#piano binding

[uwmspeccoll]

Staff Pick of the Week

For today’s staff pick, I want to share another book from the collection of our late friend Dennis Bayuzick, entitled Kimono| Kosode: A Decorative Study of the Kimono. Designed and bound by Carol Schwartzott (b. 1945), this book uses Japanese Chiyogami paper as the ‘fabric’ for the kimonos between archival boards throughout the book. The book explains to readers the history of the Japanese kimono’s creation and augments the information with beautiful decorative elements. Each fold-out includes a cut-out kimono as well as a heading and short section about the topic introduced in the heading. Another interesting feature of this book is its binding; it uses a piano-hinge binding designed by Hedi Kyle (b. 1937) and the patterned paper can also be seen wrapped around the dowels that make up the binding.

The book discusses the origins of the kimono, which was once called a kosode, and goes into detail about the historical periods when the garment gained popularity, explaining how “[with] each period in history, the kosode evolved, adapting its design and decorative elements to current style…”

Printed in an edition of 125 copies by Blacks Corner Letterpress with Monotype Gill Sans Light cast by the Bixler Press & Letterfoundry, this book was created for the Library Fellows of the National Museum of Women in the Arts in Washington DC in December of 2001.

View more Staff Picks.

View other books from the collection of Dennis Bayuzick.

– Sarah S., Special Collections Graduate Intern.

[brb-on-a-quest]

Arts and Crafts and Music Tumblr Help Me Out

Please reblog with advice and experiences if you have any. Or if you just want to tell me to do something, go for it. I can't do both bc 1) money 2) time probably.

[samcarter34]

Imogen really went ‘maybe Ludinus has a point, are the gods all that great?’ while sitting next to Laudna, who was murdered by Ludinus’ associate and then resurrected by a god.

[crowscadence]

Today’s bad decision is binding on a night I have 2 concerts, both of which I have to play a woodwind instrument in

Update: I came to my senses and didn’t, bind safely everyone

[jupscare]

just unlocked a vocal technique i've been puzzling away at for Literally Years. so excited about it BRO!!!

[creeksticks]

[rapidcow]

happy birthday isaac!!

today’s the Binding of Isaac’s eleventh birthday :DD

i recorded a special thing too: https://youtu.be/QDhz8YQ4vT8 (it’s basically an excuse to not be so inactive)

[hitomisuzuya]

electro archon scara breeds u cus I'm mentally ill!!!!!!!!! also what instruments do you see scara playinf????

- ⚡ anon if that hasn't been taken

Electro!Archon Scaramouche x fem!reader. Begging. Vision play (Electro vision Scara) Overstimulation. Degradation. Begging. Breeding kink. God complex. Ego stroking. Bondage. Fingersucking.

Don't worry, we both completely sane. Electro Archon Scaramouche breeding me...yes please. You just know that God complex is going to be off the charts. He deserves to be an Archon! And🥺 I see Scara being able to play the piano, the violin, and the guitar.

Your wrists were tied above your head, you were straddling Scaramouche, grinding needily down against his cock, his fingers pumping in and out of your mouth. His other hand was busy stimulating your clit with Electro.

You were starting to whimper and mewl, choking happily on his fingers whenever he felt like it. Scaramouche loved how desperate you were rapidly starting to look. He has something of a twisted, smug smirk on his face.

You were starting to get overstimulated. That's what he wanted. Now he could order you to start begging for him. The more overstimulated you were, the louder you begged and cried for him.

Scaramouche pinched your clit before smacking a hand across your ass. "Well, get started, slut. Tell your God how much you want to be fucked and bred. Depending on how well you beg, I may consider letting you cum with these," He pushed his fingers into your throat again before pulling them out of your mouth.

He considered being cruel and taking his hands off of you completely, but your cunt just felt too wet on his cock to keep his hands off of you. They found your hips, guiding your pace while you grinded needily on his cock.

Your walls were starting to clamp around nothing, making you whimper. He brought your chest to his mouth so he could flick Electro onto your nipple with his tongue, making your back arc in pleasure. "I can't hear you," He purred, curling his tongue around your nipples to suck on.

"My Lord Archon! My God! Please fuck me! Breed me! My only purpose to is to serve as your cock sleeve and worship you!" You pleaded, struggling against the Inazuma silk bindings tying your wrists together above your head trying to feel the head of his leaking cock against your entrance.

Scaramouche curled his fingers underneath your chin, his eyes dark with lust. "Good girl," He purred, swirling his tongue around your nipple before kissing you. His teeth bite at your lips. "Now tell me how much you want me. Sing my praises, whore."

You were more than happy to oblige him. You licked at his mouth submissively, making him groan in bliss. The more you showed submissive worship, the harder his cock throbbed for you.

"I want you, my Lord Scaramouche," Archons, he loved it when you called him Lord. "Nobody can fuck me this good. I live to worship you, you deserve it. Nobody is more powerful than you. And because I--" He held his breath, waiting for what you were going to say next.

You kissed him, open mouthed and passionate. "Because I love you," Scaramouche moaned in bliss the second the words came spilling out of your pretty mouth. Squeezing your hips possessively, he lifted you and lowered you down onto his cock all at once, making you scream with pleasure.

Scaramouche nearly cummed on the spot from how tightly your cunt clenched around his cock. "What a good girl, a pathetic whore.." He groaned, sending jolts of Electro buzzing against your clit while he rubbed it, making you bounce eagerly on his cock.

The way he pushed his cock deep into your cervix conveyed one thing, to fuck you senseless and breed you full. He wanted to see cum leaking from your cunt, a buldge poke up in your stomach from how deep was inside of you.

Scaramouche licked his lips in anticipation, pushing this thumb around the buldge when he saw it. "Cum inside of me, Scara! Please!" You cried out between loud whimpers and moans of pleasure. "Fuck me until I can't hold anymore of your cum! Fuck me dumb!"

Your whole body shook when your orgasm washed over you suddenly, the intensity making your fingernails dig into your palms.

The feeling of your release gushing out onto his cock brought Scaramouche to his own orgasm. Holding you into his lap, he slammed his cock up inside of you, feverishly fucking you down onto his cock. "What a slut, cumming without permission from your Lord," He hissed, hovering a hand over your throat.

You tilted your head, showing your throat to him in further submission. His fingers prodded at your throat, smirking when your walls clamped around his cock.

He tore the silk, freeing your wrists. Pushing you down onto the bed, he pinned them above your head, pulling out of you just to slam back inside of you. "I hope you capable of crying louder this time, kitten. I'm not finished with you yet."

[bellamybellamyblake]

Violet Eyes, Red

Pairing:

rhysand x reader (pretty sure it's gender neutral - there might be a "she" i missed while referring to you from the original draft bc second person pov is not how i write)

Summary:

you and your mate reunite after feyre defeats amarantha and this is the fallout of what the bitch did to him.

Warnings:

aftermath of SA - i can't really tell if it's graphic which tells me it is, loose description of a panic attack, PTSD, please let me know if I missed anything. guys, please, if these topics are triggering for you, don't read this fic. i am not responsible for your media consumption, but i also don't want to throw you headfirst into your trauma.

Word Count:

2,140

A/N:

literally broke my own damn heart with this one. rhys' trauma is so ignored and that needed to be rectified. rhys might be my second favorite bat boy, but he's still a lil baby who needs to be protected

The human girl had beaten her - the woman of his nightmares - once and for all. At the first moment he could, Rhysand winnowed. After fifty years, he knew there was only one place he could go. After all, it was the last Sunday of the month, and that Sunday was the day he and his mate reserved just for themselves. The High Lord and Lady would not conduct any business on that day.

You'd spend most of your day on the balcony. You'd serenade him with the piano. You'd fly around Velaris - creating patterns in the air. You'd cradle each other in your arms. He'd sketch out a new drawing - trying and failing, in his opinion, to encapsulate your true beauty.

One day, he broke that promise, that vow you had made, and went to what he thought was a simple trade meeting. That morning was the last day he saw you, and he still couldn't live with himself.

Those memories alone kept him breathing at times. When Amarantha stole his bed, his body, his hope.

Then the human girl showed up, and he tried to help her. Wanted to give her what she needed to beat the beast he didn't think he'd ever escape. But he had lost the will to pray for it. To the cauldron, to the Mother Above. Despite his pessimism, she persevered. The girl had won. And then he was free.

He was on the balcony before he could even think about it. After a quick glance around, he realized it was empty. At first, he felt a pulse of disappointment, but with the realization of how long it'd been, he breathed deeply. How could he expect you to keep up the tradition? Fifty years of solitude on those Sundays would have made him mad if your roles were reversed.

At the thought, he allowed himself to feel the mating bond. It had gone cold the moment he winnowed away all those years ago, but now it was as beautiful as he remembered. The pull of another person at the end of a tether, forever binding them in the purest forms of fate.

But he heard your thoughts, and he almost broke down in sobs at the sound of your voice in his head. Please come home, my love. I don't know how to do this anymore. Please. The last word, you were begging. Your inner voice, the one he had to get used to living without, was broken. Pleading for him to return - despite everything you'd probably heard.

And with that, he took action, winnowing to every room in the house so he would find you as soon as possible. He knew you were close; your scent wasn't stale. It was fresh, clinging to every piece of furniture you owned together.

It was the last room he checked, his office, where he found you. You sat in his desk chair; the leather more worn than he remembered. But the sight of you stopped him from rushing to you. Nursing a bottle of wine, you slouched on your elbows, hands in your hair, as more thoughts streamed through the bond.

I'm losing myself, Rhys. I don't know how much more of this I can take. I can't let myself believe you won't come back because that- that will ruin me. What she's doing to you, what she's making you do. I don't even know a fraction of it, but I can't stop it. I- I can't protect you. And I hate myself for it. 

He was watching you as you sent the words down the bond, the bond that had been desolate for half a century. You run your hands down your face, not looking up from your wine, the third of many you planned to drown in.

Just get through it. Please just- just survive. Do what you have to do to come home. I'll be here. I love you. My mate.

You'd only allowed yourself to talk to him once a month. Initially, you would try to send him something every day. Thoughts, images, songs you'd learned, prayers for him. You never heard anything back, and it slowly started eating away at you. It shattered your hope every time you didn't get a response.

You'd heard the rumors, Amarantha's whore, he'd been called. Every time you heard it, it ate away at you more and more. As if he would choose that - choose to warm the bed of another when you were waiting for him at home. You knew him better than that, and you winced at the thought. He wouldn't choose it, but would she force him? Was she that much of a monster? 

You had to shake that thought away for the thousandth time that night, downing the rest of the glass. As you reach for the bottle, nearly empty at that point, a hand wraps around your wrist. The touch is gentle but firm - stopping you from drinking more, but not rough enough to hurt. Instead of startling at it, the wine slows your instincts. You can only stare. The tattoos on the dorsal side interweave into vines under the sleeve. Vines you know, vines that you've held, vines that have and will continue to have free rein of your body.

Faster than you thought you were capable of, your eyes flew to its owner's eyes. Violet. The most ravishing violet. Violet you'd feared you were forgetting.

With a new urgency, you pulled yourself to your feet, your hands flying up to his face without thinking. One on his cheek, the other on his neck, pushing, pulling, grabbing, unsure if it was your mind playing tricks on you.

In your desperate touch, you missed the way he flinched.

His hands. Mother Above, his beautiful hands were on your neck too, placed at the sides. When your mind would play you for a fool, it would never let you touch him, let alone allow him to reach you. But there he was, and you could feel him. You tugged at the bond, finally noticing it was warm and delicate and sweet and serene and everything you wished you knew how to describe. 

He breathed your name, barely a whisper. "I'm home, my darling. I'm home."

"You're here." The words barely escaped you, and you couldn't stop the tears. He didn't hesitate a moment, pulling you in for a frustratingly rare and fierce embrace. You clung to each other for dear life, tighter and tighter and tighter, like he'd disappear if you let him go. Frankly, you weren't convinced he wouldn't. "You're really here."

You stood like that for a while, holding each other, when he ultimately pulled away first. "Rh-Rhys, don't go-"

"I'm not," he promised, his voice raw, kissing your forehead. He took in every inch of your face. "I just wanted to look at you. My mate."

Since Rhys had been freed by the human girl, nothing had been normal. Not that you expected it to be, but you didn't anticipate just how awful a recovery for him would be. He couldn't share your bed, and you didn't mean that in a sexual manner. He couldn't sleep with anyone else in his room - if he had even been sleeping at all. He could barely stand to be touched. You knew he wanted to be able to let you, but every time you seemed to blink, he would flinch.

You had suspicions about what went on under the mountain, but you had no idea it would be so evil.

He stood before a cabinet, staring blankly into it, lost in a memory - a memory he'd been refusing to share. You understood why, but something in you told you that you needed to see. Not just for curiosity's sake but to know how to help him. Even if it was past your pay grade.

"Rhys," You called quietly for the second time. You didn't want to touch him, shock him back to reality. The fear of that setting him off more held you back. With a harsh and sudden breath, he fearfully glanced at you and around the room, forgetting where he was for a moment. "You're at home, Rhys. You came home."

"I'm sorry," He rasped, ignoring your words. His hands pulled at his hair, and you were nervous he'd start ripping it out. He backed away from you, so far away he was caught by the wall. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Your own formed at the sight of his tears, but you couldn't conjure up what he'd have to apologize for. "It's okay, honey, you're safe. It's okay."

"I didn't- I didn't want it. I swear on my life, I didn't want to."

You shook your head, not understanding. But you knew asking what he was apologizing for was the wrong thing to do. You could see it, the shame, the regret, the blame. "I know you didn't."

He squeezed his eyes shut, buried his face in his hands, and sank to the floor. He kept murmuring apologies, pleading for your forgiveness. "I betrayed you, you have to- you have to leave me."

His words shocked you, and now you were the one that flinched. "Rhysand, look at me." He visibly shrunk at the command, pulling his hands away from his face. "As far as I'm concerned, anything that happened...there...is the furthest thing from your fault. I know there are things you can't tell me, and that's okay. I'll be here when you're ready-"

"I can't!" He bellowed. "You'll never forgive-"

"Show me the memory." You demanded, your voice quiet but assertive. But you wouldn't push too hard if he was adamant about keeping you out. You knew. You knew. Based on the way he had been acting, what had happened. But you also knew he needed to show you. So someone, fucking someone, would tell him it was out of his control. He couldn't govern everything, even if he was the High Lord of the Night Court. The words hurt as they left your lips. "Because I can promise you that I will."

You weren't a daemati, but you could see him battling with himself. Debating, if showing you what really happened, would bury him deeper under the surface or pull him back up for air.

Eventually, he released a rare sob and a barely audible "Okay."

He showed you the first time, how he just laid there like a statue as her hands took everything for herself. Then, the fifth time, when she started demanding he respond, pretend he wanted it. Then, the eleventh time, when his body started reacting. Then, by the next time, he had stopped keeping count.

He showed you, whether he meant to or not, how he prayed for it to end, prayed for someone to rescue him.

How he had been praying for you.

With the confirmation of your theory, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying and failing to hold back the tears. The angry tears, wishing you could've been the one to rip her throat out. Tears that enraged you because that was not Tamlin's kill. Furious tears because that wasn't even your kill. Devastating tears because your mate not only had to play a character for so long, but he had to endure being called her whore. Like he had any fucking say. 

Overwhelming tears because your mate was in pain and there was shit all you could do about it.

"Can I touch you?" The question shocks him, but he nods without thinking, confused at the request. You slowly lift your hands to his cheeks, brushing away his tears with your thumbs. "There is nothing for me to forgive you for. I know you didn't want to do any of it."

"But I-"

"Bodies respond to stimulation whether it's wanted or not. It's how we work." You explained slowly and carefully, keeping direct eye contact. "You forget, sweetheart. I can hear your thoughts when you show me a memory."

"I've-" His voice caught, putting his hands on your wrists, rubbing them up and down your arms until they got hot. "I've been so scared. That it's still happening. That all of this is going to go away, that she's not really gone, that I'm not really here, and this is just another tactic-"

You shake your head, finally pulling yourself together to say what you've wanted to say for weeks. "I swear on my life that I will never let anyone hurt you like that again. I will spend eternity protecting you from her and anyone like her. And if you forget that this is real, just ask me. I'll tell you."

His eyes darted between yours, furiously blinking. Violet eyes, red. Pleading craving begging praying.

"Is it?"

[xthelastknownsurvivorx]

an incomplete list: things alex (and us readers) love about hrh prince henry of wales

something that I love dearly and find super cool about the list that alex makes for henry about what he loves about him is that we've actually experienced most of these things about henry with alex throughout the narrative of the book so it feels super organic and touching because yes we've come to love these things about henry too

so in honor of henry's birthday and because i was feeling sappy, here's all the moments throughout the book described in the list under the cut

1. The sound of your laugh when I piss you off.

Chapter 2, end of alex's london trip

“No booty calls,” Alex tells him, and Henry chokes on a laugh.

Chapter 4, great turkey calamity

“…you’re not a totally boring asshole.” “Wow,” Henry says with a laugh. “I’m honored.”

Chapter 10, morning after alex storms kensington

“Hi,” Alex says carefully, squinting over his coffee. “You seem … less pissy.” Henry huffs a laugh. “You’re one to talk. …’”

2. The way you smell underneath your fancy cologne, like clean linens but somehow also fresh grass (what kind of magic is this?).

Chapter 7, post-karaoke

Henry smells like expensive cologne and champagne and a distinctly Henry smell that never goes away, clean and grassy…

Chapter 9, lake house

…then Alex has him, inhaling the clean smell of him, laughing into the crook of his neck.

Chapter 15, election night

The second he steps backstage, there’s a hand on his back, the achingly familiar gravity of someone else’s body reentering his space before it even touches his, a clean, familiar scent light in the air between.

3. That thing you do where you stick out your chin to try to look tough.

Chapter 6, post-red room

“Hang on,” Henry says, and Alex is already groaning in protest, but Henry pulls back and rests his fingertips on Alex’s lips to shush him. “I want—” His voice starts and stops, and he’s looking like he’s resolving not to cringe at himself again. He gathers himself, stroking a finger up to Alex’s cheek before jutting his chin out defiantly. “I want you on the bed.”

Chapter 7, phone conversation

“It’s fine,” Henry says, steadiness rising in his voice as if he’s stuck out his chin in that stubborn way he does sometimes. Alex wishes he could see it.

Chapter 13, confrontation with mary

And [Henry] does the thing Alex loves so much: He sticks his chin out, steeling himself up. “I’m not a coward,” he says. “And I don’t want to fix it.”

4. How your hands look when you play piano.

Chapter 6, post-red room

Alex tries not to be in awe of the simple agility of his hands, tries not to think about classical piano or how swift and smooth years of polo have trained Henry to be.

Chapter 8, in Henry's apartments following wimbledon

His hands are fast, almost effortless, even as he goes off into a tangent about the War of the Romantics and how Liszt’s daughter left her husband for Wagner, quel scandale.

5. All the things I understand about myself now because of you.

Chapter 6

He’s starting to understand what swelled in his chest the first time he read about Stonewall, why he ached over the SCOTUS decision in 2015. … It’s weird that the thing with Henry could make him understand this huge part of himself, but it does. When he sinks into thoughts of Henry’s hands, square knuckles and elegant fingers, he wonders how he never realized it before. When he sees Henry next at a gala in Berlin, and he feels that gravitational pull, chases it down in the back of a limo, and binds Henry’s wrists to a hotel bedpost with his own necktie, he knows himself better.

6. How you think Return of the Jedi is the best Star Wars (wrong) because deep down you’re a gigantic, sappy, embarrassing romantic who just wants the happily ever after.

Chapter 2, in the medical supply closet

Then, unprompted, Henry says into the stretching stillness, “Return of the Jedi.” A beat. “What?” “To answer your question,” Henry says. “Yes, I do like Star Wars, and my favorite is Return of the Jedi.” “Oh,” Alex says. “Wow, you’re wrong.” “…isn’t there something to be valued in a happy ending as well?” “Spoken like a true Prince Charming.” “I’m only saying, I like the resolution of Jedi. It ties everything up nicely. And the overall theme you’re intended to take away from the films is hope and love and … er, you know, all that. Which is what Jedi leaves you with a sense of most of all.”

Henry's passion and ability to recite things he's interested in 7. Your ability to recite Keats. 8. Your ability to recite Bernadette’s “Don’t let it drag you down” monologue from Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.

Chapter 7

It’s another thing Henry does—whipping out these analyses of what he reads or watches or listens to…

Chapter 10, in the v&a

“James was completely besotted [with George Villiers]. Everyone knew. This French poet, de Viau, wrote a poem about it.” [Henry] clears his throat and starts to recite: “‘One man fucks Monsieur le Grand, another fucks the Comte de Tonnerre, and it is well known that the King of England, fucks the Duke of Buckingham.’”

Henry, who has tried, does try, and keeps trying 9. How hard you try. 10. How hard you’ve always tried. 11. How determined you are to keep trying.

Chapter 6, red room

Alex has been learning for a while Henry isn’t what he thought, but it’s something else to feel it this close up, the quiet burn in him, the pent-up person under the perfect veneer who tries and pushes and wants.

Chapter 7, conversation with June and the J-14 magazine

“It pisses me off sometimes, thinking about everything he’s been through. He’s a good person. He really cares, and he tries. He never deserved any of it.”

Chapter 10, when alex storms kensington

Alex swallows hard. “You’re not even gonna try to be happy?” “For Christ’s sake,” Henry says, “I’ve been trying to be happy my entire idiot life. My birthright is a country, not happiness.”

Chapter 10, morning after alex storms kensington

“I’m saying,” Henry begins, and the knit of his brow is nervous but his mouth keeps speaking, “I’m terrified, and my whole life is completely mad, but trying to give you up this week nearly killed me. And when I woke up this morning and looked at you … there’s no trying to get by for me anymore. I don’t know if I’ll ever be allowed to tell the world, but I … I want to. One day. If there’s any legacy for me on this bloody earth, I want it to be true. So I can offer you all of me, in whatever way you’ll have me, and I can offer you the chance of a life. If you can wait, I want you to help me try.”

Chapter 13, in london following the email leak

Henry who has been through the worst thing and now the next worst thing and is still alive. [Alex] reaches out a hand and touches the ridge of Henry’s shoulder blade, the skin where the sheet has slid off him, where his lungs stubbornly refuse to stop pulling air.

Honorable mention: When Alex used to think Henry didn't try Chapter 1, the lead up to cakegate

“I’m just saying,” Alex says, resting an overly friendly elbow on Henry’s shoulder… “You could try to act like you’re having fun. Occasionally.”

12. That when your shoulders cover mine, nothing else in the entire stupid world matters.

Chapter 5, in Alex's room after the state dinner

Henry’s hands are huge on his back, his jaw sharp and rough with a long day’s stubble, his shoulders broad enough to eclipse Alex when he rolls them over and pins Alex to the mattress. None of it feels anything like anything he’s felt before, but it’s just as good, maybe better.

Chapter 7, post-karaoke

Henry rolls Alex onto his side and burrows behind him until he’s covering him completely, his shoulders a brace for Alex’s shoulders, one of his thighs pressed on top of Alex’s thighs, his arms over Alex’s arms and his hands over Alex’s hands, nowhere left untouched. It’s the best Alex has slept in years.

13. The goddamn issue of Le Monde you brought back to London with you and kept and have on your nightstand (yes, I saw it).

Chapter 7, paris

In the morning, room service brings up crusty baguettes and sticky tarts filled with fat apricots and a copy of Le Monde that Alex makes Henry translate out loud.

Chapter 10, morning after alex storms kensington

And beside him, there’s a copy of Le Monde on the nightstand… He recognizes the date: Paris. The first time they woke up next to each other.

14. The way you look when you first wake up.

Surprisingly, no direct descriptions of this but we can extrapolate from Chapter 15, presidential election victory celebration

And for a fraction of a second, a whole crystallized life flashes into view, a next term and no elections left to win, a schedule packed with classes and Henry smiling from the pillow next to him in the gray light of a Brooklyn morning.

15. Your shoulder-to-waist ratio.

Chapter 5, alex sexuality crisis musings while on a run with june

He thinks about Henry’s voice low in his ear over the phone at three in the morning, and suddenly he has a name for what ignites in the pit of his stomach. Henry’s hands on him, …Henry’s mouth, … Henry’s broad shoulders and long legs and narrow waist…

16. Your huge, generous, ridiculous, indestructible heart.

Chapter 9, last night at the lake house

What if [Alex] got so wrapped up in everything Henry is—the words he writes, the earnest heartsickness of him—he forgot to take into account that it’s just how he is, all the time, with everyone?

Chapter 11, hometown stuff email

You love so much bigger than yourself, bigger than everything. I can’t believe how lucky I am to even witness it—to be the one who gets to have it, and so much of it, is beyond luck and feels like fate.

Chapter 12, bad metaphors about maps email

…the truth of you. the weird, perfect shape of your heart. the one on the outside of your chest. give yourself away sometimes, sweetheart. there’s so much of you.

Chapter 12, in london following the email leak

Six feet of boy curled around kicked-in ribs and a recalcitrant heart.

17. Your equally huge dick.

Chapter 10, in the V&A

“Oh, yeah,” Alex says. “The top list of reasons to love you goes brain, then dick, then imminent status as a revolutionary gay icon.”

18. The face you just made when you read that last one.

Chapter 4, new years eve party

[Alex] was having fun watching everything he did play out on Henry’s face.

19. The way you look when you first wake up (I know I already said this, but I really, really love it).

See #14

20. The fact that you loved me all along.

Chapter 10, morning after alex storms kensington

“What about you?” “What about me?” Henry says. “Christ, Alex. The whole bloody time.” “The whole time?” “Since the Olympics.” “The Olympics?” Alex yanks Henry’s pillow out from under him. “But that’s, that’s like—” “Yes, Alex, the day we met, nothing gets past you, does it?” Henry says, reaching to steal the pillow back. “‘What about you,' he says, as if he doesn’t know—”

Chapter 11, re hometown stuff email

But the first time I saw you. Rio. I took that down to the gardens. I pressed it into the leaves of a silver maple and recited it to the Waterloo Vase. It didn’t fit in any rooms. You were talking with Nora and June, happy and animated and fully alive, a person living in dimensions I couldn’t access, and so beautiful. Your hair was longer then. You weren’t even a president’s son yet, but you weren’t afraid. You had a yellow ipê-amarelo in your pocket. I thought, this is the most incredible thing I have ever seen, and I had better keep it a safe distance away from me. I thought, if someone like that ever loved me, it would set me on fire. And then I was a careless fool, and I fell in love with you anyway. When you rang me at truly shocking hours of the night, I loved you. When you kissed me in disgusting public toilets and pouted in hotel bars and made me happy in ways in which it had never even occurred to me that a mangled-up, locked-up person like me could be happy, I loved you.

[privitivium]

sub/dom top giyuu hc’s?…..🌹

sub/domtop giyuu tomioka hcs!!!

yes...... assuming piano keys... 🌹🌹🌹it would suck soo bad if my ask box got flooded with yandere giyuu x male reader lol... as well as joseph joestar asks lol... ( thinking hard about this guy out of nowhere its a curse )

both amab, top giyuu tomioka, sub/dombot reader, cw;; nsfw in general. overstimulation, praising... So.

subtop;;

ㅡgiyuu is so pretty,,,, gotta treat him gently. treating him with such love n care... sometimes. hes just so fucking lovely,,, praising him for the most stupidest plainest shit ever, never ceases to make him give you that small little grin... big on touching him,,, fiddling with his hair, tucking it out of the way of his face gently,,, reminiscent of other scenarios where youre riding him n tugging his head back by his hair and shoving your tongue down ur throat n so easily dominating his futile attempts to lick back at you,,, mmfgh

ㅡalong with,,,, hand holding. often admiring his callous palms and kissing his knuckles.,,, placing fluttering kisses along his flushed cheeks n telling him how cool he is, how beautiful he is after training together;; all sweaty,,,,, guyuu, who's apologetic if he goes a bit too hard on you,,,, telling him he can make it up to you by letting you suck him off. Yeah

ㅡhuge on flustering him,,, seeing the way his eyes glance around as the apples of his cheeks grow all red when telling him how fucking adorable he is n how you cant wait to feel him inside you,,, giyuu hunched over ur body, dripping with sweat; ballsdeep and cumming near instantaneously when you call him ur sweet boy while flexing around him.,,, Sorry.. but yeah.

ㅡif you cant exactly talk,, with others around,,, passing him notes with all the dirty talk you'd whisper in his ear if it wasnt for others having such impeccable fucking hearing. uzui is the one you dont care about hearing, but others... you dont want to embarrass giyuu too much,,, and he keeps them. literally has a huge fucking box filled with all ur disgusting notes to jerk off to when ur off on a mission and hes feeling too lonely,,,

ㅡhnnn jerking him off from behind,,, his breathy whines and him throwing his head back against ur shoulder, ,,,, cockwarming him after overstimulating his poor cock,,, face buried in his neck and mumbling something completely unrelated about a mission,,,. giyuu squirming underneath you with his arms wrapping around your back in a comfortable warm embrace with his cock buried deep inside you,,, keepin all his cum inside,,, yeah.

ㅡhe cant get enough of it. but he'd never outright tell you how much he loves when you praise him until you corner him with edging n overstimulation,,,, "you're so sweet, giyuu. youre just the best." so unashamed n so sure of urself when complimenting him,,, making his tummy do backflips,,, water pillar giddiness !!!!

domtop;;

ㅡgiyuu as a hard dom makes my eye twitch. cant really imagine him as anything but soft bro... like yeah he could be a total fucking creep but,,, hard dom?.... i just,,, maybe. maybe. harddom giyuu,,, with eye contact,,, mmfgh making you stare into his eyes, half-lidded n trying soo hard to keep them open as he fucks into you with his hands on your hips,,, gently patting you on the thigh if you stray away from his eyes, telling you to keep looking,,,, he just likes seeing all the pretty expressions you make in real time,,, lovingly making a mess of yourself with ropes of cum decorating your tummy with ur thighs all icky n sticky,,,, mhm.

ㅡsoftdom giyuu ftw. he'd be such a sweetheart,,, hmmfgh softdomtop giyuu with a bratty subbot boyfriend mmmfgh. still, touchy as ever... splaying urself across his lap when hes at the table on his knees, whining that your dick absolutely aches to be touched and wouldnt it be sooo awesome if his boyfriend would give him some release,,,

ㅡperhaps,,, binding.,,, calling your name with a soft please after you keep being so "bratty" and belligerently denying him after saying how badly you wanted it in the first place,, wishing you would be nice to him,,, before gripping your wrists a bit too hard and - restraining you,,,, holding his hand over ur abdomen while slowly pushing in with ur hands behind ur back,,,,, "... so pretty." mocking you for calling him pretty in his null voice as he bottoms out,,, squirming on his cock and trying so hard to fuck yourself on him but he keeps you stillㅡstill very much complimenting you. giyuu has jokes, huh.

ㅡexhibition,,, in the forest. cwnt stop imagining gettign fucked by giyuu while pressed against a tree surrounded by nature n wisteria trees and hes telling you that "ㅡyou feel s-so good,,," otherwise quiet, besides breathy moans and grunts as he hugs and nuzzles into you from behind,,, sorry i literally always think of this with the hashiras. to be holding onto the tree fkr dear life while giyuu fucks into you so gently before working up the nerve to go as hard n rough as he wants,,,,. Yeah.

ㅡgiyuu having you sit in-between his legs,,, a reward. maybe. after training or just to touch you,,, he likes touching you. just as you like touching him,,, whether it be fleeting caresses against ur arm or back,,,, or jerking you off in his lap while his fingers play with ur nipple underneath ur uniform,,, bulge pressing against your lower back as he strokes your cock at an agaonizingly slow pace. big on edging. ovestimulating you by edging your orgasm - building and rebuilding it. nuzzling into the crook of your neck while his thumb circles the tip of your cock and ever so slightly dips into the slit of ur cockhead,,, huge load emptying out onto his hand,, and hes smiling. soft giyuu whos a disgusting pervert !!

ㅡliterally, just likes fucking admiring you. purely content with watching you jerk off by ur lonesome; splayed out n jerking ur cock while hes palming himself a few feet away from you,,, listening to you beg him to make love to you,,, to fill you with his fat weeping cock,,,, so pitiful he just has to make you feel all better, bro,,,

[ketterdamskaelishprince]

episode 100, mr raven what the fuck

obviously since i'll be talking about episode 100 i'm going to just put it out there that if you haven't read episode 100 yet then do not read this. then again, this is all in vague reference to the episode and i'm mostly just using bits and pieces to back up my previous idea.

(this is taken from ep 99 pls chill i'm not dishing out spoilers)

anyways, if we continue to ep 100, we see MORE EVIDENCE FOR THAT WIERD DEER THING BEING THEO.

"and for you, especially" shouts to me specifically about this. as previously stated, i have the most insane and stupid thought that the weird deer-monster-bone-tree thing from episode one (you know what i'm talking about), is theo's spectre.

as stated before, the most compelling evidence i have for this is the fact that theo was known to hunt deer a lot, and the thing we see in episode one looks a lot like a deer skull, just with loads of red eyes placed into the cracks and such. and we know from the first episode that it seemed to flock towards lenore and annabel. or at least i think it sort of seems to go towards them.

and you, know i could've been wrong– except look at this from ep 100:

now, obviously the first part practically proves the fact something is following lenore, and that this something is (potentially!!!) theo's spectre. but i think what proves it more is what mr raven says next.

"close as a second shadow"

someone on tumblr (i cannot remember who) pointed out that annabel and lenore's like fates are almost reversed? and how lenore who once had nothing to loose now has everything, and annabel is vice versa. and you know, first of all, amazing take. delicious. fantastic. whoever this was, please please please make yourself known to me pookie i'm gna worship the ground you walk on because you've given me thoughts !!!

from this "second shadow" talk, i wonder if the idea of reversal spreads through more than just lenore and annabel's relationship. in life, theo was the star violinist whilst lenore was the accompanist, the piano player.

musically, lenore was his shadow.

of course, this is a very generalised take. as somebody who plays both piano and flute, i'm not going to go out and say that the piano player is just background noise when it's a duet, but more often then not the piano stands aside so that the violin (in these situations) can shine.

n life, lenore lives behind theo's shadow, and when he dies she's haunted by it.

when she looks in the mirror, she sees theo as she cuts her hair. she sees him everywhere. in his life, she was the the dark shadow that loomed– but in death he always behind her, always the dark looming figure that follows her. her guilt binds with his memory and forms that dark looming thought that nobody wants to discuss.

and so, to me, it makes perfect sense that this little deer-tree-bone-monster thing is theo.

but then, obviously, as i look at all of this, there is the glaring question of why in the first episode this monster looked like it really wanted to chomp on lenore and annabel's limbs. and you know, typically, siblings don't want to cannibalise each other.

i see your point, and i respond back with these three panels:

lenore goes on to explain that their bloodline has been plagued by madness, misfortune and death. then, take a look at what the raven says of how spirits "oft" are "driven to madness" by their desire for souls.

i think this connects, because idk i just think it does. could be totally wrong, but i think (???) theo (???) somehow escaped to try get back to lenore and go to the threshold (???) but got trapped in that spooky place, and his only defence left was his spectre (???) and so, by staying in it too long, he too was "driven to madness" which probably wasn't helped by the vandernacht curse (???). he might be half forgotten in his own mind, but he knows one thing right now: he wants to find lenore, his sister. he might not remember her as his sister, but he knows her name and an image is there in her mind. so when she arrives, he must get to her.

anyways guys, that's it. ignore me. i yap a lot. i know i don't know a lot and i'm sure there's a few fastpassers out there who are laughing because i'm being silly, but let me delude myself :)

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 30: Alexander's Rules

Masterlist

September 1925

TW: captivity, mind control, hypnotic language

Oliver followed Lord Alexander into the most beautiful room he'd seen so far: the music room. A grand piano stood in the center, the mess of sheet music on its stand indicating that it was actively played. There were a few more bookshelves -- nary a corner of this house without them -- but some of the wall space was taken by hanging instruments. Violins, some sort of lute, some other stringed instruments Oliver couldn't name. He was pretty sure that was a harpsichord on a dedicated stand. In the corner was a lovely guitar, with a second, empty guitar stand next to it.

"Do you play anything, Oliver?"

"No, sir." He'd never taken much of an interest, never had the time for music.

"Well, if you'd ever like to learn, let me know. It's a good way to pass the time. But please don't touch any of the instruments without permission. Some of them are very old and precious to me."

"Yes, sir." Another rule. One that was easy enough to follow -- but he worried. He had a question he wanted to ask, but wasn't sure if he should, given the result of the last one.

Well, Lord Alexander didn't seem to regard questions as disobedience, even impertinent ones, so...

"Sir, may I ask something?" he said quietly. "If I were to break a rule -- I don't want to break a rule, of course, sir, I want to be obedient -- but if I did break a rule, how... how would I be punished for that?"

He winced, hoping it wouldn't be something cruel. But Lord Alexander just looked a bit confused. "Punished? No, there won't be any punishments."

"No punishments, sir?" he said, not understanding.

"You're not going to break any rules, never on purpose. You don't need to worry about it."

Oliver wasn't at all sure he liked the implications of that answer. "What do you mean, sir?"

"I mean that I'm not in the business of doling out punishments. There isn't going to be any need." Lord Alexander moved past him, setting a hand on his shoulder. "Let's move on to the main event. Something I'm sure you'll enjoy."

Oliver followed after, not sure what to make of it. Obviously, he would prefer to not have to live in fear of physical harm, or the more generous privileges he was being afforded taken away... but the way Lord Alexander phrased it, Oliver simply wouldn't ever break rules, maybe wouldn't even be capable of considering it. Was that true? Was Lord Alexander that confident in his complete obedience? That thought bothered him less than he should, that little voice in his head coaxing him to be a good and perfect thrall.

His fear and doubts were swept away by the final room Lord Alexander showed him.

The library was filled with the sweet smell of old leather and aging book bindings, spanning an entire wing of the manor. The bookshelves stretched up two stories, with scattered wheeled platforms and ladders to allow access. A stone fireplace was embedded in one of the walls, and in the center of the room, in a clear space unoccupied by stacks, were a few brown leather armchairs and couches. Further back, there was a large desk covered with a cluttered mess of pens and stationary.

It was a breathtaking display, many times as big as Oliver's cramped shop, containing more books than Oliver could read in years, maybe in a lifetime. His concerns about being held captive here immediately began to ebb.

"Does it please you?" said Alexander, clearly already knowing the answer.

"Yes, sir, very much so." He dearly hoped this wasn't a bait and switch. "I can read here?"

"You can read anything you like, as long as you don't remove books from the manor and don't leave a disorganized mess. But I believe you already know how to treat valuable books, and all of the truly dangerous volumes are safely locked away," he said. "I know you've been through a lot in the past few weeks. Why don't you pick out some reading material, peruse the stacks? Would you like that?"

"More than anything, sir," he said, eager to dive in. He truly did feel fortunate to have been purchased by Lord Alexander now. The fact that he would be allowed to spend his free time reading from a nigh-endless, heavenly library seemed too good to be true.

"Very good. I have some work to do, anyway." 

Lord Alexander sat down on one of the couches and picked up a pen and a ledger as Oliver ran his eyes over the shelves, not sure where to even start. He turned back to ask Lord Alexander, but he seemed already engrossed in his work.

It didn't really matter, though. He was going to be here for a long time, and that thought seemed far more bearable now that he was in the library. He marched over to an interesting looking shelf, and quickly realized that even though the bulk of the titles were in English, he didn't recognize a single one of the titles or authors -- surprising, given his entire career was based around finding obscure books. They seemed to be historical accounts, but the events listed on the spines weren't any he recognized either, like he'd fallen through a wormhole into an alternate world.

"Oh, that shelf is all vampire history," said Lord Alexander, not looking up from his ledger. "I don't recommend it unless you want to fall asleep reading self-involved petty drama." 

"Well, sir, if it's all the same to you, I didn't know vampires existed up until a few months ago, so that sounds fascinating."

"Suit yourself," he said with a little smile. He kicked back with his work, humming to himself, a low and pleasant tune.

Vampire history! Despite Lord Alexander's dismissive comment, that made him want to read it all the more. He eagerly pulled down one of the books and skimmed through the contents. It was dryly written, certainly, mostly politics among various clans and families, but he'd never known any of this was happening. When he reached a chapter about conflicts with a prominent witches' coven, he had the immediate instinctive reaction that this must be embellished, that witches weren't real - before reminding himself that he was reading a book written by vampires in a vampire's personal library. Witches must also be real. Magic was real. What else was real?

Despite his intense interest in the supernatural world that now surrounded him, he felt himself yawn wide. He was suddenly so tired. The book really wasn't that dull, and he hadn't been awake for that long, so -- the stress, perhaps? The fear? He rubbed at his drowsy eyes. What was...?

As he grasped the bookshelf, trying to steady himself, his gaze flickered over to Lord Alexander. The vampire was no longer writing in his ledger. He was looking right at Oliver. Looking, and humming. 

That was what was stealing his focus, that was what was making him feel so strange. "What are you doing, sir?" he asked.

Lord Alexander said nothing. He kept humming, weaving his song around Oliver, and Oliver felt drawn to it. He let go of the bookshelf and took a few steps towards him, a helpless sleepwalker, unable to drive the fog from his mind.

He wavered only slightly, swaying on his feet, before sitting down next to Lord Alexander on the couch, turning to face him, leaning into that voice, that song. Lord Alexander hooked a finger under his chin, coaxing him closer, directing Oliver's gaze into his eyes. Oliver was diving into the sea, night swimming under a full moon, treading in warm water, quiet and serene. 

"Slip under my control. Nice and easy now, Oliver," murmured Lord Alexander. "Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Drift."

Oliver could feel the tension and fear of the day leaving him with every breath out, his shoulders relaxing. Lord Alexander kept singing to him softly. He could listen to the sound of it forever.

"You're mine now, Oliver," said Lord Alexander. "I'm your master."

"Yes, sir," said Oliver, his conditioning locking his answer in place. "I wish to obey."

"I don't need your obedience."

Even in his daze, Oliver's face scrunched in confusion. "What do you mean, sir?"

"Obedience is a cheap thing. It can be bought with fear, force, and money, and lost just as easily," said Lord Alexander. "What I want from you runs a lot deeper than that. Trust. Loyalty. Loyalty as deep as the sea and reliable as the tides. I want you to fall and know that I will catch you. I want you to be in near full possession of your faculties and still choose me without hesitation or wavering." Lord Alexander was examining his face, seeking something. "But you don't trust me yet, of course. Why is that? Be honest."

"...Because you're a vampire, sir."

Lord Alexander seemed amused. "There is that, although I think that's hardly the worst of my flaws. Tell me, though, what's truly holding you back? What do you fear?"

Oliver felt as though it were being pulled from him by Lord Alexander's spell. "That my life will be over here, sir," he confessed. "That I never did any of the things I planned to do someday, and now it's too late, because I'll never leave this manor again, or do anything without your permission, sir. And I'm at your mercy, sir, and you could remove my personality or my memories, or do whatever else you like..." A few hot tears rolled down his cheek, and he was too captivated still to wipe them away. 

"So that's it," said Lord Alexander, under his breath. "It's not going to be like that, Oliver. Your life is far from over. I don't intend to confine you here permanently or control your every whim. And I don't intend to erase your personality or memories, either."

"You don't, sir?" said Oliver, surprised.

"No, I don't. That's why I'm asking for your loyalty. So I don't have to control you with tedious blind obedience. So that you can continue to think for yourself."

"I see, sir."

Lord Alexander moved in closer, his blue eyes flooding more of Oliver's vision. "I'll make sure that your service to me is fulfilling. You have nothing to fear from me." He began humming again, swaying in time with Oliver, and Oliver was once more enraptured, soothed, losing himself.

"Fall, Oliver," he said quietly. "Fall, and trust that I'll catch you."

Oliver felt some deep, hidden part of his mind become untethered from its moorings, and he fell, sinking deeper and deeper into the warm ocean water, the moon shimmering on the surface above him. "Yes... Master."

"Good, it's starting to take." He sounded pleased, which made Oliver feel comforted and safe. "Can you trust me now, Oliver?"

"Yes, Master," he said, with no hesitation this time. 

"Good, good, that's very good. You're doing excellently, Oliver. I'm just going to take your mind, just for a brief moment. I'll treat it very gently, and then give it back to you. You can sleep through the whole thing."

Lord Alexander's eyes were filled with meaning, a clarity of purpose that Oliver hadn't known. It was as though he'd spent his entire life sleepwalking, waiting, keeping himself for this, his true purpose that he only now understood. He was wanted. He was needed. He'd never been either before, not since he was a child.

His master was singing to him again, and it was making his eyelids droop, a lullaby and a promise. Oliver tipped forward, so drowsy, his head coming to rest on his master's shoulder. He felt a cold hand work its way into his hair, a sweet and comforting gesture as he fell ever deeper under his new master's spell, right where he belonged.

Part 29 >> Masterlist >> Part 30.5

Thank you for reading this story about an entranced man.

An extra you may have missed: Fitz's Waking Nightmare

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @snakebites-and-ink @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @whumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining-blog @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable

[soulofapatrick]

Piano Lessons - Alex Claremont-Diaz x Male Reader

Summary: Alex gets turned on by your piano skills

Words 1.7K

Warnings: Smut; gay smut; rimming; cockwarming; anal sex; idk what this is anymore

Notes: I promise I'll write some fluff for Alex and Henry next !

Y/N’s POV 

As I sit at the grand piano in Kensington Palace, my fingers gracefully glide across the ivory keys, coaxing a melodic symphony from the instrument. The rich, resonant notes fill the room, dancing in the air like fireflies on a warm summer night. The piano is set against a backdrop of regal red, pristine white and the deep blue hues that embody the spirit of the monarchy past. It’s a symbol of tradition and history, much like my family itself. 

Today, the atmosphere in the room is different, and it’s all because of Alex Claremont-Diaz, the charismatic and intelligent man I’m fortunate enough to call my boyfriend. He’s visiting me here at Kensington Palace, and his presence has added a touch of vibrancy and excitement to the usually stated surroundings. As my fingers continue to play, I can’t help but steal a glance at Alex. He’s seated on a luxurious, plush chair nearby, his russet eyes fixed on me with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. His admiration and affection are palpable, even from across the room. 

The strains of the piano’s music seem to weave a story of their own, a story of love, passion, and the unbreakable bond between two individuals who have defied the odds. Alex and I come from different worlds, but our connection is undeniable. He’s the love of my life, the one who has shattered all expectations and brought colour into my world of duty and responsibility. 

I finish the piece with a flourish, letting the final notes linger in the air for a moment before they fade away. Alex rises gracefully from his seat, his eyes never leaving mine, and his smile could light up the darkest of rooms. He approaches me with that same confident stride that has always captivated me. The way he moves, with an air of self-assuredness, is a testament to the strength of his character and the love that binds us together. 

He doesn't stop in front of me; instead, he reaches out and gently takes my hand, drawing me to my feet. Our eyes lock, and it's as if the world around us disappears, leaving just the two of us in this intimate moment. He moves around to stand behind me, settling on the piano stool. Before I can ask what he’s doing, he’s wrapping his muscular arms around my waist and pulling me back onto his lap. It draws a surprised gasp from me as there’s something poking me in the ass and fuck, I know exactly what he’s doing. 

I don’t protest, letting myself melt into his embrace, my head falling back against his shoulder, relishing in the comforting and exhilarating feeling of his arms around me. The warmth of his body against mine is a soothing balm to my soul, reminding me that I’m not alone in this world of duty and responsibility. A soft sound escapes my throat when Alex presses a loving kiss to the back of my neck, each one sending shivers down my spine. 

His hands slip from my waist down to the button of my jeans, a gentle kiss pressed to my jawline and I’m fighting against it as Shaan is just outside the door and could walk in any moment. But, Alex’s hand is driving me crazy, palming me through my tight jeans, knowing exactly how to turn me on. 

“Baby boy,” Alex’s voice is low and resonant, exuding want and love, and it’s breaking down the last of my reservations about what he’s asking, “Need you baby.” 

I rock my hips back once, drawing a deep rumble from Alex’s chest, and it’s all he needs to pop the button on my jeans and tugging lightly. I lift my hips for him, letting him draw my jeans and boxers down far enough to expose me to him. Instead of freeing himself from the confines of his jeans like I expected he’s gripping my hips and pushing me to my feet, pressing a large hand to the base of my spine and bending me over the piano. His hands spread my ass, kneeling the flesh between those fantasy inducing hands and before I can process what’s happening I’m yelping in surprise. 

At the first lick I almost faceplant the top of the piano, never expecting so many nerve-endings where Alex is currently ravishing me. Alex supports my weight, bringing me back against his mouth, and it draws an embarrassing sound from me, a high pitched whine that gets caught in my throat. My knuckles are turning white with how hard I’m gripping the edges of the piano, trying to spread my legs even further to give him more room. Alex wastes no time, tongue flicking and licking broad stripes against my hole, moving every so often to nip at the plump skin. It’s erotic, more than I could have imagined. The two of us with Alex’s lean but muscular body holding me up as he devours me, my dick twitching as he eats me out like I’m his last meal. His hands are massaging my thighs, oh so close to my aching dick, dripping precum onto the keys of the piano, making me arch my back to try and get the warmth closer to my dick. It doesn’t work but instead gives Alex more space and before I can react his tongue is inside me and I’m crying out before slamming my head against the top of the piano trying to muffle my cries. 

“A-Alex please.” My voice comes out broken and hoarse, causing Alex to grin against my skin, “Alex. I need you.” I’m almost crying, feeling embarrassed about begging but I need to feel him inside me properly. 

It’s all it takes it seems. Alex is pulling away, giving me time to steady my breathing while I hear the zipper on his jeans and then, with gentle hands I’m being guided backwards. I’m so glad for Alex’s grip on my hips as my knees are shaking like crazy but that’s soon forgotten when the head of his dick pushes its way past my now relaxed opening. I’m gripping his wrists, taking a deep breath as the stretch still burns but not as much as before, Alex’s spit acting as lube and I can slide further down quicker than before. 

I go to raise my hips again as soon as I’m settled on his lip, the button of his jeans digging into the back of my thigh but his hands still gripping my hips stop me and he’s leaning forwards, warm breath ghosting my ear, “Play.” 

“W-what?” I choke out. 

“Play me something.” His voice is tight and his hips betray him when they thrust up ever so slightly, drawing a sound from both of us but he reiterates his point, “Play for me.” 

I take a deep breath, attempting to focus on playing another piece despite the situation, knowing I’m getting nothing from Alex otherwise. I place my fingers on the keys, trying to muster the concentration needed to produce a coherent melody. But as I begin to play, Alex’s hands find my thighs, massaging them and his lips are coasting teasingly along my neck. His proximity is both a blessing and a challenge, as his hips jerk up again, teasing himself as well as me. 

With each note I strike, I can sense Alex’s playful energy intensifying. He digs his nails into my inner thighs, drawing a sharp sound from me and an off key as my hands jerk. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and it’s clear he intends to draw this teasing out as long as he can. His fingers trace light patterns on my hips, sending delightful shivers down my spine. He whispers sweet, teasing words in my ear, his voice laced with affection and a hint seduction. It’s incredibly difficult to maintain my composure and focus on the music when he’s gently circling my hips in his lap. 

The piece could not end quicker for both of us because as soon as I’ve played my last note Alex’s regains that firm grip on my hips and lifts me until just the head of his dick is indie me before he slams me down, a loud cry of pain and pleasure escaping me. I’m a whimpering mess already, Alex moving a hand to wrap around my aching dick, moving his hand in time with his almost brutal thrusts. I can feel my muscles tightening and thighs shaking as I reach that precipice, but Alex, my sweet, frustrating Alex. He pulls me down so he’s fully sheafed inside me and circles his hips, just missing my prostate and leaving me almost begging for that sweet release. 

“Now now baby,” Alex nips at the back of my neck, “Wait for me.” With that he thrusts as deep as he can, circling his hips every few thrusts until I’m almost crying again, my thighs clenching and stomach rolling over with effort of trying to stave off that sweet release. I’m mumbling stuff, unsure if it’s actual words or gibberish but Alex knows exactly as he reaches around to take my dick in his hand one last time. He doesn’t jerk me off but runs his thumb over the slit that’s leaking precum and before I can stop myself I’m cumming. My body lurches forwards and my whole body shudders with pleasure as ropes of my seed hit the piano and I should be embarrassed but all I can think about is Alex holding me tightly, breath hot against the back of my neck as he pumps me full. His hips jerk a few times more before he’s sinking into the stool, holding me against his chest as we try and catch our breaths. 

“Do you think anyone heard us?” I mumble, throat raw and voice cracking. 

Alex chuckles into the crook of his neck before a muffled reply comes from him, “I think everyone heard.” 

“Oh god.” I’m burying my face in my hands, cheeks heating up and not wanting to ever leave this room again. 

“Come on darling, let’s get ourselves sorted out.” He’s easing me off of him, both of us wincing in oversensitivity and I sort myself out the best I can, feeling his seed already leaking down my legs and knowing I need a nice, hot bath now. 

Alex takes my hand and leads me out of the room, past a very red faced Shaan who won’t look our way. He leads me down the hall, towards my room but before we get there we hear a shriek from Philip: 

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL HAPPENED TO MY PIANO!!!??”

                           ┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

Red White and Royal Blue Masterlist

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TAGS: @clarks-letterman

[chalkscene]

lovebrush chronicles ⇢ THEY FIND THE DRAWING YOU DID OF THEM

ft. ayn alwyn, alkaid mcgrath, lars rorschach & clarence clayden

when you asked AYN if you could drop by the piano room and watch him practice, he didn’t expect you to take a seat on the far corner of the room, nose deep in your sketchbook. you’ve barely had a full conversation with him since you got here and he can’t understand why—you’re usually very chatty. he can’t help but scowl as he glances at you. he’s about to call for your attention when your phone rings and you immediately excuse yourself out of the room, “i’ll be right back.” as soon as the door clicks shut, he eyes your sketchbook which is now unsupervised. he knows he shouldn’t look but curiosity killed the cat. he gets up from his seat and strides across the room to peek at your work then his breath hitches. right before his eyes is a rough sketch of a raven-haired boy slightly hunched over a piano, his back on the artist—you. you’re drawing him. in a state of fluster, ayn quickly sets the sketchbook down in the same position he found it—hell, he can’t remember it. he’s too preoccupied by the fact that you’re sketching him that he registers a second too late that you’ve already returned, catching him fiddling with the sketchpad. before you can say a word, ayn walks back to the piano without sparing you a glance, “i didn’t see anything.” you feel the mortification in your system vanish as quickly as it came, now stiffling a giggle that threatens to escape your lips. ayn being more flustered when it was you who got caught drawing him is actually comical. you don’t even resist the urge to tease him, “really?” “really,” he answers curtly. “then why are you being weird?” “why are you drawing me?” ayn retorts with a tinge of accusation as he turns to glare at you but you’re not even slightly intimidated. you prod, “so you did see it?” ayn looks away from your smug expression upon his lack of rebuttal, doing his best to conceal the color in his cheeks with his hair. “i wasn’t going to,” you explain truthfully, “but you were so in your element i couldn’t help but… ‘capture’ the moment,” you say with air quotes, “i like drawing you.” ayn feels his heart skip a beat but as emotionally constipated as he is unable to handle your admission, he grumbles despite blushing furiously, “just ask me to come to the art studio next time.”

ever since ALKAID invited you to picnics or simple strolls around nature, you’ve developed a habit of making quick sketches of the scenery around you. but today’s an exception. with the cool breeze and the soothing warmth of the sun while you and alkaid sit side by side under a tree, it’s all just too relaxing. alkaid is busying himself with his camera when he suddenly feels a soft impact on his shoulder. when he glances at you, he can’t help but smile, endeared by the sight of you asleep. your sketchbook is left open and your grip on the pencil has loosened enough that a sudden gust of wind flips the pages and alkaid gets a glimpse of the drawing you had done of him. saying he’s surprised is an understatement. he finds it unbelievable that you’d ever choose him as your muse. alkaid isn’t one to pry but he can’t resist turning the pages over to get a good look at your drawing, taking in its rough details and pencil strokes. it looks beautiful, he notes, barely fighting a smile upon the realization that this is how you see him. before you stir awake, alkaid reaches over and with careful fingers, he takes your pencil and inserts it between the binding of your sketchbook like a bookmark before flipping it shut. he decides against mentioning it to you until the next day. alkaid goes out of his way to find you on campus, “hey, i was looking for you.” “why?” “it’s just, um…” he trails off, turning hesitant as if he’s choosing his words carefully, “do you want to make a trade?” “trade?” before you can ask more questions, alkaid takes out what you think is a piece of paper from his pocket until you get a clear view of it and realize it’s a candid picture of you. sounding hopeful, he offers it to you, “this for your drawing of me.”

“there you are!” LARS says, beaming when he finds you working on an art piece in one of the academy’s studios. “hi,” you smile at him, “why were you looking for me?” lars shrugs, “just wanted to see you.” amused, you roll your eyes at his subtle flirting before getting back to work. you don’t mind lars’ company alongside his occasional praises, varying from that looks nice to i’d buy that. you actually like having him around. lars is going through your artworks when he suddenly speaks, “how much for this?” you tear your eyes away from your canvas to find him having one of your sketchbooks in hand. “which one?” you ask and you can’t even begin to describe your shock when lars turns it over. there it is facing you, the page where you did a drawing of him. you dart towards lars but he quickly gets on his feet, taking advantage of his tall stature to hold the sketchbook out of your reach. “give it back!” you snap but lars only snickers. “how much for this?” he repeats the question, more smugly this time. after a few failed attempts to snatch the sketchbook from his grip, lars eventually decides to hand it over. “you weren’t supposed to see that,” you grumble, tearing off that page and crumpling it into a ball out of embarrassment. you’re about to toss it in the bin when lars takes it from you, flattening the paper to look at the drawing once more. “can i keep it?” he asks sincerely. “it’s just a warmup sketch…” you mumble, your tone a clear contrast to lars’ boldness. for a few seconds, lars doesn’t speak as if he’s forming the words in his head, “did you draw me from memory?” when you give him a sheepish nod, the smirk on his face reappears, “you think about me that much?” you simply groan at his teasing which makes him cackle but he soon backtracks before you can grab the paper from his hand and dispose it. “thank you,” he says, “i really like it.”

you’re rushing to your next class when you run into CLARENCE, causing you both to drop your belongings. “sorry!” you squeak, crouching down to hastily grab your things and with a sigh, clarence follows suit. “running late again?” he teases. you throw him a lighthearted glare at the accusation before grumbling, “our professor dismissed us late.” you hear him chuckle at your retort but the sound comes to an abrupt halt. at his sudden silence, you slide your gaze over to him and you immediately realize why—he’s holding a notebook which is now opened to a page with a rough sketch of him on it. before clarence can say anything, you immediately yank your sketchbook out of his hands and rise to your feet. “um…” you begin to stammer while clarence remains quiet save for the sound he makes when he clears his throat. he’s unable to look you in the eye as he stands upright, now fiddling with his necktie with unadulterated focus. “i swear i’m not a creep or anything,” you explain weakly, a surge of humiliation washing over you, “i was just… practicing.” you wince upon hearing your words and you can’t help but apologize—whether it’s for the sketch or your lame excuse, you’re not sure. maybe both. “i’m sorry,” you tell clarence, “i’ll throw it away.” “don’t,” clarence answers a bit too earnestly that he himself is taken aback. “it’s…” he trails off, looking sheepish, “it’s a really good drawing.” you gape at clarence. that was not reaction you expected from him. saving himself from further fluster, clarence drops the subject and points at the time, “you’re already late for next period.” “shit!” “language,” he scolds you in his student council president tone. “sorry!” you don’t wait for a response before you’re running off to your next class. as clarence watches you disappear from view, he wonders if you’d let him keep the drawing if he asked.

[birdofdawning]

The Mind Readers

“Wait, so you can hear each other’s thoughts?” said Pete, looking over Artie’s shoulder on the Farnsworth screen.

“No!” said Myka.

“Yes,” said Helena. “Several voices, in Myka’s case. All rather critical of her, which I find sad. Is one of them your childhood piano teacher?”

“Helena...”

“Actually, it’s a very interesting experience, if rather an overwhelming one,” went on Helena, “I need merely mention, say, John Keats and I can ‘see’ (in my mind’s eye, you understand) a book of his poetry. It has a red binding and... ah, Myka is searching for quotes for an essay. I can actually read the poems! Your ability to recall detail is truly remarkable, Myka. She’s in university...”

“Helena!” hissed Myka furiously.

“... Oh, there’s a plan of the university in my head now. I could now find my way around the place without error—”

“HELENA, STOP!” said Myka, and Helena, jolting slightly at her voice, stopped.

“Yes, thank you Agent Wells,” said Artie, “If we can get on with—”

“College days, amiright?" interrupted Pete. “Away from home, staying up all night, making out with as many... Aw, but Mykes wouldn’t have had a boy-crazy phase, not around all those books—”

Myka reddened, and Helena said “Who’s Madeline Ferrero?”

“Nobody!” said Myka too quickly

“Oh, she’s lovely!” said Helena. “That skin—! And lovely brown eyes.”

Pete almost pushed Artie off the Farnsworth’s screen. “Wait, what!? College Myka was makin' it with girls!? Mykes! Although now I think about I guess it makes a lot of—”

“PETE!” said Myka.

“No, I don’t think so.” said Helena, disappointed. “I think Myka just sat behind her in... a law lecture, perhaps? Yes. And looked at her. Quite often. Did you ever actually speak to her?” she asked. Myka’s head was now in her hands. “She didn’t,” reported Helena. “Oh, but she knew Madeline’s schedule though! When she had lunch, when—”

“Yes, well as interesting as this all is IF WE CAN GET BACK TO OUR ACTUAL JOBS NOW” said Artie, pointedly turning his Farnsworth away from Pete.

Myka dropped her hands and sat up. "Thank you."

“Wait,” said Helena, holding up a hand, “Did your father really say those horrible things about your admiration of Madeline? Or is that... Oh, it’s your father in your head.”

“Her what where now?” said Pete’s voice.

“She has her father constantly commenting on her in her head. What an unpleasant man. Myka, you know none of that is true, don’t you?”

Myka gritted her teeth. “Please, everyone, can we leave my mind alone and get back to the artifact?”

“Who’s James Thurber?” asked Helena. “Oh, I see. Word association. And, of course,” she added hastily as she took in her partner’s wrathful expression, “Myka is quite correct: we ought to concentrate on fixing this. As fascinating an experience as it is.”

“Yes, children, the potentially very dangerous device,” said Artie. “The one that will probably kill you if we don’t identify it. That one. Myka, you said you were each in contact with the coils—”

“Wait, wait, so Mykes, can you hear H.G?” asked Pete, popping up on the screen behind Artie again. “What’s her mind like? Hot? Is it hot?”

“No! I mean, no, I can’t hear H.G,” said Myka. “Or... I can’t hear her voice in my mind or see what she’s thinking about... I’m not sure she thinks in images... but her mind’s a.. a kaleidoscope of ideas, all coming and going and changing really fast. Each idea she has seems to branch into five more, or turn into mist before I can grasp it, and it’s, it's like I’m having the ideas and, um, it’s a lot actually.” She rubbed her temples. “Can you just stop thinking for a moment!” she pleaded, "Or just stick to one thing..." Suddenly intent, Myka pointed a finger at Helena. “Okay, don’t think about an elephant!”

Helena looked startled. “Alright.”

There was a pause then Myka gaped. “How are you doing that!?”

“Doing what?”

“Not thinking about an elephant!”

Helena gasped at the injustice. “You told me not to think of an elephant!”

“Yes! Because you’re supposed to... Alright then, do think of an elephant!”

They stared at each other. “But that's not an elephant, that’s just a list of facts about elephants!” said Myka in despair.

“We can’t all conjure up every memory like we're there again,” said Helena. “Oh, Myka went on an elephant ride when she was nine! Where were you? Ah, at the Denver zoo. And look at... is that Tracy? What a darling dress— Oh, do hush up Artie.”

Artie managed to look even more exasperated. “I haven’t managed to get a word into this innane—”

“Not you, Artie-in-Myka’s-head. He’s getting impatient and making Myka anxious.”

Artie brought his face very close to the screen. “Well good for Artie-in-Myka’s-head. He sounds like my sort of guy. I should give him a job”

“Yes, wouldn't that be lovely,” said Helena, “But let us consider this machine.”

Myka had begun cradling her head. “You've started doing it again. Examining the problem. How can you live with all this... chaos? I can't keep up.” she muttered.

Helena patted her shoulder. “I promise we’ll work this out. Actually—”

Myka stilled. “Oh! She has a theory. (Well, three theories so far, but this is her best guess because of the late-Nineteenth Century design of the machine)... ”

“Artie, have you heard of Andrew Webber?” asked Helena.

“Webber!” Artie became more animated. “Yes, that makes sense! He was a disciple of Carl Von Reichenbach, who first proposed the theory of the odic force—”

“A mystical energy that animates all living things?” said Myka frowning at Helena, “Really?”

“No! I don’t know! It wasn’t my theory!” protested Helena.

“Animates living things, and causes phenomena such as hypnotism and thought transference!” went on Artie, ignoring them. “Webber built several machines in an attempt to channel and store the odic force. This may very well be one of them.”

“I have some... I mean Helena has... six... seven different ideas as to how we could reverse the effect. Eight ideas HELENA THAT ONE WILL ABSOLUTELY GET YOU KILLED.”

“Please stop that,” said Helena wearily.

“Good," said Artie, "See what you can do. I’ll start looking into—”

Myka gasped and pointed a finger at Helena. “She wants to take the machine apart once we get it back to the Warehouse! She was going to offer to do the paperwork and then work on the machine overnight!”

Helena rolled her eyes. “Well, I was assuming we would want to know—”

“That’s a lie! She was about to lie!”

Helena narrowed her eyes and glared at Myka.

“It’s gone all quiet in there now,” reported Myka.

“Hey H.G, don’t think about making out with Mykes!” called Pete from somewhere beyond Artie's shoulder.

"Very well then, I shan't," said Helena smugly.

Myka’s eyes widened and Helena brightened up. “Oho!” she said, “Well! I shan't! Yes, what a wonderfully vivid imagination—!”

“Right, goodbye.” said Artie and the Farnsworth went blank.

Silly stuff based on the B&W discord conversation tonight, about how people think differently from each other without realising it.