lavender tie; and pink fluffy slippers. He also wears a yellow strap around his shoulder and torso, and has a fluffy pink truffula pin and a badge on his suit that looks like a blue clock. He is holding a red scepter with an eye pattern in the middle. The background is a pale peach-pink color. End ID]

i decided to revisit the idea i had several years ago of a tumblr sexyman fusion, a post that got pretty popular at the time, since there are now different sexymen who are popular and also the concept of tumblr sexyman has been built upon significantly.

this is a fusion of sans, the onceler, reigen, tony the talking clock (based on aishaneko’s classic humanization), bill cipher, raymond, ingo, spamton, purple guy, komaeda, and alastor. can u spot the design elements from each one?

#thank god for raymond bc i can make him a catboy #i wanted to make the design from scratch but i did end up using some of the same parts as my old design #namely sans legs onceler gloves and komaeda hair #no h*mestucks this time. Awesome #art #2022 #tumblr sexymen #sans #the onceler #reigen arataka #tony the talking clock #bill cipher #raymond #ingo #spamton #william afton #komaeda #alastor #IM NOT A HABBO HOTEL OR FNAF OR DANGANRONPA FAN I PROMMY #i didnt mean to make this that polished i mean its not SUPER polished but its much more than i intended #his name is beatley btw

[chaoticillness]

“Is that my shirt?”

»»————-　🎞　————-««

Featuring: Shikanoin Heizou, Kamisato Ayato, and Zhongli

Warnings: None! Ayato favouritism

Director’s Cut: this got so sappy at the end… im sorry it’s ten pm at night and im touch starved. Anyway, this is the piece I promised for the sweet n’ spice collab by @bluexiao and @anantaru! enjoy!

»»————-　🎞　————-««

Shikanoin Heizou

Ah, dreaded early mornings. No time for anything fun! Rushed breakfasts, running like a maniac around the house, frantically rummaging through your closet to find that perfect outfit. Which was exactly what you were doing this “fine” sunny morning. And coincidentally, you may have grabbed someone other than you’s white tank top. 

“Is that my shirt?”

“It’s a generic item! I’ve always had this tank top, what are you talking about?”

“No, [Name], you haven’t. I am the most prestigious detective in Inazuma, I would think I can recognize my own shirt when I see it.”

Your eyes flit back and forth, you’re already late for work and goodness, you can’t change now. So you pull the one thing that will shut him up. A peck on the lips and you’re out the door before he can say a word.

Because unfortunately, Shikanoin Heizou (also known as your darling boyfriend) is always right.

Kamisato Ayato

In your seven months of dating the one and only Kamisato Ayato, despite your crafty attempts and sneaky escapes, you have not managed to get into his closet.

You love your boyfriend, you do, but you need to know where he pulls those boba teas out of! And where else to find the truth than his collection of kimonos that probably cost more than your life. So while Ayato’s in his office, you distract Thoma with some excuse about the sorry state of the gardens and tiptoe into the Yashiro Commissioner’s quarters. 

Wow, these are… so fancy. And he doesn’t even use them! I’m gonna start using them if he isn’t, damn.

Eyes locked on your target, you swiftly glide across the floor and slide open the door to the forbidden closet. 

Unfortunately, you have the attention span of a moth.

Excitedly trying on the kimonos, you go through a few before you hear some footsteps. It’s probably Thoma doing the laundry, right? …Right? Despite this, you quickly pull yourself out of the kimono you’re currently trying on and put everything back with the utmost care to make sure you were never there. But you were just a little too late. 

“Darling, is that my shirt?”

Shit.

“Oh, it’s alright. You do look absolutely ravishing in it.”

Zhongli

You missed him. A lot.

So what better to do than raid his closet?

Rows of the same suitcoat await you when you swing open the doors. Does he have a single other piece of clothing? It’s debatable. But all of them smelled like him, and that’s good enough for you.

Curling up in the surprisingly soft brown coat, you fall asleep in the comfortable warmth of the bed and the smell of your lover.

When he comes back in the dead of the night, exhausted, he doesn’t even notice before falling into the cradle of sleep. But when the morning sun shines through the windows, he realizes you’re wearing a rather familiar shirt.

Archons, he loves you.

»»————-　🎞　————-««

#genshin impact x you #genshin fluff #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin imagines #genshin impact #genshin ayato #ayato kamisato x reader #kamisato Ayato x reader #Ayato x reader #Ayato x you #Zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #heizou x reader #heizou x you #bloru.sweetnspice #i am so touch starved

[beansprean]

Commission from @vampireshmampire for their fic “The Things We Can’t Take Back”, which I highly recommend!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: Movie poster for the fic, multiple characters on a background of blue dahlias. At the top there is a border where the dahlias turn burgundy, and there are several excerpts from comments on the fic: "Traumatizingly wonderful" -Readwing; "...worth the humiliation of crying on public transit" -Bisghettio, "Masterfully done" -BuruRaven, "...this is the fic I've been looking for..." - Duckbrain. At the bottom is another border where the dahlias turn burgundy, showing the fic title in sharp vampiric font: "The Things We Can't Take Back". Below it says "written and directed by vampireshmampire" and "poster design by beansprean". In the bottom right corner is a mockup of an MPA rating block with the ao3 logo, declaring the fic rated M, marked as m/m with 13,007 words, tagged "characters turned into vampire, angst with a happy ending, love confessions, heartbreak, miscommunication" and that no archive warnings apply. In the main section of the poster, a bust of Nandor sits in profile in the top left, facing away from center. He is wearing a patterned puce coat with a bronze collar and buckles, matching cravat at his throat, and is holding an ornate golden goblet filled to the brim with blood in one hand, looking forlornly down into it. A bright red ribbon is tied to the neck of the goblet and then loops around behind him, whipping back and forth around the poster with a will of its own. In the top right, ribbon whirling around them as if to pull them in closer, are Nadja, Laszlo, and Colin Robinson. Nadja and Laszlo are wearing matching red and black finery with intricate damask patterns: Nadja in an off the shoulder dress with twice puffed sleeves, a bustle, and ruffled lace at the low bustline with bronze buttons; Laszlo in a suitcoat with a downward peak lapel, low cut double breasted waistcoat with bronze buttons, and silk waterfall cravat. They are clearly dressed to impress for an important event. Nadja is half turned away from the viewer, eyes suspicious and lip curled as if seeing something distasteful. Laszlo has an arm around her waist, the other on his hip, glaring in the same direction with a frown. Colin, in a beige and cream tux, keeps behind them, looking vaguely worried. In the bottom left corner are two OCs from the fic: Terry, Guillermo's familiar, and Lord Montague, a prominent vampire intent on Guillermo's affections. Terry is a stern and organized-looking woman with shoulder length orange curls with bangs, wearing a pale purple button down and holding a clipboard poised to take notes. Montague looks like a younger Rufus Sewell playing Jay Gatsby, all slicked back blonde hair, blue eyes, and a curled smile. He is wearing a black tux with a red pocket square and an ornate pinky ring, hand raised as if welcoming someone in. The ribbon whips itself around Terry, but leaves Montague out. In the bottom right corner, a bust of Guillermo sits in profile, facing away from center. He is clearly a vampire, skin desaturated, nails grown out, and cheeks flushed blue, wearing a red-violet and black waistcoat over a dark lace collared shirt, pale violet pussybow tied at his neck. He is gazing sadly down into a matching gold goblet full of blood in his hand, to which the other end of the red ribbon is tied. In the center of the poster, the space between Nandor and Guillermo, the ribbon is frayed and stretched, tearing itself apart with only a few threads keeping them connected. Text on either side reads "Can you get what you want...without losing what you had?" /end ID

#wwdits #nandermo #mlm #fic rec #nandor the relentless #guillermo de la cruz #vampire guillermo #nadja of antipaxos #laszlo cravensworth #colin robinson #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #my art #fanart #commission #image described #happy 2000th post to me! lol

[sciencelings-arts]

Finally! An AA character who knows what therapy is… oh no… there’s a reason for that…

Rambling and alt versions under the cut, as usual…

I really wanted to switch the lengths of her waistcoat and her suitcoat bc I kinda hate how it looks, she deserves a long flowy overcoat with a short waistcoat. And also pants with a bright belt bc I thought she needed more blue.

It drove me a little crazy that she has two neck things right on top of each other when they could just be one thing. So I fixed that. Also I wanted her earring to have a glasslike container within the moon, to contain the actual moon rock. Also I thought it would look neat.

Also you probably can’t tell but she’s got shaved sides for some extra queer vibes. her hair doesn’t make any sense and I’m saying that about a universe where Phoenix Wright exists…

#I can’t wait to see her in less than two weeks #ily trauma girl #athena cykes #ace attorney #apollo justice #artists on tumblr #my art #fanart #ace attorney dual destinies #art #character redesign

[hidefdoritos]

Today's Mending

I'd really hoped to be well enough to sit up at my sewing machine today and knock through a pile of mends that are waiting on the machine. No such luck; my temp went back up today. Two steps forward, one step back.

"I will no longer berate myself for resting," I said as I laid in bed for three hours after waking up. "I will no longer berate myself for resting," I chanted as I sewed while bending in strange positions on the floor. "I will no longer berate myself for resting," I promise myself, taking cough syrup and ibuprofen and lying down again.

So here's what's been done today. I enjoyed it. I don't need to punish myself for doing less than yesterday. Anything I get to take a needle to is a blessing and a joy.

First up is my brother's suitcoat. Yep, the brother with the 30" waist and the 40" hip. He asked me to take it in. I've never messed with tailoring coats, but I gave it a shot today. I basted the center back seam in sort of a diamond shape. So far I don't like it and it makes weird bubbles.

I watched a tutorial that takes the jacket in at both side seams primarily. I'll have Joe try it on first, once I'm well enough to be around people, and then see what I can do to the jacket.

I found two random little cuts in the hem of this hoodie. Can't imagine what did that, but there they were. I mended a tiny cut in this same hoodie's sleeve yesterday with blue thread, so I carried on with the blue mends.

So, I got some blue fabric from a free bin! The tag shows 4.67 yards for $4.67 and a purchase date in 2003. I also found two GORGEOUS pillowcase tops in that same bin. The yellow isn't usually my color, but since they're handmade, I just had to take them.

I like to think that these came from the same sewist. Maybe they never put the fabrics together--the yardage seems more fitting for a dress--but I hope they'd be happy to see their hard work being used. They're going to become my primary pillowcases.

Today I just cut out the backs. Some other day I'll sew all the seams.

I was out thrifting, on my way to the register, and this miniskirt jumped off the rack, bit me, and asked to become a tote bag. Well, not quite, but that's essentially what happened. I have serviceable sewing and crochet project bags, but I don't have one big enough for a swimsuit, towel, sunscreen, and change of clothes. This will be it!

I've thought of every way to add a bottom to the bag, and eventually I settled on sewing it shut. I have scads of heavy-duty cream-colored blue-striped canvas (from the same free bin! I'm saving it to make a corset), so I'm making the straps out of that. Today I just cut and pinned them. I'm finally coming around to the trend of stripes with flowers, I guess.

I cut out a couple more patches for these awesome summer shorts. Then I remembered that I'm sick and exhausted. And that somebody else has my iron right now. So, they can wait.

#cj sews #diy #sewing #solarpunk #mending #beginner sewing #it's not waste until you waste it #use it up wear it out make it do or do without #pillowcase rescue #miniskirt bag #solarpunk shorts

[fairy-writes]

Pspspspspspsp I saw that you write for balance unlimited 👀

Can I pls have a oneshot of love at first sight with daisuke? There's a lack of Tumblr fics of this anime plsss I beg for more

LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Requester: irethepotato

Fandom(s): Millionaire Detective: Balance Unlimited

Pairing(s): Kambe Daisuke x Gender Neutral!Reader

Genre(s): Fluff, pining(?), love at first sight trope

I’d be happy to write for Balance Unlimited! I’m still getting a hand on Daisuke’s character, so this might be OOC, but I’ll try my best!

Also, you are slightly shorter than Daisuke in this. He does wear shoe inserts that make him roughly 5’7”.

__________________________________________________________________________

You saw him at a convention. No, not like ComicCon, but a gala, or rather a business function. He rolled up in a Chevy Corvette and stepped out, handing the keys off to the valet and buttoning the front of his pitch-black tuxedo suitcoat.

He was handsome, with slicked-back dark hair and mysterious eyes hidden behind sunglasses. And… did he have a pierced ear? Even more attractive. 

He had a woman next to him who had stepped out of the passenger side of the sports car. She was dressed in a sleek black dress and long black hair styled in an intricate updo. They looked alike, close enough to be related. You adjusted the hem of your own blazer and turned to grab a glass of champagne. 

There was no point in fantasizing over the unattainable. 

He was way out of your league anyway. 

You join in on the dancing, spinning away with dance partners as the hours pass, and you search for an opening. However, a wrench in your plans is apparent when you are twirled into the arms of the handsome young man you had spotted earlier. 

He’s even more handsome up close, and you can smell his expensive cologne. His sunglasses are nowhere to be found, probably folded away inside the inside pocket of his tux. 

But that’s not what throws a wrench in your plans. Instead, it’s the moment you meet his eyes. They’re a steely blueish-gray and all the more alluring. Fireworks erupt in your belly, and you almost trip over your feet. However, you are quick to recover without him noticing. 

You knew this feeling. It was the feeling of falling in love. You had felt it before, with your first love, who has long gone and left with your heart in pieces. It had taken years to heal yourself, and now you were scared of it breaking again. You couldn’t fall in love! You simply couldn’t!

But as you watch the man’s eyes widen almost inconspicuously, you realize he feels it too and quickly decide to break this off. 

“Sorry, I’ve forgotten something.” You quickly excuse yourself and head toward a side door. But, before you shut the door behind you, you look behind and catch his gaze once again. The door hurriedly closes behind you, and you are locked in a dead sprint. 

It doesn’t take long to find the host’s computer. But someone is already there. The woman who was with the man earlier (you really had to learn their names, this was getting exhausting). She was bent over a keyboard, tapping rapidly and lines of code appeared across the screen. The lights were off, save for the computer monitors (obviously), so you were bathed in blue light. 

The door slams shut behind you, and you jump, the woman does as well, turning, and her gaze flashes with surprise as you meet her eyes. Then you whip around to see who had shut the door, and you spot the man. 

He’s as good-looking as ever. That’s the infuriating part. 

“Do you have what you need?” His voice is deep, alluring, and smooth as honey. Damn it. He just keeps getting more attractive. But never mind that you have things to focus on! The woman unplugs and tosses a flash drive stick to him that he catches without looking. His eyes are trained on you as he slips it into his inside tuxedo pocket.  

“Just who are you?” You say, portraying an air of confidence. After all, you might as well put on a show, right? Throw them off your tracks, and don’t let them see how nervous you are, right?

“Kambe Daisuke. Who are you?” He says—more like demands—and you oblige. Equivalent exchange is polite, right? There’s no need to be rude. He says your name, and you shiver at the sound of it coming from his mouth. It sounded so sexy you couldn’t help but want to hear more. 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Daisuke, but I must be going now, so if you’ll excuse me—” His hand catches your wrist and yanks you back as you try to leave. You stumble, looking up into his eyes as your noses brush.

Your lips brush the corner of his own, and you are slipping away before he even registers what’s happening. His eyes are wide and uncharacteristically shocked. The woman behind you chokes on her own saliva as she stands, shocked. 

You’re gone before he realizes the flash drive is gone. You twirl it between your fingers, slip it into your inside pocket, and sprint down the hall. Finally, you make it to your car and peel out of the gala roundabout just as he bursts through the doors. 

His eyes are locked on your disappearing vehicle the entire time. 

Mission accomplished.

#millionaire detective #balance unlimited #daisuke kambe #daisuke kambe x reader #kambe daisuke #kambe daisuke x reader #daisuke x reader #kambe x reader #balance unlimited x reader #fairy writes

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 - 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝐼𝐼: 𝐹𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝑜𝓃 𝒶 𝒟𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝐻𝑜𝓇𝓈𝑒 ⚜

Oops, I guess it wasn't a one-shot after all. Thank you again to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

TW: gunshot, car chase, canon-typical violence, John and Vincent bickering constantly

Summary: John Wick and The Marquis de Gramont both faked their deaths on that fateful day at the Basilica. But when Vincent seeks John's help, he isn't expecting genuine compassion.

Vincent was fine, actually. Crying? Someone had been crying five minutes ago? Definitely not him.

So John wanted to help him, presumably out of some deranged fit of loneliness. Who really cared why. This was the best news possible. He would be reinstated in no time.

He reclined on John’s couch as if it had been his idea to do so all along, swinging one leg absently over the side while his host dashed back and forth through the house, packing. This rushing around had started the very moment that Vincent stabilized. They’d already waited too long, probably, to leave. The Table would know that he could only be going to one place if he had come to New York, and they would converge on the location. The Wick residence had just become a deathtrap.

But that didn’t concern Vincent terribly - John seemed intent enough on addressing the issue. He went downstairs with an empty duffle bag, came up with a holster around his waist and the duffle bag full, went upstairs in a t-shirt, came down in a black vest under a matching suitcoat. Vincent contemplated whether it was drab. Maybe not, maybe more like “morose.” But well-fitted, at least.

There was something coming down the stairs after John, something that growled and moved a little too quickly towards the couch, halted only by a leash.

“Hey.” John stopped by the coffee table with a harsh look that brought his bulldog to a sit. “We’re gonna be nice to the Marquis, yeah?” It whined apprehensively, casting a suspicious glance in Vincent’s direction, but stopped growling.

Vincent eyed it back with at least as much suspicion. “Is it trained? I don’t want some mutt biting at my heels in the midst of a fight. We’d be better off leaving it behind.”

That harsh look shifted from the bulldog to the Marquis.

“I need you to listen very closely. This is important. You remember what I did to Iosef, yeah? If that dog dies, you die. I have no interest in your marker if that happens. You do not treat him as something you can sacrifice to save yourself. He IS you, got it?”

“C'est un putain de – [It’s a fucking –]”

“He’s you. A vital body part, like your liver.”

“If you knew how a man who can afford the finer indulgences in life treats his liver, you might reconsider your metaphor,” Vincent shot back, smirking.

“Okay, your heart then. But just. Vital. Okay?’

As he realized the purpose of this conversation, something bitter sunk into his stomach and he felt his cheeks flush. “You don’t need to explain empathy to me like I’m a child. I have dogs, you know that, yes? Cats, horses, swans, a peacock…” He strained to remember the more exotic creatures in his collection. Did he buy that hyacinth macaw, or did he choose the palm cockatoo instead? He hadn’t seen the bird since, so he couldn’t be sure.  “Anyway, you know nothing, as usual.” Already this man was insulting him again. Unbelievable.

John just sighed. “Up. We have to go.” He extended a hand that couldn’t have tempted Vincent any less if it had been coated in live wasps. He gave John a look so icy that it earned another whimper from Dog, and struggled upright on his own.

He didn’t trust himself to speak on the walk to the garage. Every step, every tilt of the shoulders, winded him. Maybe shock had been a blessing - he realized that most of the pain had been numbed. But now it was back, tracing a stabbing, fiery line across the pectoral into the bone. It certainly seemed to be aggravated by certain movements, to get worse, but mysteriously, he could never quite detect a moment when it was better. It was a damn trick of the body that took over his vision with a total miasma of pain.

He didn’t even notice John’s hands on him until he was already being lowered into the passenger seat with surprising gentleness. The bulldog was already in the back. Had he blacked out for a second? Massive, muscled hands gripped either side of his waist securely, those darkly troubled eyes peering into his with such maddening concern. This condescending piece of work buckled…his fucking…seatbelt…for him. “Je te déteste [I hate you],” he managed, almost slurring.

“Good. We need you hateful. You want a grenade?”

“I – what? Yes, give it to me.” That woke him up quickly enough. “I’ve never wanted anything so much.”

John dropped the duffle bag in his lap and circled around to the front seat. The engine purred to life. “There’s already a blockade at the end of the street. We cut through the neighbor’s fence. Grenades go out the back after we’re past them.”

The garage door rolled slowly back and for a few short minutes, everything was okay again. Everything was giddy, in fact. It was just after dusk, the sky greying slowly from indigo to black. A quiet, peaceful evening that Vincent couldn’t wait to rip to shreds. With both windows rolled down, the night air rushed between them in a roaring channel of wind that sent John’s hair whirling. A dark little ball of fire turned over and over in Vincent’s hand, and there were more where that came from. John put the pedal to the floor, the acceleration pressing Vincent into his seat and sending a thrill through him as they shot straight through the neighbor’s white picket fence and left two tire treads in a streak across their manicured lawn.

An orderly line of cars scrambled to turn and give chase, bullets striking the taillight, the back window, the trunk. You think you can open fire on the rightful Autem Imperator? He fixed his eyes on them in the rearview mirror, pulled the pin with his teeth, and let them have all the pent up fury of the past miserable day.

Shattered glass and burning bodies. Orange roses and golden filigree painted against the sky. John flying, gliding lane to lane, firing over his shoulder, blind.

Pin. A moment of stabbing pain from the pec all the way through the throwing arm (suddenly worth it). Unfurling flames. Another pin. Another! Could he get this one through the shattered windshield into this idiot’s lap? Yes. He was laughing despite the way every breath stabbed through his chest, every stab fueling the next throw. He was drifting in John’s polished Mustang as it gave its life for him, slowly being riddled with holes but still kicking as the people who hated him spun out in confusion or died screaming in pillars of fire.

They abandoned it some ten minutes later, and jacked a boring white BMW, partly to avoid being followed and partly because it had rattled to a stop all on its own thanks to engine damage. John looked at the previous vehicle for a long moment as he lingered by the driver’s side door. “I like that car.” A simple thing to say, but so loaded given the circumstances.

“It handled like a dream. But at this point, it’s not worth fixing,” Vincent said casually. “You may as well get something even better when this is all over.” He set the final grenade back in the bag, still grinning at the memory of what he had just done.

“No. I want this one and I’ll fix it.” He put the dog in the passenger seat and turned to Vincent at last. “Get in the back this time. Laying down. Better if you don’t get spotted.”

It did sound good to lay down. “…Fine. But if you try to buckle me in again, I’ll cut off your whole hand to match that finger.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He laid down across the backseats. It wasn’t a great fit for someone of his height, but with his legs folded, he managed. In the meantime, John was rooting around in the trunk. He found a throw blanket, probably meant for someone’s pet, and tossed it to Vincent. “Put that over your face, so no one sees you through the windows.”

“It smells disgusting.”

“Just do it.” Vincent was in a good enough mood now not to argue. He grinned up at the ceiling, finally allowing himself to relax as they pulled away. “That was rather exhilarating.”

“Yeah.” There was a hint of a smile in John’s voice.

“So. Where are we going?”

“That depends. Who’s on your side?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we can’t unrun them. You need to solve this. Who would help you with the High Table problem?”

“Are you a simpleton? I’m excommunicated. No one will offer services to me.”

“…Is there really not one person who has a history with you? Who would help you just because of that?”

“Your naiveté astonishes me yet again, Wick. It’s a wonder you’ve survived this long.” The only person who would have helped him for his own sake was Chidi. A pang went through him at that thought. And here was John lording it over him. He swallowed hard and added, “Do you honestly think anyone has helped you just because they’re on your side? At best, people fear you. They see you for the killer that you are and wish to ingratiate themselves to you. No one would want to help you. Maybe you got lucky, found one woman who was confused enough to think of you as worth saving. But look where that got her.”

The car lurched forward with the tiniest increase in speed as John lost control of the gas pedal for a moment in his anger. “Why? Why do you go for the throat like that? I just barely start to have a pleasant conversation with you and then - This is why there’s no one who has your back.”

“At least I know it. I rely on my own strength. You on the other hand - ”

“Forget it,” he spat. “We’ll figure it out in the morning. I’ll just find somewhere to spend the night, next state over.” A tense silence fell between them.

Several minutes later: “…I’m sorry. About your bodyguard.”

Why did this bastard have to be so raw about everything? “…That has nothing to do with anything.”

“Mm-hmm.” The silence resumed, somehow even more tense, but with an entirely different flavor. Vincent found himself holding his breathe, as if John could hear the lump in his throat if he exhaled wrong. Damn him. He was determined not to cry twice in one day.

They took a scenic route into Pennsylvania, avoiding the toll roads. Vincent gazed out of small gap at the edge of the blanket, gradually beginning to shake again. From that low angle, he could see the near-perfect circle of the moon. The radio warbled on about weather next week and love confessions and affairs. He would almost find this moment peaceful, except…there was that horrific, continuous, world swallowing ache from the center of his chest. An ocean of blood no longer restrained. A fracture in the bone at the core of his body. He could not take this kind of pain, he thought. It was an absurd, even a comical amount of pain. He simply could not take it. He should say something to John, perhaps…but he didn’t. And the world began to dissolve.

At last, Vincent de Gramont passed fully into unconsciousness, and dreamed that he was buying a fine show horse. A jet black Orlov, with a star at the center of its forehead. Ribbons of white sheen glimmered down its shiny withers like a freshly waxed autobody. He mounted it for a first ride, eager to inspect his new wares. And as he did so, the spirited creature read something in his motions that was unworthy of trust, something he could neither have predicted nor suppressed. It seemed so unfair… The horse tossed its dark mane, and reared up in terror, and threw him onto the brambles below…onto a jutting tree branch that impaled him through the sternum, far deeper than the bullet had ever sunk.

(Author's note: An Orlov is a Russian horse breed.)

#john wick #john x marquis de gramont #marquis de gramont #john wick fanfic #wickblr #marquis de gramont whumpee #gunshot #angst #emotional whump #hurt/comfort #whump fic #assassin whump #ao3 crosspost #enemies to lovers

[imsoglitter]

Heh.... Good luck jerking off without THIS!!!!

*I reach into the inside pocket of my suitcoat and pull out yuor penis*

[lunar-years]

im working on a wip and im not sure whether to have jamie where the pink suit that Phil wore to that one ted lasso event or the tux with the maroon suitcoat that he wore to the emmys... help!

Oooh. These two?? I think it depends on the event he’s wearing it for in the fic because the pink is more casual and the maroon is more lux??

I think if it’s a gala situation…the maroon! If it’s like an interview or a more casual charity event or something, the pink!

#Jamie Tartt #ted lasso #Phil dunster

[costuming-earnest]

I've made one bodice mockup so far and it's great! Just gonna fit it down with darts to keep it hyper-adjustable for the next poor soul that's gotta costume stuff.

And I'm using the same pattern block to (somehow) draft a double-breasted vest for Algernon. Why? Bc I don't enjoy buying, reading, and cutting out patterns, not even a little. This is just a general shape, and I'll fit it down with darts too. I want it to fit as many people as possible in perpetuity.

I just cut the back neckline higher, made it longer bc Algernon is a long torso guy, and cut a vague angle for the front neck which needs to be very tall to show up over the suitcoat. We'll maybe deal with a collar later, or maybe it's a collar-less waistcoat. My actor is also thrilled that it's a pink tablecloth and it's gonna be clothes.

#costuming #sewing #the importance of being earnest #costume #fabric #upcycling #algernon montcrieff

[mercurygray]

hiiiiii you know i have to ask about the bitb/rowing idea!! dick taking up rowing is something i never knew i needed until now haha

She never thought she'd see another regatta.

College felt impossibly far away from where Joan was sitting in the grandstands of the Potomac Rowing Club - the sweaters, the flags, the weight of Ben's fraternity pin on her jacket. The world had looked different, in 1939 - and while she remembered that she liked a great many things about Bennett Hilliard, she also remembered being quite sure that becoming Mrs. Hilliard while he want to law school wasn't in her cards. Still, he'd come from the right sort of family and danced well and she'd liked the way she felt in his arms. Everyone at Poughkeepsie had been talking about Helsinki, and how it was a shame no one would be able to follow up the miraculous success of the UW team at Berlin.

The river in front of her today, however, was not the Hudson, and ten years was a long time in between races - a lot of water under many, many oars. Bennett Hilliard had gone on to marry some other Goucher graduate and she had gone to war.

Someone cleared his throat - a well-dressed man in glasses and a Syracuse scarf. "Captain Warren, it's so good of you to come out today. Your husband said we'd be seeing you. Usually we have to save Go Army for the football season. I like Dickie's chances - he's got to be one of the most natural rowers I've ever seen. It's Mort Greenstan," he said, holding out a hand for her to shake.

Joan finally placed the name, and abbreviated the smile that sprang to her lips hearing him called Dickie, a name he never owned to if he could help it. "The club chairman, yes, Dick mentioned you might stop by."

"Do you mind if I join you? I brought binoculars, in case you forgot."

"Thanks, I have my own," Joan said, patting the well-worn pair that had seen her through most of Europe.(She'd noticed the woman down the row a little had a lovely pair of pearl-handles on hers, but now wasn't the time for getting self-conscious. Joan Warren didn't follow things like fashion and if she wanted to bring her army binoculars to a regatta, she was damn well going to bring her army binoculars.)

"My, those have really been through the war, haven't they?" Mort said, trying to make a joke as he made himself comfortable on the seat next to her. Joan nodded serenely.

"Three campaigns in Europe and two combat jumps," she said, and smiled even wider when Mort went silent.

Down at the dock, the competitors were just getting into their sculls, each man wearing the colors of his own home club. A few colleges, here and there, Georgetown and Harvard and even Greenstan's Syracuse colors, and the other out of towners, Hudson and Annapolis and Newport. And there was Dick in his racing singlet and shorts, arms and legs all whipcord and muscle, and she allowed herself a good long look at the man she married. He caught sight of her in the stands and smiled, waving. She touched her hand to her lips, a small personal symbol of a kiss, and watched his smile widen.

The announcer was blazing through the names of the competitors, and she caught, almost missing it as it blew by, "-Colonel Richard Winters, rowing today for Potomac in the single men's sculls."

She had been just as surprised as anyone else when she'd came home from an assignment and realized there were muscles under his suitcoat that she'd hardly noticed when she left. "I joined the rowing club," he'd explained. "They were talking about it at lunch and Ken's a member, so I started going on Saturdays. It's a lot like running - the way you can lose your mind in it."

She'd nodded and agreed and made a joke about other things he could lose his mind in that required stroking, and that had been the last they'd talked about it for several hours, at least. But he'd kept at it until it was silly calling it a hobby, and now they were here, at a regatta, in the starting heats of a crowded and talented field.

The sculls were at the starting line, the rowers crouching into position at their oars, eyes ready for the flag. Joan tightened her grip on her binoculars and waited for the starter, her feet yearning for starting blocks and racing spikes, and a sudden surge of energy filled her as the flag dropped down and the race was on, and she was right there with him in his boat, shouting for the pace.

#i have written a thing #joan warren #postwar #mercurygraypresents #thirsty thursday