#it says a pinstripe suit is anything that has stripes

[mizugucci]

ohhhhh my god this is so stupid to be upset about but im genuinely so tired of it... pleaseeee shut upppppp

[astringofmadhousefloozies]

The Birthday Fic

Several months in the making. Started around Ruggie’s birthday (Which is why he’s the opener) completed long past my own birthday.

Content warning for coarse language, sexuality, mentions of illness and the medication needed for managing it, and getting wildly horny to a point that even I was impressed with myself.

As always, there’s more in my Twisted Wonderland Fanfiction tag, send me a message if you liked it! (I know what the birthday gifts were from most everyone, even if not mentioned in-fic.)

~*~*~*~

"I'm sorry dude, what did you say? You ears started going and I just tuned the fuck out."

"I said, 'when's it your turn to have the school-run birthday party?' It's got it be soon." Ruggie's intentionally twitching his damn ears, has to be, and you had to physically shield your eyes to be able to answer properly.

"I don't fucking know, man, I need to have a birthday for that."

"Everyone has a birthday."

"Yeah, but I don't know when mine is."

"Can't Crowley tell you? He's got all kind of magic."

You sighed. "He tried that, so I could remember my proper name. He can't even get a year fix."

"That fucking sucks, Yuu." Ruggie passed you a pop can before cracking open one himself. "You should get one of these, too."

"Ah, maybe Riddle will take pity and dedicate me a specific Unbirthday party." What was this, melon? Not bad.

"That's not the same because you won't get loot."

"Yeah, you wanna go through fifty boxes of chocolates to get rid of all the ones with potion-of-suck-your-dick? I'm good."

He scrunched his nose in disgust. "People still trying love spells on you?"

"Not as much, but I still get Mal to check them over for me. He's good about that."

"He just doesn't want to share."

"Shush."

"It's true!" He stopped for a moment. "Does he know you don't have a birthday?"

"He hasn't realized yet and you're not going to tell him."

~*~*~*~

"Yuu?"

"Trey?" You blinked up at him. You didn't talk as much as you'd like to, mostly because every time he showed up your mouth rapidly filled with whatever treat he'd just made.

"What do you like best for cake?"

"I will literally eat anything that you put in front of me if you make it, even if it's full of shit I hate."

He raised an eyebrow. "Okay, new angle. What don't you like?"

Oh boy, he better prepare himself. "Fondant tastes gross, modeling chocolate is white chocolate so I hate it, a cake should be cake and not mostly fucking icing and rice crispy treats, most icing's too heavy for me if it's not whipped cream- why are you writing this down."

He looked up from his notebook, blinking at you with his pleasing yellow eyes. "Because you always give thoughtful feedback to my baking and I want to make you something as a thank you."

"Oh. If that's it, I'd rather have cheesecake."

~*~*~*~

"Mon Trickster~"

"Rook, I'm trying to re-" You yelped as he squeezed your waist, and you swatted at him. "Fuck's gotten into you?"

"What, I cannot play with my sweet friend?" He'd dragged you from your seat in the library, and was now doing his damndest to twirl you around without ramming you through the tables.

"Not right now! I expect this shit from Floyd, not you." He's going to get you both kicked out of the library if he doesn't smarten up.

"Our dearest Malfeasant is playing with the Rose King right now. Besides, he lacks my talents." He stretched your arms out straight before twirling you around, your back pressed to his front.

"Is that getting away with being a shithead?" you ask as you pap the side of his face, too little force to be a slap but with a similar message of 'stop'.

"Amongst much else, my dear!" He managed to dip you low, bracing one of your legs in the air, and you wiggled out of his grasp with a thump to the floor.

"Ah, what an invitation, ma belle! But alas, I cannot. It could never be. I'll see you at lunch." And he left you there, baffled, on the floor.

You wound up getting kicked out of the library after you started shrieking in rage and kicking like a damned toddler. What the fuck was that about?

~*~*~*~

"People are being weird."

"Everyone's weird around you." If Idia's combo kept, this would be a perfect match. "You encourage it in people with your presence. It's a passive AOE. No fighting against it."

"More than normal."

"It's the curse of spring. If you aren't sneezing, you see pretty girls and get stupid." He got his perfect match, and went back to the lobby. "Even I'm not immune to simp fever and spring flowers."

"You sure? You only go outside so you don't die of Vitamin D deficiency."

He pouted at you. "Girlfriends are supposed to be nice to you, you know."

"If I stopped, you'd wonder what's wrong. Anyway, then you couldn't brag to your followers about a tsundere girlfriend."

"You're not even a tsundere! You genuinely like me even when you're mean." He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "You're maybe sadodere."

"What's that one?"

"Sadistic yet affectionate."

You opened your mouth but genuinely couldn't argue. He was too fucking cute not to be mean to! What can you say? That pwease-no-buwwy aura he got when distressed was just too much.

"Yeah." He paused, a small smile creeping across his face. "Yuu."

"Yeah?"

"You really like stripes, don't you?"

You looked down, at his blue striped shirt you were wearing. It honestly fit you better than it did him. Further down was pinstriped socks, and if you remembered, the underwear had stripes too.

"What do you think."

~*~*~*~

"Mal?" "Yes?" "Why do you have all this even if you don't wear any of it?" "I do wear earrings now, thanks to you." He dropped another oversized ring onto your finger. "The rest, I simply don't bother with unless I must appear in an official capacity."

"So I'm a special occasion?"

He smiled at you, sweet and genuine. "Always."

"Then why am I your jewelry rack today?" So many necklaces. So many rings. There'd be a crown on your head, too, if the crowns for Draconias weren't essentially elabourate chains hanging off the horns.

"Perhaps I enjoy seeing you wearing my things. You wear Shroud's all the time." He was slowly going through a box of rings, trading them on and off your fingers after puzzling over them.

"Your clothes are tailored, and I'm too big around." You thought for a moment. "So, Mal."

"Yes?"

"Are you planning on something you aren't telling me?"

He blanched and immediately went shift eyed. "Of course not."

You took a breath. "I'm gonna say no."

"Yuu-"

"I'm pretty sure your grandmother would eat me alive if I said yes."

"No!" He made a shushing guesture. "I... am planning something. But not a proposal, my goodness, that would be too much pressure for you and would splinter the kingdom." He sighed. "Even if I would like it."

"I know you would. What are you planning."

"No."

"Yes, tell me."

"It's a surprise. You'll get it at some point in the future."

You thought back to some of the stranger events of the past few weeks. "... is it a birthday party, Malleus."

"Nnnnnnoooooooooooooo?" His face was a desperate, wide-eyed mask of please-believe-me.

"Yes it is."

"I didn't say that."

"You might as well have!"

"It's not." He wasn't even facing you anymore, knowing his face would betray him.

You took a deep breath. 

"I can keep pretending I don't know. I mean, if you want to throw a surprise party, I can't really stop you. And anyway," you added, "If I don't have a set birthday, there's no way I can know exactly when it's coming."

He relaxed, slightly.

"Don't get me a ring, though."

He chuckled. "That does have implications, doesn't it."

"Don't it, though?"

"I was checking what colours were most flattering for you." He finally turned around, all warm smiles. "I should have known. They all look lovely, because you're the one wearing them."

"Stop." You could feel you cheeks reddening. "If it helps, gold doesn't make my ears act up."

~*~*~*~

When you walked to your dorm one warm day, after school, you simply could not see the building for the brambles grown up since you left this morning.

"Yuu?"

"Grim?"

He squinted at you, unimpressed. "Your prince boyfriend has lost his fucking mind. Why'd he do this?"

"I think I know." You looked in amongst the branches, which held no roses, but something better. You plucked off a blackberry and held it to your little shoulder monster.

"Ew, no. I want tuna."

"Suit yourself." There was a path, and if you got on tiptoes, a tent half-hidden behind the briar. "You ready for a party, Grim?"

"What? What party?"

You shifted him from your shoulder to your hip as you walked along, careful of your sore arm. "They decided I needed a surprise party because I don't have an actual birthday. Figured it out like two... three? weeks ago."

"Why didn't you tell me?" He stopped, looked away, and bristled. "Why didn't they tell me?!?"

"Because you can't keep a fucking secret?"

He yelled and scrambled to the ground. "Hey assholes why didn't you tell me I better be getting presents too-" He's already out of sight, and you can't stop laughing at him. It's better like this, when he's himself.

~*~*~*~

Why is Everyone here. There's a huge stack of presents, there's a buffet table, there's chairs, there's - 

"Shrimpie's here!" And then everyone converged with enough words that it was just a wall of sound; mystery hands leading you to a chair, someone was trying to stick a hat on you -

"Wait!"

People only stepped off and quieted because your voice cracked. Idia, hiding in a corner, managed to raise sympathetic eyebrows before whispering something into Azul's ear.

"I gotta go inside for like, five minutes, I'll be right back." And off you went.

~*~*~*~

"You don't seem the type to do drugs."

You looked up and laughed. "Well, Vil, I gotta get through the day somehow." You shook out two pills and poured a glass of water.

"What are they for?" He leaned against the doorway, as though it wouldn't cover his clothes with splinters and dust.

"These," you said as you pointed to the two in your hands "are anti-nausea. They're new."

"How many of those do you take?" He nodded towards the other bottles on the counter. “I didn’t see them during training.”

"Well," you said, as you started to number them off on your fingers. "I started the first ones after Eliza, to help stabilize my organs, the second ones were immunity-boosting after my pneumonia, I started taking vitamins after that as well, I got sleeping pills for nightmares after Jamil blotted - they don't always work, but hey - and, well." You shook your current bottle. "Your curse vapours are pretty good, it turns out."

He blanched, and you backpedaled. "You weren't yourself, and I only have to take these before meals now. I had to get IVs in the morning for a few days, I couldn't keep... wait, wait, shit, no, I'm sorry, don't make that face -"

Vil crossed the distance, putting his face very close to yours. "You should have told me."

"Why make you feel even worse, man?"

"Because I could have formulated something better for the damage." He flicked your nose, more exasperation than malice. "Cures and poison go hand in hand. I can't fix what was done if I don't know."

"Taking care of my medical woes is not your job, Vil."

"You don't get to tell me what is and isn't my job." He squeezed you close with one arm. "You're just an exhausting little potato."

"I'm a delicious little sweet potato that you can't resist."

He sighed, exhausted. "Yes you are. Now take your pills and stop with secrets."

~*~*~*~

"What kept you?"

"Had to make sure there's room in the fridge for all your food, Trey." He hadn't chosen one cheesecake - he had at least two dozen varieties of bite sized miniatures, labeled by flavour and potential allergens. "You were busy."

"Well, I felt like experimenting. I hope you don't mind."

"You're the one doing me a favour." You looked around, everyone chatting idly with one another. "Where's Mal."

"..."

"I swear to fucking god if he didn't get an invitation to the party he helped organize-"

~*~*~*~

It turns out he'd left to fetch an obnoxiously large bouquet of flowers, the scent so overpowering you thought your chair might tip from the force of it.

"You do enjoy them?" Mal was so cute when unsure.

"Yes, dear." As long as people didn't crowd in again. Lately, you can only take so much sensation before your brain shorts out and you start yelling. "Set them on the table, I'll have to start on them later." Hairspray and an arid room would have those dried within the week.

"Which part of the celebration will we start with first?"

"I don't know. It's my party but you're the ones throwing it. Where's Grim?"

He pointed over to one of the set up tables, where Grim sat in a pile of wrapping paper, furiously kick-scratching at a wriggling toy fish as big as he was, while Cater filmed. "We realized a few days ago he'd be unhappy if he didn't get his own presents."

"Aww. Is there catnip in that?"

He leaned in conspiratorially. "We're not supposed to have any on campus because Kingscholar is susceptible to it."

You went right past normal laughter straight to wheezing.

~*~*~*~

So far, the highlights were: A mycological photobook from Jade big enough to crush someone's head with (that he cheerfully wrote as such on the inside flap), an enormous multipack of slipper socks from Ruggie (with a note saying it was a return on the doughnut-patterened ones you'd given him for his own birthday) and a parure set from Floyd, crafted from thousands of woven seed pearls with carved coral feature beads that was frankly obscene in the amount of money it must have cost. (He, of course, said it was worth it as long as you wore it for him, and simply laughed when you quipped that he meant with clothing right?)

The rest was fantastic, still - various books and movies, a pretty glass vase from Ace stuffed with wildflowers, fine silk dresses from Kalim and a simple belled bracelet tucked in, from Jamil. Currently, you were opening a basket from Vil.

"Oh, wow," you meant with sincerety as you pulled out a light, fragrant soap. "You make this yourself?"

"Yes. There's soaps, shampoo, conditioner, perfumes, lotions..."

You smiled at him sweetly. "You saying I stink, Shoenheit?"

He mirrored your smile right back at you. "Be sure to use them."

"... I'm going to kill you," you said, laughing, as you lobbed the wrapping paper at his face.

~*~*~*~

"Az?"

"Mm?" He was watching with amusement as you looked the jacket over, a lovingly tailored frock coat in periwinkle wool and shell toggles.

"Are you sure this'll fit?"

"Of course." He guestured down the table to Rook, who waved. "He checked your measurements."

"When did-" Ohhhhhh. Oh. Alright. "I'm surprised he couldn't tell by just looking."

"I could, mon ange! But that was more fun!"

~*~*~*~

Malleus barely hid his pout when sliding his box over to you, and it didn't take you long to guess why. "Floyd's jewels really show yours up, huh."

"Perhaps," he said, pointedly not looking at the boy currently playing with Grim.

"Yours are more special because they're from you." When unwrapped, the box was stunning; carved walnut with shell inlaid curlicues. "My god, how old is this?"

"Older than I am," he said with a smile.

"How old is that, Mal."

He just kept smiling, and you rolled your eyes and opened the box to reveal a piece far, far different than the frothy confection Floyd gave you. A single, sizable brooch of gilt and enamel, a tiny faerie woman staring up at you with imperious emerald eyes, she was so lovingly crafted you could see the tension of her muscles and the hair between her legs.

"This piece is only a hundred and fifty years old," he said mildly. "The artist lives in the Valley of Thorns, and created it in the image of her lover." His smile was fond, and sweet. "They're still together to this day. Even if we may not last so long, I hope that it can be as strong."

The sentiment was enough to make you tear up.

~*~*~*~

Several tissues and a bat-shaped blanket from Lilia later, Idia pulled out a large box. And another, and another.

"Uh, Idia."

He just turned red as he stacked another box.

"Dude, holy fuck. What did you do?"

"Looked at your wishlist on your shopping websites." He's flickering pink at the tips of his hair. "Couldn't decide."

"I told him to just get them all!" Ortho looked wildly proud of himself. "Some of them are from me."

You blinked several times. "I thought the sites broke." You started feeling faint. "Idia."

"Yes?" He finally brought out one last box, easily two thirds your height, and set it in front of you.

"Some of those dolls were... so much madol."

He was shifty-eyed. "Yeah."

"Some of the outfits were themselves more than some of the dolls on those wishlists."

Despite the redness, his face was still. "Yeah."

"Oh my god." You're already sitting down, but you need to lie down. "That's too much money."

"It's nothing, don't worry about it."

"Why do you have so much money one of those sites alone was at least a million madol's worth of-"

"Please just open the boxes," he said in a strained voice. "I don't want them all staring."

You take your shaking hands to start unwrapping, mentally trying to figure out which rooms in the building were sound enough to hold obscene amounts of porcelain, resin and plastic. By the time you were done, there were over forty of varying shapes and sizes with complete wardrobes for each; the last not even on any list - that was an art piece near as tall as you, a fine bone china girl with golden curls and knowing eyes from an artist whose work did not go for less than five million madol even firsthand. Your vision greyed at the sight of her, and when you came to your senses, everyone breathed a sigh of relief before spending the rest of the evening treating you as something at least as delicate and precious as her.

~*~*~*~

It's just past sunset, and guests are still milling about. You're not really looking at them, though - you're losing your little friend.

Grim's only himself in daylight, now. Once the night hits, he goes back to the strange, feral thing that laid your wrist open to eat a chunk of solid ink. He's gone twitchy, wordless, pacing with his now headless robot fish in his mouth, before finally tearing through the brambles to god-knows-where.

"... I don't know what to do about it. He doesn't come back at night anymore. What if he doesn't come back at all one night?"

"I won't let that happen." Idia was draped over the back of your chair, idly playing with the wrapping on your wrist. You couldn't see his face, but a curious tension was clear in his voice. "How many of those crystals has he eaten?"

"All of them, as far as I know." There may have been one on the camping trip that you were mercifully excluded from; thankfully your restraining order against Vargas meant that Grimm had been allowed to attend by himself. Good thing, too, your period had arrived weeks early. "Do you think it's like mercury poisoning? The effects get worse as more collects in his body?"

"Maybe. It's something to look into."

You snorted, lightly. "What do you know about it?"

"... Less than I'd like." Before you could ask, he leaned down to your ear to whisper, "I'd rather know you."

"What, now?" You looked around at the tables. "There's still people here-"

You barely stifled a cry when he nipped at your earlobe. "I put on something nice for you~" You could hear the smirk in his voice as he played every trick in his book to goad you. "Unwrap me and see~"

It took every ounce of self control in you to not throw him down on the table and take him right there, in front of God and every student in the school.

~*~*~*~

"I'm too late, I see."

"Close that damned door before everyone hears."

Malleus obediently shut the door to the balcony before setting his slotted pillow on the dresser. "They couldn't even if they had their ear to the door, I soundproofed all our rooms months ago."

"Aren't you clever. Did they buy the excuse?"

"I think that they would have believed that you were going to bed if you did not say it as soon as Shroud went inside looking very proud of himself."

You flopped back onto your pillows, eliciting a sleepy grunt from Idia. "Shit."

"And if you didn't trip on the stairs in your haste."

"Now you're making fun of me."

"Perhaps," he smiled, sitting at the foot of your bed and idly stroking your leg.

"So, why didn't you tail up after us?"

"I am, if I try very hard, capable of some discretion, even when it comes to you," he huffed. "And anyway, someone had to see everyone off, get everything put away, and bring the gifts inside."

Your face fell. "I'm sorry-"

He crept up to put a finger to your lips. "It was very simple. Now," he pressed himself against you and turned to look at Idia's drowsing form, "what is this?"

You snickered lightly to yourself. "I think he found my browsing history." All you'd left on him was a fine pair of silk stockings, with delicate stripes from thigh to toe. You'd never thought he'd even consider wearing something like that, but your pretty blue boy was so full of surprises.

Malleus hummed to himself as he reached out a hand, dragging a finger along one bruised hip. Idia only sighed and fluttered his lashes, and Mal let out a stuttering gasp.

"Do you think," he whispered, voice hoarse, "that if I took these off with my teeth, that he would still stay asleep?"

You felt faint at the thought. "I don't know, but let me watch you try."

~*~*~*~

You awoke, later, to Idia sitting with the blankets pooled around his waist, five of his blue screens open. You couldn't make much sense of them, too sleepy to make out the letters on their obnoxious brightness, so you reached out both hands to squeeze his waist.

He yelped and scowled at you. "Go to sleep."

"No, you." The screens weren't making any more sense, but there was, briefly, a picture of Grim. "What are you working on?"

"I'm almost done," he said, which was not an answer but you were too tired to notice, so you reached up his back to wind a few locks of hair around your hand - and pulled, which lead to another annoyed yelp as he quickly saved and closed his work. "Just say you're weak to light attacks instead of doing that."

"You know I am." When he finally laid back down beside you, you put your face to his chest, as much to block out the light from his hair as for warmth and comfort. No wonder he slept so poorly, he literally gave off blue light every hour of the day, that only dimmed once he was already asleep. "Tell me about it later, okay?"

"Later," he said, and you drifted off between your two boys, which was almost as nice as sleeping with Grim in your bed, but this would have to do until he got better.

[mauesartetc]

The only reason I even knew Vaggie (also I hate her name like why? Why name her that?) was a moth demon was because of the fandom.

I like bows when it makes sense for the character, might just be me but from what we’ve seen of her she just doesn’t seem like one to have a giant bow in her hair.

Alastor supposed to be a deer demon? I didn’t know the guy even had antlers at first glance. I also genuinely had no idea those were his frickin ears! I thought it was just a weird hairstyle bc why not?

I’m with you on Nifty’s design, I love it, would like to see more of her.

Personally I like Angel’s design because I think it suits him. Sexy and cute, but that’s really it. I went for a long time thinking he was intersex male bc of the fur titties! Like I thought they had a legit purpose and I thought it was cool to see inclusion and positivity of that! But no it’s just fur with the magical properties to act like boobs because yea

Also he was apparently a mobster in his previous life? A former mobster is where I would expect to see pin stripe suits- I also personally think his suit is too close in color to his skin/fur. It’s kind of confusing to me

This is all strange to me because I like watching hazbin/helluva, but like as just a funny lil thing to see- my brand of comedy isn’t really in line with the rampant amount of sex jokes that go on there but I can find humor in them. My fav is prob when angel taunts/teases/?? The snake dude by saying “harder daddy” but snake dude immediately goes “SON?? 🥺” and angel’s face after getting that response was hilarious to me.

I tend to try to stay out of fandom drama and especially ignoring the creator(I love Harry Potter but wow JK Rowling really turned out to be like that huh?) because I want to enjoy the story/content we get but…does she seriously refuse to take criticism? Like ever? You said she’s only responded to overly positive views on it right? I couldn’t imagine that, how am I supposed to learn without criticism?

On a slightly different note; have you seen the over analyzations that fandom has down? I’m speaking for just the newest episode, and while I find them interesting to read it’s hard to think these things go that deep/anything from that will stick around/character developments or 5min and then next episode back to normal

Oh, haven't you heard? Vaggie's original name was VAGYNA. I'm not making that up. And yeah she really doesn't look like a moth, nor does Alastor look much like a deer. It's also kinda hilarious that Angel's the character pinstripes would fit the best given his background and time period, yet he's one of the only dudes in Hazbin who don't wear them.

Yeah ngl, the "Son?" part was funny to me too. Too bad nearly every line out of Angel's mouth was sexualized. These writers are aware sex workers know conversation topics unrelated to their job, right? Being "on" like that 24/7 would be exhausting, I'm sure.

Viv is a perfect example of what happens when artists refuse to take criticism. She keeps falling back on the same tired visual tropes she's used in her designs for years. It's hard to learn from your mistakes if you deny you've made any.

Yeah I've consciously avoided falling down the fan theory rabbit hole for Hazbin/Helluva because I value my mental health. But I have seen the odd Youtube thumbnail with a title like, "Is Blitzo Part Succubus?" and this was my exact reaction: "Oh my god, who. The hell. Cares." These folks are reading WAY too far into things when the writers couldn't even manage believable character reactions. And y'all are speculating about lore and shit? PFFFF.

[le0watch]

Miss Red and Mister Snow

It's a busy day in the bar as usual. Langa weaves through his many patrons, the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke filling his nostrils with every breath. If he wasn't already used to this overwhelming mixture of scents, he probably would have thrown up by now. But, in his job, this sort of thing is normal.

The same could be said about the uproarious noise, men and women talking to each other about their days and lives. The music from the jazz band playing loud enough to be heard over the chatter, the clinking of ice and the mixing of beverages. Even the stomping of some tenants' feet.

Langa ignores it all in favor of getting to the front of the usual crowd, finding his reserved table. No one but him and the people of his choosing are allowed to sit here, the very best seat in the entire bar.

Tonight a new group of flapper dancers are coming into preform, after months of negotiation on both ends. Neither wants to be found out or linked back to the other, so they had to sit through many, many discussions. They finally found a day and a way for the group to sneak in without being suspected of anything, and currently, they are getting ready in the backstage area.

They should be out any minute now, which is why Langa is already sitting at his table. He crosses one leg over the other, his recently cleaned black shoes shining in the stage light. He'd slicked his hair back today to keep it out of his face, and he's wearing his favorite blue pinstriped suit, with the matching pair of pants to go with it. He'd like to make a good impression on this group in case he likes them, and would like them to partner up with his bar and business. After all, he does not yet have a regular flapper group that attends his bar even though they've been open for half a year now.

All of the best bootlegging bars have a regular dance group and jazz band. And while Langa has the latter, it's been hard to find a dance group to his liking. He's picky like that.

A moment later, and the lights flicker off. The crowd of people fall silent as the stage lights turn on one by one, revealing a small group of flapper dancers, all with their own colored dress. They're all beautiful in their own right.

But Langa can't look away from the lead dancer, who's dress is a bright red with black stripes going down from the shoulders to their stomach, where a large, intricate pattern is formed. If Langa looks closely, he could see that the pattern slightly forms a hibiscus flower. The black lines continue past this flower design, and create flaps at the bottom of the dress. Orange jewels and gold, hanging sequins decorate the black lines of the dress, and the girl’s hair- redder than her dress- is smoothed back into a bobbed, slick style that is so popular with the ladies right now. A golden band of beads is weaved into her hair, which dangles a little on her face.

She's wearing a pair of golden slippers that open on the top and close around the toes. Even these shoes have red jewels on them on the top of the area her toes would be.

She's standing at the front of the stage, one hand holding a microphone close to her lips, while the other is propped on her propped up hip. She’s smiling, a beautiful sight that Langa wants to take a picture of and hand on his wall. He would even find a way to make the picture colored so he could see her in all of her beauty. Her lips are colored with a brig red lipstick to match her dress, and her lashes are fluffed up by mascara.

“Hello everybody!” she says into the mic, her playful tone evident in her voice. She has a similar lilt as other flapper dancers, that sounds amazing in her voice. The crowd is a mixture of calls and wolfish whistles. They must think she's cute, too. “How are y'all doin’ tonight?”

There's more hooting and clapping from the crowd, cigarette smoke making a thin cloud over the audience. Langa can't stop staring at this flapper; she’s gorgeous.

“Well, that is great to hear!” she continues, flashing a bright grin at the crowd that has basically devolved into a pack of animals from her appearance alone. She seems unphased by it- probably used to this reaction. Langa isn't, though, and he wants nothing more than to punch anyone who so much as looks at her the wrong way. She shouldn't be treated like a piece of meat. “You all can call me Miss Red!” She then looks over at Langa, and does a small curtesy in his direction. He nearly passes out under her gaze. “And I'd like to thank Mister Snow over here for lettin’ us come in tonight.”

Langa nods his head in response, since he doesn't know what else to do. She merely winks at him and he nearly passes out all over again.

Then, Miss Red claps her hands together and backs up into the line of other dancers. The lights brighten to shine off of the sequins and jewels attached to their dresses, and they start their routine, first with the Charleston before moving into the foxtrot.

Langa tries to watch a few of the other dancers, but his eyes keep drifting back Miss Red’s pretty face. She does the unthinkable after a few minutes of dancing; she starts seeing a song, which the jazz band seems to know, as they play along with her voice. Her singing voice is beautiful and powerful, echoing around the clamor of clapping and howling men:

“Now look me over carefully

All dolled up from A to Z

Guess you wonder where I'm gonna go

I'm excited, I'll admit

And you don't know the half of it

I'm gonna meet the one that I love so

Hey, hey, clear the way

Looks like this is my lucky day

I'm gonna meet my sweetie now

I can't be annoyed

Am I happy, am I overjoyed

I'm gonna meet my sweetie now!”

She sings it beautifully, and Langa loves her take on the popular song “I'm Gonna Meet My Sweetie Now”. He may even like it more than the original version, with the way she sings the verses and words, and the way the jazz band is playing as an energetic version of the song.

“Hey-hey-hey, just got through

Manicure and a good shampoo

I'm gonna meet my sweetie now

Yes indeedy, just got a brand new hat

Brand new this and a brand new that

I'm gonna meet my sweetie now

When I think of how his arms come stealin'

I'm so nervous, girls, you know the feelin'

I'm just nearly wild

Come on, mother, and save your child

I'm gonna meet my sweetie now!”

The dancers switch to the scandalous shimmy, causing the hollering from the crowd to double. Their dresses flip this way and that, looping around their thighs and almost rising higher than they should as they dance with a partner, pressing so close that the men cheer. Langa feels his face heat up. He doesn't see the shimmy very often, and to see Miss Red going through the steps makes him hot. It's also banned in most places, so you don't see this style as often as say a black bottom or foxtrot.

Then, Miss Red peels from her partner- a tall, dark woman with piercing eyes- and approaches the microphone once more. She catches her breath before finishing the song:

“That's all!”

The jazz music dies down and every flapper in the group bows, before exiting the stage, even as the crowd calls, “Encore! Encore!” Well, it doesn't seem like they're getting an encore. Instead, they get blown kisses and dainty waves of goodbye.

Langa stands up, because now he has to meet these amazing women (Miss Red) and ask them to become regulars. He could pay them handsomely; he has more than enough money to spare from bootlegging. He slips to the backstage, and follows the twisting of the balls until finds the changing room. He doesn't barge in, just in case they're still changing, but does knock.

The door cracks open, revealing Miss Red’s pretty face. She still has her makeup on and hasn't changed yet, but she does have a pair of pants beneath the skirt. When she sees who it is, she offers a shy smile and courtesies for him once more.

“Mister Snow,” she says in greeting. She slips through the crack she'd made in the door to stand with him in the hall, her hands clasped behind her back politely. “What did you think of the show? Hope it was to your liking.” She winks at him, and Langa could feel himself getting hot all over again.

He clears his throat, and nods his head. “It was amazing,” he replies, keeping his dignity about himself. “And you were especially amazing.”

Miss Red chuckles at him, and he loves the sound. He's starting to love everything about her. “Well I'm glad you think so,” she says airily with another small smile. “Now, what did you need, honey dear?”

‘Honey dear’. Langa is going to lose it. If anyone else had called him that, he would have snapped at them. But it sounds so good when it's coming from Miss Red.

“I was wanting to discuss with your manager about you becoming regulars here at my bar,” he explains, and clasps his hands behind his back. She's a tad shorter than she is, but she holds herself well enough that it's as if she is the same height as him. “Where is he?”

“Right here, darling,” Miss Red answers, taking Langa by surprise. He blinks owlishly at her, shocked by her answer. Usually, a flapper group such as this would have a man in charge to arrange things. Maybe the man they’d sent to the meetings had just been a connection, so that it wouldn't trace back to them. There aren't many women who take charge of this sort of thing, if at all. She smirks at him, resting a hand on her hip. “You look shocked.”

“Well- I'll be honest, I am,” Langa replies hesitantly. “But I find it amazing that you manage your own group. Sorry to have implied you were a man at all.”

She laughs a bit louder than before, like afternoon bells chiming. She covers her mouth with one of her hands, and says, “Not to fear. I am both, after all.”

Once more surprised, Langa gawks at her, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me right,” Miss Red says nonchalantly. “I am both a man, and a woman. I can be whatever you'd want me to be.” She winks at him while saying this last part, and even though he’s saying he's a man, he feels his face heating up all over again.

“So… you go by both male and female?” Langa asks slowly, trying to unravel it in his brain.

“That is correct, darling,” Miss Red says in confirmation. “If that is too strange for you, or changes your opinion of our group, then we shall take our leave once we've received our payment.”

He’s going to enter the dressing room, but Langa reaches out and grabs her wrist before thinking. She pauses, and looks back at him with a raised eyebrow.

“No!” Langa exclaims. “I don't quite yet fully understand it, but my opinion of you and your group has not changed. You are still welcome to become the regular dance group here.”

Miss Red peers at his face, as if trying to see if he's lying. He presses his lipstick painted lips together, before smiling at him once more. That smile is driving Langa insane, just like the rest of her….

“Well then, I'll take your offer up on that,” she says eventually, and slips her hand against his, intertwining their fingers together. Langa’s face becomes so hot he's afraid it's going to melt off. “As long as the pay here is good enough for my girls. We need to make a living, after all.”

“I'll pay you double than the average fee,” Langa replies quickly, and Miss Red’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. He smiles, nodding eagerly. “You have my word that your girls will always be safe and taken care of here. And I always keep my word, Miss Red.”

She hums softly, and then brushes her fingertips along the curve of Langa’s cheekbones. He goes still, her touches gentle and featherlight. She leans in close, their breaths mingling. “Well, I wouldn't mind the view out in our crowd, either,” he says, and Langa swallows heavily at how deep his voice has become. This is scandalous, getting so close to a lady after just meeting her, but he can't resist, especially when she’s the one initiating it. “You do have a pretty face, Mister Snow.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, butterflies forming in his stomach. “How can you say that when you're standing in front of me, hm?” he says, deciding to flirt back. Her eyes widen, and he sees a flush of red bloom across her cheeks. Rex really is his color. And it's starting to become Langa’s favorite. “You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.”

“Oh, you're just too much!” she says with laughter, playfully pushing on his chest. He stumbles a little, taken aback by his strength. She covers her mouth once more as she laughs, the red still painting her cheeks. He has freckles, Langa realizes. They just make her appear ever more beautiful. Especially when paired with her shining, honey amber eyes.

Her laughter tapers off, all the while Langa waits patiently for her to finish, softly smiling at her. Miss Red takes notice of this, and snorts softly. “Anyways, Mister Snow, I really must get back to cleaning up. Would you like us to come back tomorrow night, same time?”

“That would be splendid,” Langa replies easily. He catches her hand again, and brings it up to press a kiss to the knuckles. She huffs out a laugh at the action, and when he looks up he’s rolling his eyes. But, that red blush is still on his cheeks, an even darker shade than before. “It was nice to meet you, Miss Red.”

She pauses, before saying, “Do call me Reki, Mister Snow. That's my real name.”

Reki. It fits her.

“Just don't go announcing it everyone you run into, you hear?” she says teasingly, and he quickly nods.

“Of course not, Reki,” he replies. He hesitates for one moment before saying, “And you may call me Langa. Same rules apply.”

Reki smiles at him brightly, taking his breath away all over again. He should ask him out on a date, so he could see her outside of the bar, too. But his jaws lock, words getting stuck in his throat before he could. If Reki was both a man and woman, wouldn't that make him gay? And while he doesn't have a problem against gay people, he's never thought himself to be gay.

“Of course, Langa,” she says, and Langa likes the way he says his name. “Goodnight, darling.”

“And goodnight to you,” he answers, and they nod to one another.

Then, Reki opens the door, a burst of squealing and laughter from the other flappers erupting outside. She giggles, before heading inside, closing the door behind himself.

Langa stares at the door for a few minutes longer, wishing that he could call Reki back and invite him to go out together at some point. Men go out together all the time. It didn't have to be a date.

But his heart is racing too fast, and the thought of asking makes his very breath falter. So instead, he heads back to the bar, ready to start the closing preparations.

[amphtaminedreams]

Farewell to Spooky Season, AHS Style: Lookbook no.12

Hi to anyone reading,

Happy belated Halloween!

I capitalise it because if I'm gonna recognise any day as sacred, it’s the spookiest one of the year! Halloween 2020 obviously hasn’t been as exciting as usual, parties and club nights being banned has meant there’s been far less opportunities to dress up, but I still managed to get out for the night before they announced the upcoming second lockdown and do a couple of spooky movie nights (and carve a pumpkin!)!

I originally intended for this lookbook to be last minute halloween costume inspo but I was lazy and didn’t manage to get it out on time-a lot of these looks minus the makeup and maybe an accessory or two could work on any day or night out so I thought I’d go ahead and post it now anyway. Celebrating the fashion moments of American Horror Story is something I’ve wanted to do for a while; it’s probably not the first show you’d think of for sartorial inspiration but Mr. Ryan Murphy has fucking fantastic taste in stylists and the first five seasons of AHS in particular, which I’ll be focussing on in this post, have given us SO many amazing looks. The man may be guilty of many things-subjecting us to the character of Will Schuester, trying to turn Richard Ramirez into a thirst trap, embarrassing everyone who raved about how good Scream Queens was when he wrote season 2-but costume related laziness is not one of them. We see more consistency in a Ryan Murphy character’s wardrobe than we do in their story arcs and I respect that because honestly, as much as I love joining in when it comes to ripping into his ability to cohesively bring an AHS season to a close when it airs, I’d probably be the same; if you put Lady Gaga in front of me and told me to write her lines I’d probably end up getting overly invested in what her character was going to be wearing in the scene too. 

So! Enough Ryan Murphy bashing from me! I’ll get on with it! Starting with 3 season 1 inspired looks:

Murder House: Elizabeth Short, Tate Langdon and Violet Harmon

-striped jumper from caitlinlark on Depop, kick flare jeans from ellagray-

When it comes to reflecting on season 1 of American Horror Story, all I can say do is thank the internet overlords that Tumblr has moved on from the romanticising school shooters and wearing normal people scare me tops phase to instead collectively taking the piss out of the “GO AWAY, TATE!”, “YOU’RE ALL THAT I WANTTT! YOU’RE ALL THAT I HAVEEE!” exchange. 

In terms of fashion *moments*, whilst season 1 doesn’t stand out as much as the seasons that come after, Violet and Tate’s wardrobes did give birth to a bit of a 90s grunge renaissance with their oversized knits and faded jeans and layering of textures. It did also give us good costumes in the form of Alexandra Breckenridge’s Moira O’Hara and Mena Suvari’s portrayal of the Black Dahlia, Elizabeth Short; unfortunately, I didn’t have a slutty maid costume lying around so I did the best I could at giving the outfit Elizabeth wears when she makes that fateful visit to the Murder House a modern, more party appropriate update.

In terms of season rankings, Murder House isn’t my favourite. It starts off really great but lulls a bit towards the end and I could never get behind Violet and Tate as a couple because you know, one of them is a school shooter who sexually assaults the other’s mum, and that’s a hurdle that I think most couples might struggle to get over irl. That being said, it was the season that started it all and showcased some of the most innovative writing and directing on TV, and it opened up a spot for horror on primetime television which as far as I know was kind of unheard of before then. Back when I first watched it, I had no idea what to expect not only because I’d never seen horror in a serial format but also because it seemed to be able to get away with the kind of storylines you’d expect network executives to fire people over. It introduced us to Jessica Lange and Sarah Paulson and Evan Peters and Denis O’Hare who would go on to make the show what it is today and more importantly, through Jessica’s glorious portrayal of Constance Langdon, provide us with an endlessly versatile meme format for this trying time.

Asylum: ‘60s Lana Winters, ‘70s Lana Winters, and Sister Mary Eunice McKee

-afghan coat from louisemarcella on Depop, red AA skater dress from julietramage, pink gingham co-ord from zshamim-

I think we can all agree: Asylum would’ve been a perfect series of television if it wasn’t for the completely unnecessary alien storyline. Like, I get that they fit in with the whole good vs. evil theme as a kind of non-biblical alternative to the idea of a higher, all-powerful being but there was already so much going on that it just wasn’t needed. Aside from that, I think the general consensus amongst watchers of the show is that Asylum has the best writing of any season and I think I’d tend to agree. It’s not my favourite because it’s too depressing to rewatch but if we’re talking the first time round, this is the series that had me hooked. Lana Winters?

Iconic. 

Sister Mary Eunice? Iconic. The Name Game? Iconic. Remember when you couldn’t go a day on Facebook without seeing that one photo of Naomi Grossman as Pepper used as the go to “what I really look like” photo in one of those “expectation vs. reality” style posts on your newsfeed? Those were simpler times.

Because this season was mostly situated within the hospital, we didn’t get that many proper outfits but when we did, they were stunning; if I had to state my absolute favourite AHS character of the entire show I’d probably go with Lana Winters and the part her wardrobe played in her characterisation would 100% play a part in that. The late 60s/early 70s was such a wonderful period for fashion and through her character we get to see both of those explored a little. Of course there’s also *that* Sister Mary Eunice scene with the red slip dress and suspenders too which yes, could be a perfect halloween costume, but I also strongly believe should be a perfectly acceptable outfit for any day of the year. 

Coven: Misty Day, Madison Montgomery, and Zoe Benson

-chiffon dress from rags_to_riches on Depop, pinstripe corset from hanpiercey, and tennis skirt from mollie_morton-

I hate to be a basic bitch but I have to say it: Coven is my favourite season of American Horror Story. Once you get over the complete waste of Evan Peters’ acting capabilities that resulted from the *choice* to have him play Kyle, the unnecessary rehash of the Evan/Taissa pairing from season 1 in what I can only assume was an attempt to capitalise on the popularity of the questionable Tate/Violet relationship, and the subsequent sacrifice of any interesting character arc we could’ve foreseen for Zoe Benson beyond her obsessing over a resurrected, non-verbal frat boy, it’s a perfect season. A supreme (heh) balance of horror, humour, and character drama, as well as the stunning aesthetics and forever quotable dialogue, make it my go-to season if I’m ever considering a rewatch. And if you disagree, let me jog your memory with the most mainstream (not to get all “normal people scare me” and suggest AHS is not a mainstream show, I literally just mean in the sense that even those who have never watched the show will have seen this)  reaction GIF set any FX show has even spawned:

Buzzfeed employees had a field day, Emma Roberts enthusiasts (I mean me) finally saw her cemented as the pop culture icon Scream Queens has since showed us she deserves to be (because not enough people have seen Unfabulous, Nancy Drew or Scream 4) and the gays everywhere rejoiced at the year’s worth of meme fodder they’d been provided with. It was Madison Montgomery’s world and we were truly just living in it.

And the fashion! I mean, Stevie Nicks meets 21st century teenage witches! Come on! 

Freakshow: Dandy Mott, Maggie Esmerelda and Elsa Mars

-olive green satin skirt from morganogle on Depop, headscarf from tonijordan, platform sandals from elliefewt, PVC skirt from bethpin_, corset top from sadieflinter, beret from house_of_erotique, flame detail platform boots from mad_rags_vintage-

When people talk about the declining quality of AHS, they usually point to Freakshow as the beginning of the end, but I have to completely disagree. I wasn’t a fan the first time round but on rewatch it’s probably the most emotional season of them all; no, there aren’t as many “horrifying” moments as in other seasons and Elsa is probably Jessica’s worst performance (which is still an incredible one by anybody else’s standards), however it makes up for it with the most sympathetic bunch of characters yet, and on the flip side, also one of the most amusingly depraved with Finn Wittrock’s Dandy Mott. Fans usually argue that the season went downhill once *SPOILER* Twisty the Clown was killed off but for me, he really primarily served as the catalyst for the far more interesting devolution of Dandy, who, imo, is the show’s strongest villain to date, rivalled only by Bloody Face. Then there was the episode Orphans too which made me cry buckets, the sole AHS episode to do so. 

We got a lot of great fashion content in this season too: the theatrical opulence of Elsa Mars’ wardrobe, “Maggie”’s nomadic fortune teller costumes, and all those twee suits we saw Finn Wittrock in. Highly underrated if you ask me. It seems an odd choice for me to use Elsa’s Dominatrix look as an inspiration for one of my looks here when we have that Life on Mars performance outfit and all the extravagant robes Jessica got to waltz around in for reference buuuut I didn’t really have anything to do the vibrancy of either of those justice so I went with the black leather option which is much more me. Am I saying I moonlight as a dominatrix? Maybe. Lol, no. I wish. It’s not for lack of trying. WHERE ARE ALL THE GENUINE TWITTER PAYPIGS AT!? Your girl wants to insult creepy men and get some new clothes out of it xoxo

Hotel: Hypodermic Sally, Liz Taylor, and The Countess

-silk white bralet from xlibby_maix on Depop-

Hotel is another season that I liked a lottttt more upon rewatch, once I knew I was okay to tune out the (completely predictable and utterly nonsensical) Ten Commandments Killer storyline that so much of the season initially seems to hinge on. I love Chloë Sevigny but the fact that her and Wes Bentley’s wooden John and Alex Lowe are positioned as the protagonists at the expense of the far more interesting Liz Taylor, James March and Hypodermic Sally really does a disservice to what is an otherwise great season upon initial viewing.

The visuals this season are magnificent and I think if I had to pick one character’s wardrobe to steal from the entire cast of AHS characters, it would be The Countess (a toss up between her and Misty Day tbh, so I kinda just settle for low-key channelling both). No fucking idea where I'd wear any of her clothes to but I’d make it work. Liz Taylor and Hypodermic Sally have some amazing looks too-there’s just honestly so much to choose from; that being said, this post wouldn’t be complete without a specific ode to the vampire goddess Elizabeth Bathory, who is everything I want to be in life minus the murderous qualities:

Everything. EVER-Y-THING. LOOK AT HER!

Lady Gaga is really a fucking goddess isn’t she. And people were claiming before they’d even seen it that she couldn’t act? A patriarchal society doesn’t like women that can do it all. Just saying. 

Anyways!

That’s it for now! I hope you enjoyed the post if you did read til the end! Sorry I couldn’t get this out before Halloween, I was typing and Picmonkey-ing madly from 2 in the afternoon on the 31st but I taking fucking forever to get ready and had to abandon all hope of getting it out on the day by 4PM. I’ve got so much content planned and it sucks because a couple of them are lookbooks which now feel completely redundant given we’re heading into a second lockdown, but maybe I should just do it anyway? The grunge inspired moodboard I just did seemed to get a good reception too so I’ve got some more of them planned. 

As always, hope everyone is keeping well, and feel free to inbox me with any suggestions, queries or even just to say hi if you need someone to talk to! I check here quite a lot so I should see it. Lots of love to everyone in this time!

Lauren x

[wowweeharrystyles]

Part 7 | London & T Shirts | 6.4k words

‘Sequins & Zippers’ Summary: An internship with Harry Lambert transformed into a job of a lifetime - Aurora Del Gatto finds herself touring the world with the one & only Harry Styles as his ‘Head of Wardrobe.’ Aurora is nothing but nerves & excitement as she packs her bags & almost 100 custom designer suits that belong to an unbelievably kind rockstar. She never thought she’d fall in love on top of it all.

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Masterlist

a/n: thanks for the week of grace, friends. I really appreciate it. FINALLY here’s part 7 ! 

“Listen, I know I’ve said this a lot,” Aurora starts as Harry walks into his dressing room. She’s sitting on the couch, legs propped up on the coffee table and her tour lookbook in her lap. “But tonight’s suit is my favourite.” Harry groans and then chuckles. “Harry! Listen, this one isn’t a normal suit. It’s on the same level as the Palamo pinstripe.” Aurora meets Harry’s eyes and he’s instantly reminded of that night in Spain. His eyebrows rise up in question. “Shut up.” She says with a small smirk. “But the baby pink velvet with the gold beading and the gold trouser stripe. The fact that Alessandro loved it so much he made it in black too and then I convinced Lambert that they should be used to mark monumental nights of your tour.” 

“That was your idea?” Harry asks as he sits down on the couch next to her. Aurora hums a yes. “Why London and LA?” 

“You really wanna know?” Harry nods. “It's the O2 for crying out loud, and then London, it’s your home. LA, the final show, your other home.” She answers as she puts her book to the side and grabs for one of Harry’s hands. She laces her fingers with his and looks up to him. “What?” she questions the look on his face.

“You really thought of all that when deciding those 2 suits?” She nods this time. 

“Not just those 2, all of them. Made sure the suit matched the show.” Harry brings their intertwined hands to his lips and presses a kiss on the back of Aurora’s hand. Harry shakes his head, not knowing how to express what he’s feeling so instead he just pulls Aurora in for a kiss. 

“So what colour are we painting your nails this time?” Aurora asks once they’ve settled back into the couch. 

“Black, again,” he says with a smirk. 

“Really?” Aurora asks in disbelief, sure he was going to pick a brighter colour. 

“Mhm, it’s like I’ve got a piece of you on stage with me.” 

Aurora huffs, unable to hide the smile that takes over her face. 

They situate themselves on the floor of his dressing room. Aurora sits in the empty space between Harry’s outstretched legs. With a knee of her own propped up, she sets Harry’s hand on it and begins to work on his nails. They’re both quiet and neither of them mind. They’ve tuned out the chaos that is happening in the rest of the arena. Aurora knows this is why Harry asked for her to do his nails. A moment of calmness. A moment away from being the center of attention. 

All last night and this morning, Harry had been getting calls and texts and emails about people’s excitement mixed with a handful of stressful ones from Jeff or any member of his management team. Aurora had to convince him that turning his phone off for a while was okay and that there was no need to worry about something someone else can take care of. She also reminded him that everyone will still be excited to see him in the morning, that those texts will still be there. It’s not that he doesn’t want to help or reply to his friends. It’s that Harry doesn’t know when to stop sometimes. Last night they were sitting at a local pub, a place where Harry’s a regular and even though his phone was on silent and he was trying his hardest to pay attention to the story Aurora was telling, he couldn’t focus. Aurora realised quickly that Harry doesn’t transition well between being “tour harry” and “just harry.” Bringing his work home with him doesn’t help either. Aurora made that comment in reference to herself and he really didn't’ appreciate it till later. When he went to say goodnight as he opened the car door for Aurora he did laugh about it with a loud chuckle, the joke finally clicking in his head.

The pulse at his wrist changes, bringing Aurora out of her own thoughts.“What’re you thinking about?” She asks as she grazes his pulse point with the pad of her finger. They’re so close that she can hear the rhythm of his breath speed up too. 

“Oh nothing,” he answers, brushing away the question. 

Aurora holds the polish bottle and brush in one hand and sets the hand she’s working on on her knee. With her free hand she reaches for Harry’s chin and tilts it just right so he has no choice but to look at her. He sighs. “You can tell me anything, you know that right?” Harry nods slowly. Aurora presses a soft, lingering kiss to his lips before going back to painting his nails. 

As she switches hands, Harry sighs again. She looks up to him through her lashes then back down to his nails and polish. 

“Nervous as hell.” It’s not a full sentence and that’s how Aurora knows how truly nervous he is. He goes to brush the bottom of his nose, another nervous habit, but stops himself unsure if he’ll mess up the polish that is drying. 

“That’s understandable,” Aurora offers. His lashes fluttered, almost like he was surprised by her response. “It’s a big show, well 2 big shows. I think I’d be concerned if you weren’t a little nervous.” 

“You know, anyone else would’ve asked why I’m nervous. They would’ve told me I have no reason to be.” Aurora hums.

“You may have sold out the O2 arena for 2 nights but that doesn’t make you superhuman. The way I see it, you being nervous about these performances shows how human you are. How humble you are. How much you care and how much you love your job. There’s nothing wrong with being nervous.” The words are true and Harry should know all of that. 

Harry leans his head down and presses a kiss to her cheek. 

“Thanks for understanding and thanks for saying that.” 

“That’s what I’m here for,” Aurora smiles at him. 

“Girl who keeps her word.” Aurora raises an eyebrow at him in question. “You said that on the first night of tour. That’s what I’m here for,” he repeats back to her. “After you talked me through my nerves then.” 

“Don’t like seeing you like this I guess” she whispers as she continues to paint again. 

“What?” 

“You’re always so calm,” she sighs now, “so when you’re stressed or nervous I can just pick up on it really fast. Feeling nerves or stress is never fun. I just hope I can help calm you back down, at least a little bit.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he apologizes softly, like his feelings are a burden. 

“Hey, don’t be sorry,” she assures him, pausing from painting the next nail. “I just don’t think many people pick up on it, which is probably what you want. You’re good at hiding it,” Harry nods as Aurora continues. “I don’t know what it is, but I can just tell when something is off,” she goes back to painting again. “I think it might be because I used to, well still do I guess, I used to hide my nerves or anxiety so nobody would make a fuss over it. Just kind of brush it under the rug and move forward. It’s a familiar feeling.” Harry doesn’t say anything when Aurora finishes. “I don’t mean to overstep… can’t help but notice, is all.” 

“You’re not overstepping,” Harry quietly responds. “I’m not used to having someone that can read me this well. It’s nice.” His lips press together into a small smirk. They meet eyes for a brief moment then Aurora goes back to finishing the job at hand. “What’s so familiar about it all?” 

The question stumps Aurora for a moment. She searches her brain for a moment trying to think back to the small gestures and change of behavior that she picked up on. 

“Well, you know, you always do this thing where you brush your nose. You do it a lot actually,” she giggles, “it’s not always when you’re nervous. Sometimes you’ll do it when you’re uncomfortable or unsure of something. I’ve seen you do it thousands of times during interviews.” 

“Ah, yeah, that I've done since I was little. Never been able to break that habit,” he laughs. 

“Makes sense, but I think it’s the fact that you just go quiet all of a sudden. I do that too. I shut down, which you don’t necessarily do. You’re always there, just a bit quieter than normal.” 

“I get in my head a lot, don’t want to bother anyone,” he confirms solemnly. 

“You’re not a bother to me,” Aurora reassures him. “Okay! All done! They’re still tacky, but I’m done painting.” 

“Thank you, Ror.” 

“No problem,” she says with a smile, setting down the polish. 

“Not just for painting my nails-” 

“No need to thank me for anything else, Harry.” 

Aurora packs up her nail supplies, zipping the bag and setting it out of the way. Harry’s admiring the fresh polish on his nails as he moves back to the couch, sinking into the cushions. 

“Alright?” Aurora asks, sitting down next to him. Harry just shrugs his shoulders. “When’s your next time commitment?”

“I’ve got sound check in an hour, I think,” he says, his voice trailing off a bit. 

“Okay, come here then,” Aurora says as she moves her body towards the other side of the couch. She leans herself against a pillow and gets comfortable, patting her lap once she’s settled. “Come on, no need to do anything else right now, yeah?” Harry nods hesitantly. 

Once his head is resting on her lap she lets her hand fall to his hair. It only takes a few runs of her fingers through his hair for his eyes to close. Aurora can tell he’s not actually asleep by his breathing that is still not steady and the light flutter of his eyelids when she grazes her nails lightly against his scalp soothingly. 

“Told my mum when I got home last night.” 

Aurora hums in question. 

“Told her that we made it official, that you’re my girlfriend.” Aurora’s hand freezes for a moment, a smile sneaking up on her face. Harry opens one eye to look up at her. “Hey, don’t stop,” he whines. Aurora rolls her eyes and takes her hand out of his hair completely. “Please, Rory,” he continues to whine. She sighs and goes back to the movements in his hair. “Thank you,” he says with a smile, eyes closed now. “Told Gemma and Michael too, texted Jack. Told him everything. He thought it was hilarious.” Aurora huffs at the comment. “When I told Mitch this morning that you were my girlfriend officially all he said was ‘duh’. And then Sarah made a comment about how she’s excited that she doesn't have to 3rd wheel Mitch and I now.”

Aurora’s laugh fills the room. It’s light and carefree. Harry joins in, enjoying the moment. His nerves subside for the next hour. It’s hard to think about anything going on outside of the quiet dressing room when Aurora has her hands in Harry’s hair, both of their laughter filling the space every so often and the innocent kisses they trade back and forth. If it weren’t for Harry’s reminder on his phone, they would’ve easily lost track of time and stayed in that dressing room forever. 

“How’re you doing now?” Aurora asks as they stall at the closed door. Harry shrugs his shoulders just like earlier. “What can I do for you?” She asks, her hands softly resting on his jaw, fingers sprawled towards the back of his neck. He shakes his head. Aurora tilts her head at him. “Babe,” she pleads. 

“Rory, I’ll be alright. I promise. The nerves aren’t gonna go away-” 

“I know that.” 

“-but I’m feeling much better. Thank you,” he says as he squeezes her waist. Aurora shakes her head before pulling him down so she can kiss his lips properly. 

| | | | |

Aurora catches a glimpse of Harry as she’s walking from craft services to Clare and Sarah’s dressing rooms. He’s meeting some fans from Rays Of Sunshine and she does a double take when Harry poses for a photo with a little girl. She slows her walk down to enjoy this brief moment, a bright smile reaches her eyes. Just before she makes it out of eyesight she sees the little girl point at his painted fingernails and she can hear Harry’s sweet laugh as she takes the last step out of eyesight. Her cheeks pink up slightly to no one but herself, until she hears her name coming from a newly familiar voice. 

“Hi Gemma!” Aurora greets her with a one handed hug, holding her tour lookbook in the other hand, while (surprise surprise) balancing a fresh cup of coffee too.

“How was your day yesterday?” Gemma asks as they walk down the hallway. “Oh it was… good. Spent most of the day watching Criminal Minds and ordering room service. Definitely needed the day off to regroup and relax.” 

“I love Criminal Minds! Is this your first time watching it?” Gemma’s eye’s light up at the connection. She walks with Aurora as she continues through the hallway again.

Aurora laughs, “1st time? More like the 10th time, probably.” 

Gemma joins in with Aurora’s laughter, “Oh finally!!! Now I have someone to obsessively talk to about it. Michael doesn’t love it, but he’ll watch the new episodes with me every week. He’s definitely annoyed with my love for Spencer Reid.” 

“Wait, Gems! Ah Gemma, sorry,” she corrects herself. “Harry soley refers to you as Gems.”

She laughs again, “It’s okay, I don’t mind.” Aurora offers a look of thanks. 

“Anyways, Spencer Reid is the love of my life,” she continues with a smile.

“Same here!” The two girls laugh with each other. 

“How was being home?”Aurora asks when their laughter stops. 

“It was nice. I go home to visit mum a lot but it’s always so great when Harry’s home too. Really feels like home when he’s there.” 

“That sounds really nice.” 

“How’re you holding up?” Gemma asks picking up on the longing in Aurora’s voice.

“Oh, I’m doing fine. A bit homesick, but that’s expected yeah?” Gemma nods along. “I haven’t really lived at home in years but touring is different. I think it’s not having a permanent home that makes it hard.” 

“Yeah, I remember the first few times I traveled along on small bits of tour, it was weird. Sometimes it feels like a vacation but then others it feels like everyday is like starting a new life… if that makes any sense?” 

“Yeah, it does, actually,” Aurora agrees as she turns into Sarah and Clare’s dressing room. “It’s like there’s not enough consistency day to day because it isn’t always show day and then a day off. Everyday you’ve gotta be on top of it. And it’s so hard to not just be lazy when you have down time to get rest because you wanna go see everything.” 

“Yes exactly!! I hadn’t traveled much until Harry started touring. It was so much fun to go to new places. Have you traveled a lot?” 

“Not really, grew up in New York so visiting the city wasn’t a huge deal and traveled to other big cities in the US for dance competitions growing up. When I studied abroad as CSM, that was the first time I had left the country. Had to get a passport for it specifically!” 

Gemma hangs out with Aurora while she gets the clothes ready. They talk about college, or university as Gemma calls it. They share their favourite movies - Aurora has a sweet spot of 80’s romcoms but loves a good thriller and Gemma despises indie films that are slow paced, but really loves any comedy that will make her cry from laughter. Gemma shared a few touring pointers and promised that next time they’re in the same city they’ll get coffee without Harry and have a girls spa day or something. 

Aurora is beside herself when Gemma makes another comment about how happy Harry seems. But this time she adds that it definitely has something to do with her being around. 

| | | | |

“How’re you doing, rockstar?” Aurora asks as Harry walks towards her, ready to change into his suit. 

“I’m good, excited!” he answers as he strips out of his track pants and hoodie, then the white t shirt as well. 

“Good,” Aurora comments with a smile. 

“Like what you see?” Harry says obnoxiously. 

“Harry, shut up and just put these trousers on,” Aurora retorts as she hands him the slim black trousers trimmed with gold. 

As Harry buttons his white shirt Aurora grabs his boots from the box and hands them to him when he’s ready. 

“You know, those old gold boots you used to wear would’ve been incredible with this suit.” 

“You would remember those boots.” 

“Heart of gold and boots to match,” Aurora recalls back to him. Harry’s eyes pop and his eyebrows rise up. “Iconic tweet by your mother, honestly. And too true.” 

Aurora follows him into the connected bathroom, baby pink velvet jacket in hand. She hops up on the counter as Harry goes through the rest of his routine. She stays silent, listening to him hum to himself and riff off a few vocal warm ups. Aurora runs her fingers along the gold beads and sequins on the jacket, remembering their first fitting. 

“I think we’re thinking about the same thing,” Harry says as he puts toothpaste on his toothbrush. 

“That first fitting during prep week.” Aurora states because she knows he’s right. Harry nods. 

“Crazy how fast things can change, isn’t it?” Aurora hums in acknowledgement, continuing to run her fingertips across the beading. 

“Harry!” Anne’s voice calls through the dressing room. Harry’s in the middle of brushing his teeth so Aurora responds. 

“He’s in here, Anne!” She calls, inviting her in. 

“Oh Aurora! Happy to see you again” she says, pressing a light kiss to her cheek and giving her a bright smile. Anne’s less guarded towards Aurora today and Aurora relaxes again, slouching on the counter top. “Some things never change,” Anne comments as Harry finishes brushing his teeth. “He’s always done this. Before every show he’s ever done. Even shows back in primary school,” she tells Aurora. 

“Mum, please, let's not share any embarrassing childhood stories just yet. Only made it official last night,” Harry winks at Aurora. She rolls her eyes. 

“Honestly, Harry, you don’t hide much and I’ve seen you on stage every night this tour. Think that’s embarrassing enough.” 

“Hey!” he whines and Anne laughs along with Aurora. “You and Gemma both can’t be friends with Rory if you’re going to pick on me all the time.” 

“Harry, someones gotta pick on you, I told you that. Too many screaming fans night after night, gotta keep you humble.” Aurora counters and receives a high five from Anne. 

Once Harry’s done they head back into the dressing room. Aurora helps Harry slide into his jacket. They both hear the shutter sound of an iPhone camera and Harry whines at his mom for taking photos but she just brushes it off as all moms do. Gemma and Michael join the 3 of them as they walk from Harry’s dressing room towards the main bit of backstage. 

“Aurora, honey, are you joining us again?” Anne asks.

Aurora looks to Harry and the split second of his eyes meeting hers she can tell he doesn’t want her to go just yet. “I’m gonna meet up with y’all in a little bit. This jacket has been giving us all kinds of trouble and I just need to make sure all the beads are really secure before Harry goes on stage.”

“Of course dear, we’ll see you in a little bit then.” Anne gives Harry a kiss on his cheek, a hug and smile. Gemma and Michael both wish him luck. Once his family is out of earshot Harry speaks up. 

“Thanks for staying back.” 

“Technically, it is my job to be right here.” 

They exchange a soft smile before Harry’s band joins them. Aurora steps back after she adjusts Mitch’s jacket and Sarah’s shirt. She hangs out off the side, sitting on a big crate, her small sewing kit sitting next to her. The jacket is fine. The beads aren’t gonna fall off, at least not until the very end of the show. She’s here for Harry right now. She watches as they do their pre stage rituals as a band. Helene takes a photo of them as a group and then his band is off, making their way through the double doors to the stage.

Harry makes eye contact with Aurora and she joins him. 

“You good?” she asks for what seems like the millionth time today.

He hums, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. 

“Harry!” Jeff calls as he walks up to him. Harry takes the hand that’s holding Aurora’s and pulls it behind his back. He wants Aurora close, he’s making that clear to her without any words. He’s face to face with Jeff, Aurora is standing behind him, their hands still intertwined, resting at his lower back. Aurora squeezes his hand to let him know she’s not going anywhere. “Ready?” Jeff asks when the stage manager and the rest of the sound crew  approach Harry. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Harry answers, no nerves evident in his voice. Another squeeze to his hand. 

They walk through the double doors, a security guard lights the way in front of the small group with a flashlight. The sound crew goes ahead and gets to their places after confirming that Harry’s mic pack is on and ready to go one last time. Jeff says his good lucks and is out of sight in seconds. 

“Good luck, rockst-” but she can’t finish the word ‘rockstar’ because Harry cuts her off. 

“I know you said no the other night cause you didn’t want to overstep with my mum,” the words come out quick and Aurora has to really focus to understand him and tune out the rest of the hustle that is happening around them, backstage in the dark, “but will you come home with me tonight? Back to my house? Not my mums, but my house? Back to my house. Here. In London.” Harry blurts out the question repeatedly. “I should’ve asked earlier but-” 

“Yes,” she answers without thought. 

Aurora’s answer doesn’t sink in right away but when it does Harry’s brain can’t decide what to do. “Really?” comes out of his mouth with a short laugh of disbelief, his arms fly open and pull Aurora into a bear hug. He’s smiling ear to ear, dimples indent his cheeks, his nose scrunches and his eyes crinkle at the corners. Aurora thinks she’s being held by sunshine when he relaxes into the hug, pressing a quick kiss to the side of her head. She’s warm and feels safe and wants to ingrain the image of Harry in her head forever. Real life, actual sunshine is staring back at her. “Really?” he asks again when he meets her eyes. 

“Yes, really. I’d love to,” Aurora says loud enough to be heard over the screams but quiet enough that just Harry can hear it. Harry grabs her face in both of his hands and kisses her hard. 

Aurora laughs when they pull apart just as fast as they were brought together. 

“Lipstick!” she exclaims through a laugh. She thumbs at his lips wiping away any lingering colour that stuck to him. “You really shouldn’t be going on stage with a lipstick mark…” Harry rolls his eyes. “Good luck, Harry,” she says trying to push him in the direction of the stairs. 

“You are something else,” he says in disbelief. “I’ll see you after the show, Rory!” he yells as he runs up the stairs. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth one last time before making his way to his spot at center stage, behind the screen. 

| | | | |

It’s an early night compared to others and Aurora never thought she’d find herself here. She’s stepping into Harry’s car, Harry holding the door open for her before rounding the front of the car to step into the driver side. The car hums to a start, the stereo playing on a low volume. Harry smiles at Aurora briefly before he focuses on the road and pulls away from the arena. 

“Mind if I?” Aurora asks, gesturing to the stereo controls

Harry pulls his phone from his pocket, unlocking it and handing it to Aurora, “It should be playing from apple music, but Spotify is there too.” 

Aurora is surprised when he hands her the unlocked phone but she doesn’t question it. She opens spotify and searches for her own profile. Scrolling through her playlists she finds her driving playlist. 

“Not going through my photos are you?” He jokes. 

“Of course I am,” she jokes back. “Trying to find the perfect- hah! Here it is!” 

An acoustic guitar opens the song and Harry knows the song instantly. River by Leon Bridges fills the speakers. He reaches out his left hand in search of Aurora’s that sitting in her lap now. Aurora lets out a sigh of adoration as Harry brings her hand up to his lips and kisses her knuckles. Tucking her lips between her teeth, she hides a smile. Harry lets their hands fall to Aurora’s lap. She plays with the rings that still adorn his hand and stares out the window, enjoying the London city lights. 

When the song ends she speaks up, “I’m really excited to see that song live when Leon Bridges opens for you. It’s always been one of my favourites.” Harry doesn’t say anything but instead gives her hand a squeeze before the next song on the playlist plays. 

The car ride feels like another world. Driving around London, nothing but empty roads and city lights in front of them, Aurora feels on top of the world. Even in the darkness of the night, the darkness of the car, Harry feels like sunshine. Pools of light fall from his eyes, his smile. They seep through his skin and warm aurora from the inside out. 

As Hear You Me by Jimmy Eat World continues to play in the car, Aurora allows herself to glance over at Harry who is focused on the road in front of him. 

| | | | |

“Welcome to my home,” Harry says sweetly as he opens the door for Aurora to step through. After closing the door behind himself he taps a few buttons that are near the door, the flashing red light turning green. He switches the hallway light on as he knocks his shoes off by the door, pushing them off to the side. Harry helps Aurora out of her coat and hangs it up with his. He walks past her, switching on a few other lights and the house begins to illuminate. Harry doesn’t say much, just points out different rooms, not making a spectacle of the surely multi million dollar mansion he calls home. 

“It’s beautiful, Harry,” Aurora compliments as they make their way through another hallway. Aurora feels cozy. It feels like Harry, this entire place, regardless that he isn’t currently inhabiting it for the time being, feels like home. Aurora’s heart swells at the photos on the walls of his mum and dad, step dad, pictures of him and gemma from christmas morning when they were little, one of them at Gemma’s graduation and then a few photos of him and the rest of the boys, Louis, Liam, Niall and Zayn are scattered throughout the wall too. There are photos never seen by the rest of the world and Aurora smiles at each one. 

“Here, you can wear this,” Harry says as he turns back to Aurora after rummaging through one of his drawers. Aurora is still mesmerized by his closet, the closet that is probably the same size as her first apartment in NYC. “Oh, you would find that,” he says matter of factly when he sees her running her hand over the black and white floral suit that hangs among some of the other suits. 

“Harry, this suit,” she states in awe. “God, I loved this suit.” 

“Hey, can you be my girlfriend for one second and not my Head of Wardrobe?” Aurora turns around to him.

“That was 2015 Aurora who had your band’s posters up in her childhood room not your head of wardrobe,” she corrects him. Harry’s eyes widen before he lets out a bark of a laugh, like he’s caught off guard. “What?” she asks through a small laugh. He steps forward towards her and presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Nothing,” he says when they meet eyes, shaking his head. “Here,” he says handing her the forgotten t shirt in his hand. 

“What’s-” she stops herself from finishing her questioning. She hadn’t thought this far ahead. There’s no way she’ll sleep in her jeans and her suitcase is back at the hotel. The empty hotel room. “Thanks,” is all she says as she stares at Harry’s t shirt that is now soft in her own hands. 

“Everything alright?” 

“Yeah,” she laughs to herself, “guess I didn’t think about this, should’ve grabbed something from my suitcase.” 

“It’s alright, I don’t mind,” he says with a shrug. “Let me go grab a spare toothbrush for ya.”

“Oh! I have mine in my purse actually,” Aurora says, “keep all that stuff in my purse when I travel.” Aurora turns towards the door. “I think I set it downstairs.” She hesitates at the door, unsure of where to go find it, they took a few turns to get to his closet, surely she’ll get lost. Harry chuckles at her frozen in her own steps. 

“Let me go grab it for you.” 

As Harry dashes out of the room, his feet sounding down the stairs, Aurora allows herself to have a moment. Today had been so crazy she hadn’t had time to overthink what tonight would bring. When Harry asked her to stay with him at his place she was caught up in it all. She was so proud, so enraptured, so warm and fuzzy. There was no way she could say no to him, to those green eyes that were begging her to say yes. There was no reason for her to say no. She’s not ready to sleep with him. 

Before she can figure out what to do or sort out her new thoughts, he’s back, purse in hand and directing towards his bedroom then motioning to the ensuite bathroom. Her chest feels heavy and so does the cotton shirt in her hand. Nerves make her heart thrum against her ribcage. Harry hums to himself as he gets out his face wash from the cabinet next to the sink. His humming starts to drown out Aurora’s own heartbeat in her ears. He hands a clean washcloth to Aurora. 

‘Thanks,” she says with a soft smile. She fumbles around in her makeup bag looking for the familiar container of her cleanser. She pauses for a moment when she’s found it and takes a deep breath, dropping it back in the bag. “Harry,” she says barely audible, facing him, hip pressing against the counter. He hums a response. Her voice shakes slightly, “I-I-”

He takes his focus from the bottle in his hand and brings it to her, his eyebrows dipping together in the middle, concerned, “Everything alright, Ror?” 

“I,” she takes a deep breath, “I’m really happy I’m here right now, but I just need you to know that I’m not ready, not ready to-” Harry nods, knowing where this is going. “-to have sex with you, yet.” 

“I hope you know I had no expectations for that tonight… just ‘cause you’ve come home with me doesn’t mean you’re obligated to do anything.” 

“Oh I know that,” Aurora clarifies, “but I wanted to be honest with you. Truthfully, it didn’t cross my mind until you handed me one of your shirts.” She giggles, looking at her hands. “Just need to tell you, that I’m not ready, yet,” she adds, emphasizing the word yet. She doesn’t want it off the table completely.

Harry sets the bottle that is still in his hands on the counter before taking the 2 small steps needed to close the space between them. He pulls Aurora into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around her shoulders. She can feel him ghost his lips on the crown of her head. Relaxing into his chest she snakers her hands around to his back and up, resting her hands on his shoulder blades. Aurora pulls away after a moment and presses a kiss to the skin peaking out near the collar of Harry’s sweatshirt. 

“I’m so tired, don’t think I could get it up, regardless,” Harry says with a straight face when they pull apart. Aurora’s jaw drops and she whacks the back of her hand against Harry’s nearest shoulder. “What?” Harry asks through a loud laugh. 

“You’re just so, so, ugggg,” Aurora rolls her eyes and goes back to her makeup bag. 

They both wash their faces while making eye contact here and there in the mirror. Harry knocks his hip against Aurora’s when he starts brushing his teeth. She giggles as she adds toothpaste to her brush. As she starts to brush she knocks her hip against his now. They giggle, their mouths full of toothpaste. Harry at home. This is something she could get used to. 

“Need anything, darling?” Harry asks as he makes his way to his bedroom. “I’m gonna go set the alarms downstairs.” She nods her head no. She gives him a small smile as he walks out, closing the bathroom door behind him, giving her her privacy. He’s sweet and careful and purposefully is giving her a moment alone. She brushes her hair into a loose braid then taps a light layer of chapstick on her lips. She unfurls the cotton shirt Harry gave her to wear. It’s a faded black tee with a Rolling Stones graphic printed on the front. She’s seen him wear a handful of t shirts just like this all equally worn and tattered. 

The shirt is soft against her bare skin and the hem tickles the top of her thighs where it falls. It smells like harry and she’s comforted by it. A small smile finds a permanent home on her face as she folds her clothes into a pile. Holding them to her chest she opens the door to find Harry setting down a glass of water on each of the bedside tables.  Aurora sets her discarded clothes on a chair that’s tucked away in the corner of the room and then takes a moment before she turns around. She can feel Harry’s eyes on her and when she turns around they travel up her body. Harry walks over and rests his hand at Aurora’s waist, giving her a chaise kiss on the lips before going back into the bathroom himself, a pair of grey joggers in his hands. 

Aurora busies herself with finding an empty outlet to plug her phone in for the night. Deciding to sit on the bed, she notices it’s most likely Harry’s prefered side as it has a small clock there, a stack of books and a small silver bowl where his rings are now. Her eyes are drawn to the top book from the pile, recognizing the author as the writer from Rolling Stones magazine. She opens the Rob Sheffield book and begins to skim through the first page. When she hears the door open up again, the light from the bathroom goes out, and she’s met with Harry walking towards her. 

His sweatpants are hung low on his hips, the band of his boxers peeking out at the top, Aurora can’t help but stare. It’s not like she doesn’t see a version of this almost everyday but it’s different. Aurora blindly sets the book back on the nightstand so she doesn’t have to look away. She feels frozen to her spot on the bed as Harry walks towards her. 

“You’re a dream, you know?” Harry says softly as he reaches down to hold her face in his right hand. Aurora closes her eyes softly as harry’s thumb rubs soothingly against her cheekbone. When she opens her eyes, she pretty much eye level with the butterfly tattoo that sits at the top of his stomach. She told herself that one day if she were ever here, she’d trace his tattoos for as long as he’d let her. So she does just that. Her hands wrap lightly around his ribcage as her thumbs brush against the wings of the tattoo. She can see her hands trembling a bit when she goes to trace the laurels that peak out from his boxers. The strong sound of her heartbeat resurfaces to her ears and she pulls away her trembling hands. Harry pays no attention to that though. Instead, he takes her head in both of his hands and leans down to catch her lips. 

The nerves that once flooded her chest are far gone as their legs tangle underneath the sheets. Aurora can’t think of anything but the way his bare skin feels against hers. Her, well his, t shirt is slightly hiked up past her hips after Harry’s hands slide underneath to roam her skin, fingers pressing into the fleshy parts of her hips. Aurora pushes him on to his back, lips never losing contact and their hips melting into each other. Harry’s hands rarely stop moving, exploring the newly found bareskin on her back, under her shirt. 

They slow down eventually, both of them too tired to continue their movements. Aurora’s head rests on Harry’s chest. Sleep comes quickly after they share a lazy kiss one last time for the night. 

Aurora startles herself awake a few hours later. She’s still not used to waking up in new places and this happens often every night. Harry must feel her move, there’s no way he couldn’t with the way their bodies are tangled together. He doesn’t wake, or at least doesn’t wake enough to say anything or rustle the sheets at all. He does squeeze around her waist a bit tighter, bringing Aurora back closer to his chest. She lets out a soft sigh before falling back asleep, breathing in time with Harry’s slow heartbeat that taps against her back. 

Thanks for reading !!!! comments & feedback ALWAYS welcome & reblogs help a TON. LOVE YOU MEAN IT. 

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Leave No One Behind Ch2: The Red Sea Diving Resort

Part 1

Co-Written with @icanfeelastormbrewing​

Episode Summary: Ari and his team arrive at their Resort and begin making plans for the first mission.

Episode Warnings: Bad Language words. Allusions to death and serious injury.

Episode Pairings:  Ari Levinson x OFC Hannah Horowitz

Song for Episode:  Night Fever by the Bee Gees

A/N: This is a long Chapter so we have split it into two Parts. P2 will be up tomorrow. J Again, we’re not historians, nor do we know Sudan in any detail…so if anything in here is factually incorrect, we mean no offence. Take it as slight creative license.

As always we live for re-blogs and comments

Series Master List   //  Main Masterlist 

And that sweet city woman, She moves through the light, Controlling my mind and my soul

“What the fuck is he wearing Cracker?” Max asked Hannah as he nodded over her shoulder. Frowning, she turned to see Ari had walked in, briefcase in hand, dressed in a dark brown velvet suit and a white and gold striped shirt with a large, open necked collar.

Hannah snorted “He looks like John Travolta.”

“Walking like him too…” Sammy mumbled.

“Night fever, night fever…we know how to do it…” Jake sang softly, and the rest of the group all started to chuckle, hastily turning away as Ari walked towards the table and dropped the briefcase down on it.

Ari greeted Ethan with a nod of his head and looked around the room. His team was already gathered standing around the oval metal table, chatting idly.

Max and Jake were sniggering about something and Ari could clearly see Sammy was trying to keep a straight face, hands in his trousers pockets and looking at his feet while bouncing on them. Did he want to know? Probably not.

And then he noticed Hannah. She was chatting with Rachel who was admiring the brown leather knee high boots she was wearing. Ari heard Rachel comment something about her loving chunky heels as Hannah twisted her left foot so that Rachel could have a better look at the boots.

But Ari wasn’t interested in the boots, well, ok he was, but his gaze then travelled upwards, following her black tights clad legs and thighs, until his eyes mid-thigh met the hem of the skirt of her maroon pleated chord pinafore. Luckily for him, when his eyes continued past up her waist and the long sleeved polka dot blouse she was wearing, and he could take in the delicate features of her face, she was still engaged in some sort of fashion conversation with Rachel.

She was stunning, but what was new there? He had to admit to himself he had felt his chest fill with warmth when he had been running through the fake passports Ethan had given him the previous evening. He had opened hers first, sitting on his bed in the privacy of his hotel room, tumbler of Scotch in hand. His eyes scanning Hannah's passport photo over and over again.  Those big round blue eyes looking directly at him.

Firefly, he had muttered running his thumb over the photo before gulping his drink.

Thus, Ari knew which would be the one on top at the deck of passports he was now pulling from his briefcase. He was going over the questions he would be asking each one of them in his head when he heard Max asking him something.

“You got chills Ari?”

“What?” Ari frowned, his head turning to Max and in the corner of his eye he noticed that Hannah turned to watch, biting her lip as behind her Sammy laughed and hastily started coughing to cover it up.

“Are they multiplying?” Jake chipped in.

“Are you losing control?” Max continued

“Coz the power, you’re supplying…it’s electrifying!” the two men sang together as Ari looked at the pair of them rolling his eyes, a smirk playing on his face. Behind him Ethan groaned.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up…” Ari’s mouth curled into a crooked smile. “I’m Guy Thomas…he wears this shit…its fashion. And besides, Max, you’ve no room to talk!”

Hannah snorted and turned to look at Max, taking his outfit in in more detail. Because they were all in Zurich at the NATCOR HQ under the guise of a simple Mossad business meeting, Ari had instructed the team to come dressed as they felt their Alter Egos would dress for work. Sammy and Jake were both dressed in suits and ties, Max was in a suit with an open collar pinstriped shirt.

“He has a point…” Hannah conceded “You’re like the Kenickie to his Danny…”

“Grease was based in the 50s.” Max narrowed his eyes at her.

“Yeah, which is when that shirt was in fashion.” Jake said, slapping Max on the shoulder. Hannah and Ari snorted before they were cut off by an angry noise from behind them.

“Save the outfit discussions for later.” Ethan snapped “You lot are going to get yourselves killed for fucks sake.”

“Ethan, Ethan…” Ari turned to him, his voice soothing “Just, calm down…we’ve not even started the meeting yet.”

“Exactly, and we’re already behind schedule so if you don’t mind…” He nodded his head in the direction of the table and everyone, suitably chastised, took a seat.

Ethan and Ari ran the group through the plans regarding the next few months and how the deployment was going to work. They were to fly out on the 4th January, from Zurich, where Ari and Rachel would meet with the Sudanese Government and get the paper work and everything signed for the lease on the diving resort. Whilst they were there Max, Hannah, Jake and Sammy were to pair off and head to 2 different places to pick up 2 different cars which would be ready and waiting with supplies from 2 in country contacts. Once the explanations were finished, Ari then picked up the false passports.

“So you’ve all had enough time to read over your covers.” Ari said, flipping through the pile of passports, selecting one “Remember, the point of being undercover is you keep it simple. So you should have memorised the basics, your name, date of birth, parents names, address, hometown that type of thing. Everything else you can make up on the spot but nothing too elaborate. Don’t take it too far from the actual truth because whatever you tell one person you need to remember to tell another.”

He paused and cleared his throat. “Ok, let’s see how you fare under questioning.” he looked at Hannah “Firefly, you first… Name?”

“Rosa-Maria Gomez” Hannah repeated back, without so much as batting an eyelid, her Spanish accent flawless.

“Where are you from?”

“Valencia.”

“What did you do?”

“Bar manager at a local hotel.”

“Which hotel?”

“Sidi Saler”

“How long for?”

“Just over 10 years. Travelled for a year or so after University, settled back home when I was 19. Never looked back.”

There wasn’t so much as a hint of hesitation when she spoke. Ari smiled at her and tossed the fake passport down in front of her. “Good job.”  he said and with a faint smile she reached for the passport.

Next he put Rachel through her paces, picking her up on the slight hesitation she had over her address and then Jake’s mistake over his elementary school name. He then turned to Sammy.

“Sammy…name. Where are you from? “

“I'm Liam Anderson. Australia.” Sammy said, picking up his passport

“First girlfriend.”

“Mary”

“Tell me about her.” Ari said, stopping at the head of the table.

“Mary Rose. Took my virginity and broke my heart.”

At that, Ari saw Hannah, who was sat at the far end of the table next to Sammy shift slightly. Despite himself he glanced at her and she caught his eye before she looked down at the table. Ari turned back to Sammy who was still speaking.

“We met at the University of Queensland in Brisbane.  I was 19. Later died in a car accident.”

“It's good.  Good work, Sammy.” Ari turned to Max “You're up.”

There was a pause as Max stared straight ahead before he glanced at the passport.

“I still think this is a stupid name for someone from Malta.” Max protested “Why Malta?”

Rachel gave a little chuckle as Ari looked at him, rolling his eyes as his hands fell to his hips.

“Max, when you learn a second language, that's where you can be from. Till then you're from Malta. No one knows what people from Malta speak.”

“What do people speak in Malta?”  Rachel asked.

“Maltese” Hannah supplied and sniggers rang round the table.

“See, no one knows, that's the point.” Ari said with a smile before he looked pointedly at Max “Name”

“Hello, everybody, my name's Irving Wilmington.” Max said in a ridiculously, fake European accent which made everyone start to laugh “And I'm from Malta-“

“You think this is funny?” Ethan’s angry voice cut across the laughter and everyone looked up at the man as he strode around the table. “Just for the record, there's not one person in this group that I would have chosen for this type of mission. You're all too reckless.” Hannah looked at Max who raised his eyebrows as if to say, he has a point…which to be fair, he kinda did.

“I've gone against every instinct I know.” Ethan continued as Ari looked down at the floor “broken every risk management rule I believe in, including sending two women to a Muslim country.” Ethan said, looking directly at Hannah then Rachel “So let's be very clear.  This mission has no backup.  There's no exfil plan for you.  You're going in without guns, or any other weapon.  If this goes wrong, you'll all be hanging from cranes in Khartoum.”

With that Ethan left the room and there was a moment of silence.

“Can’t wait…” Jake said, leaning back in his chair.

*****

Of course, nothing every runs completely smoothly. Jake was stopped by the Sudanese Immigration, simply to be released once he had paid the ‘bribe’ the officials wanted. Ari spotted him joining the others in the queue for cabs as he and Rachel departed in the car to the Tourism Board.

Then, they met with their contact in the Sudanese Government, Colonel Madibbo and embarked on the anticipated haggling over the price. The man looked Ari in the face and told him that the lease was five hundred thousand, to which Ari replied simply that they had agreed Two-Fifty. After a little bit of negotiation, Ari moved up to three-fifty, informing the Colonel it was their best offer, but then loaded told the man that could write it down as two-fifty and then take the rest and do something beneficial for the people of Sudan.

“You may not speak Arabic, Mr. Thomas. But you do speak the local language.” Madibbo laughed, and Ari simply glanced at Rachel before smiling back, fully understanding that the “local language” meant he’d given the man a bung, and that the extra hundred thou was going straight into the  Colonel’s own back pocket.

Bent bastard.

A few hours later everything was sorted, they’d been given everything they needed and Ari and Rachel walked out of the building, climbed in the arranged car and were dropped off on the main high-street where they headed to the inconspicuous Café that had been allocated as a meeting spot. Remaining in character, Ari and Rachel, or Guy and Angela, greeted their team loudly, as if it was the first time they had seen each other for a while, and then they all settled down at a table outside on the packed market square, and Ari briefed them as if he was briefing resort staff. They all listened, picked up on his cues and after a quick coffee each they all stood up to leave.

As they were leaving the Café, Max tossed one of the jeep’s keys at Ari, who caught them with a swift movement of his hand.  Once they reached the spot where the vehicles were parked Ari opened the driver's door to one of them and turned to see his team had stopped and were looking at the trucks as if deciding who was going to ride in each one of the trucks.

"Ride with me?" Max turned to ask Hannah waving the other set of keys in the air.

"Yup. I call shotgun!" she said as a reply as she walked round to open the passenger side door.

"Right, I'll be on the back seat." Jake quipped as she pulled the seat forward and gestured for him to get in the back.

Ari shook his head, hands on his hips, as he looked at Sam and Rachel through his shades before opening the back door of their jeep for Sam to jump in, tossing his backpack on the floor of the car as Rachel went to the side of the passenger seat.

"Guess the three musketeers have decided for all of us." Ari said as he jumped up in the truck, a trace of bitterness in his voice which wasn't undetected by Sammy.

"Oh my. The great Ari Levinson scorned by part of his team." Sam said, amused and Rachel chuckled.

"You're hilarious Sammy." Ari deadpanned as he fixed the rear view mirror for the third time in the last couple of minutes before he set off.

"Maybe you should keep an eye on Jake." he spoke again a minute later, turning to look at Sam as if trying to make sure he understood what he was implying. Sam examined him for a few moments before speaking

"Yeah, maybe. And maybe you should keep an eye on the road and stop looking through the mirror." Sam deadpanned turning his head slowly to the side window.

***** A few hours later, they had a quick pit stop to stretch legs and changed drivers. Ari was keen to make as good time as possible so it was only for a few moments, Max taking a well needed pee at the side of the truck, groaning in relief. Hannah shook her head, before she climbed in the back of the jeep. They set off again, and their gentle chatter struck up once more.

"So..." Jake said, turning to glance over his shoulder at Hannah, one eye sort of remaining on the road. "I've been dying to ask. Your nicknames..." "What about them?" She asked, turning her head to face him from where she had been looking out of the window. "Why does Ari call you Firefly when the rest of the team seems to call you Cracker?"

Max snorted and looked at Hannah who was grinning. "Ok so the cracker thing came from a mission." She said, thinking fondly back "it was the first one we all actually ran together...me, Max, Sammy, Ari...Andy..." she trailed off for a moment before she continued "we were sat round the fire one night and Andy had a pack of those little savoury fish cracker things. We started playing a game as to how many each of us could fit in our mouths. Max insisted he would win...but who in fact did win Maxwell?" "You..." Max sighed "by 2 crackers" "So Andy started calling me crackers which became cracker and it stuck..." she shrugged. "Well, with everyone but Ari that is..." "Yeah, so explain the Firefly thing..." Jake pushed. "The first time I met Ari was when he came over one evening with Sammy. It was just before Sammy moved out." Hannah said "I was 17 and we were sat out in the garden at the back. It wasn't a huge garden, communal like, shared with 3 other houses but I loved it because there was a colony of lightning bugs, or fireflies that frequented it. It was a few months later Sammy was being an ass-hat about something and I flipped out at him and threw a mug at his head. It missed and smashed against the wall but Ari found it hilarious. Told I was just like those little fireflies I admired so much. Such an ordinary, unassuming thing on the outside with a hell of a surprise packed away underneath..." Jake paused and then started laughing "Now that's a back handed compliment if ever I did hear one." Hannah grinned "I know. When I asked him what he meant by ordinary you should have seen his face. He was all flustered and stammering and worried he'd offended me. Lasted all of 2 minutes until I cracked up laughing and told him I understood." "Well, fireflies are pretty awesome..." Jake smiled "A symbol of light in the dark, hope, warmth" "Yup, all things Ari said to me when he was back pedalling over the whole ordinary thing" Hannah smiled with a shrug "either way, it stuck."

My little firefly…

“Tell him what you call Ari.” Max said and Hannah snorted.

“El Lobo hambriento” She replied after a moment’s pause “Or Lobo for short.”

“And that means…” Jake looked at her again for a second.

“Spanish for the hungry wolf…” Hannah said “It came from when he used to eat my Mama out of house and home whenever he came round with Sammy. And over time it got shortened to Lobo…just wolf…”

Jake laughed “Well, he is kinda hairy…but you know, that should be my nickname given that I am actually a Wolf.”

“By name…” Max teased “You look like more of a poodle.”

Hannah laughed and leaned forward, so that her head poked between the front to seats in the car “You can be Loop.” “Loop?” Jake frowned.

“Short for Lupin…Latin for Wolf, or there or thereabouts anyway. Or it could just mean you’re a total fruit loop, take your pick…”

Jake gave a huge guffaw of laughter and looked at her “Does that make you Little Red Riding Hood?”

Hannah snorted as Max shook his head, looking out at the window “That’s the shittest chat up line I’ve ever heard” he spoke, turning back to Jake.

“Can’t blame a man for trying” Jake winked.

After a total of six hours and a couple more stops to stretch and freshen up, if that was even possible in the middle of the desert, they arrived in the resort. But they couldn't properly see it until they got out of the trucks, the windows being partly covered by dust as they had taken shortcuts over sand dunes to save quite a few hours more off the travel time should they have opted to use the main roads.

When they finally got out of the car they took some clumsy steps on the sand after being into the confined space of car for that many hours. Jake lit a cigarette and as he looked at Ari he couldn't help but make a howling noise to Hannah who started laughing immediately. As if on cue, Max started howling too and the three of them were caught in a fit of hysteric laughter,  Max bending his body for balance and Hannah leaning on Jake's arm.

Ari, Sam and Rachel stood there watching the three of them, dumbfounded. Ari shared a glance with Sam before he shot his sister a look and she pulled herself together still trying holding back laughter. Ari sighed before he took a few more steps towards the main entrance of the resort and the rest of the team followed suit.

They all stopped still, looking at the ram-shackled building in front of them, the words Red Sea Diving Resort were descripted in fading red paint above the large, archway shaped door. Hannah removed her shades, looking at it, and she let out a loud breath from where she stood at the end of the line they seemed to have formed, next to Max.

“It sure doesn't look like the brochure.”  she said, and everyone turned to look at her, Max giving a small huff of laughter. After a second or so, Ari moved to the trucks to retrieve their luggage and the rest of them followed suit before they headed towards the entrance. Ari wrestled with the wooden trellised screen doors before he gave one a harsh push and it fell forward off its hinges, crashing to the floor sending up a cloud of dust and sand. He turned to look at them all, giving a shrug before he headed inside.  They all followed and Hannah cast her eyes around as they hit the main room. All the window screens were shut, leaving it quite dark despite the bright late afternoon sunshine outside. Chairs and tables were piled haphazardly around the edges of the main room of the resort, various other pieces of furniture dotted around.

“It needs a little TLC.” Ari said, turning to the team.

“Nice.” Rachel chuckled.

“Oh, yeah?” Sammy snorted, pushing the shaded lenses on his glasses up as he looked around with a laugh. “What a dump.”

Hannah watched as Jake moved to open one of the sets of doors which led out onto the beach and instantly the place was flooded with light. She glanced at Max who smiled and they followed him out onto the beach.

“This is paradise!” Jake sighed. Max looked at him, incredulously, but Hannah had to admit, outside it was beautiful. A secluded cove of The Red Sea right was in front of them, the sun bouncing off the blue water, waves softly lapping at the shore.

Max pushed his glasses back up his nose and headed away to his right, Hannah following as they walked round the side of the resort and up a small boardwalk which led to a small pier of sorts.

“Well, hello, gorgeous…” she heard Max say. Hannah turned to see him examining a spear gun which was leaned up against the glass windows in front of him. She rolled her eyes.

“Your obsession with sniping weapons is worrying.” she arched an eyebrow.

He turned to face her with a grin before he tucked his shades into his shirt and picked up the fishing spear, holding it like a gun, checking down the sight target. The two of them stepped further round and Hannah frowned as Max stopped under a wooden shelter of sorts and the pair of them spotted the large, silver fish hanging from the structure. It had been beheaded, the head laying on a grill, and Max turned to look at her.

“This fish is fresh.” he frowned.

“Don’t eat it…” Hannah said instantly, teasing him about his obsession with food.

“Don’t eat…it’s fucking raw.” he rolled his eyes at her.

“Never had sushi?” she shot back.

“Don’t care for it much…” he mused before they both exchanged a glance, the seriousness of the fact that the fish, was indeed newly caught sinking in as Max turned to call back to the resort.

“Hey, yo, this fish is fresh!”

Ari who had been walking along the shore, heard Max’s call, along with Rachel’s which informed everyone she had found a newspaper from this week .He stopped and glanced back into the resort before he opened the door into one of the bedroom huts. Taking a glance round he threw open the wooden window screens, turning his face away as the sand and dust from outside blew into his face. It was then a familiar smell hit his nose and he glanced down to his left and saw that there were cigarette butts in an ashtray. One was still smoking slightly.

And then, someone jumped up from behind a pile of furniture in the corner of the room and shot out of the door. Ari turned and sprinted after him, yelling for him to stop and calling to the team. They all joined him, sprinting around the corner where Ari stopped at the sight of a group of what they could only assume were locals.

“Hello.  My name...” Ari began, before he whipped off his sunglasses, figuring they might trust him more if they could see him eye to eye “My name's Guy Thomas.  I'm the new owner of this hotel.”

The locals didn’t speak, and Hannah noticed that the woman at the front, adorned in bright yellow local dress was glancing at Max nervously.

“Max, lower that thing…” she said softly, as he had the spear gun raised.

Ari turned to face him and nodded, gesturing with his hands “Come on.”

“Sorry.” Max said gently, as he slowly lowered his weapon.

“Abu Hamid.” the man at the front of the group spoke to them.

“Hello.” Ari greeted him kindly.

“What the hell's going on?” Sammy spoke gently through his smile.

“I think we just met the local staff.” Ari said softly, looking round at everyone.

Part 2

[moderatelydarkfantasies]

Lunch with the family was an event that all three of the girls couldn't care less about. It was something zeen had to hide from Drew because it was just too soon for him to deal with her parents have not so long ago met her notorious sister.

she saw him walk into the apartment at 10:30 after finishing his morning run. She had freshly gotten out of the shower and was getting ready to go to mass in a lovely plum jumpsuit while he looked like a gorgeous mess in his slightly sweat slicked hair and almost wet clothes making him look even hotter.

Good morning darling she says to him a smile on her face.

Walking up to her he hands her a cup of coffee with a kiss to her fore head. She closes her eyes and breathes his neck.

I missed you.

Me too. He answers back.

He hands her the coffee and sits down next to her.

What are we doing today.he asks enthusiastically.

Umm I have to go to mass and then a thing I have to attend .

Ohhh. What thing.

Just a small personal thing nothing important.

He looks un sure but tells her he might go into work later since she went be here. However she tells him to not change his plans at his account

.

Later during the day.

He nodded slightly and felt the colour draining from zeen's face. Was she embarrassed of dating him. As far as he knew he was on the satisfying to look at spectrum and sure she didn't exactly know how much money he had he still didn't expect it to be an issue.

Having had enough he walked up to the table to introduce himself. Reaching the table he saw the couple who were unmistakably her parents. He put on his charming smile and introduced himself.

After she left her house he decided to go to one of his hotels that was closest to her house and work in that office . He dresses in a blue pinstripe suit. One of her preferd ones and worked for what seemed like 40 minutes.

once done he walked outside to the grounds to sit by the pool for a while when her laugh caught his ears. He turned to the source of that sound hoping she had surprised him at work only to see her at a table with 4 other people. Two of whom he he met before and one he was sure he hated. He sat close by observing her behaviour. She looked relaxed and at ease. But upon further inspection he concluded all three of the girls having stif postures and talking about random things and at an extent things he was definitely sure she hated. Tirza looked around and caught sight of him before elbowing her sister slightly.

Good afternoon. My name is Andrew Knight, I own the hotel and the restaurant.

I apologise for interrupting his fantastic meal but I had to come say hello.

Not at all Mr. Knight .The man replied.

Christina looked at the tazeen but was wise enough to keep her mouth shut.

He went to speak but was interrupted by tazeen.

Mr.knight works in the building of the firm Christina works for. She says. The parents immediately start to coo and talk about how proud they are of her and her accomplishments and both the sisters share a fleeting look. After about 5 minutes of meaningless conversation and recognition for the terrible relation zeen and her younger sister he decided to excuse himself. Irritated and mildly hurt that she still hadn't introduced him.

Mr.vincent he said looking at the father. Might I please borrow tazeen for a minute I have a position in my management team that might be available and would like to introduce her to my manager. Christina had spoken fairly well of her. Te father nods and she cautiously steps up and follows me I turn and smile at the family before walking away with her following me. I grab her forearm as soon as we are out of sight and hear her flinch. I turn around to look at her and for the first time our relationship she seems unsure of my reaction.

Would you like to explain that.

She remains quite.

Are you embarrassed of me. He asks flat out.

Of course not. she sounds genuinely surprised he would think that.

Why hide it then.

He reluctantly agrees and walks her back to the table but she stops him before reaching and plants a chaste kiss to his lips.

A promise .

I don't know. Can we please discuss this later. He knows what that means, she'll avoid the topic now and ignore it completely later. He looks around noticing people are out of earshot and whispers in her ear.

Alright but take care of yourself.

He sits down in his previous spot and she joins the table. Telling them that the previous spot had been filled already and she is happy with the job she has. He hears her parents tell her she should have worked and talked harder or have been more persuasive in order to get the job and he hears christina say she is happy she didn't get the job. A statement which the parents completely ignore. He makes to get up and walk towards them again but she shakes her head at him. Thee parents start talking in a language he doesn't quite understand. By the end of the meal he realises why they have such a terrible relationship. The parents do nothing to stop Christina's antics while they argue amongst themselves trying to up one another. Tirza pays the bill while tazeen walks the family out. The parent get into a car and Christina gets in the driver's seat they hug goodbye and she walks back to see tirza and Drew talking. She notices Tirza Pat his arm and tells him not to be harsh. He let's out a deep breath and walks over to see tirza off. He kisses her cheek and closes the door for her. Telling her to convey his greeting to Oliver. (Tirza's boyfriend and a very good friend of his)

She leaves and tazeen starts walking inside only stopping when she realise she doesn't know the way

She falls limp in his arm and quietly agrees to talk about it later.

He takes her hand and guides her to a path that leads to a calm secluded section of the garden where no one is.

What the fuck was today. He asks her.

Nothing.

That's not only the real problem

It didn't look like nothing to me.you had lunch with your family. I get that but why did you not talk about us.

What do you mean.

Why won't you let me protect you. I have to watch your parents complain and talk about their lives without once asking if you were okay or needed help.

Look you don't know what they're going to do if they find out we're together.Dad has told us since day one. No one white and I know this was kinda weird but that's what's up and let's say If this does happen and they're okay with this the constant questions of are we ready for marriage will start and I don't want to put you through that.

Oh really. I agree but it's clear enough that I don't like what I know and have seen. I'm just saying I still don't like the fact that Christina was with you .I don't trust her and since you won't tell me why I feel that , there isn't nothing much I can do about it.

. Look I really don't want to talk about this and I hate to say this but I need space I feel overwhelmed and crowded.

With that she walks away.

Later that night around 8 30 the concierge rings the intercom telling him that zeen is here.

You don't know anything about them.

He feels slightly vexed knowing that she is one of the 2 people on the access list other than him. But still instils on announcing.

He is sitting in the living room still in his suit from this afternoon working away as she walks in.

Hey she says.

Hello he greets back. Setting his laptop on the table he stares at her as she figets. Somehow finding a slight sence of pleasure at making her nervous.

Have you though about today.

She nods .

Would you like to discuss it. He offers still not having touched her. He sees her fingers twitch slightly before setting in her lap. She draws a deep breath

I'm sorry she says. I realise the position I put you in and apologise for this afternoon. I know you're angry at me not introducing you and I'm sorry I just cant deal with them. They have a very superficial place in my life and that's all that is important.

He nods once more.

Please say something she asks him.

He looks around noticing people are out of earshot andThere isn't much but I will say that is your decision to tell me when you are ready but that isn't my problem. She feels the immediate change in his body language before she feels one single finger caress her face.

I trust you you know. More than you might believe it. My parents had the strongest marriage in the family. But by their 34th anniversary they were done with each other

With us

With life in general.

Ultimately I decided that I couldn't deal with something like that and I'm not scared of it because I want something like that. I'm scared because we might have a chance and I don't know if I want that

you don't trust me.You not trusting me doesn't make me feel bad he tells her looking directly in her eyes.

It hurts right here he says putting her hand directly over his heart and here he says dragging it slightly upwards towards his windpipe. I need to provide for you and protect you because you've already had enough shares of bad experiences In life and it makes me feel like maybe just maybe you'll care about me.

No she let's out with a sob. I care for you more than you know.

He pulls her to him and she stays there for a moment before pulling away and getting up. She starts walking towards their room. And he follows her into the shower striping as they go.

She let's out a breath and turns the shower off while he grabs them towels

They're both standing under the hot shower holding onto each other he grabs his soap from the shelf and begins to scrub himself and her paying special attention to the scars on the left thigh. They go back to holding each other before she starts speaking.

He wraps one around he hair and gives her her robe. In her mind she whispers I love you to him and she whispers it back. In reality a slight fear settles in that he might let go once he finds out the truth

But that isn't important now.what is important now is that we're together and i won't let anything hurt you

[undertaleheadcannonsfromagremlin]

Reader and Mafia!Rus

It was a particularly slow day for your bakery cafe, when out the blue the bell rang. You snapped up to see a tall skeleton in a lazy ruffled pinstriped suit with a gold canine.

‘He must be the new collections guy…’

You placed a smile on your face,”Good afternoon sir!”

He gave you a kind smile,”Good afternoon to you too! Nice place ya got here.”

When he spoke he had the accent of the 1930s. It was a trend with the newest depression the country was going through. Although your analysis would have to be put on hold.

You beamed,” Why thank you! I do try to make it feel welcoming.”

“Your doin a mighty fine job”

You laughed”I’m sure I could do better”

“Cannoli do so much”

It took you a second to realize the pun and you laughed,” That’s a killer, sir!”

He chuckled a sheepish grin on his face,”Thank ya”

“So what would like today, funny man?”

“Would you know where (y/n) is, they’re the owner?”

“I’m (y/n), how may I help you?”

“I’m here to collect this month’s fee.”

You nodded your head, just as you had expected,”Of course! …If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to Larry?”

“He unfortunately passed.” The skeleton man said.

You nodded, unsure for a second. However you get him the money and hand it to him with a sweet smile. You noticed the glove he wore. It looked quite clean beside a few splatters of what looked like paint. It could’ve just as easily been blood.

“Anything else you might like?”, you motioned to the top counter,”The pastries on that counter there are half off!”

He stared for a second at a few of the cupcakes and meringues. This gave you a second to look him over.

He had honey gold shirt beneath the yellow striped black over coat with matching pants. The over coat was unbuttoned and could see his orange suspenders. His hand seemed to be covered in 30 grand worth of gold rings alone. You noticed a glinter towards his neck. He seemed to be sporting a gold collar and tag.

‘Like a dog’s collar… almost…’

It dawned on you that the monster your protection fee was going to was the right hand man of the Don! It seemed impossible that someone so important would be doing a job like this! You watched him continue to stare are the shortcakes and pies. A small panic set over you, worries of death taking hold for just a moment. You quickly brushed them away as you turned around to busy yourself. Or so you thought.

“It seems like everyone is dropping like flies these days. In all honesty,” you spoke without thinking,”I’ve been to more funerals than birthdays over the years. Real shame when a honest person has to sell there soul to make a quick buck. Mr and Mrs Hung likely aren’t taking the news well… I should see them after I close up shop. It’s a real shame that Larry died. I bet his poor mother is grieving.”

“Not yet.” He says snapping you out of your self talk.

“Pardon?”

“Mrs. Hung has yet to be informed of her son’s death following the shoot out of last night.”

You gasped,”Is that why you’re here today sir?”

He nodded gravely,”I have to inform her and many others of their kids death.”

You felt yourself tearing up,” Oh they won’t take this well… Their baby boy wasn’t more than seventeen. I should bring something by later… Maybe a blueberry swirl? They’d like that…”

Mutt stood up to his fullest height as he placed a blueberry swirl cheesecake on the counter.

“That all sir…” you tried to bury your sadness.

”May you…”, he looked awkward,” May you come with me? You seem to know the family well and I’m not sure if they’d let me in if I came alone… The other families didn’t answer the door when I came to give them their child’s last paycheck and tell they not to worry about this and next months fee…” his voice trailed off

You could already see the fragile old woman crying as her husband held her close. However when you looked up at Mutt… His tired look and saddened face made your heart shatter just as much.

You sighed,”I’ll come with you, sir. It’s the least I can do.”

—

As the two of you walked out of Hung family home, you mind still rang with Mrs. Hung’s guttural wail. You wanted to break down right there on their front porch. However Mutt with a concerned look, took your arm. You let lead you away to a park not too far from the little home. Your shoulders shook. Mutt sat you down on a bench. He silently watched your tears fall. He held out a honey orange handkerchief and sighed.

“I am so sorry for your loss.”

You tried to dry your tears,”I’ve seen him grow up. Every Sunday they’d come on in after church, they’d grab a couple of shareable pastries, and chat up a storm with me. He took his first date to my cafe. You could tell if he was sad, he’d always stop by and get a small sweet or two. Always right after school. I was his first job employer, taught him how to make a resume. When the depression first hit he’d still stop by but he couldn’t buy anything, so I’d sneak him a sweet! I remember when he told me he joined a mafia… I almost didn’t believe him until the next week he came round to collect. He promised me he’d only ever collect. How did he stray so dangerously? How’d I not know…?”

You started weeping into the handkerchief. Mutt broke his semi-professionalism by pulling you into a hug. You welcomed the warmth, but the tears still fell. You cried for a good while as you tried to calm down. You can grieve later , but stop taking up the skeletons time.

You did eventually stop but you were slightly reluctant to let go of the monster.

You sighed and let go,”Thank you Mr…”

His face twitched into a small smile,”Rus”

“Thank you Mr. Rus. Susie’s shoes, all this crying has me craving something sweet. Come back and have a bite with me?” You offered, even Mr. Rus looked like his day was hitting hard.

“I-I… Yes please” he sounded beaten down.

You nodded, gently taking his arm, leading him back to your cafe.

..

Geez oof wow this was sadder than I thought. I actually had a draft that went into the interactions with the Hung parents. I just couldn’t write it. So small bit of background :) Rus is called Mutt as he does anything his brother commands. Mal is called Brat but make No mistake he is terrifying! After all he is the Don. I could find any fanart for this AU so I made it up. So basically FS in the modernized 1920-1930s! Idk I just yes I love this thing I wrote. :3 (maybe I’ll go into Mal?)

- This is amazing, oh my heavens! You’re such a wonderful writer, you know that? And many others do love reading what you have to offer, I hope you know! 

[dontshootmespence]

Through the Pages

Chapter 20

The BAU needed to know where Eleise came from, but if told them flat out with no proof whatsoever they would probably have him committed – and honestly he wouldn’t blame them. Insanity was only one word to describe the situation he and Eleise found themselves in.

No. They have to see it up close and personal.

With every ounce of courage he could muster, he invited his teammates over after work on a Friday. Everyone assumed it would be for a few drinks and some downtime after the hell that was this last week at work. He’d let them believe that for now. He had a different plan.

Would the plan work? Honestly, he wasn’t sure. All he had planned was to at some point bring out the book and pray the door showed up like it had before, that way he could bring them through and show them firsthand that he wasn’t actually crazy, unless they assumed they were all going insane in which case seeing a door into Victorian times from a modern American apartment would be their folie à plusieurs.

As everyone settled in to the nooks and crannies of his apartment, finally relaxed after a hard day’s work, Spencer grabbed the book from his room and took a deep breath. He was so nervous he could hear his heartbeat thumping in his ears. 

“Boy Wonder, what’s wrong? You seem anxious. Wait!” Her eyes went wide as she ran to his side. “Is this why you invited us all here? We all thought it was a little weird because he never really get together at anyone’s place but Rossi’s, but this would totally make sense!”

“What?” He asked confused. His mind was a jumble of a million different thoughts and emotions.

JJ smiled and sipped at her drink. “Is Eleise coming? Are you going to propose? That’s what we were wondering.”

That would actually make sense, but no, gathering them all here had a much more insane explanation. “Uh, no. Not yet. I actually wanted to t-tell you how w-we met,” he said, stroking the spine of the book in a silent prayer to will it into existence. Everyone had their eyes plastered to their nervous co-worker that none noticed the door appearing in the middle of his living room. “Ummm…you might want to turn around.” 

“What?” Morgan asked. He followed where Spencer pointed and the rest of the team followed. “What the hell is that?”

Rossi stared into his glass and back toward the door. “Am I drunk or is there a door in the middle of your living room?”

“Reid?” Hotch questioned. “What is going on here?”

“I can’t be this drunk yet,” Emily added, while JJ and Penelope stared slack-jawed in awe.

“This is how I met Eleise,” he whispered, bringing everyone’s attention back toward him. He held up the book of Benjamin’s story in front of their eyes, explaining how he’d found at the Library of Congress months back and snuck it out. “When I started reading it on the couch, the door appeared in front of me and…I walked through.”

“What would make you walk through a random door in your apartment, kid?” Morgan asked, clearly still horrified and questioning his sanity.

Spencer shrugged, unable to truly justify the clearly crazy decision he’d made then. “I don’t know. I just felt like it was right and then I met Eleise, so I was kind of right…right?” He smiled halfheartedly and walked to the door. “If you come with me, I can show you where Eleise is from.”

“Fuck it,” Emily laughed, pushing herself up off the couch. “This is batshit insane, but my life has been wild, so what’s walking through a door in the middle of my friend’s apartment gonna do to me?”

The rest of the team followed her lead, walking through the door behind Spencer and taking no notice at all to the fact that their clothes had changed just as his had.

“Spencer, your clothes are different!” Penelope squealed, drawing the attention of nearby shop-goers for a split second before they decided Spencer and his friends weren’t of any import.

“Uhhh, you all might want to look down.”

Eyes went wide as they all took in their new clothes. Hotch, the definitive Victorian gentleman was decked in a white high-collared shirt and black cotton pants, complete with black vest and lace-ups boots, gray frock coat and gold chain leading to the pocket watch he now sported.

Rossi looked more like an old-timey magician. Spencer didn’t dare say as much or he’d get his ass kicked, no matter how old Rossi was. Black trousers, a long morning coat, white shirt and red and black striped vest complete with top hat and cane had the older man turning to where the door was disappearing and yelling at it. “What I’m so old you give me a cane?”

His former astonishment washed away, Morgan looked like all he wanted was a mirror to take in his true glory, decked out in black pants and shoes, a white shirt, gold vest and maroon morning jacket. “Damn, I look good.”

“Yea, you do Chocolate Thunder. No matter where the hell we are. Spencer where are we?”

“1890s Victorian England.”

“How?” JJ asked.

Spencer chuckled, his hands held out on either side. “Do you actually think I have any explanation for this?”

All of them rolled through a hundred different emotions before marveling at their attire once more. JJ wore what the Victorians called a walking suit, which was basically a coat and dress all in one - a beautiful royal blue that complemented her eyes.

Emily sported a purple floor-length skirt, pinstripe blouse and black outing jacket and tie. Somehow, the door had put everyone in the perfect outfit befitting their personalities. Even Garcia was twirling in a red print dress with white lace and what in modern times would be considered a comically large hat. “How do you know this is Victorian England?” Hotch asked in whispered tones, not wanting to draw attention to themselves.

“When I first wandered through the door, I still had my badge on me. It turned into a U.S. Marshall badge so I wandered into Scotland Yard, where they asked if I was the American sent to consult on the Ripper case,” he said proudly. Dr. Spencer Reid was officially the only modern man with firsthand knowledge of the Ripper case.

Rossi’s eyes practically popped from his head. “You investigated the Ripper?”

“Yup, with Eleise. She got a confession from Joseph Barnet about one of his supposed victims, but we weren’t able to get anything else from him.”

“So Eleise is an officer,” Rossi said proudly, clapping Spencer on the shoulder. “And a damn good one it seems.”

“This is insane,” Garcia laughed.

Spencer nodded. “Absolutely. But it’s happening and now that we’re here and can see that I’m not full of it, I’d like to introduce everyone to Eleise.”

Normally so confident in their daily lives, knowing where they belonged and what they were supposed to do, the six other members of the BAU followed Spencer’s lead as he walked down the streets toward Eleise’s home.

It took them a bit longer than it normally took Spencer to get there because they kept getting distracted by the goings on. A grocer’s on one side held delicious, in another direction stood a whole store just for cigars that Rossi was practically drooling over. Honestly, Spencer hadn’t paid much attention when he’d first arrived, something else driving his destiny toward Eleise. There was a store dedicated to boots and shoes and somehow he imagined that once he’d introduced everyone to Eleise, they’d all want to go shopping. On top of that, the street boasted a general store, a hat store and the bakery he’d gone to on one of his first visits here.

“187,” Penelope whispered as she ran to his side. “I need to get a pastry before we leave.”

“Duh,” he replied, kissing her cheek.

“And maybe you boys accompany Eleise, myself, Emily and JJ to the shoe store.”

“You know the shoes may not look the same back in our time, right?” Spencer asked.

“True,” she replied, “But I will still be in possession of a pair of shoes bought in the 1890s. What year is it here exactly?”

“1893.”

“Holy shit,” she laughed.

“I know!”

Once he’d corralled his friends back in the direction of Eleise’s home, it didn’t take much longer to get there. “She doesn’t know I’m coming, just that I intended to tell you all,” he whispered before knocking on the door.

“Do her parents know?” Rossi asked.

“Yea, I took them all to lunch at the diner by us. It was…something. They were very confused.”

“Well, that makes three of us.”

Spencer would’ve had to toss a coin to decide which face of Alfred’s was more confused – him walking through the door into modern times or randomly seeing seven Americans at his door. “Spencer, these must be the friends you’ve told us all about.”

“Yes, I was hoping to introduce them to Eleise, but if you’re in the middle of something I can come back later.”

“Not at all, please come in,” he said, stepping out of the doorway to allow them inside. “Eleise, Spencer is here with a surprise it seems!”

“A surprise?” She called. He loved the sound of her voice. Even in the most mundane of moments, her voice caressed him like a song. The delicate pitter patter of her shoes against the stairs came further and further down until she was standing there in front of them, mouth agape. “Jennifer, Emily and Penelope! And the rest of your friends! So, everyone knows but your mother.”

“Yes, but with my mother it’s probably best not to tell her exactly where you came from,” he laughed, turning toward his friends. “You already met Jennifer, Emily and Penelope the other day, but these are my other friends and co-workers, David, Aaron and Derek.” With a glance toward her mother and father, checking that it was okay to shake their hands, she stepped forward and introduced herself.

“I’m Eleise Griffiths. I never thought I’d marry for love in all honesty, but apparently I needed someone from 2011 to come and find me.”

Spencer blushed as red as a tomato and glanced down at the floor. “Pretty Boy has never been so in love,” Morgan said.

All three of the Griffiths spoke at the same time. “Pretty Boy?”

“That’s his nickname for me. One of them anyway,” Spencer laughed. “We have lots of nicknames for each other, but some of them could be quite difficult to explain.” Chocolate Thunder specifically. Boy Wonder, 187, Pennsylvania Petite…the list went on and on. “I was wondering, and of course your parents could accompany us, if you would all like to go shopping and maybe grab something at the bakery. I know my friends are keen to buy some shoes and pastries.”

Silence hung in the air for a few moments before Spencer noticed her parents’ hesitation. “You will pay for nothing, I promise. I’m happy to treat the woman I love and her family to a day out.”

“Are you sure?” Eleanor asked, not wanting to take advantage of his giving nature. When he nodded, she smiled softly and looked toward her husband. “I would like to get know everyone.”

“As would I,” he replied, turning around to grab his coat, as well as his wife and daughter’s full-length coats. If Eleise decided to live with Spencer in his time, he wanted to know that good people surrounded her, especially if the decision was made and he could no longer see the little girl he’d watched grow up. Plus, if that ended up being the case, he and Eleanor wanted to ensure that they took in every moment and experience they had with her until then.

@remember-me-forever-silent-angel @veroinnumera @alixcharmedworld @kitsch-i-might-be @sharon6713 @gaylemonshark @zombies-bunny @spencerwreid @ophila-archie-l @theatre-mom @too-music @illegalcerebral @madduhsen @rayreids @criminalnoodler @princesswagger15 @followingmyowndirection @kawhgi @astridstark13 @extremeobsessions101 @pretentiouslisp @meghanll @jillthekill @coffee-and-stories​ @thekatherinewinchester @courtneymarieroseee​ @ashley2197​ @tbhm1a​ @fl0werb0nes18​ @professional-fangirl-2002 @everyday-imfangirling @bookaddictlove​ @stunudo​ @spencer-is-too-perfect​ @meganlpie​ @rawritsmolly​ @sebba-hiddles​ @spookyshyguy @rt8815​ @badbitsh13​ @epicstepic @queenanneslace4​ @giddybeater​ @chilloutbitchx @teaspoon-full-of-sugar​ @transparentmilkshakefury @sunflowerscratches @mad-maximilian​ @antoheartit​ @sallangel @moonlightrose18​ @confused-and-really-hungry​ @reallyshypeanut​ @clockworkballerina​ @youknowisay @niall2017​ @were-skye​ @generouslyuniquestudent @forcingsmiles247​ @weirdgirlwithproblems @saraisthoughts​ @louis-writings​ @flannelparker​ @nadpug​ @pastroptard @pandacraz09​ @kitten863 @simitten​ @xxm3xxj​ @just-antiyou​ @whaaatthefuuuuck @thatnerdygirljudy​ @notes-in-a-bottle​ @wkxicnrueiiejjf @catherinechatzi​ @fernicusb​ @princessjae92​ @original-criminal-fanfics​ @teamwolf2411​ @piotreknawrot @aligre-blog @call-me-meh @donnacif-blog @lastfallenstar @crimeshowtrash​ @grenae18​ @annexoeh​ @captswann​ @the-unloved-person @april1535​ @stupidmenina @chloereidjonesellessar​ @imaginativedaydreams @bbkenna @immundusspiritu @karouwinchester @thelateliterary @sassyspacedust @spicy-quarius @emilyshurley @gooberforgubler80 

[strangelittlestories]

Third Eye for the End Times - Corpies

Hey there FM Fanatics and broadcast beserkers, sorry for our recent absence from the airways, the recent apathy storm really knocked our production team (which is, uh, me) for six and then we had a run-in with, well, more on that later.

You are of course back with Third Eye: fashion tips for the end times with me, Isaac Browning the Third, your irregular reccie of sartorial regulations in these dust-filled days.

In this week’s episode, I’d like to talk about suits.

Since the sun went bad, it’s safe to say that our collective relationship with formalwear has been somewhat … mixed.

Now, I’ve known some real suave survivors who have made the humble suit work for them.

I once had a fine time living in a wind-farm commune run by a real chivalrous besuited sort who wore his crisp shirt and pressed bespoke blazer like it was armour. While such glimmers are rare in the constant dusk in which we find ourselves, there was something about the sharp contrast of white collar to black lapel that seemed to *shine*.

The kind of person you have to watch out for, however, is the person who doesn’t make the suit work for them, but who makes themself (and you) work for the *suit*.

Yep, I’m talking about corpies.

It’s a widespread urban myth that you’ll mostly find these worrying relics of the last age’s corporate line around the square mile.

And, sure, there is an unfortunate abundance of assholes in that particular urban no-person’s land.

But the truth is this: corpies can pop up anywhere there’s a particularly strong resonance with the Finance Bro archetype.

In fact, it’s a little discussed issue that most of the corpies out there are, well, *victims* in their own way.

You know how when someone flicked the big ole dimmer switch in the sky, ideas went a little screwy? Well, somehow the idea that ‘the clothes maketh the man’ really got out of hand along the line.

Hence: corpies. The first lot, sure, they were maybe your tax-avoiding, business lunch-drinking, financial-crash exacerbating blends of greed and dead-eyed hedonism wrapped up in a skinsuit. But a lot of people … they just put on the wrong kind of suit or scavenged in the wrong office block and found themselves dragged into Acquisitions.

Poor assholes. Sacks of meat puppeted around like marionettes with pocket squares. Unable to escape their three-piece straight jackets.

It’s made salvaging in a Moss Bros something of an extreme sport, y’know?

If you must risk it, though, here’s some top tips:

1: You’re best off avoiding suits with two buttons. Yes, I know, three-buttoned suits can look a bit stuffy and one-buttoned blazers look like you’re not trying hard enough OR trying way too hard. But, trust me, there’s something about the two-buttoned type that is just *memetically* dangerous. Don’t go there.

2: Think colours. Navy and anything medium to dark grey should be right out. Black’s usually safe (and dashing), whereas a lighter grey or cream can be a great light summer look (that also blends nicely into the cityscape). Pinstripe can be okay, but make sure it’s a tight stripe. Basically, you wanna hit that old-school knighthood look like Jonathan Steed out of the Avengers TV show, not new-school arms dealer like Tony Stark in the Avengers movies. Seriously, that trope is not your friend.

3: Add elbow patches. They work as a kind of trope ward, plus they give you that hot professor feel.

We’ve got some suit-themed tunes coming up for you soon, but after that I have a real treat for you: I happen to have a corpie in the studio with me right now (suitably restrained) and we’re gonna attempt an interview.

Isn’t that right buddy?

“I’m going to short your future, partner!”

Poor sod.

[wp-yahoo-style-1042-yahoopa-blog]

Glam spring styles in plus sizes: Jason Wu’s new Eloquii line is here

Jason Wu x Eloquii is here. (Photo: Eloquii)

Jason Wu and Eloquii just dropped the most covet-worthy, spring plus-size collection of the season.

The collection is Wu’s second for Eloquii, which builds upon the strengths of his last. It’s centered on form-fitting clothing that hugs your curves and is ultra flattering and undeniably fashionable. After all, Wu is one of the most revered American designers in the field. He’s dressed everyone from Meghan Markle to Michelle Obama and Priyanka Chopra.

No matter who Wu is dressing, one element remains clear — his designs are effortlessly beautiful and feminine. For this spring collection, the effort Wu puts into his designs remains the same. “I designed this collection no differently than [how] I design my other collections…it’s the same design philosophy. I want to provide the same kind of elevation and glamour and beauty,” Wu shares with Yahoo Lifestyle. “It sounds really simple, but there isn’t really that much out there in the market.”

For Wu, designing fashion-forward clothing that is beautiful and elevated — no matter what size a woman is — is an “obvious choice.”

Jason Wu poses alongside model Paloma Elesser, who returns as the face of the second Jason x Eloquii collection Photo: Eloquii)

It’s refreshing that the entire Jason Wu x Eloquii line retails for under $200 and caters exclusively to plus-size women — a market that has long been ignored. A typical Jason Wu dress can retail for $1,000 or more. Here, you can snag a gorgeous floral maxi dress for only $150 and in sizes 14 to 28. However, just because the price point is more accessible doesn’t mean quality is being sacrificed.

“We wanted to make sure it looked as good and elevated as anything else I do,” Wu tells Yahoo Lifestyle. “We don’t take shortcuts and want to make sure that everything you get here is, ‘I can’t believe I’m getting it for this price.'”

Looking through the collection, you’ll find wardrobe pieces you can wear to work, on dates and special occasions like weddings. A few of our personal favorites include a sleek and refined trench dress and a stunning floral sheath dress that is perfect for wedding season, as well as chic blouses, suits and skirts that perfectly epitomize what fashionable spring dressing is all about.

Wu is one of a handful of designers pushing size-inclusivity in America, while designers in Europe have been slow to adapt. When asked why that is, Wu responded: “I suppose in America we’re much less tied down by tradition,” he explains. “And I feel like right now there’s a real moment in America, not just about plus, but about really representing people of all shapes, size, color, gender. And I think in that sense, just given how crazy the world is right now, I think there’s a real concerted effort that people want to be authentic and represented.”

The Jason Wu x Eloquii collection caters to plus-size women everywhere, offering stylish wardrobe pieces that are not only perfect for spring, but can also be worn for years to come. Shop our favorite picks below and afterwards, head to eloquii.com for the full assortment.

The editors at Yahoo Lifestyle are committed to finding you the best products at the best prices. At times, we may receive a share from purchases made via links on this page.

Jason Wu x Eloquii Belted Blazer and Trousers 

Jason Wu x Eloquii (Photo: Eloquii)

Last year, shoppers were obsessed Wu’s black tuxedo suit for Eloquii. This season, you can buy the updated version in a rich shade of teal.

Shop it: $120 (blazer), eloquii.com  Shop it: $90 (trousers), eloquii.com

Jason Wu x Eloquii Sleeveless Trench Dress

Jason Wu x Eloquii (Photo: Eloquii)

This has Meghan Markle vibes written all over it. Show up to a business meeting wearing this high-powered look, and your confidence will be through the roof.

Shop it: $111, eloquii.com 

Jason Wu x Eloquii Short Sleeve Sweetheart Neckline Sheath Dress

Jason Wu x Eloquii (Photo: Eloquii)

The color block design is tasteful and refined—a perfect dress to wear to a cocktail party.

Shop it: $100, eloquii.com 

Jason Wu x Eloquii Draped Front Dress

Jason Wu x Eloquii (Photo: Eloquii)

Have you seen a more perfect dress for spring? The print is so fresh you can almost “smell” the flowers.

Shop it: $70, eloquii.com 

Jason Wu x Eloquii Pinstripe Origami Sheath Dress

Jason Wu x Eloquii (Photo: Eloquii)

Wu’s many talents is being able to elevate what seems like an ordinary basic, like this pinstriped dress. Here, he transforms it by adding a small asymmetrical detail along the skirt that gives it an instant modern touch.

Shop it: $100, eloquii.com 

Jason Wu x Eloquii Halter Maxi Dress

Jason Wu x Eloquii (Photo: Eloquii)

This gorgeous tropical dress is ready to go. All you need to do is add a wicker bag and you’ll be ready for your BFF’s summer wedding soirée.

Shop it: $150, eloquii.com 

Jason Wu x Eloquii Draped Asymmetric Midi Dress

Jason Wu x Eloquii (Photo: Eloquii)

Available in both black and white, this angelic white dress is a classic piece that will never go out of style. The draping is a top-notch fit for any woman with curves.

Shop it: $80, eloquii.com 

Jason Wu x Eloquii Pleated Midi Dress

Jason Wu x Eloquii (Photo: Eloquii)

Style this whimsical springtime dress with wedges and you’ll be ready for a daytime park picnic.

Shop it: $150, eloquii.com 

Jason Wu x Eloquii One Shoulder Puff Sleeve Blouse

Jason Wu x Eloquii (Photo: Eloquii)

As the temperature heats up, a one-shoulder blouse is a chic and sophisticated top to pair with jeans or trousers.

Shop it: $70, eloquii.com

Jason Wu x Eloquii Notch Collar Wrap Dress

Jason Wu x Eloquii (Photo: Eloquii)

A wrap dress is a must-have in every woman’s closet. “It’s work appropriate, feminine [and] you can wear it to an event afterwards,” says Wu.

Shop it: $90, eloquii.com 

Jason Wu x Eloquii Poplin Ruffle Sheath Dress

Jason Wu x Eloquii (Photo: Eloquii)

This striped dress hugs all of your curves in all the right places. Add a pair of criss-cross sandals and you’ll be ready for warmer weekends ahead.

Shop it: $120, eloquii.com 

Jason Wu x Eloquii Pinstripe Belted Blazer and Culotte Trouser

Jason Wu x Eloquii (Photo: Eloquii)

If you’re a fan of suits, this version is perfect for spring as it features a wider, breezier trouser and a versatile pinstripe pattern.

Shop it: $120 (blazer), eloquii.com  Shop it: $90 (trousers), eloquii.com 

Read More from Yahoo Lifestyle:

• 10 sophisticated work essentials every plus-size woman needs in her closet • 9 pretty plus-size Easter dresses you can wear through summer • Shop 9 plus-size spring essentials, all under $60

Follow us on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest for nonstop inspiration delivered fresh to your feed, every day.

Want daily pop culture news delivered to your inbox? Sign up here for Yahoo’s newsletter.

[goatsandgangsters]

Keep Your Eyes On Me (Kinktober Day 27: Stripping)

Pairing: Charlie/Meyer Word count: ~4,300

Contains: Accidental strip tease turns into deliberate strip tease, lots and lots of banter, sexual tension, lap sitting, grinding, hand jobs ensue. Also on ao3. 

Based on this Kinktober list

“It’s bullshit, is what it is,” Charlie says, yanking the bar from his collar. He drops it on the table.

“It’s not like this is anything new, either,” Meyer comments, tapping the ash from his cigarette before slipping it back between his lips. He leans back, surveying Charlie as he paces. It’s a slow pace—annoyance, not anger, he knows.

He shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it over the scalloped back of the chair opposite Meyer—the one he’s too busy pacing to occupy. “Yeah well, if Adonis could keep his fuckin’ head on his shoulders…” he grumbles. Roughly, he pries the cufflinks out of his shirt sleeves. Those, too, he drops onto the table. They shimmer as they roll on the polished rosewood, rocking to a halt with the lamplight reflected in their pearlescent finish.

“We’ll take care of it,” Meyer assures him. “It’ll all be under control before you know it.”

“Sure, everything except Joe’s temper.”

Meyer smirks, lips pressing into a tight, thin line. “Well—that would be more like a miracle.”

Charlie only shakes his head with a sigh. Neither of them are too concerned with the situation, though it’s certainly a frustrating and pointless hiccup. There isn’t enough bite to Charlie’s words, just the usual simmer of anger that always roils beneath the surface. Meyer merely adds this annoyance to his ever-growing personal collection.

Charlie’s hands grasp at the sleeve of his shirt, a crisp sky blue without so much as a stripe, which is unusual for Charlie. Meyer likes it, though; there’s something elegant in its simplicity, and though Charlie can pull off any fashion, Meyer will always have his preferences. At the moment, Charlie’s set his admonishment for Joe Adonis aside, fixating on folding the fabric of his sleeves, doubling it over—revealing the tanned muscles of his forearm beneath, defined tendons flexing under skin as he pushes his sleeve back. It hugs against his bicep as Charlie finishes rolling; Meyer takes another drag from his cigarette as Charlie starts on the other arm.

He does this, when he’s agitated. The heat of the room—of his own anger—gets under his skin. The sleeves feel too warm, the tie too tight against his throat, buttons pressing in with a weight they don’t have otherwise. Meyer knows this—he doesn’t quite understand the sensation, as he’s always found being without proper layers more distressing than liberating—but he certainly doesn’t mind Charlie’s habit. Especially when there’s no one else around and no need for him to hide his gaze.

“Just once—” Charlie says, and Meyer realizes his only memory of the last few moments is Charlie’s forearms. “Just once, is it so much to ask for somethin' to go smooth?”

That, at least, is an easy question to answer. Meyer’s lips twitch around his cigarette. “Again with the miracles?”

Charlie flashes a smile in return. Meyer’s eyes follow as he crosses the room; and if he doesn’t look away as Charlie bends down to retrieve two tumblers from the side cabinet, no one is around to know—Charlie included, not that he’d mind. The near-gold back of his vest contrasts nicely with the rest of the suit, dark blue and pinstriped, which hugs so naturally around the back of him in an elegant—and distracting—silhouette.

Again, it’s not something Meyer always worries about for himself. But he can appreciate Charlie’s taste in dress; he’s just as nice with as without.

The decanter clinks as Charlie pours them both a drink. He returns, hands one to Meyer, finally drops into the chair opposite, and takes a swig of his own. He wipes his lips against the back of his hand; Meyer downs a large gulp to smother whatever emotion is budding in his gut. The heat rushes down his throat and he realizes, a moment too late, how little this is going to help.

“What’s it you got spinnin’ around in that head’a yours, huh?” Charlie asks around the rim of his glass. He stretches out his legs, ankles intertwining with Meyer’s, who jumps a little at the sudden contact. Charlie chuckles, runs his ankle lethargically up Meyer’s shin.

“Nothing important, just—like you said, with Adonis,” he lies, less cleanly than he should. The leg against his own isn’t helping.

Charlie doesn’t believe him; the look in his eyes says as much as he reaches forward to pluck the cigarette from between Meyer’s fingers, an old habit that he indulges more often now that he can steal a kiss while he’s at it. He reclines, bringing Meyer’s cigarette to his own lips, cheeks puckering around it. “You got somethin’ you’re stuck on, I can tell,” he says, exhaling smoke.

It’s hard to say if Charlie’s being deliberate with his mouth or if he’s just being Charlie (the latter is more likely and all the more frustrating for it). The drink is making his head feel pleasantly fuzzy. Besides which, Charlie’s forearms are very nice; he infuriatingly raises a hand to his mouth, rubbing a finger over his lip.

“It’s not Adonis, so much as—” Meyer falters.

Really, Charlie? Of all the moments? He had to pick just then to work his fingers through the knot of his tie, undoing it along with his top button. He downs the rest of his drink to buy time in answering, but Charlie’s brow furrows and that charming wolfish grin follows. He’s caught the way Meyer’s eyes linger on the patch of skin peeking through his undone collar. So he hadn’t been planning it, but he’s finally caught on.

“That’s what’s got your wheels turnin’, Little Man?” he asks, the smirk growing. His collar is a little askew; Meyer wants to reach over and fix it, then thinks about brushing his fingers over Charlie’s neck. He snatches back his cigarette instead.

“You’re a little—distracting, that’s all,” Meyer confesses, without meeting his eye. The carpet, after all, is also fascinating.

“Yeah, one button’s real bold,” Charlie snarks, not without fondness. “I can see why you’re mesmerized.”

Meyer glares, grabs Charlie’s glass, and downs the rest of his drink as well. “Everything you do is mesmerizing,” he mumbles around the rim, heat flushing in his cheeks that has nothing to do with the alcohol.

“Yeah?”

And that’s a dangerous yeah, Meyer knows. He knows, even before Charlie’s hands reach the top button of his vest, flicking it open. 

“How bout that?” he asks, fingers working their way slowly down the line of buttons, taking his time unfastening each. “Gonna forget all that arithmetic you got up there?”

Meyer feels his face burn hot, but refuses to give Charlie the satisfaction. Not yet, anyway. Instead he just shifts in his chair and crosses one leg over the other. “Only if you really impress me,” he says, surprising himself.

He surprises Charlie, too, catches him off guard for just a moment—but then that look is back on his face, and Meyer knows he enjoys the challenge as much as he accepts it.

“Maybe I oughta give you a bit more, huh?” he says, voice barely above a gravelly whisper. Charlie sits forward in his seat, slipping out of his vest. It falls behind him on the chair with a soft thump as he stands.

Charlie’s only in his shirtsleeves now, rolled to expose his firm arms, suspenders digging faint grooves into his shoulders. He’s quick to kick off his shoes while Meyer settles himself back against the armchair. “I see you learned a thing or two at the Tenderloin,” Meyer remarks, eyes sweeping up and down Charlie’s body. Even clothed, his neat silhouette is beautiful.

“Seein’ as you ain’t ever been there, I guess I gotta show what you’re missin’,” Charlie says, playfully shimmying his shoulders in a gesture even Meyer can recognize.

Meyer half-laughs and looks down at his lap, shaking his head. Despite being completely dressed himself, he feels more self-conscious—more exposed—about watching, now that Charlie’s so determined to make a display of it. “You’re… ridiculous, you know that?”

“That what I am?” Charlie asks, pouting like he’s offended. He reaches up and fastens the top button of his shirt with quick fingers. “Guess I’ll just put my clothes back on and leave.”

“Somehow I think you’ll find that more disappointing than I will,” Meyer counters. This, Meyer can handle. This is more familiar. He smirks, enjoying his momentary upper-hand.

Charlie scoffs, his brows dipping into a scowl as he stoops to pick up his vest. He eyes Meyer pointedly as he slips his arms through with a huff. “Mey, keep this up and I’ll be puttin’ on my winter coat in no time.”

“What, exactly, do you want me to say?” he asks, and the question is not entirely insincere.

In a voice higher than his own, Charlie suggests, quite unhelpfully, “Gee Charlie, you sure are handsome, won’t you please take your clothes off?” 

“I do not sound like that.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” Charlie pouts. “Would it kill you to pay a fella a compliment?”

It’s not without fondness that Meyer smirks at the size of Charlie’s ego; it’s larger than the Woolworth Building, but Meyer can’t say he minds—or that it isn’t, in some respects, deserved. He lights another cigarette, largely because he needs something to do with his hands. “You are,” he tells the cigarette.

“I am what?” Charlie’s hands hesitate on his vest, sliding barely off his shoulder.

“…Handsome.” Meyer shifts and looks down. “Very.” He hears the rustle of fabric and sees the vest hit the ground at Charlie’s feet. He takes a step forward, then another, until he’s standing over Meyer.

“That’s a start,” Charlie says and rewards him with a button. Just one. He looms over Meyer, leans his hands on the back of his chair, bracketing him on either side with his body. “Here, I’ll let you help,” he says, biting his own lip for just a moment. His hand finds Meyer—as always, he’s warm as a furnace—and their fingers twine together, Charlie guiding him to his suspenders.

Meyer tilts his chin to look up at him, tries not to look too obvious as he swallows, and gently pushes the suspenders off Charlie’s shoulder—one after the other, letting his palms brush against the fabric of his shirt. He runs an uncertain hand down the front of Charlie’s chest, hesitating at the top of his pants, before his fingers quickly unfasten the loops of the suspenders at the front. Charlie undoes the one at back and tosses them aside.

“But that’s it, alright? Now you just gotta watch,” Charlie warns, prodding a finger under Meyer’s chin.

Meyer just smirks and lifts an eyebrow. “A chore, really,” he says.

“Well, if you want somethin’ to do…” It’s that kind of tone—the tone of an idea taking shape—and this time it’s more than sarcasm that raises his face. Charlie’s already taking his clothes off one by one; any other ideas that pop into his head must surely be dangerous. He doesn’t quite trust his voice, but his expectant expression is enough, as Charlie continues, “Maybe a little encouragement?”

Meyer snorts. “When have you ever needed convincing to take your clothes off?”

But Charlie must be really set in his plan, because he doesn’t even take that bait. He nudges Meyer’s thigh with his knee, pushing it aside, as he kneels one leg on the chair, the other on the floor, leaning closer to Meyer. “I’m feelin’ shy,” he all but purrs, in the least shy voice Meyer’s ever heard in his life. His breath is hot as it brushes against Meyer’s cheek; he swallows.

“You do… have nice—uh, shoulders,” he stammers, eyes firmly on the lines running down Charlie’s trouser legs. He tries not to think too hard about those coming off; the only reason he succeeds is that he’s much too flustered to think of anything with much depth or detail. The nearness of Charlie’s torso, his hands on either side, the warmth of his breath fill Meyer’s head to the exclusion of nearly all else.

“Shoulders?” Charlie, apparently, finds this half-surprising and half-funny.

“Yes. They’re nice. I like biting them,” Meyer says firmly, through almost-grit teeth. Charlie asked for encouragement, not poetry. He’s lucky he got anything coherent at all, really, and—

But it must have done the trick. Charlie’s palm is brushing across Meyer’s cheek, cupping his face, and there’s warmth in his eyes—and more than enough mischief—as he says, “You just keep your eyes on me, alright?”

Meyer would argue that it’s hard to do anything else, if he hadn’t spent the last few minutes alternating between unabashed staring and avoiding Charlie in favor of memorizing the floor, ignoring the heat in his face and other places. But he lifts his gaze now and doesn’t look away.

He doesn’t look away as Charlie starts on the top button, as his fingers slide down to the next, and the next. He doesn’t look away as Charlie pauses, pushing the sides of the shirt apart, taking his sweet time and teasing Meyer. He lets his fingers trail down his chest as he moves onto the next button.

Once he’s finally reached the bottom, shirt hanging open off his shoulders, Charlie settles himself squarely on Meyer’s lap. He rolls one shoulder back, letting the fabric slide, effortless, down his arm. He smirks, clearly relishing Meyer’s eyes on him, and does the same on the other side. He arches his back, and it falls off his arms, dropping to the floor.

“So, you like ‘em?” he asks, nodding to his shoulders.

It takes Meyer a moment to remember his earlier comment. His mouth is dry, but he distantly nods yes. Charlie chuckles, that low rumble in his throat, and says, “You’re gonna make good on that promise, alright, Little Man?”

“What promise?” Distracted though he may be, Meyer’s never one to miss a trick—though Charlie, in this mood, is full of them.

“Biting them,” Charlie reminds, and it’s his turn to look away, a little bashful. There’s heat rising under his skin, too. Meyer can see the way the flush dusts below his ears, across the bob in his throat, and it’s so distracting that he almost forgets to respond.

“I didn’t promise I would,” Meyer points out after a pause, though there’s not a lot of confrontation in it. After all, he doesn’t mind in the slightest. It’s hard to think of little else but causing more color to rise beneath Charlie’s skin.

“Make you a deal,” Charlie says, casual, the way they do all the time—only it’s not the sort of promises he’s making to anyone else. “Promise you bite ‘em red as you’re blushin’ and I’ll take this off,” he says with a gesture to his undershirt.

Meyer makes a show of contemplating for a moment, dithering, and agrees.

“You always got a smart head for business,” Charlie teases. Meyer would offer some sort of comeback, if Charlie weren’t already tugging the fabric over his head. He tosses it with little ceremony somewhere over the back of the chair, out of Meyer’s line of sight—not that Meyer can really look at anything else.

Charlie on his lap, limiting his range of motion, is one thing. Charlie shirtless on his lap is another—warm skin hardly inches from his fingertips, the muscular curve of his shoulders, the way he’s still a little too slender, even with the muscle that came from growing up, and his collar bones jut forward just slightly. Maybe he’ll bite them too, he thinks.

“But not yet,” Charlie tacks on, like he could hear Meyer’s contemplation. “You gotta wait till I’m all done.”

Meyer sighs with put-upon resignation; patience might be harder for someone else, though even Meyer feels a slight sting of disappointment that he can’t put his hands all over the planes of Charlie’s chest, drag his hands along his back, feel his arms.

Charlie’s staring down between them with a look of contemplation. “Guess it’s gonna be trouble gettin’ these off, sittin’ here. Shouldn’t’a made myself comfortable.”

He’s not being sincere—too much smirk hiding behind his solemn words—but before Meyer can say anything to that effect, Charlie shifts. Forward. Meyer gasps. After holding back, it feels like so much to suddenly have Charlie rub against him. He slides back, rolling his hips against Meyer a second time. His fists curl around the arms of the chair. “Guess I’m a little stuck,” Charlie says innocently, the grin on his face anything but.

“You—” He’s cut off by another sharp intake of breath as Charlie shifts up and down.

“You were sayin’?”

“You fuck.” It’s not what he had been saying, but it’s what he’s saying now. “You absolute fuck.”

“Well, if that’s what you want, why didn’t you just say so?” And the smirk Charlie gives him is equal parts arousing and infuriating. It’s just that face and Meyer’s nails scrape against the upholstery for lack of Charlie’s skin to grab onto. “I’m gonna have to take these off first though,” he says with a nod at his pants, their crotches, and another fake attempt at dislodging himself from Meyer’s lap that sends a shiver down his spine. “You want that?”

“You—uh—I suppose that all depends on whether or not you can manage it. Seeing as you’re having such difficulty… getting up.” Now it’s Meyer’s turn to smirk. Charlie glares, and it’s a low blow, but really, he walked into that one.

But the glare evens back into that dangerous expression. Charlie leans in, and Meyer inhales as Charlie’s teeth graze along his ear. “You sure about that?” he murmurs, low in his throat, rutting against Meyer. He can feel how hard he is—Charlie always did like having eyes on him—and between the waiting and the way Charlie’s moving in his lap, Meyer can’t deny that the sensation is mutual. He keeps going—sliding back and forth, rolling his hips into Meyer. It’s hard to say whether he’s still making a point or just enjoying himself too much, but Meyer’s long past analyzing Charlie’s intentions. Even with fabric in the way, the friction between them is too good.

“Here. How’s about I give you a little more?” Charlie croons in husky tones. He slides back, lifts one leg to the floor and raises himself off Meyer’s lap, fingers already fumbling with the fastenings of his trousers. Meyer’s mouth is dry as ever, he doesn’t want to lose the nearness or the comforting weight of Charlie on his lap, and he wants to touch him.

“No,” Meyer says, unprompted.

Charlie freezes; even without knowing what or why, he still stops, hands at the top of his pants, one leg kneeling and one on the floor, as he glances at Meyer with pink-flushed cheeks. He cocks his head, licks his lips, waits. “No?”

He hadn’t planned it, but the words feel natural as he looks up at Charlie’s awaiting expression, the flush in his cheeks, an openness in his eyes under knit brows. “Not until you kiss me.”

He expects Charlie to argue, to offer some quip, some teasing remark. Instead, without any hesitation, Charlie’s mouth is on his, warm, eager, pressing firmly against his lips. Meyer makes a noise of muffled surprise against his mouth, eyes closed, as the surprise melts into a moan. He feels Charlie settle back on his lap; Meyer’s hands press down on his thighs, pulling him close, close, closer.

It’s several fervent kisses later before Charlie pulls back with a gasp. “You’re not—s’posed to touch,” he pants against his mouth.

“Then stop me.”

He’s not gripping hard, nothing Charlie couldn’t shoo away in order to continue his little routine, but he makes no effort to move Meyer’s palms from where they’re splayed out across the tops of his thighs. Instead, he leans in, brushes his lips against Meyer’s neck, and whispers, “That ain’t playin’ fair.”

“More fun this way,” Meyer retorts, as his thumb slides against the ridge of Charlie’s inseam. He feels the way Charlie’s muscles tense under his touch, hears the sharp intake of air between his lips, exhaled in a tight moan.

With the barrier broken between them, neither wants to return to their former restraint. He wants Charlie under his hands as much as Charlie wants Meyer’s hands on him at last. He skates his fingers up higher along Charlie’s thighs, tracing a wide detour around the center of his legs that makes Charlie thrust his hips forward in disappointment. Instead, Meyer’s fingers hook under the waistband, slipping between warm skin and fabric. “Doesn’t seem as though you want me to stop touching you.”

“I still gotta get these off,” Charlie mutters, looking down. His voice is low, tight, and he bites down on his lip; the sight jolts in Meyer’s stomach. He wants to be the one doing that.

“You don’t have to.” Meyer says it lightly—like it could be a question, but it’s all the answer Charlie needs.

Their mouths crash together, Meyer’s hands fumbling with the closure of Charlie’s pants. He gasps and moans into Meyer’s mouth when he finally frees his cock, the palm of his hand sliding easily down the length of soft skin. He strokes him, fingers curled, until Charlie finally pulls back, running his hands down Meyer’s chest—over the fabric of the many layers still clinging to his body.

His lips are red, eyes shining bright with want, as Charlie quirks a flushed smile. “Don’t got time to get all your clothes off,” he says, before his lips are back on Meyer’s, his hands opening his pants.

Meyer bucks his hips up, as Charlie wraps a hand around them both. Charlie’s strokes are quick, fervent, too far gone for any patience. “Lemme take care of this. I just wanna—feel you everywhere,” he says against Meyer’s ear. The words coil tight in his stomach, a spark in his veins.

His arms wrap firm around the small of Charlie’s back, tugging him close. He kisses down the side of his neck, across the front of his throat, down to his collarbones, and over the curves of his shoulders—touching, tasting, every bit of skin Charlie’d been keeping from him. Meyer can’t help it. It feels so good to finally touch Charlie, to feel the warmth of his skin. His hands clutch at him, points of his nails sharp in his shoulder blades, and Charlie arches appreciatively into it all—his own hand never stilling around them for a moment.

Meyer nips—sharp, small—at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Charlie jerks in his lap, and Meyer moans at the way Charlie’s hand judders around both of their cocks.

“Fuck, Mey,” he breathes.

“I made you a deal, didn’t I?” Meyer moves across his shoulder, biting, sucking, tugging the skin between his teeth and working his mouth all across it.

“Knew you was—” He interrupts himself with a moan, voice breathy. “—knew you was good as your word.” Charlie’s head falls to the side, baring more skin for Meyer to mark, and each bite garners an appreciative moan and a quickening of his hand.

He closes his eyes, bucking up into Charlie’s grasp, despite the weight of his body bracketing his lap. The heat mounts with every up-and-down slide, a hurried friction of skin on skin. Charlie’s breath against his neck is ragged, uneven, a high whine at the edge of each exhale.

“Meyer—fuck—please—”

To stifle his own moaning, Meyer sinks his teeth into the juncture of Charlie’s neck—hard, firm, too far gone for thinking. Charlie gasps, whines, and Meyer can feel every twitch and shake of his body against his own. Meyer isn’t long behind, with the way Charlie’s fingers move between them, a desperate, hurried motion.

When at last the room settles into stillness, their chests heaving, they sit for a moment in silence. Meyer turns his face and settles it into the crook of Charlie’s neck. He can feel his pulse against his lips—thrumming hard, but steadying. His skin is slightly dampened with sweat, the smell of worn-off cologne distant but familiar.

With a sigh, Charlie shifts, settles from his kneeling perch until he’s more comfortably sitting in Meyer’s lap. Their heads rest against each other’s shoulders. Meyer swallows and blinks his eyes open, met once again with the warm golden light of the room. He smiles down at the expanse of Charlie’s back below his gaze, skin dotted with the occasional birthmark. Across the tops of his shoulders, red patches are blooming and bursting from beneath his skin.

The room feels warm, heavy—or maybe that’s just their proximity to one another, the languid heat of their bodies coming to rest. Slowly, fatigue in his limbs, Meyer reaches for Charlie’s wrist; he twitches as Meyer’s fingers brush skin. It makes him chuckle—all that contact, but a delicate brush of his wrist is like a live wire.

Charlie tilts his chin and glances at Meyer with warm eyes and slightly swollen lips. “Somethin’ funny?”

“I think you missed something.” Meyer unfastens the strap of Charlie’s watch and dangles it in front of him, a small, satisfied smile pressed into his lips.

Charlie blinks at it, opens his mouth, and lets his head hang as he laughs. His cheeks are flushed pink, hair askew in messy corkscrews; laughter looks good as it falls from his lopsided grin.

“Maybe if somebody,” Charlie says, swiping his watch from Meyer’s fingers, “let me get everythin’ off before gettin’ impatient…”

Meyer scoffs. “I got impatient?” Charlie pockets his watch and shoots him a knowing look that makes him bristle on principle. “I don’t seem to recall much restraint from you, either.”

“Well,” Charlie says, eyes alight. The smirk spreads slow—warm as it is mischievous—as he runs his hands down Meyer’s chest. “Guess we gotta try again sometime, see who caves first.”

“I’ll take that bet.”

[art-of-manliness]

How to Dress to Convey Power

Style is a language: The clothing you wear speaks volumes about you long before you open your mouth, and talks to everyone around you, whether you actually exchange words or not. Research has conclusively shown that how you dress not only changes how you feel about yourself, but how others interact with you as well.  What you want your clothes to “say” depends on the situation and the impression you want to make. Sometimes you simply want your clothes to convey your personality and your general sense of ease. Other times, you choose your clothes strategically, in order to create a certain effect — in order to give yourself a certain advantage.  One of those times is when you want to convey “power” — when you find yourself in a situation where you need to project confidence, status, authority, and competence to the people you’re interacting with. Today we’ll take a look at how to put together this kind of “power outfit.” The Message: What a Power Outfit Says This is an outfit designed to send a specific message: * “I know what I’m doing.” * “I don’t need to prove myself to you.” * “I’m in charge here.” You wear it when you need to impress and, to some degree, take charge, or at least look like someone who could take charge if needed. It’s not exactly an interview or a sales outfit, although it shares some characteristics with both of these — it’s best suited to slightly confrontational settings like boardrooms, halls of government, and courts of law. Expect to routinely see lawyers, politicians, and executives sporting the “power outfit” look — and don’t be afraid to use it yourself if you operate in these roles, or are going to be interacting with those who do. “I Know What I’m Doing” — How to Project Confidence With Your Outfit The language of style is unambiguous on how to project male authority: wear a suit. There aren’t really any exceptions to that rule. When you really want to take charge of a room, wear a suit. Anything less is more ambiguous in its authority. The suit says “Yes, I’m ready to do serious business.” Anything else leaves room for doubt. A suit enhances the masculine V-shape, conveys status, and looks disciplined and put together.  The best “power suits” use a conservative look that references decades of Western business styles: * Charcoal gray beats anything else, even a deep navy or a black. There’s nothing quite as serious-looking as a good charcoal gray. * There are two pattern options: solid, or striped with widely-spaced, plain white pinstripes no more than the width of a small needle. * A single-breasted jacket with a generous spread makes your chest look prominent, signaling authority. * Sharp, squared off-shoulders also give you the impression of bulk and authority. However, avoid obvious padding that softens the line of your shoulder. * Peaked lapels aren’t mandatory, but they do make the front of your jacket more striking, and a little more aggressive. Don’t be afraid to use them, so long as the peaks aren’t absurdly flared. In addition to the power suit (which must, obviously, be well-fitted to your personal measurements, not just your rack size), wear a plain white shirt, black leather shoes and belt, and a deep-colored necktie with conservative patterning. Red has long been the “power” color of necktie, to the point that it’s almost a cliché, but don’t feel bound to it — a deep blue, green, or purple also projects authority, so long as the color is both rich and deeply-dyed. “I Don’t Need to Prove Myself” — Dressing to Pass the “Gatekeeper” Standards In addition to conservative, your “power outfit” should be immaculate. All the little maintenance tasks that make the difference between looking good and looking razor-sharp need to be seen to: * Suits should be clean and freshly-brushed. The trousers should have crisp, visible creases, and the jacket should have enough body to sit firmly on you without slumping. * Shirts should be plain white, freshly pressed, and free of any staining. The collar points should be straight and stiff, and the collar should be free of any rolling or folding in the back. * Wear a pocket square. Plain white in a crisp, horizontal fold or sharp peaks gives you the most “powerful” look. A puff or flowery fold is too soft-edged. Read more about how to rock your pocket square. * Match your metals; match your leathers. The color of your shoes and belt should match; the color of your watch and any other jewelry should match. The only jewelry you should wear is a dress watch, cufflinks if necessary, a simple tie pin or clip if desired, and a wedding band if relevant. Notice that the watch has no “if” statement — you should be wearing one. * Shoes should be plain black oxfords polished to a bright shine. Socks should match the trouser color, not the shoe color. * Your necktie knot should be centered and symmetrical. If you have a broad face, use a large knot like the Full Windsor; if you have a smaller face use a narrower knot, like the Half-Windsor. * Clean and groom from head to toe. Get a haircut a week before (not the day before — it can look weirdly short if it’s too fresh). Consider getting a manicure — it won’t make your nails look like a lady’s, it will just trim them up, adding to your overall polish. Shower several hours before your important meeting (to give your skin and hair time to fully dry) and wear no scent outside of a very light deodorant/antiperspirant. These sound minor. They are not. If you’re dropping the ball on several of these all at once, you don’t look like a power player — you just look like a guy in a nice suit. Added together, these are the details that combine to give you that razor-edged crispness, and set you apart from (and ahead of) the pack. “I’m In Charge Here” — How to Look Like a Man with Authority The right suit proves that you’re here for business. Crispness and correct dress standards prove that you’re not an amateur. But how do you subtly tell people that you’re the top dog in the room? This is one of those situations where there really is no substitute for quality. As crude as it sounds, the best suit indicates (accurately or not) the top dog in most people’s minds. If yours looks high-quality and well-tailored, you gain an assumed mantle of authority. That means investing in three key areas: * Fit. This is the most important consideration of all. Your suit and shirt should be as custom-tailored as you can afford, and closely-fitted. Even a heavyset man should wear his clothes close to the body. No one looks good with loose cloth or sagging clothes. * Fabric. This is the second-most visible indicator of quality. Yes, you really can tell the difference between a $300 suit and a $1,500 suit at a glance. The weight, drape, and luster of the higher-quality wool is unmistakable — and yes, it should be 100% wool. * Style. The conservative business style was discussed above. In the interests of quality, the style should also be customized for your body — a broadly-built man, for example, will want slightly wider lapels than a skinny man, while a very small man would want the pockets situated higher on the front of his jacket. You get what you pay for in the world of high-end menswear, and people will be able to recognize it at a glance. Invest as much as you can reasonably afford in your power outfit. It’s what you’ll be wearing when the stakes are highest. _________________________________________ Written By Antonio Centeno Founder, Real Men Real Style Click here to grab my free ebooks on men’s style The post How to Dress to Convey Power appeared first on The Art of Manliness. http://dlvr.it/QhMfZc

[gaperezmakes]

Original Fic Fest Day 2 & 3 – Romantic & Non-Romantic Relationships (Iblan Light | Black Empire)

...That is still a title, but that’s okay. We’re getting through it. Anyway, welcome back to here, I’m glad you’ve decided to join us here in the super secret second entries for Days 2 and 3 of @originalficfest. If you somehow found these before the other not-secret entries, you can find them here. Anyway, let’s get to what you’re here for!

Day 2, if you missed it, was Romantic Relationships Day. For Black Empire, I stretched myself a little by writing about Synoth and Orvyn. For the Iblan Light series, we’re going to look at a relationship that has a lot of depth to it, but never really gets focused on: the marriage of Joseph and Helen Burmen. They are an interesting couple. Joseph is a biomancer, a mage with magical powers that are banned throughout most of the world. In fact, there are only a handful that are allowed to exist. Helen is a refugee from Nobe, a country that literally walled itself off from the rest of the world by creating a mountain range on their borders (Nobe is a country of geomancers). Her brother had potential to be a biomancer and was extracted from the country so that he could be trained to become one.

Then he escaped and they haven’t been able to find him.

Also: Joseph and Helen aren’t even their real names. They’re in some kind of like witness protection program. Because Joseph is a dangerously powerful mage and Helen is a refugee from a hostile foreign nation.

I don’t know, can I write anything more interesting than that? Probably not, but I can write this thing.

Joseph looked in the mirror, adjusting his tie. Helen walked up behind him, checking to see what colors he was using. “Black and white again?”

“Black and white again,” he nodded, “We have yet another fundraiser to sit through.” He watched her sigh and roll her eyes, “Is the babysitter here yet?”

“I just called, she’s on her way,” Helen nudged Joseph aside, comparing some of the jewelry she was thinking of wearing with Joseph’s choice of color. “Do we have to go dressed so plainly?”

“We can’t stand out too much, you know that.” Joseph pointed at the pair of earrings he preferred Helen wear: a pair of small hanging diamond earrings. She shrugged, knowing he wasn’t a fan of the hoops anyway. They both walked away from the mirror, Joseph walking to his closet and Helen to her jewelry box.

“You know what you should wear?” Helen looked over at Joseph, who was already shaking his head, “Why not? I worked very hard on yours.”

“I know you did. But you know we can’t risk the Imperials finding us. Nothing would stand out more than a couple of Imperial shiroshi at a National fundraising event.” Joseph looked at the several black suit jackets he had. “Pinstripe or no pinstripe?” He whispered to himself. He looked aside and saw Helen eyeing her traditional dress longingly. He walked behind her and kissed the back of her head.

“You know, only the man’s robe is called a shiroshi. Mine is a shirashe.” Joseph looked at the light blue robe. Wrapped around it was a brown soft leather belt. On the cuff of the right arm were three brown stripes, each getting thinner as they got farther from the cuff. The outer two stripes were connected by diagonal lines. Above the stripes was a very stylized depiction of a brown boar. Although he couldn’t see them, Joseph knew there were three water lillies just to the right of the boar. The left arm had been removed and replaced with a jade-colored arm with a silver dragon swirling around it. This arm had no stripes on the cuff.

“I did not know that,” he told her, “You’ve never told me. What do the colors represent?”

She smiled, “You know what they stand for.”

He kissed her temple, his facial hair tickling her face, “But I forget, love. You know that I am an aged man, after all. We forget things, sometimes.”

“You are not a jungdshi, not yet. You still have a few years to go. This,” she ran her fingers across his mustache and goatee, “helps you keep from looking old, however.”

“You know, here in the Union, most young men try and grow this to look older.”

She gave him a peck on the cheek, “But you’re not a National, dear.” She walked to the robe and touched it, “The brown represents earth, and is most often used by farmers. My uncle, as you know, was not a particularly wealthy man, but he did well enough for our family. We are of the clan Dyunhou, represented by the boar, a strong and hearty animal. I remember on our family farms, we bred huge pigs that we used to till our lands.”

“Did you have a favorite?”

“I had a small piglet. I named her Basleunne, after the peach tree she loved to sleep under. I assume that she has been slaughtered by now, although whether for food or by the government as a price for our desertion, I will never know.” She shrugged sadly, “Or perhaps she’s still alive today. I hope she is, and that she still naps under her favorite tree.”

“We can get a pig.”

Helen laughed, “I am not raising a pig in this house, Joseph. You already give me enough messes to clean up.” She continued looking at her shirashe, rubbing the delicate silken cloth between her fingers, “The blue represents health. My family was very hearty, very healthy. Sicknesses would roll through our village and my family would remain untouched. The jungdshi in the village would often say that a Dyunhou chooses when he is ready to die.”

“Must be nice. What about the other arm?”

“That’s from your shiroshi. I made yours before we married. The colors and the dragon are normally reserved for the royal family, but you--the exceptional person you are--you deserve these colors. For what you are, and what you’ve done, the Emperor and his family are right to fear you and those like you.” Joseph watched her stare at the garment a few seconds longer before sighing in defeat.

“You know what? I think we can afford to show off a little bit.” Helen turned around and saw her husband undoing his tie, walking back to his closet. “Let’s show these uppity Nationals some culture.” Joseph pulled out a wire hanger with a long white bag hanging off it. He unzipped it, revealing his long jade-green robe covered in intricate silver details. The left arm had been replaced with a light blue one with a brown boar on it. He looked and saw Helen covering her face, the excitement glittering in her eyes.

“You will have to help me wear this properly, however,” Joseph told her, hanging it up on a hook nearby. He walked up to her and took her hands, “We can’t do this all the time, but tonight we will indulge in your pride.”

I like domestic Joseph and Helen. Again, they’re an interesting couple, and it’s a shame they don’t get more attention in the main series. But that’s okay, because that’s what this is for, right? Right.

Anyway, feel free to keep reading below if you want to catch up on the interesting friendship between the Dealer and Ellis the Damned.

So the Black Empire Day 3 entry (for non-romantic relationships) will focus on a duo that might or might not get a lot of attention in the main series: the Dealer and Ellis.

I mean, it probably will get a lot of attention, because they’re kindred spirits. Everyone in the Black Empire series is absurdly old, but none of them actually have any response to their age (everyone is basically an ageless, beautiful 20 or 30-year-old). Only Dante and Ellis are really aware that they’re old. Like, really old. And it bothers them.

They’ve also bonded thanks to Mira. They were both her mentors and saw something valuable in her that they wanted to cultivate. And then, well...

So we’re gonna introduce the dynamic between the Dealer and Ellis.

Dante’s eyes shot open. He closed them and sighed, sitting up in his bed. He rubbed his forehead, letting his fingertips slide into his hair. The dull thudding in his head had not ceased. He opened the drawer in his nightstand and pulled out the small bottle of ibuprofen, dropping one of the white pills into his hand. He filled a small glass with some water and downed the pill. It would work eventually.

He stood up and stretched, feeling the satisfying crack of his back. One.Two. Three. Four. Aw yeah, it was going to be a satisfying day. He put his shirt and jacket on and walked out his door. He walked past Ellis, who was leaning on the wall just outside his door. As he walked by, Ellis started following him.

“You slept for 30 minutes this time,” Ellis said plainly, “You must have been tired.”

“Hey, look, you’re learning sarcasm! That’s nice.” The Dealer put his hands in his pockets, “Did you get concerned? Think I was finally dying?”

“It’s funny that you think you’ll die peacefully in your sleep.”

“Oo, two for two! We’re making progress!” He pulled his hands of his pockets and fist pumped for a second. “So, what’s going on? Anything new happening?”

"Still the same as it was thirty minutes ago. The anomalies have not been able to break through our wards, and it doesn’t look like the Children have noticed we’ve put them up. Or, if they have, they don’t seem to care.”

“That’s still good. Any news on the Carter Investigation?”

“High Magister Carter has been interviewed, but Magnus Embras is not cooperating. We have subpoenaed her, but she is ignoring our summons.”

“I will get Synoth to sign off on a warrant for her arrest. Embras will cooperate one way or another. I don’t have Deathwatch for people to ignore it.”

“I appreciate your assistance.”

“Anytime, Ellis. Anytime.” The two continued walking down the hall until the Dealer suddenly stopped. “Do you ever think about her, Ellis?”

“Of course I do,” Ellis continued walking, passing the Dealer, who started to follow, “I’ve just accepted that she’s gone.”

“No, you haven’t. I can see it in your face.”

“I didn’t love her like you do.”

“Ellis,” Dante’s stern voice stopped the death knight, “You’re a bad liar.”

Ellis stayed silent. He sighed before turning to the Dealer, “I didn’t love her like you do. But I do think of what we lost. Orvyn is a good Grand Paladin. He will make a fine leader for the Prime.”

“But he can’t replace Mira.”

“No one can replace Mira,” Ellis shook his head, “But I’m not going to replace her. I can’t. You can’t. So, we won’t.” Ellis turned away, “Now let’s go, General. You have a busy day ahead of you.”

The Dealer and Ellis will get a lot more attention as friends as the books go on. I think the next book in the Black Empire series does a better job of establishing their dynamic. Anyway, thanks for reading. I hope you’ll check out some of the other things I’ve done.

[sesl2020]

The Details: are they God’s or the Devil’s?

I don’t care; I just love them.

Pick Stitching

Suit Linings

Interior Pockets

Flat Piping

Contrast Collars

and OMG the feel of the fabric.

In 2007 while working at Harry Rosen as Visual Coordinator for Alberta, the new spring season of Etro arrived. I almost cried. The jackets were so beautiful. Colourful mix-matched tweeds, luscious paisley satin linings and contrast lapels to die for. The guys thought I was crazy and not for the first time. (I had recently lost almost 100 lbs with Jenny Craig and was not quite sane) But…

Please excuse me while I rip off my shirt. I’m having a Chinook. This talk of menswear is making me hot. Yes ZZTop, there really is nothing sexier than a well-dressed man. Not necessarily expensive, just well. In the late 70’s/ early 80’s young men made a point of being grubby. Not even cool, like grunge, just grubby and unkempt with the absence of style. It was supposed to be Macho. Or Poetic. Hmmmm. Yes, this is the way I tell a story. Bare with me. He-Heh.

…But, the fresh new offerings reaffirmed my love of all aspects menswear. Back in the day, the mid 80’s, I remember the guys at Jack Fraser Menswear in Winnipeg where I was the Regional Display person (or Displaced Person as the called me)  teasing me at my excitement over a new box of ties. Not just any ties. New Bosa silk paisley ties. Yes, it’s supposed to sound like Boss. I got so sick of polyester neats and stripes. It was like Christmas when something new came in to go with all the pink dress shirts. Oh the 80’s.

And then again yesterday evening…. André, my hunnybunny, had gotten paid in Brooks Brothers Gift Cards. $1800 worth. Go figure. Very sadly, during the apocalypse our local Brooks Brothers closed their doors and, as far as we know, permanently.  So, unable to order online in Canadian Dollars, as usual I ended up calling them in the States where they manually entered my order and Gift Cards. Very Helpful, Thanks Michael!

Less than a week later and after paying $150 in taxes and duty Fed Ex delivered an oddly small box containing 5 pairs of dress pants, a windowpane suit jacket, and a $100 belt.  I says to André: ‘why did you order another black belt?’ He says: ‘I’ve never owned a $100 belt before.’ Fair Enough.

Eeek! forgot to do my 500 steps this hour. Back in 3.

Pant! Pant!

As he modeled them, he has a very cute butt and he knows how to strut, I was carefully taking all the tags and labels off, the feel of the fabric and the precision of the stitching brought me back to my happiest career hours picking out coordinates for the windows and dressing bust forms.  One of my weirder skills is being able to unpackage a dress shirt with all its itty bits put neatly in the shirt bag with my eyes closed in less than 5 seconds. If only there were Retail Olympics…

Anyhoo, it was the Grey Windowpane Jacket that really made me smile. The contrast red felt collar lining, the one red threaded button, the red flat piping along the interior lining and pocket. It even has a strip of lining to hold the double vents from flapping. Classic design well-executed is Nirvana. And makes me drool. 

But, don’t forget to undo the Vent stitching. It makes you look…..inexperienced.

Subtlety and Restraint are two excellent ways to describe menswear in general. Well, British and North American menswear. The Europeans are much more outgoing. As I possess neither subtlety nor restraint these are things I admire and covet. Nothing makes me happier than a faint blue, red, or bronze stripe hidden in charcoal flannel. Pick it out with a blue or oxblood tie, cognac shoes and belt and it’s sublime. Step back (5 foot rule) to see if it works. If the suit is striped add a plaid Windsor Collar shirt or if it’s plaid add a yarn-dye stripe. And a pocket square if you’re feeling impish. 

Ah the fabrics, and the ties, and the patterns and styles all with their unique lingo. Mmmm Lingo. 

Whisper with me:

Bespoke

Epaulet

Haberdashery

Collar Roll

Sartorial

Pinstripe

Sprezzatura…..

Definitely the Devil.

I’ve bought a lot of menswear over the years. For myself. My former partner would have nothing to do with anything that wasn’t an old dirty fedora and a dusty ripped trenchcoat. God, he sounds like a Flasher.  It was kind of the same thing as buying myself a present on Father Day because on Mother’s Day even after 3 children I still heard ‘you’re not my mother’. Not that I’m bitter. I gave the man Twins. What more can I do.

Having never been petite of stature or nature, sometimes menswear was my only option. 5’8, size 11 feet, and superbly curved I did not fit the skinny, big haired lollipop girl ideal of the times. Not only did they not offer any kind of fashion in a size 14-16, but all the pants were too short and all the sleeves were ¾. Ok, I had to take in all the waists in men’s stuff, but, as if being one of the only women working in menswear wasn’t enough, wearing it was my own personal rebellion against the female stereotype. That, and I loved the Jackets. Shoulder Pads reigned supreme at that time and they who had the shoulder pads had the power.

And, in any case, it was suicide to wear anything sexy or revealing. Sexual Harassment was rampant. And expected. And a man’s right. I almost stabbed a store manager to death with my wire cutters one day when he grabbed my ass and I automatically back handed him. Any job you applied for you had to have a professional answer ready for ‘How badly do you want this job?’ The things that were said to me on a daily basis even from my bosses would make your hair curl.

‘Do you know what would look good on you? Me.’

I remember a guy at the St. Vital store that kept trying to get me to go to his place for a quicky at lunch. One day I got so tired of it that I finally grabbed my tape measure and told him to whip it out ‘cause I wasn’t going to waste my time for less than 9”. He declined. And left me alone from then on. 

I digress, it’s so nice to be older and wiser and not care about being taken seriously. And people go to jail now for being…. impolite. I dress like a sexy bamf on a daily basis, embrace my curves and still have more balls than most men I’ve known. And I still love menswear.

Omg! Chinooking again. Why? Why do I wear lycra pants? Oh ya, they make my butt look almost as cute as André’s, but so hoooot. And not in a good way. Excuse me as I take them off also. That’s better.

Despite the handicap of his father, I managed to raise my son to be a well-dressed individual.  I think a lot of it was my Father’s influence as well. My Father came of age in the 50’s wearing khaki’s, Dack’s, golf jackets on the weekends and suits to work every day. And, of course, he taught me how to tie a tie. He was left-handed, but forced to be right-handed in school so he batted and tied his tie from the left. Which was awesome because I was right-handed so it all worked out when he showed me.

This is also the man who refused to by a new pair of jeans for the entire 70’s. He wouldn’t wear flares. He had a pair of twill demin pants in narrow white, yellow, and brown stripes that were so recognizable that my Great Aunt Vera recognized him from her moving vehicle as he was filling up at a gas station. It must have been the ’69 Biscayne*. She had just arrived in town from Winnipeg and hadn’t seen him for a few years. Those were some pants. But they weren’t flares.

The ‘80’s on were a big relief for him. He spent the rest of his life, we lost him to Cancer in 2005, in khakis and neat plaid short sleeved shirts and polo shirts. I kept his Grey Flannel Pants and Navy Blazer for years.

We also called him Sir…

And Again! Forgot to do my 500 steps this hour. Back in 3.

….When we would call him at the office, (in Grade 2, an avid reader, I called him every time I finished a chapter in Alice in Wonderland) you couldn’t just ask for Dad. Everybody was a Dad. So we asked to speak to George. When he came on the line he would say ‘That’s Sir to you, kid.’ And it stuck. Even our friends called him Sir. My sister’s kids called him Papa Sir. Kinda like Papa Smurf only more respectful. My youngest niece, Courtney, called him Papa Sewer, but that was just the way she spoke as a toddler. We found it very amuuuuusing. As did he.

Aaaaand, back to my son. I actually enlisted him to work part time at Rosen’s when he was 16. He wanted (or did he?) a part-time job and we needed a Saturday merchandiser. I’d already taught him and his twin sisters how to fold their clothes properly, iron a shirt, and do their laundry. I also taught them that when they look at clothing in a store they need to put it back exactly they way they found it. Respect for Retail. It was sooo fun to dress him and see him get measured for his first suit. Staff Discounts Rock! We never actually worked together at the same time, but it was cool to work at the same place.

I also told him, it being his first job, that ‘If you’re late, screw up, or make me look bad I will let them fire you.’ I also told him ‘Don’t forget we work this lifestyle, we don’t live it.’ Entitled is not a good look on anybody. He chose his Boss suit for Grad, slim fit with pointy shoes and put his long blonde hair in pony tail for the occasion. This was way before man-buns which he would have scoffed at anyway.

I was so proud of him at the first Christmas Party and and at the 2nd he wore his made to measure Tilford purple velvet peak lapel Jacket. As he danced with his girlfriend on the dancefloor I couldn’t help shouting ‘Shake what your mama gave you!’ He got me back when we did a company paintball tournament. The pic of us two in our guns an gear hung in the staff room for ages. But, kept he shooting me. It hurt.

‘William, we’re on the same team. Stop shooting me!’

‘Then stop being a pylon.’

If anyone has pics or memories of the things I’m describing, please feel free to share with rest of us!

*more on Dad’s Vehicles. ’64 Pontiac Stratochief ’71 Chevrolet Impala Custom and the Volaré Station Wagon Woh-oh. Volaré! Woh-oh-oh-no! Not a GM product. ‘Nuff Said. Stay Tuned.

#welldressedmen #menswear #devilinthedetails #metoo #haberdashery #merchandising #display