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carewyncromwell · 1 year ago

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"Senior class president, She must be heaven sent! She was never the last one standing... A backseat debutante -- Everything that you want -- Never too harsh or too demanding...

Maybe, I'll admit it, I'm a little bitter... Everybody loves her, but I just want to hit her!"

~"Girl Next Door" by Saving Jane

x~x~x~x

Bill Weasley didn't surprise much of anyone when he elected to become a Cursebreaker for Gringotts Wizarding Bank. He and his best friend Carewyn Cromwell had been well-known for breaking the curses on all five of Hogwarts's Cursed Vaults with help from their circle of friends, and even before that, Bill had expressed a lot of interest in Cursebreaking. He'd collected Muggle and magical travel books about Egypt, Greece, and Rome as a kid, and he checked out every single book about it out of the library while he was at Hogwarts. Even disregarding Bill's experience with and passion for the subject, his great grades, his amiable personality, and his positions as Prefect and later Head Boy made Gringotts' choice to employ him incredibly easy. And so Bill was soon off to the races, traveling abroad on official cursebreaking assignments.

Although Bill's best friend Carewyn didn't become a Cursebreaker like he did, her brother Jacob did. But if you think that these two working at the same tombs together from time to time helped them become closer, you would be mistaken.

"Jacob!" said Bill, delighted. "What are you doing here?"

Jacob looked up, startled. Upon registering the tall, leather-jacketed ginger man that approached him, however, his expression deadpanned, the usual boyish light in his hollowed-out blue eyes dying at once.

"Translating these hieroglyphics into Greek, at present," he said dully. He then rather rudely turned away, back to the wall he'd been focused on. "And I fully intend to go right back to that too, now that I've answered that question -- "

"Were you sent here by Gringotts?" asked Bill. "Or did someone else send you here, free-lance?"

"I came here because I wanted to," Jacob said without looking up again. "I don't need someone to give me an assignment to be interested in the ruins of Abusir."

Bill offered his best smile. "I can't blame you for that -- what we've unearthed is beautiful. The papyri we've found alone contain some of the oldest recorded spells ever discovered -- "

"Some of the oldest in the Egyptian Old Kingdom -- Babylon and Mesopotamia have plenty of papyri that likely transcribe ancient spells, they just haven't been properly translated," Jacob cut him off very coolly. "Not to mention Sudan, which has spells, potions and other magics that have been passed down by word of mouth for ages -- there's evidence that even the Animagi process used by Sudanese wizards today is identical to the process used by Nubian kings, back in the 2000's B.C.E..."

Despite the obnoxiousness of Jacob's correction, Bill looked rather interested. Before he could make any follow-up comments or ask any questions, however, Jacob had gotten to his feet, his robes and bell bottom jeans billowing in the movement, and started to walk off without looking back once.

"Welp, I'm out of here. Peace."

Startled, Bill tried to follow him. "What? Wait, hold on -- "

CRACK.

Just as Bill managed to touch Jacob's shoulder, Carewyn's brother had uncouthly Disapparated right out from under the taller ginger's hand.

Jacob Cromwell and Bill Weasley truthfully couldn't be more different as people. Jacob had been a Ravenclaw alumnus -- a flighty, disorganized eccentric with genius intellect, a hot temper, and almost no people skills, obsessed with knowledge and reckless in the face of danger. Bill, in contrast, was patient, organized, grounded, and surprisingly understated; however bold he could be on the Dueling Field, the eldest Weasley was surprisingly sensitive and not the type who could easily rile up a crowd. Even when he had his first crush, it took forever for him to nut up and make a move, and when it blew up in his face, Bill immediately retreated to be by himself. Bill had named Prefect and Head Boy for his mentorship of younger students and his ability to set a good example -- Jacob was a rebel and serial troublemaker who didn't give a damn about rules or if people disliked him, so long as he learned as much as he possibly could and got top grades. Jacob was prone to wearing his emotions on his sleeve, to the point that many people found him obnoxious -- Bill might've been raised in a large and loud family, but he often ended up having a quiet mediating influence on his other much more hot-blooded siblings.

And this wasn't even touching their contrasting backgrounds.

Jacob and Carewyn had been raised largely in the Muggle World since their father was a Muggle, but only Carewyn had known about her magic prior to receiving her letter. Jacob had been raised feeling like a freak and treated like a delinquent for "bad behavior" he hadn't been responsible for. All of the kids in grade school avoided him or made fun of him for both his nerdy interests and his bad reputation. Even his own father Evan Bach -- who was just as diametrically opposed from Arthur Weasley as Jacob was from Bill -- constantly tried to mold Jacob into his image of a fine, upstanding son and disciplined and shamed Jacob when he refused to play along. Jacob had an age gap with Carewyn similar to Bill's with his brothers Fred and George, but after Carewyn was born, Evan completely dropped out of her life from an emotional standpoint. Therefore, unlike Bill who only had to help his parents look after his siblings, Jacob ended up becoming the closest thing Carewyn had to a father. He encouraged her, protected her, comforted her, sang songs with her, made her laugh, helped her when she had trouble doing things, and worked his butt off to make sure Carewyn felt special and wonderful, just the way she was. Not that Jacob ever would've lamented this loss of a childhood -- Carewyn was the most important person in his life, and being her older brother was the aspect of himself Jacob was most proud of.

This, however, led into what really made Jacob resent Bill, far more than his stable home life with a large, supportive family in the Wizarding World ever could -- Bill's close friendship with Carewyn. Because as much as Bill would've never wanted it to be true, in those years that Jacob was trapped in a magical portrait inside one of the Cursed Vaults, Bill filled the role in Carewyn's life that Jacob once had. Bill had been Carewyn's right-hand man at school -- he'd emotionally supported her; he'd encouraged and protected her; he'd helped her with the Vaults' curses and school assignments and helped her become a stronger, more complete version of herself. Bill had watched Carewyn grow up -- something Jacob regretted and resented having missed everyday, all because of R and the Cursed Vaults.

Now, of course, if one really challenged Jacob on this, he would acknowledge that he knew he should be grateful that Bill was there for Carewyn when he couldn't be. He might even have admitted that he should really be nicer to Bill, just out of respect for Carewyn. But however much Jacob knew this intellectually, it wasn't easy to put into practice. However much Jacob knew Bill was a decent person and knew how much his sister cherished him as a friend, his heart would still pump cold, bitter poison whenever he was in the same space as Bill Weasley.

This was why -- even when Bill ended up saving Jacob's arse from an cursed, fire-breathing marble sphinx in an underground tomb in the Valley of the Kings -- the shorter man couldn't help but snipe at him.

"What the bloody hell -- how did YOU get here, Weasley?!"

"Carey said in one of her letters you were visiting Turkey last month -- " huffed Bill, running up alongside Jacob even while shooting additional silent Blasting Curses over his shoulder, " -- ugh -- to appraise the Lion Gate...I guessed you had to be visiting -- Depulso! -- Hattusha -- and there's been some discussion at Gringotts about the Siren Queen of the Mediterranean seeking out lost treasures in Egypt, lost to the Hittites back in the 1200's B.C.E. -- ack -- so, putting it together, it would make sense for some of the Hittites' stolen treasures to end up in the tombs of their allies at the time!"

"Blah blah, yeah, that much is obvious!" Jacob said waspishly. "I meant how the hell you knew I'd be here!"

"I may or may not have asked the magic carpet vendor back in Cairo to send me an owl if you ever popped in to buy one to go somewhere," Bill said with a wry twinkle in his eye. "But hey, how else would I be able to check in on you for Carey, whenever you're in my sphere? I'd certainly prefer exchanging letters with you..."

"Not happening," snapped Jacob.

When Jacob and Bill finally got out of that tomb with a certain golden harp in tow, Bill was ultimately the one to hand it off to the Siren Queen. Jacob ended up charming the Queen, however, since he had picked up a bit of Mermish in his travels -- he even helped the Siren Queen test out the harp by singing a few bars that she could play along to, and she was clearly delighted by his handsome voice. She even allowed Jacob to kiss her webbed hand before departing back into the water.

"This'll be some story to tell Carey, huh?" asked Bill.

"Hmph." Jacob didn't look at him, instead keeping his focus on the horizon.

Bill tilted his head a bit, trying to get a better look at Jacob's face. His stare was so deep that his thoughts were likely miles away.

"...Look," Bill said after a minute, "I know you aren't happy that I followed you...but I wasn't trying to steal your thunder, really. It's just that I've been to the Valley of the Kings, and those magical tombs have sneakier traps than most -- "

"I don't need your help," Jacob cut him off harshly.

"Maybe not," Bill said with a frown. "I know you're capable of protecting yourself, Jacob. But for what it's worth, you shouldn't have had to face them alone. ...I wouldn't have wanted Carey to face that kind of danger alone either."

Jacob was very quiet for a moment. His skull-like blue eyes flickered over his shoulder in Bill's direction, considering him for a moment, before very quickly looking away again.

"...Pip was never the type to do dangerous things," he said lowly under his breath. "She never wanted to make Mum or me worry."

Bill's eyes softened slightly. "She did for you, though. Without hesitation. When I first asked her why she wanted to find the Cursed Vaults, she even said so. She said, 'I can't not do something, if Jacob's in trouble.'"

Jacob didn't reply. He seemed to have trouble knowing what to say. Bill once again tried to maneuver so as to look Jacob in the face, but the smaller man seemed to predict the move well before he made it and shifted around purposefully to avoid his eye.

"Pip never got into any trouble," Jacob reiterated again. "It was always me. Both before and after Pip was born...I was the magnet for trouble..."

Jacob closed his eyes, his brows creased low over them.

"...And most of the time, I dealt with it myself."

Bill felt his heart prickle with pity.

"Maybe," he said lowly. "But you shouldn't have had to. Neither you nor Carey...neither of you should've had to deal with so much pain by yourselves -- "

"Should've, would've, could've," Jacob shut Bill down. "It doesn't matter. The point is we did, and we got through it -- we got through it together, because at least we had each other. And that was enough. Back then...that was more than enough."

Jacob began to walk away, adjusting his robes as he went. Rather than chase him, Bill let him go, but didn't hold back from shouting after him,

"You're welcome at the Burrow whenever, Jacob! You and your mum -- I've told Carey that too -- "

CRACK.

Jacob Disapparated without a word.

Three years later, however, in the midst of the Second Wizarding War, Bill was very startled when a small package arrived by Owl Post to the Burrow, just before his wedding: two stalks of bamboo in a blue and white ceramic vase painted with charmed moving pictures. Enclosed was a very short, terse-sounding note written in messy handwriting on the back of a cafe napkin --

A gift for you and your bride. In case you don't know, bamboo represents peace, happiness, wealth, and longevity and is considered very lucky in China. The two stalks specifically represent love, for obvious reasons. Don't take this as permission to write to me -- I'm only sending this along because Pip misses you terribly and I hate seeing her unhappy. Peace out, string bean. JC

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #bill weasley #jacob cromwell #carewyn cromwell #my writing #fanfiction

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gaenarirp · 1 year ago

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— taken wanted connection.

CONTACT INFO:

gnsiwoo, tumblr. minsungs, discord (preference for the latter).

TYPE OF REQUEST:

a childhood friend / past—lover. (cw: death, manipulation/gaslighting)

SUGGESTED FACE—CLAIMS:

kim hyung—seo ( BIBI / soloist ), jeon so—yeon ( gi—dle ). seo soo—jin ( soloist ). alternatives can be discussed. average height of 172cm. porcelain visage resembles that of glass, much more hardened as opposed to the fragility of younger years — figure is almost, always, draped in fine leather & silk of dark shades that rotate occasionally between black, red, and gold. tresses of aureate has long since dimmed, faded into a black that once belonged only to the night—skies. / overall, her style would don a more cooler aura than the soft, gentle version of herself that died seven years ago — a change that makes her unrecognizable to those who used to be affiliated with her.

PLOT DISCUSSION:

rose—petal girl, graveyard girl. kim hae—rin. 23, born december 10th, 2000 — gaenari. ( former ) darling lover to baek si—woo, the better half of him. / kim hae—rin is a name lost to time just as much as the devotion and love once held for sunflower boy, living boy. childhood memories are filled with the joy and mirth belonging to parents who now dwell in a grief that is incoherent, a hatred for si—woo that is unidentifiable, and a world that is inconsolable. fifteen full years are given to the prince of her dreams, an existence that materialized as none other than baek si—woo; the gentleness of one’s hand is always found in another’s — calloused and cold, fleeting touches and stolen kisses with hearts well—aware that the fire of their love could burn them to ashes. IT DOES. 2016, december 3rd marks exactly a week before kim hae—rin’s sixteenth birthday. and the day everything falls apart. it starts with an agreement to spend the day with a trio of three. baek ha—na adores kim hae—rin / to ha—na, she is like a breath of fresh air, the daughter she wishes for, the girl she smothers in motherly love — the same way hae—rin’s mother does with si—woo. it ends with a car falling into the ocean in the outskirts of gaenari with the only survivor having been si—woo as baek ha—na and kim hae—rin are left to rot along with decades worth of bones tethered to sea—ground.

BELL—BOTTOMED NIGHTMARE. kim hae—rin wakes up screaming in the dead of the night, wrists chained to the hospital bed. the man beside her jolts awake at the harsh echo of silver against silver. when her sight has begun to clear, she sees the man resembles baek yu—jun, father to baek si—woo, and relief washes over her. but not for long. for such sentiments are replaced with the sense of grief, an agony that proves too cruel for a girl freshly turned sixteen. when yu—jun speaks, he speaks as if he has been detached his entire life, with a barrier of ice that burns rather than freezes — he speaks as if the death of his wife and the comatose of his son are hae—rin’s fault. he spills, and manipulates, pulling at the girl’s heartstrings like a puppet before leaving her with the offer to start fresh with no ties to the baek family, living under a different name: FROM NOW ON, KIM HAE—RIN IS DEAD. a body filled with the memories of a dead girl. it haunts her, guards over her existence like three—headed cerberus does with the gates of hell. hae—rin remembers everything. from all the times spent with baek si—woo, to how long they have been together, to counting how many days pass that si—woo lies motionless before her very eyes, hanging onto the line between life and death. the dream—girl, she lives in the clouds because her reality is cruel.

lovers to enemies troupe with a penchant of si—woo and hae—rin destined to never cross paths again despite being bound to each other in this lifetime. hae—rin who wants to forget, being the opposite to si—woo who wants to remember. hae—rin accustoming herself to baek yu—jun’s ways, ultimately becoming a pathological liar — something along the lines of never letting the real kim hae—rin return from where she should have died at the bottom of the sea with baek ha—na. should she and si—woo ever encounter each other after seven years, hae—rin would be distant and unaccepting of his presence, but does nothing to truly run his memories of her, or jeopardize him in a physical way. an instance of the “i once saw you as my soulmate / i still am.” concept present.

#gn:requested #gnsiwoo

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not-alien-girl-v · 2 years ago

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Angel (lrh) Chap. 2

warning: language

note: not edited but i dont care. i said next fic would be a george daniel fic. i lied. deal with it

12 hours ago, Luke had been dumped onto his front porch like a bag of trash, and at the moment, he didn’t feel that different from one.

Luke had tried almost everything he knew to solve a hangover: exercise, hydration, even some weird concoction Ashton whipped up for him in the morning that sent a weird tingle through his veins for just a moment, but the throbbing of his head and sickness in his stomach made him wince at every sudden move surrounding him.

At precisely 3 o’clock in the afternoon, Luke downed half a pot of coffee, and by 3:23, he got into his car and drove to the local strip club, Les Belles Femmes, to right a wrong.

The wrong, in this instance, would be referring to the beautiful woman he thoroughly annoyed last night. Maybe he wanted an excuse to go back to the strip club, maybe he wanted an excuse to see her again, that eye-catching individual he felt a strong sense of guilt for burdening last night.

His car comes to a rolling stop, well, Michael’s car, in the trashed parking lot of the club. This place looks a lot different in the day time, the sign not so glowy, the building not so alluring, or maybe he’s just sober this time. Michael didn’t know that Luke took his new car out, and Luke had no intention of telling him. After the stupid fistfight Michael got into last night at the party, he had been passed out his bedroom with the lights out for hours. Ashton checked in on him a few times, checking for a pulse, and Michael simply swatted him away like an angsty teen.

Luke’s hand slides onto the metal handle of the door and he exits the vehicle, approaching the club, coming face to face with the bouncer.

Of course, with Luke’s luck, it’s Steve from last night. Steve remembers Luke, Steve doesn’t like Luke, Steve won’t tolerate Luke, not again. “Beat it, mop top.” Steve starts like a bully from a 2000′s movie.

“Please, man, I gotta talk to her,” Luke all but gets on his knees and begs the other man, though not much larger than him vertically, he had much more more on him horizontally. In other words, dude was jacked as hell.

“Who?”

“Angel.”

“You’re here for Angel? Sure. What’s her real name?”

“...Olivia.”

Steve sighs. “Just go home kid. You’re young. You’ve got better things to be doing at 4 o’clock on a Saturday.”

“I really don’t. Can I please just talk to her? Please?” Luke considers poking his bottom lip out in a pout but ultimately decides against it, not wanting to risk it.

Steve sighs like that’s all he knows how to do. This must be an everyday thing for him. “I’ll call her out here. That’s only if she wants to come out, got it? If she’s busy, you’re out of here.” Luke enthusiastically nods, and Steve disappears into the tinted front doors of the club.

His heart is in his chest, thumping and thrashing about and he wonders if he’s too young to be having a heart attack, and the overworked muscle threatens to stop all together when he sees the door open again.

“Oh, it’s you,” she rasps at him, and Steve is following right behind her, keeping a watchful eye over Luke, as if he would get handsy any second now.

She’s not wearing a typical garb of someone in her line of work, she dons some black sweatpants and a black Nirvana T-shirt, much to Luke’s approval, but he keeps that to himself, at least for now. She must have just gotten here, perhaps not even a few minutes ago. Lucky timing.

“It’s me. Can we talk?” Her face is bewildered, she seems mildly annoyed that she’s out here off the clock, but nods.

“So, uh, I kept thinking about you, the random act of kindness you showed me last night when you really didn’t need to, I felt bad about not deserving it. So, if you’d allow it, would you like to have dinner with me?”

“No.” She turns on her heel, ready to bolt back inside to her safe space, but of course, he just won’t have it.

“Wait! Okay, that’s fine, you don’t need to go on a date with me, totally fine, I get it. I’m a creepy guy who shows up at your work to ask you out, not my proudest moment, I’ll admit. Um, I - uh - I’m playing a show tonight! Me and my band. I’ll get you a ticket, two if you want to bring a friend, free of charge.”

“What makes you think I want to see your crappy little garage band?” She counters, contrarily. He cracks a smile, unreciprocated.

“Because your a kind woman?” She scalds him with a stare, “hey, we’re not awful. And it’s free. It will be fun, I promise, I’ll play a great show, just for you.”

She sighs, just like Steve would, and speaking of Steve, he’s been watching in amusement, slightly in disapproval, yet doing his best to hold in a laugh at the patheticness of this young man.

“If I show up,” Luke’s smile doubles, “ if, heavy if, you promise you won’t be weird about it? You won’t make some weird mention of me on stage. No random love confessions?”

“Pinky swear,” he extends his smallest finger to her and she stares again, scalding him again, he puts his hand down.

“Angel? It’s 4:30,” Steve warns from behind, standing guard at the doors.

“Write down the time and place, give it to Steve, if I’m feeling nice, I might come. Don’t get your hopes up, freak.”

He should be mildly offended at the name he was just called but he isn’t, and for some weird reason, he kind of liked it a little bit. He’d have to explore that more later.

“Perfect. Cool. I’ll see you later. Maybe, I guess. Either way though, it’s fine, really.” Luke’s still shouting stupid things as she goes back inside, leaving him alone, with Steve.

“Alright, alright, I’m leaving,” his hands raise in surrender as he walks back to Michael’s car. He can’t wash the smile off his face as he pulls out of the carpark.

⋆*��ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

“What’s wrong with you, dude?” Michael appears behind him in the dressing room mirror. He’s got a shiner roughly the size of a young woman’s fist and Luke doesn’t even feel bad about the full body laugh that escapes him. “Yeah, yeah, have your laugh,” he grumbles.

“I’m sorry mate, what were you saying?” Luke fusses a little extra with his hair tonight, experimenting with different strands laying out in variations across his face.

“I was asking what’s wrong with you. Why are you so excited?”

“What? Am I not allowed to be happy anymore?” Luke turns back to look at Michael but Michael deathstares him.

“No.”

“Whatever,” he mumbles as Michael walks away. The band was going on in 10 minutes, and once again, Luke was worrying if he was of age to be having a heart attack with how furiously it assaulted his ribcage in deep, heavy pumps.

Sure, he doesn’t necessarily take care of his body, but he’s only 20, he doesn’t have to, right?

The stage lights are hot, bright, and blindingly white once they shine down on Luke. He feels like he could fall off this stage right now, hoping security could act fast enough to catch him in the front row. Or maybe he’d stagedive. He did say he’d give a good show to Angel. Hey, maybe if she liked it enough, she might even tell him her real name. Maybe agree to the date.

Either way, his ass was on the line with tonight’s performance. Tonight’s venue was only big enough to host 300, maybe 350 people, so he hopes she doesn’t see the small crowd and imagine his band sucks so much that no one even comes to see them live.

Sure, they were no Fifth Harmony, but he could hold a tune pretty well, and as long as he jumped around the stage looking pretty for about 45 minutes, the fans seem content with him.

Needless to say, he had never been so worried about a performance since his very first performance that didn’t include at least 3-10 family members in the audience. The first few shows of the band were mostly family, friends, and anyone else they could beg to come, but eventually people started coming on their own terms, no begging involved. If you squint, this nights was not one of those, as Luke had to do some serious begging to get this girl in the audience.

She probably didn’t know he knew that she was here tonight, as she didn’t dress up in any way, blending in with the crowd, but little did she know that Luke put in a word with the entrance security to alert him when a certain someone with a VIP ticket shows up.

VIP means that she, amongst a few other fangirls, would be coming back to meet the band after the show ends, that is, if she wants to. She could decide the four of them are shit and go home early.

Whatever, whatever, whatever, don’t think, don’t stress, don’t worry, whatever a therapist would say right now.

The setlist consisted mostly of songs off their newest album, Sounds Good Feels Good, along with some classics from their self titled album, and a few sentimental songs, mostly just for the old fans, off the B-Sides album.

The band ended the first portion with the set with Jet Black Heart, coming back for an encore of She Looks So Perfect, then finally exiting the stage for the night, and Luke almost started biting his fingernails even though that’s something he doesn’t do.

He sprawled himself down on a backstage black leather couch, feeling sweaty and overall a little rank, and Michael walked up to him, fake-punching him in the stomach with an explosion sound effect, then continued walking to the entrance that the VIP guests would be entering through in just a few minutes.

“Dude, you coming or not? They’re almost here.” Ashton nudges him with a gentle knee and tiredly, Luke sits up, stretching out his arms loudly, enjoying every snap and crack emitting from his tired joints.

He suddenly hears frantic female chatter and he knows it’s time, so he stands up, turns around, and is face-to-face with her. Angel, the one who he had been waiting for all night. “You’re here,” he pretends to be surprised.

“I am,” she smiles nicely but he can sense there’s something behind it, a heavy ‘but’ lingering in her words. Before she can continue, he starts.

“You look nice, tonight. I like the jeans,” he comments on the ripped black skinny jeans that look like they’d be straight out of his own closet, speaking of which, he is also currently wearing black skinny jeans, the only difference being the lack of a tasteful rip over the left knee.

“I know. So do you. It was a great performance, by the way. Though, I’m getting the feeling the crowds usually aren’t this small, you had some serious die hard fans out there.”

“Yeah, we’re doing some smaller shows before we go on a hiatus for the next album we’re writing. This one tonight, it’s the last one, actually.”

“Oh really? Cool.” He doesn’t know what else to tell her, as there’s no other concert to invite her to again, and he doesn’t want to rush her by asking her out again, he could easily fuck this up and never see her again as easily as he convinced her to come tonight.

“So, I-”

“Listen-”

“Sorry, you go first,” she continues.

“Okay, um. Do you wanna hang out again sometime? Maybe go to a party my mate is having in a few days or something? Or, if you wanna keep it lowkey, that’s cool too, maybe a movie or something?”

“Right, so listen, I don’t usually do this, and I’m starting to realize why. I think driving you home last night was a mistake, I know that now, and I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea with this whole thing, but I try my best to keep my private life and my work life separate.”

“What?”

“Hey, don’t take it personally. You’re a great guy, got a lot going for you, you sing, you dance, you’re cute, you’re persistent, girls love that, and I’m sure any day now, you’ll find a good one, but I’m sorry, I just don’t think it’s gonna be me.”

He doesn’t say anything, just hopes nobody is listening to this right now.

“So, I should probably head out now, thanks for the show, and for the ticket. I appreciate it, really. Maybe sometime you can come into my work and I’ll give you a freebie or something,” she’s already at the door with her back turned when she gives it a second thought. “I’m kidding, by the way, don’t do that. I’ll have Steve kick you out again. Bye though!”

He’s just standing there dumbfounded, when a girl with a VIP pass comes up asking for a hug and a picture, and he does as he’s asked with a content smile on his face but his mind is elsewhere from his loving fans.

She called him cute. She called him cute! At least the night wasn’t a total failure. Sure, that’s what he’ll tell himself to avoid hiding in his closet and crying like an insecure teenage boy who just got rejected by his crush.

No, he was a 20 year old boy who got rejected by a stripper, this is different, these are adult problems, not teenage problems.

#luke hemmings #luke hemmings fanfiction #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfiction #5sos #5sosfam #5sos fanfic #luke hemmings x reader #calum hood #michael clifford #ashton irwin #fanfiction #fanfic

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loupgawou · 3 months ago

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#FOR SOME REASON?????? #excuse me they were the COOLEST PANT SHAPE AT THE TIME #that air faerie? fashion icon #oh my god sometimes i'm just so old #2000s bell bottom was everything

tags via @peadackles

There was a period in Neopets wherein all the faeries were designed to wear bell bottoms for some reason and honestly I kind of feel like getting rid of them was a downgrade

enough dresses, have a faerie show up ready to bless your Neopet and then head out to the disco afterward

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macaroni-rascal · 2 years ago

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my favourite thing about the fast and the furious movies so far is 100% the style. early 2000s clothes were utterly fucking bonkers. low rise, everything looks shredded, 5 layers of tank tops, bell bottoms. iconic.

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desiarthoe · 2 years ago

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21 years of k3g; an evolution in style, music and drama

yesterday marked the day when 'Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham' hit the theatres in 2001, setting off a an unprecedented domino effect that would be felt even 21 years later. Set on the most melodramatic premise known to man, where a son gets disowned for marrying below his social status, his brother goes from a chubby kid to having an eight pack and a sixth thumb; where the second lead drives to school in a lambo, it has got it all. The melodrama of it all is not why it lives in my head rent free, it was the colours, mood and the ambiance that K3G introduced me to.

This movie was my first introduction to a pastel based wardrobe, everything that 'Poo' wears in this movie can only be categorised as Y2K classics. Starting from the pink jacket and choker ensemble in 'Dewaana hain dekho' to the cream colored beaded 'Sharara' in 'bole Chudiyan', Manish Malhotra and Kareena Kapoor set the bar high for the metric of serving looks. Kapoor's backless spandex-leather outfit in 'you are my soniya' absolutely mesmerised millions of girls like me and definitely did set a template in mind for club aesthetics- sleek, sparkly with just the right amount of skin. I think it's worth mentioning that Kareena's outfit in 'Bole Chudiya' did kickstart the trend of bell bottomed salwar suits, and started my love for rhinestones. One could say, 'Poo' was the purveyor of the desi coquette aesthetics, for her use of pastels, brands and obviously, her brother-in-law's money.

One cannot just speak of the characters and not be reminded of the flowing and the beautifully fusioned music of the soundtrack. Jatin-Lalit, Sandesh Shandilya, Aadesh Shrivastava did a wonderful job of blending the 2000s bollywood with a sensual R&B of the western end. In my opinion, Anil Pandey absolutely outdid himself with the sensual lyrics of 'Sooraj Hua Maddham', with the Egyptian background and Sonu Nigam and Alka Yagnik's voice, it was heard to cut through the palpable romanticisim of the song. Additionally, being the revolutionary that KJo is, he introduced us to one of the best wedding songs of all time; the fact that you'll have to think a bit to pick your choice says enough.

Yesterday marked not only the 21st years of the release of a era-setting film but also the capstone of core memories for desi millennials all over the world. With its memeable dialogue, wonderful visuals and playback button hitting songs, K3G will forever live on in our heads.

#desi #desiblr #writing #movies #k3g #kabhi khushi kabhie gham #indian #writers of tumblr

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thebluenoteblog · 3 years ago

Text

Chasing After You

Summary: Matthew just can’t let you go, no matter how hard he tries. Unluckily, you have the same problem.

Player: Matthew Tkachuk

Word Count: 2000

Warnings: I don’t know... a lot of drinking. A few bad words.

Authors Note: Be gentle, this is the first thing I’ve written in a really long time. It might be (probably is) a dumpster fire.

You come over when your wine's all gone

Always catch me when I'm not that strong

Then you wind up staying all night long

Ain't nothin' new

Matthew had finally reached rock bottom, he had to admit that, though to no one other than himself. Sitting home alone on a Friday night. No game to play, no practice to keep his mind busy, no friends to hang out with. Just him, a beer, the temptation of something stronger, and nothing on the TV.

It was really pathetic. The guys wouldn't believe it if they saw him right now. Or maybe they would. Maybe pathetic was his new style, it was certainly starting to feel like it after all.

He grabbed the remote off the couch beside him and began to flip channels, eventually settling on a baseball game. He wasn’t paying close enough attention to the game to tell you the score, he wasn't sure he even knew what teams were playing.

Just a few minutes into the game that he was sort of watching, there was a knock on his door. He checked his watch, 10:34. You were earlier than usual.

He pushed himself up off the couch and made his way to the front door of his apartment. He knew it was you. You were the only one the front desk let up without calling him. He still didn't know how you had managed that. Did you sweet talk the workers? Probably.

He pulled the door open and there you were, bottle of wine in hand. “I finished one already, but I thought you might be open to having a drink with me.”

There were a thousand alarm bells going off in his head, but he stepped aside and let you into his apartment. You kicked off your shoes in the entryway and followed him into the living room. Neither of you bothered with grabbing glasses, you uncorked the bottle and took a sip before passing it to Matthew.

He knew where this was going, he always did. He couldn't tell you why he never stopped it. Or maybe he could. Maybe he knew and he didn't want to admit that even after everything you had done to hurt him over the years, he was still unbelievably, irrevocably in love with you.

Then I wake up with you on my chest

You got a way of making me forget

Girl, with you the answers always yes

Every time you call

He was warmer than usual. It took him a minute to register you in his arms, head positioned comfortably on his chest. The way you used to sleep almost every night but now reserved for nights that you’d downed your alcohol a little to quickly.

Matthew was afraid to move, he knew that as soon as he stirred you, you’d be out the door just as quickly as you'd walked through it the night before. Just like that you would burst his bubble all over again. Just like you had a hundred times before.

Eventually your eyes fluttered open and he watched as you scanned the room, taking in where you were. “Morning,” he said.

You smiled, “Morning.”

The smile gave him hope that he squashed down just as quickly as it appeared. “Stay for breakfast?” He asked.

You shrugged, “Do I have to cook it?”

“I’ll order in,” He laughed softly. He would never let you cook for him again if that was all it took for you to stay. It wasn't, but he could dream.

You nodded, “I’m going to take a shower. What time do you have practice?”

Matthew glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “I’ve got a few hours still.”

You pushed up off his chest and he immediately missed the warmth of your body. He wanted to tell you to come back, just for a little while longer but he knew better. So he let you go, because having you in his shower was better than having you in an uber on the way back to your apartment.

But I know, yeah I know it's a matter of time

'Till you walk, 'till you walk back out of my life

Leave me standing here lonely feeling like a fool

You stretched up on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to Matthew’s lips. It was soft, barely there. “I’ll call you.”

He knew you wouldn’t.

He nodded, “Text me when you get home safe.”

You nodded. “I will.”

He knew you wouldn’t.

You turned away from him and he watched as you disappeared down the hallway toward the elevator. When he couldn't see you anymore, he pushed the door closed and made his way back to the living room.

Here he was again, a fucking idiot with a broken heart and nothing but time to kill.

Every time, every time you say we're done

You come back to the love you were running from

Don't know why, don't know why I let you but I do

Guess I love chasing after you

Matthew glanced down at his phone, tuning out the guys as he scanned the message, What are you doing tonight?

He typed out a response before anyone could realize who he was talking to. Nothing important.

Your response was almost immediate, I’ll be over in an hour.

Matthew rose from his seat and shoved his phone into his pocket. “Hey guys, I’ll catch you later.”

Johnny sighed, “Don't do it man, you're going to regret it.”

Matthew shook his head, “You have no idea what you're talking about.”

They looked at each other before turning back to him, “Man, this is getting ridiculous. She isn't good for you.”

“How do you know what's good for me?” Matthew asked, crossing his arms and widening his stance. “I think I can protect myself, I'm a big boy.”

Johnny sighed and waved a hand in his general direction, “Whatever, do what you want. Just don't come whining to me when she disappears again.”

Matthew snorted, “I don't plan on it.”

Then he was gone, phone in hand calling an uber.

Listen

Wish I could quit you but it feels too good

If I could turn it off, you know I would

But somethin' 'bout you makes me think we could

Make it after all

There was nothing in the world that made you angrier than your inability to walk away from Matthew. After everything the two of you had put each other through, there was no reason to keep going back. Yet… here you were. Standing outside his apartment after what was essentially a booty call.

You almost wished that Matthew would tell you to fuck off just so you could move on with your life. He wouldn't do that though, you knew Matthew too well and he knew you too well too. That was the problem. You had been with each other on some level for so long that you couldn't remember what it was like to be apart.

You hadn’t knocked yet, you could still leave. Go home and do the responsible thing for once.

“Y/N.”

You turned toward the elevators, and there was Matthew. He looked amazing, t-shirt tight over his chest and shoulders, hair just a little bit in his eyes, the way you loved. There was no chance that you were leaving now. You were in this for the night now, not that this was bad news. You had never intended on leaving without seeing him.

“You’re early.” He said, running his hands through his hair.

“Yeah, I know,” You said, “I was bored.”

He nodded, “I can fix that.”

But I know, yeah I know it's a matter of time

'Till you walk, 'till you walk back out of my life

Leave me standing here lonely feeling like a fool

Why did he always think it would be different? Why was he always so determined to let himself think that there was a chance things would work out this time or next time or the time after that. There was no logical reason to believe that after all this time, anything would change, yet here he was, once again, surprised on some level that you had left him high and dry.

He closed the door, you had long since disappeared into the elevators, and he collapsed onto the couch. There was no way he would be hearing from you again for a while, so he buried his face in the throw pillow and decided to take a long nap.

After all, he had gotten no sleep the night before.

Every time, every time you say we're done

You come back to the love you were running from

Don't know why, don't know why I let you but I do

Guess I love chasing after you

You were always the one to end things. You had never, in your life, had your heart broken. You never let things get that far. You loved love, but you hated the idea of being hurt. So you kept everyone who tried to love you at a distance. Matthew was no exception, in fact he was the blueprint. There was no way you could ever give him your whole heart, there was no way you could ever trust him with a part of you that you had never given to anyone.

Oh, but you wanted to. More than anything, you wanted to give him every part of you in every way. You knew he loved you, on some level you knew that he would never hurt you, but here you were, three years into a mess of your own creation with no idea how to fix it.

“Y/N, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

You glanced up from your hands, eyes scanning the massive wall clock hanging above your therapists desk. Your appointment would be over in twenty minutes and you had yet to say a word to her. “I don’t know where to start today.”

She nodded, “What is bothering you today? Let's start with that.”

You sighed, “Matthew.”

“What about him?” She asked, tapping her pencil on the notepad that rested on her crossed legs.

You resisted the urge to sigh again. “I just…” You looked down at your hands, “I wish that I could let myself be happy with him.”

You come over when your wine's all gone

Always catch me when I'm not that strong

Then you wind up staying all night long

Ain't nothin' new

Two firm raps on the door had Matthew freezing as he poured his drink. He set the bottle down and made his way to the living room. He pulled the door open and there you were, beautiful as ever. Hair pulled up in a messy bun, hands in the pocket of your coat. “Hey, Matthew.”

Matthew smiled his eyes wondering over you, memorizing every inch as he stepped out of the way to let you into the apartment. “No wine this time?”

“No, no wine tonight..”

He laughed as he pushed the door closed behind you. “It's okay, I have some.”

You kicked off your shoes by his front door before turning to face him. “Actually, I was thinking maybe we could try this sober tonight.”

Matthew stared at you, his expression some strange mix of confusion and hopefulness. “Why?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. You wanted to tell him that you were working on your shit, that you were trying to be less scary and damaged, but you couldn’t find the words or the courage to share that with him. Instead, what came out of your mouth was a joke, “What, do you have to be drunk to enjoy my company?”

The corners of his mouth slowly turned up, “No, not at all.”

He followed you into the living room and took a seat beside you on the couch. Like always he gave you space. This time you scooted closer to him. His eyebrows rose for a split second, then he put an arm around your shoulders and grabbed the remote from the end table. “Want to watch a movie? I hear there’s some new Netflix original thats really good.”

You nodded and sank into his side as he scrolled through the selections.

Maybe this wasn't so scary.

Maybe you could get used to this.

#Matthew Tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk imagines #hockey imagine #nhl imagine

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myelocin · 4 years ago

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the love in life which keeps us young | matsukawa issei

synopsis: in which matsukawa issei thinks of you as he says his vows.

characters: matsukawa issei, issei anon you

genre/wc: fluff, 2000+

a/n: no thoughts brain v empty only issei

“Do you wanna write out our vows or do you just wanna repeat after whatever the dude says?”

You look at Issei, his eyebrows knit together in the way that tells you he’s serious about his question, then at the faraway look he has on his face as his eyes zeroes in on the wall behind you. You laugh; the kind that fills you with a sort of giddiness that you don’t think you could ever get sick of, before taking a quick sip of your drink and thinking about his words.

“This is the one time in our lives where you get a chance to make me feel like a Y/N in front of a crowd, Issei,” you laugh.

Across you, Issei pops the straw of his drink out of his mouth as he focuses his eyes on you and sighs with a pout.

“You mean you don’t feel like Y/N already?” he asks, and you smile when he shifts his focus back to the straw of his drink, as he tries to aim for the remaining balls of boba at the bottom of the cup.

“I do,” you answer, and Issei grins because he hears nothing but honesty in the tone of your voice. He knows you mean it, but none the less he pries.

“So on a level of one to Oikawa’s breakdown when his team won the Olympics, how hard do you wanna cry?” Issei asks again, pushing his emptied cup to the side before he leans forward and smiles at you.

He looks a little sleepy, you think. Issei’s kept his hair a little longer than how he used to back when you were still in high school, and when he didn’t style his hair—like now—the wavy ends of his bangs always just hung around the front of his eyes.

His eyes, you think. Its deep brown hue that always reminded you of the oak trees from back home. And when he blinks, soft and slow in the way that never failed to make him look a little sleepier than he really is—you feel warm.

Maybe you do have moments where you feel like the main character of a book.

“You’re smiling all weird,” Issei comments, and when he grins it looks and feels just as familiar with the cotton of your most worn sweater.

“Just please don’t slip in a meme during the vows,” you plead, but instead of seeming concerned, you only let out a laugh that breaks your attempt of hardening your expression.

“We’ll have to see about that,” Issei across you hums, then closes his eyes as he lets out a light chuckle.

“Issei,” you start, but only break into laughter again when he folds his arms and lays his head on the table, his face facing the open window as he pretends not to hear you.

Despite your halfhearted protests towards him, Matsukawa Issei thinks he likes the moments he spends with you the most when it’s like this.

He knows he loves you every hour of everyday. But, it’s in the in between of life stopping and starting where he sits down across you, in the same tea shop you’ve become regulars at, sitting in the same table he was first hit with the thought that he loved you in, where Issei is overwhelmed with the feeling of pure gratitude.

The fan on the other side of the wall—the one right behind you, continues to whir even though he’s currently facing an open window. The grandmother who used to serve the two of you your favorite kind of tea is now retired, but her grandson who took over the business a little over two years ago brews your tea the same way. Your notebook—the one you used to write your random ideas in that you hardly ever expand anyway is now switched with a laptop that you bought when you graduated, but he knows that somewhere in there are files filled with the scattered pieces of dialogue that comes to you during the most random parts of your day.

Your hand, years ago adorned with the promise ring that took him a few shifts at his uncle’s convenience store to buy for you, is now worn next to the engagement ring he still had to spend a couple paychecks on.

Issei smiles. Consistency despite the inevitable change.

Familiar despite the new.

And he acknowledges change, he realizes. Because the only thing constant in the world is the fact that for as long as the world keeps spinning, the people—and the world—will continue to spin into a new era.

So when he closes his eyes, basking in the sunlight, sometimes Issei likes to imagine that the teashop he’s in is still the one from ten years ago. He imagines the open field that’s outside the window he faces and smiles when he thinks of how the sun would look against fields of wheat.

But before he even opens his eyes, he hears a man’s voice calling out orders instead of the grandmother who’d just ring a bell. He hears you tapping away at your laptop’s keyboard instead of the steady scratches of the pen you used to favor using. The sound of the street outside isn’t as quiet now that there’s a busy convenience store in place of the wheat fields who’d only woosh with the breeze at its loudest sound.

“You finally awake?” Issei hears you ask when he finally opens his eyes and sits back up. And much like how it used to be almost ten years ago, his heart skips a beat from just the sound of your voice. The look in your eye is still the same.

Somehow he feels like he’s still ten years back in time.

“Just thinking of what meme I can slip into the vows,” he laughs when you snort at him and roll your eyes at his comment.

“I swear to god, Issei,” you warn, puffing your cheeks when he sticks his tongue out as his choice of a retort.

“When I said I’ll make you cry, I hope you know what you were getting yourself into,” is how Issei begins his vows when the microphone was given for him.

You look at him, already a little teary eyed despite him just starting to speak his vows.

“First off,” he says. “I love you.”

Maybe it’s just how the light of the afternoon sun is hitting him, you consider. Issei’s always looked good under the sun, you think. Perhaps there was just something a little more magical in the sunlight today that struck a chord with you.

“I’ll admit that by saying I love you, that’s probably as accurate as I can possibly get my feelings to,” Issei continues, and from behind the veil you laugh as you see him start blinking with his words. Then when he says I love you, again, you notice how his hold on the paper turns a little shaky as his right foot begins to tap steadily on the ground.

It was slight enough where it could have well been unnoticeable for others, but you knew him better. You always knew him better.

These were all telltale signs that Issei was about to cry.

“I rewrote these vows over and over again until I reached the point where the more I felt—the less I could write in the paper,” Issei across you laughs. “Just ask Makki, he’ll back me up.”

From behind him, Makki shoots you a thumbs up. “It’s true,” you hear Makki quip and so you laugh with the crowd.

“But I think that’s how it’s supposed to be, you know?” you hear him continue. “Love, with you has always been more of a feeling instead of just words. I could read every sentence or every story that talked about what love is supposed to feel like and in some way I’ll agree with it—because it’s just like that.”

You notice how Issei shifts his eyes from looking at the paper then back at you as he begins to sniffle with his words.

“Love,” he begins, then stops as he corrects his words. “—no, you, have made me agree with words I’ve never even come across before. There’s always something in everything that has me connecting it back to you even if that something is the most unfamiliar thing in the world.”

“And believe me,” he adds, “—as a dude working with dead bodies you see a lot of shit.”

From behind him, you laugh at the way Makki, Hajime, and Tooru snicker with Issei’s choice of words. The minister in front of you clears his throat a little awkwardly, motioning for Issei to continue.

“Honestly, I could talk about what I want to promise you and what you deserve, because right now I feel everything I wanna say—“ Issei says, then stops when he takes a few moments to look up and wipe the corners of his eyes with the sleeve of his tuxedo.

“This is your fault,” he laughs, sniffling as he looks at you with a smile.

You laugh with him, the figure of him already blurred with the tears that welled up and slid down your cheeks.

“But I know words and promises will never come close to the value of my actions,” Issei finishes, folding the piece of paper to which you now notice barely even has sentences in it, and tucking it into his pocket.

“In this moment all I know is how I realized I loved you when we were sixteen sitting in that teashop while I drank the tea you said was good—which you lied about,” he interrupted, then laughed with the crowd, before continuing with, “—and how deep that feeling just hit me.”

“Even though we’re literally marrying each other now,” he continues, and you can only cry even harder when you hear his voice soften with his words. “I still feel that. Every moment with you still makes me feel like I’m sixteen and just realizing that I’m so in love with you over and over again.”

You’re as quiet as he is when he stares straight at you with glassy eyes.

“Love with you is something that I know is constantly changing and shifting with the world, but at the same time it’s the one thing that feels timeless. You’re the one thing that feels timeless. God knows how many times we’ve moved apartments or have changed cars, but you telling me welcome home still feels familiar. The way you always forget your chapstick in the car and then accuse me for stealing it a week later is still the same,” he laughs.

“Because everything in the world is moving so fast, I think that love is that one thing that grounds us back to the more steadier flow of time. You’re the reason why I wanna buy a house instead of jetset around the world. You always talk about that herb garden you’ve been wanting to start and we can finally get to that when we have a house. You noticing the weirdest things around every corner and smiling about it is the reason why sometimes sitting in traffic isn’t so bad anymore.”

“We’re all just trying to run somewhere with a destination we aren’t even sure of yet but you make it feel like we’ve already made it.”

“So for better or for worse, richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish—till death do us part— I’ll love you.”

“You’re crying,” you whisper when he lifts your veil and stares at you with tears already sliding down his cheeks.

“Shut up,” Issei laughs, hands cupping your face while his thumbs wipe the tears on your cheeks, his face already leaning in towards you.

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bubblyani · 5 years ago

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Distraction

(Patrick Bateman x Reader)

A Patrick Bateman One Shot

Fandom: American Psycho (film) 2000

Rating: Mature (cuz it’s Bale’s Bateman duh!)

Requested by: @tealaquinn thank you for the naughty suggestion. Our conversations helped a lot.

Author’s Note: I couldn’t help but make the simple premise of a sexy distraction into a fully fledged one shot. Writing something for him had been a challenging dream. Don’t know how accurate it could be to the Bateman y’all imagine but a fangirl can dream, right?? I regret nothing. Enjoy!

Hushed whispers followed you, capturing your attention the moment you stepped into the Office Building. And you simply were to blame.

The manner that your high heels clicked on the marble floors certainly announced your entrance.The manner your long, shiny tresses swished from side to side made several heads turn with fascination, while the way your hips swayed in the tight pencil skirt brought on unwanted stiffness in the pants of some Wall Street yuppies.

“Whoa…Who’s that?” “Don’t you know? That’s Y/N Y/L/N” “Nope, doesn’t ring any bells” “She’s Bateman’s girlfriend” “What? You kidding me? That’s her? She’s a fox. Why the hell would she go out with a Loser like Bateman?”

The hushed voices suddenly disappeared the moment you stopped in your tracks, turning to glare at them.You glared at them as if it had the power to slice their throats. Indulging in that power, you settled their nerves with a smile. A smile that truthfully was emptier than a hollow shell.

Resuming your walk, you could not help but be troubled by what they had said for it was nonsensical to the fullest. Any word or phrase that had the tiniest inclination of an insult towards your man was intolerable. They made your toes curl and palms tighten. For he was no loser. You knew that for certain. He was a man, he was your man. And you always made sure he felt so.

As you reached closer to your destination, a woman with sandy blond hair quickly rose up from her seat with enthusiasm. It was his secretary.

“Good Morning Jean” you smiled, as you finally stood in front of her desk. “Good Morning, Y/N…” Jean replied, “You look beautiful today” she said genuinely. To which you chuckled shyly. “Thank you darling, and you never fail to look sophisticated” Your hand rested on the doorknob. Turning it slowly , you heard his voice boom in his office. Possibly on a phone conversation. Patrick Bateman’s authoritative voice never failed to have an impact on you. Mostly excitement or arousal. It made you fill with pride. The pride you have belonging to someone wonderful.

“I don’t give a damn about your excuses! I just need that fixed-” He was cut off the moment you entered the room.

“Reginald, I’m gonna have to call you back” Patrick said, his eyes remaining glued to as he hung up.

Eyes exchanged greetings during the few seconds of silence. You smiled softly, to which he smiled in return. A small smile that fully assured he was pleased to see you.

“You didn’t have to do that” You began, motioning to the phone. Scoffing, Patrick put his legs up, crossing them over the table comfortably. “Please” he said, “...it was nothing important anyways” He added casually. Taking a few steps towards the table, your eyes spotted the walkman and his pair of headsets.

“What were you listening to?” “Katrina and the Waves” “Nice” You smiled, nodding.

He responded with another smile. Unlike the others, the smile was never forceful with you. It was genuine. The sheer reaction you would involuntarily display when someone else appreciates your taste in music.

“So…” he began, “What Brings you to Pierce & Pierce?” He asked, whilst you peeped through the blinds, “to spy on someone?” “No...By the way is Paul Allen still around?” You asked so casually, his smile suddenly disappeared. “Yes” His disgruntled tone was evident. But to his surprise you turned to him with a scowl.

“Eh! What a shame” You added unimpressed. Chuckling, he was relieved. It was unfathomable how easily he could do it now.

“Anyways...” you began, “I was in the neighborhood so I was wondering if you wanna grab lunch with me…” with a hopeful expression, you walked back to him with your hands tied behind your back. Sitting back in his regular position, Patrick looked over at his schedule.

“Sorry…I have a lunch meeting with Bryce and the others” Patrick answered coolly, still looking at it. “Oh…Okay…” crossing your arms, you looked down shyly. Except you suddenly felt his gaze on you once again, staring at you with furrowed eyebrows.

“What?” You asked, making him raise his index finger up.

“You’ve...buttoned it up wrong” He said, pointing at your jacket.

“What?”

His uncomfortable expression made you look down and gasp.

“Oh! Sorry….” You chuckled uncontrollably, “I can be such a klutz sometimes”

Patrick’s eyebrows did not relax ,for he did not believe it.You were never a klutz. It did not make sense. But the moment you finally undid your jacket, his tense eyebrows were suddenly raised with surprise.

Instead of a cotton or silk shirt, you only wore a bustier, an exquisite lace kind that complimented your figure and your complexion, simply doing wonders revealing your full, generous cleavage. Hunching forward to grab the end buttons, the cleavage involuntarily managed to pop up a bit more.

“Always do it from the bottom, right??” Joking innocently, you buttoned the up jacket, still in the midst of his attentive gaze.

“There…” You said, as the final button held the jacket together, “...all perfect! thanks to you” with a smile.

Patrick said nothing, but merely nodded in acknowledgement as he stared at you thoughtfully. His hand formed in to a fist. He seemed frustrated.

“Patrick you okay?”

“Hmm?” Woken from his thoughts, he appeared confused, “Yeah…Fine...” he muttered, with a tight lipped smile. Liar. “Right…Anyways I’m be going home then. I’ll see you...when I see you” You said, opening the door halfway, only to face him once more, “Have m fun at lunch” Winking, you made your exit. “Bye Jean!” “Bye Y/N!”

Excitement evident in her footsteps, Jean entered the office, beaming.

“I’m sorry to be so forward Patrick but...Y/N is just incredible” she said, her eyes shining. It was no surprise. You were always so nice to Jean.

“Yes she is…” Patrick said, still lost in his thoughts. “Jean…” “Yes Patrick?” She asked as he finally looked up at her. “Clear my schedule for the entire day”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The possibility of someone such as yourself crossing paths with someone like Patrick Bateman was quite unlikely. But by the stroke of fate, it did. And the American Gardens Building was to blame.

According that he had heard on the grapevine, he had a new neighbor who had recently moved in. And it was not until one fine evening that the both of you were finally aware of each other’s existence. Returning from a night out with the guys, Patrick was just about to enter his apartment when a stranger suddenly passed him by. A stranger he simply could not take his eyes off of. Suffice to say that stranger was you.

You remembered his first ever stare so clearly. It was as you were being drenched in honey. Sticky and noticeable. You remembered how he smiled and the way he greeted you. How you greeted him back in kind, and simply went in to your apartment. Short but impressionable. It was only when you both finally got together, Patrick admitted how he masturbated that night thinking about you. Though you felt corny to the bone, you mutually agreed.

A date was an eventuality. Your mysterious aura drove him crazy enough, he finally asked you out for a drink. Curiosity was killing him. He tried to figure you out. What desire of his were you able to satisfy? What kind of girl were you going to be? But, nothing triggered him for the night passed in a flash with the two of you making merry conversation, hitting off so well. The fact you were actually unbelievably keen on him, took him by surprise. In a society where people barely noticed nor acknowledged, you managed to impress him by noticing almost everything, and knew when to keep your mouth shut. For the only times you opened it, It was to do and say the right things.

Intriguing you were in his eyes. Beautiful, with a great personality which seemed unfathomable. You were not his usual type, and you were no bimbo. You were simply ,different. Regardless of mutual or non mutual interests, the genuine interest you showed was equal. And with every dinner or drinks date, it was hard for Patrick Bateman to resist how much of actual fun he was having. Was he dreaming? None of this seemed truly possible. And quite frankly, it made him highly suspicious.

He tried testing your limits. And with one attempt he gave up fast.

It was a quiet afternoon one weekend, when you stopped by on a surprise visit to his apartment. Dressed in merely his underwear and a t-shirt, all white, he invited you in with a reluctant attitude. The sounds of the television filled the entire apartment. And it was not regular television.

“Oh! Is that porn?” You asked, as soon as you realized the erotic nature of the video being played. “Yes” Patrick answered. He did not flinch, as he watched you with focus. He watched you so closely as if you were his little science experiment. What were you going to say? How will you react?

Contrary to his expectation, you did not bat an eye. Instead, your eyes just lingered there. You stood there watching it. It was only you who knew how aroused you were getting by the sight of the erotic act that took place. The sight of the gracious naked woman on her knees, willingly savoring, tasting her lover while she went down on him. And how his hand held on to her hair tightly.

“Would you like some-” You effortlessly cut off Patrick’s formality with a kiss that contained intense pressure. You kissed him with heat, with a need, finishing it by playfully biting his lower lip. Catching her eyes in his, he sensed the soul inside you was not the same as he had seen in others. Something primal lingered in you.

“What are you thinking?” He asked.

“Well…I was thinking…” you purred, “…that we can do that better” you added, pointing at the tv without even looking at it. And it came as a surprise to Patrick when your other hand had sneakily rested on his lower abdomen, feeling the softness of his cotton white t-shirt. Lust took over, and his eyes showed off its glint. When he instantly took your hand to feel his clothed erection, you gasped with satisfaction.

The both of you ended up making a sex tape that evening, which seemed more colorful than any porno he had ever watched.

When the recorder stopped recording, when he was laying in bed beside you, Patrick could not help but marvel at your tolerance towards his sexual needs. Not only tolerant, but extremely supportive. He felt warm, he felt an unfamiliarity. And it made him hungry with greed. A greed for you, a need for you. Which was certainly rare.

That was when he knew, you only satisfied one desire and one only. His desire for genuine companionship.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(Present)

Having lived in New York long enough, you were absolutely aware when you were being stalked. This time however, you were not alarmed, nor threatened. On the contrary, excitement bubbled within. Though you pretended to not even notice, you knew who it was. And he was to blame.

You were impressed. A few blocks was understandable. But an entire taxi ride? That was commitment for stalking. There you were, on your way back to the American Gardens Building. And you were aware of his presence a few feet away.

As you pressed the button for the elevator, you waited. You sensed him stand behind you a few feet away. The excitement increased by tenfolds.

Ding! The elevator announced its arrival with the doors opening. And you just could not resist.

“You coming, Patrick?”

You inquired coolly, whilst entering the elevator. And as you have guessed, rudely pushing away other residents with gusto, your stalker Patrick Bateman joined you inside soon after. Slamming the close button, tension grew between the two of you as the doors closed. And when finally closed, he grasped the opportunity to ambush you with a hungry kiss.

He was never the biggest fan of kisses before he met you. Sex? Yes. But kisses? Not really. But feeling the enthusiasm and heat you brought in as your contribution, he was compelled to do the same. He was addicted more than simply interested. With another Ding! The elevator finally reached your floor, witnessing the frantic lovers stumble out, lips still glued to one another. Patrick’s place was closer, thus it was already decided. The

mere few seconds his lips left yours to open the door was a punishment itself, but rectified soon after. Pulling you in, he slammed you against the closed door, only to kiss you once again. His lips were simply the definition of starved when he tasted yours, making it quite difficult for you to push his overcoat off his broad shoulders. But he proved to excel in multitasking, opening up your own jacket so fast, all of the buttons just popped out. And once again, your lace bustier revealed itself, heaving alongside your chest. “You’re such a fuckin’ tease!” Patrick breathed against your lips, “Right there in my office...Wearing this!” He added, peeling your jacket off. With a knowing smile, you chuckled.

“Ha! And here I was wondering how long it would take for you to finally give in…mmm-”

How could you really finish when he shut you up with more kisses, which was more than you could ask for.Whatever clothing obstacle that came in the way, you made sure to get rid yourself of them. His own Pin stripped Armani jacket for example. Tossing them at all directions, you were honestly quite surprised he did not pay attention. Being the meticulous man he normally was.

You attempted to walk, grabbing him by his pants during. Pressing himself against your back, his pants were quite noticeable.

“Where do you think you’re going, hmmm?” Patrick asked you, through gritted teeth as his lips grazed over your ear.

“To bed, silly! ” you replied playfully. “Good girl…” His growl, it made your inner walls quiver with impatience. You felt his hand firmly stroke your buttocks, unzipping the pencil skirt only to let it fall off you. Reaching the bed, he watched you spin around and greedily begin to undo his pants with an excited look. That excitement, that greed was akin to a child ending up at a candy store.

You were impatient, you couldn’t stress this enough. Once his pants were loose, you managed to pull out his shirt ready to undo. The sight of his sculpted abs and his tanned skin made your mouth water. Imagining him naked in his glory was a blessing you could never forget. All this, you did under his wild gaze. Pressing his forehead against yours, he groaned.

“You like this, don’t you?” There he was, teasing you once again in the most seductive of voices. Feeling the curves of your buttocks, he sneakily managed to pull down your panties.

“You bet I do, daddy” You purred, looking up at him before accepting his kisses. Open mouth, generous with tongue, you just wanted to melt in his arms. He learnt well. Biting your lower lip playfully, he pushed you to his neatly arranged bed. Giggles left your lips when he joined in. Dressed in only your lace bustier, lace panties bunched around your knees, with stockings and garters to match, you were definitely in your element for the moment. Whilst he had his hair disheveled, shirt half opened, and tie loosened along with his pants. You had Patrick Bateman right where you wanted him.

“What about your lunch plans?” “Not important” You smiled mischievously when he climbed on top on you, “You didn’t have to do that!” “Please” he said, spreading your legs open to get in between you, “It was nothing important anyways“.

Your eyes widened the moment you felt him enter you without a single warning. Happened so fast, which made it so thrilling and arousing.

His speed was evident this time, each of his thrusts translated his frustrations to your tease this morning. And you heard them speak out loud. How fucking dare you? Who gave you the fucking right? Stroking your thighs, he felt the softness of your stockings. He moved, savoring the sight of you writhe and moan with liberation.

Cupping his face, your fingers grazed around his jawline. You knew how privileged you were to touch him this way. The way your arms were placed over your body pushed your cleavage up higher, it teased Patrick even more. He announced his frustration with a harder thrusts. When that didn’t seem sufficient, you watched him pull down one of the straps of your bustier. It came down so fast you were worried of possible tearing. The beckoning was successful when he poured sloppy kisses over your curvaceous breast that popped out. Each kiss lit small fires over your skin, even more so when he trapped the erect nipple between his mouth, suckling it hard until you swore it turned blue. Your vocal responses merely were limited to sounds, for you did not have the capacity to even think as you were occupied being pleasured. Expressing his own satisfaction, he kissed, he sucked, he even left a hickey right below the curve of your breast, one that could make quite a statement. All the while he kept moving inside you. Your moans were gracious, loud and authentic. And hearing him moan in return was a gift in itself. You could reach your peak by just listening to him.

Immersed in deep pleasure, Patrick pulled your hair back, leaving kisses over your protruding neck, as his speed increased leading to him finally meeting his climax with your own. Both sounds merged together, suddenly grew quiet in unison. Like a giant wave finally crashing into the beach in slow motion. Raising his head, he looked at you.

“The next time you do that, I swear I will fuck you senseless...right in my office” he said, panting. You chuckled. “My!” You said, gleefully, “now that’s something to look forward to” Inciting laughter from him. When the laughter died, you rubbed your nose against his affectionately.

“Good…” you continued, “…then you will have something Paul Allen and Bryce will be jealous about” you teased.

“Oh...I already have…” Patrick said , “I have You”

Warmth came over you. The way he said it, sheer pride was oozing. Pride that was enriched with the fact there was a deeper understanding between you and him. An understanding that could even lead to many, many great things.

A gasp exited you when you felt him sneakily insert one of his fingers inside you, making you moan. And just like that, you were aroused once more. And he was to blame.

“I’m never letting you go, Patrick Bateman” you breathed, pulling him by the tie to kiss him, moaning further into his lips as his fingers began to work on you.

While those fingers moved, he took the pleasure in watching you. But this time, when his eyes caught yours, his heart clenched.

For the first time ever, he was afraid.

Afraid to realize how dangerous you actually were. So much so that you seem to be fully responsible for the surprising changes he had been going through.

A distraction from his every life. A type of distraction he did not want to let go.

A vital one.

——————————————————

@erika92pu @christianbalefanatic

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blackswaneuroparedux · 4 years ago

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Anonymous asked: Your cool literary takes on James Bond made me want to ask you this. I have to wear a tuxedo for a special occasion, can you give me some advice? I would welcome some style pointers from you as I respect your refined taste. What are your thoughts on men wearing the tuxedo? I think it’s a dying tradition because here in the US, where the tux was invented, it has all but disappeared as the choice of evening wear for any social events. Great blog posts but I only wish you would post more.

Thank you for your kind words about my most recent posts on Ian Fleming’s James Bond and also generally liking what I post. I too wish I could post more but unfortunately my time is taken up with the reality of work and other things even during these tough times of the Covid pandemic. But when I get a moment to myself I do enjoy posting as a way to detox from the pressures of work. I appreciate your continued support.

I got this question before Christmas so the thought had occurred to me that you were asking because you had a decision to make over the festive period. If so, I am sorry for tardy lateness of my response. But I trust what little advice I can give will help you in the future.

I always remember the maxim by the fashion designer, Tom Ford, who said, “Dressing well is a form of good manners.”

To me, for a man to wear black tie (or tuxedo) is the height of good manners. It used to be the case that every gentleman had one and it was perhaps the first suit to pack into a suitcase. Perhaps one of the few times I was ever envious of my older brothers as men was accompanying them with my father the first time they went to get fitted for a bespoke black tie at Henry Poole & Co - the Savile Row tailors that had been the regular choice of my grandfather and father for their clothing attire. Although both siblings later gravitated to other Savile Row bespoke tailors as they got older, that first Henry Poole black tie lasted them for a long time. The whole ritual around taking measurements took on a hushed sacred tone of a liturgy. Looking back it felt like a rite of passage for them as they passed from boyhood to adulthood.

The choice of wearing a tuxedo epitomises the desire - among people of means and social standing - to be fresh, clean and as attractive as possible when meeting on evening social events and attending high spirits affairs. This tradition was maintained also with the beginning of the use of the automobile, when there was no practical justification.

Before the Second World War, tuxedos and tails were still considered the only appropriate clothing for all the elegant social evenings. However, after the war, the traditional suit, or the work suit, began to be accepted more on informal evening and daytime occasions, and so the use of the tuxedo was limited to just formal evening gatherings only.

The tuxedo was completely remade in disco's image by the 1970s. A young, revolutionary generation looked at the conservative styling of the tuxedo and threw out nearly everything, keeping only the vague silhouette. Huge, floppy bow ties, colourful patterned jackets, shirts with ruffles and lace, and trousers that looked more like bell-bottoms became much more prevalent. The typical tuxedo in the '70s usually had at least two of these elements, if not all of them.

By the 1980s, a return to classic styling had thankfully re-emerged and tuxedos started looking more conservative.

By the late 2000s, as dress codes became diluted and misunderstood, formal-wear took another hit. Business-casual was the predominate dress code of the workplace and shiny black suits with matching ties had nearly supplanted traditional black-tie. Coloured dress shirts also began to trend in this era. Those who continued to wear traditional black-tie made it as simple as possible to match the casual aesthetic that a new generation preferred.

These days I think more and more young men are adopting the black-tie styles of the '30s and '40s. Midnight blue tuxedos have even made a comeback. I think high quality period dramas like "Mad Men" are at least part of the reason for the shift, with men growing nostalgic for a bygone era of neater, more crisp look.

People forget, as often as they do, that the original purpose of this elegant clothing was to replace the suit worn all day, allowing men to leave behind the dirt and smell of a day spent on horseback, not to bring it around the dining table.

These days the emphasis on informality has made it easier to make excuses for men (and women) to dress down to a street level of casual indifference (laziness) that I find aesthetically displeasing.

Moreover I find it a tad disrespectful to the sense of occasion and also an unkind ingratitude to the efforts made by the host or hostess in organising such an event. For those who think wearing black tie is a sign of social superiority, then respectfully they have not understood its true purpose. In following the dress code, it is in effect a sign of respect towards your fellow guests, as it has been put in place to ensure attendees are on the same level.

The origin of the tuxedo is a controversial subject of conversation in some circles. I know in the US it’s common to assume the tux was invented there but many have pointed out it was in England that its origins lie. Some fashion historians trace it back to the 17th Century as a tailless ‘smoking jacket’. In England during the 17th century, after dinner the gentlemen might put on a smoking jacket and retreat to a den or smoking room. Indeed in the beginning it was believed that the purpose of the ’smoking jacket’ ensured that their evening coat would not be burned by ashes nor absorb the smell of tobacco which the women found distasteful.

However these days there remain two theories about the first ever proper tuxedo that we would recognise today. In the first theory the tuxedo was invented by Pierre Lorillard IV of New York City according to one school of thought. Pierre Lorillard's family were wealthy tobacco magnates who owned country property in Tuxedo Park, just outside of New York City. At a formal ball, held at the Tuxedo Club in October 1886, the young Lorillard wore a new style of formal wear for men that he designed himself. He named his tailless black jacket the tuxedo after Tuxedo Park. The tuxedo caught on and became fashionable as formal wear for men.

The second theory, according to English clothing historian James Laver, has it that the idea of wearing black for evening wear was first introduced by the 19th Century British writer, Edward Bulwer-Lyttonn who wrote in 1828 that "people must be very distinguished to look well in black." It was only until later in the century that a village resident of Tuxedo Park, New York, James Brown Potter vacationed in England in the summer of 1886. Potter and his wife, Cora were introduced to the Prince of Wales {who later became King Edward VII} at a court ball in London. Potter asked the Prince for advice on formal dress. The Prince sent Potter to his own Saville Row tailor, Henry Poole & Co. Potter was fitted with a short black jacket and black tie that was unlike the formal tails with white tie that was worn in the United States for formal occasions.

The new tailless formal wear was said to have been designed by the Prince of Wales. It was Edward VII who in 1865 commissioned to his tailor Henry Poole to create a short blue evening jacket (midnight blue), to be used for informal evenings in his country estate of Sandringham. The Prince and his tailor drew inspiration from the British military uniforms of the time, which used short jackets with black ties.

This is where the two origins meet. James Brown Potter took the design back to the Tuxedo Club, where Pierre Lorillard modified it, named it, and made it popular during the Autumn ball. And so from that blessed bespoke collaboration between the Prince and Henry Poole & Co was born the ancestor of what everyone call today as tuxedos, the English ‘dinner jacket’ and the Americans ‘tuxedo’ - because of its original word spread starting from the homonymous village of Tuxedo Park.

Whatever the exact truth of its origin, black tie remains the evening attire par excellence. I’m flattered that anyone should ask me for style tips, especially regarding grooming and clothing for men.

I like to think that the true purpose of a man wearing black tie was to help the man show the humility to be an unassuming gentleman in effortlessly blending into the background so that his female companion could shine more by his side. A man in black tie was a gentleman who stood steadfastly there with an outstretched arm to make women feel more beautiful, but also to reassure them that all is right in the world.

If you get the opportunity to wear black tie then do please take it. The fact that you desire to wear one is already a great choice that makes you stand out from the loud bling-bling hoi polloi. But please don’t confuse wearing a black tie with snobbery. It isn’t, it’s just good manners. Manners maketh man as they say and so it’s not something one is born with but can only be learned. And don’t confuse fashion for style. The two are very different. Fashion is what you copy from others and style is what you express about yourself. Don’t conform to the passing fancies of the day (the loud, the garish, the attention seeking), or as Coco Chanel put it, ‘elegance is refusal’.

Always remember that style is a way to say who you are without having to speak.

In theory, the elegance of the tuxedo stems from its simplicity - it’s an ultimate classic, the one outfit one doesn’t mess around with. In practice, many men find the rules governing this suit and its accoutrements to be annoyingly complex and complexly annoying.

My basic rule for men is ‘kiss’ - Keep It Simple, Stupid.

Rule 1: Buy, don’t rent

It’s better if the black tie that you have is yours, and not rented. For one thing it’s a question of comfortability. You’ll be comfortable in your skin if you’re more comfortable in a suit that actually fits. Secondly, a rental doesn’t mean it’s good quality. The fabric is an important consideration.

In an ideal world you should get a bespoke tailored black tie made - ideally from any of the excellent tailors on Savile Row. But not all tailors are equal. Henry Poole & Co would be the traditional choice. I know for my older brothers they prefer Gieves & Hawkes and Huntsman because they have a more military draped cut, traditional but not stuffy.

In the long run it’s a once in a lifetime worthy investment if you take in consideration the cost of each potential rental along with how many times you would be wearing one throughout the coming years.

But I understand for many that may be an impossible proposition. The next best thing is to get a less expensive ‘made-to-measure’ black tie which is an increasing and welcome avenue for men to still have a suit or black tie made to fit them.

I would hesitate recommending buying off the peg because many high street brands have a rather relaxed attitude to tailoring and quality. If you must buy off the peg or rent then make sure the fabric is wool.

Rule 2: Black or Midnight blue and no other colour

Your black tie should be, to state the obvious, black. Not only is it the correct choice, it is the stylish choice. You can never go wrong with black. But if you’re feeling a tad adventurous go with Midnight blue. Midnight blue, being blacker than black, is not merely an exception to the rule but an exceptional choice for shimmering with distinction under the moonlight.

But what about white dinner jacket so beloved of James Bond or Indiana Jones? Yes, quite.

Traditionally, white was worn in place of a traditional black suit to deflect heat. This made it the perfect alternative for black-tie events that were held in the afternoon, during the Summer or at sea. The white jacket variation of black tie began was adopted in the early 1930s as a way for well-heeled vacationers to dress formally in the tropical heat without having to endure the heavy and dark-coloured fabrics that were standard for evening wear at the time.

While dinner suits have become much more lightweight since then, the light-coloured jacket has remained a popular warm-weather alternative to its ebony progenitor. However, without a proper understanding of its form and function, the white dinner jacket easily becomes a flashy gimmick. Subtlety and restraint are the keys to the successful execution of this classic variation.

Avoid other colours like the plague. I do notice from time to time in the shop windows here in Paris (as well as London and elsewhere) that some menswear boutiques display bright coloured dinner jackets.

Usually it’s the Italians (like Canali and Brunello Cucinelli who give in to their worst Italian impulses to show off their peacock flair) and others who really should know better (yes, the wine red velvet dinner jacket is very fetching but it belongs by log side fire, a cigar, and a cognac, so thank you Tom Ford). I even think some of them look nice and charming but it’s not black tie.

Besides a non-traditional black tie will be much more vulnerable to the whims of passing fashion where as traditional unfussy black tie can give peace of mind that it will never go out of style and thus will last longer.

Rule 3: Put yourself in a straight jacket

The first thing to decide is single or double-breasted and number of buttons. A safe and elegant option is one-button single breast which is both timeless and classical. Two buttons are fine, worn with the lower button undone. Double-breasted styles of any button configuration are also appropriate, but keep in mind that double-breasted jackets add some ‘bulk’ to the body. So take a hard look at your body type before you decide which one best flows off your shoulders. The buttons should be fabric-covered.

Hand in hand with the button style goes the lapel. The classic, formal option is peak lapel. Shawl lapel is somewhat less formal, but perfectly suitable. Shawl has become very popular, especially in slim versions. Notch lapels are frequently seen on off-the-rack tuxedos, but this is a more casual style, which should be reserved for suits. My preference would be to go for the peak lapel but make them sufficiently wide and not too slim.

The jacket was traditionally without vents, to keep seams (i.e. details) to a minimum, but double vents are also acceptable, providing comfort and movement. The pockets should be straight piped (slit without flap) and there should be a breast pocket.

Rule 4: Trousers, brace yourself

The trousers are ideally made without pleats or cuffs, with straight pockets following the side seam, in order to make them less visible. Black tie attire should never be worn with belts, so skip the belt loops. Traditionally one would use suspenders (braces) as it straightens the body shape as well as holds up the trousers. Choose black or white braces in fabric, rather than in leather, or in any case they should be matching the colour of the tuxedo. But I should note that side-fasteners are also a convenient option for some flexibility in the waist. The front closure should be clip-only, avoiding the button. Classically, the trousers will have a satin silk stripe covering the outer side seam on each leg, matching the lapel facing. This is a lovely detail, but nowadays sometimes considered old-fashioned. For this reason alone I would insist on it.

Rule 5: Don’t get shirty

The shirt should be plain white cotton, with a few distinct features. It should always have a ‘bib’ running down to front, which provides starchy stiffness (i.e. a higher level of formality). I’ve seen shirts in which vertical pleats in matching fabric are designed. I think they look plain and boring. Similarly if someone suggests to you a fly-front placket panel that covers the buttons and leaves a clean look then walk away immediately. Both these kind of shirts are for the lazy because they both want to avoid having to deal with those troublesome studs where the buttons would be.

I would advise always make sure your shirt has a starch like ‘bib’ that is attached made up of a textured pique fabric (pin dots), usually called Marcella. They look so much more elegant and classy.

Many would say that collar can be a normal Kent variety or a wing collar, which has little points turned down where the collar wings would be, but otherwise exposing the collar band. I personally think a wing collar is subject to whims of fashion and something best left in a 1920s set movie. Some can wear them very well (see Paul Newman in The Sting) but it depends on the girth of your neck. I think the wing collar can portray a man’s neck in an unflattering way.

I think the normal Kent collar is cleaner and classical, and it will never go out of style. The Duke of Windsor made the Kent collar hugely popular in his prime.

The cuffs should be double (French cuff), to accommodate cufflinks.

Many people also forego the buttons on evening shirts, instead leaving holes where you can attach studs (often matched with the cufflinks). If you are going to do that make sure that they’re mother of pearl studs.

Rule 6: Accessories are in the details

The shirt should not be visible at the waist, which calls for a something covering the gap between trousers and jacket, unless you opted for a double-breasted jacket. Traditionally, this is non-negotiable, but these days you often see people wearing no waist covering. My advice is unless you’re wearing a double breasted black tie (for which there is no need to wear a cummerbund) then always wear a cummerbund with a single breasted black tie.

You either use a cummerbund matching the bow tie (a cummerbund folds upwards, for convenient opera ticket storage) or a waistcoat. Please don’t commit the faux pas of making your cummerbund a colour other than black. Often people match their bow ties to their cummerbunds in garish bright colours which just defeats the object of why one wears black tie in the first place.

For the waistcoat, there are a few style options. Often, black tie waistcoats will have a rounded (horseshoe) cut with shawl lapels but a regular cut waistcoat is also acceptable. The key is to go simple and match the jacket fabric, facing and buttons. The back can be wool or lining, where we’d recommend the latter, to make the ensemble cooler. A stylish fob watch with chain would be a nice little detail that one can drop without telegraphing it loudly.

Consider having a white silk pocket square. You can fold it any way you like, but the so-called straight presidential fold is simple and sharp looking.

Socks must be knee length. Make them black. Again, the principle is one of clean lines and elegance. Disruptions below the trouser leg - stripes, shins, whatever - threaten to ruin the whole effect.

Shoes. Your shoes must always shine. This is one detail many men neglect. The shoes should be black patent leather. My preference would be for high quality Oxfords. I know some purists would insist that only opera pumps walk the one true path, but it is obvious on its face that those precious ribboned things, also called court shoes, are not completely in step with modern life. I know too that bit-toe loafers (thank you Tom Ford) are also more of the modern rage but I find them a little effeminate. So while I don’t see it as a style concession I do think Oxfords shined to a high sheen is the modern and best choice I would opt for a gentleman to go for. To me being comfortable in your shoes is also an equal and valid consideration.

Cufflinks and studs should be simple and classic, luxury metals and mother-of-pearl or onyx insets are nice touches. I know some punt for more personalised cuff links - like their regimental or college or some other institutional affiliation - and there is nothing wrong with that but I am on the fence about this. Generally I would leave that for your day time business suits. Showing off defeats the ethos of wearing the black tie in the first place.

Rule 7: ‘Sprezzatura’ up your bow tie

‘Sprezzatura’ is a gorgeous Italian word - first appearing in Baldassare Castiglione's The Book of the Courtier in 1528 - that means a disheveled elegance by way of studied carelessness. This perfectly sums up how one should wear the centre piece of the black tie - the bow tie.

Don’t be taken in by the very modern fad - thank you Hollywood and modern music pop stars - of wearing long neck ties (even if they are in black) as part of your black tie attire. Just don’t. It doesn’t matter how swish you may look you still are a prat for not dressing in real black tie.

Plain black silk and entirely self-tied. That’s a real bow tie.

Anyone and his dog can always identify a pre-tied bow tie by the fact that it's just a little too studied. Perfectly straight, perfectly symmetrical, and perfectly balanced. Just like plastic surgery, clip-on bow ties just look too perfect to be real. It is one of the most obvious signs that you're a style amateur.

Avoid pre-tied bow ties (and its ugly sibling the stick-on bow tie) like the plague....unless you’re a child who is unable to tie his own bow tie. But what if you don’t know how to tie a real bow tie? It’s never too late to learn. It’s the same level of difficulty as tying your shoes. If you don’t know ask someone who does know. If you’re buying a bespoke tailored black tie the tailor would most definitely show you how to do it. Easy peasy.

Remember bow ties are supposed to be imperfect and worn. That’s what makes the wearer authentic.

Perfect symmetry is not a goal worth pursuing here. Being an elegant gentleman is.

And that’s it. Those would be my informal rules for any man wanting to be a gentleman wearing black tie for a special occasion.

Thanks for your question.

#question #ask #black tie #tuxedo #dinner jacket #menswear #fashion #style #bespoke #savile row #gentlemen #culture #personal #henry poole #bow tie #monarchy #edward VII #etiquette

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juniorgman187 · 4 years ago

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The Bones (Reid Series) Part 2

Summary: After doing an even deeper dive on Valerie’s past, Spencer finally meets her, but his invasiveness isn’t the worst part ... the worst part is he might actually like her.

Playlist: “The Bones” by Maren Morris & Hozier (BONUS: song includes major foreshadowing) Category: Series, Fluff, Soft Angst, Eventual smut and *NSFW content Pairing: Spencer Reid POV x Fem!OC - Valerie Content Warning: invasion of privacy, allusions to Maeve’s death, arrhythmia Word Count: 3.4k

Part 1 |

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

After firmly deciding not to weave Penelope into my tangled web, I was met with the arduous burden of conducting my own research.

Firstly, I would need a computer - yeah ... a computer. That’s how far I was willing to go for this pursuit. I once vowed never to fall victim to modern technology’s clutches, and yet here I was, doing my research on a public library’s computer. To my credit, I hadn’t gone out and bought one, I was merely using my resources.

With the need for a device out of the way, all that was left was the knowledge of what to look for. But that didn’t pose a problem either.

Funny enough, with as many rules and restrictions as there are regarding patient privacy and confidentiality, all it took was matching dates of news stories with hospital records to complete my research. I was fairly certain I was only scratching the surface of information about Valerie as opposed to the sea of things I could’ve uncovered if I asked for Garcia’s help, but there are only so many lines a person can cross in one week.

This was my limit.

Call me naive, but I was actually quite surprised with just how expansive the internet is. To an almost relentless degree, I would open an article and it would lead me to ten more about the same topic. It was this never ending rabbit hole that seemed to spiral on forever. I kept digging deeper and deeper until I could no longer dig.

I’d officially hit rock bottom.

It took me a grand total of just two hours to unearth all the ‘dirt’ I could on a young Valerie Bishop.

Local 16-year-old Wins Nevada’s Statewide Art Contest! Published by Henderson Press.

Valerie, just a sophomore in high school at the time, was donning what any experimental teen girl would’ve worn in the early 2000s - bootcut jeans and a sequin blouse over top of a plain camisole. And if I zoomed in close enough, I could spot the evidence of a sparkly blue shadow coating her eyelids. Surprisingly, though, that wasn’t the first thing I noticed.

It was that smile. That tooth-achingly sweet smile.

Though I never got the chance to see Maeve truly smile, that’s what I imagined it would look like.

The photographer must’ve caught her midway through a laugh, at least that’s what the image of her slightly open-mouthed grin told me. Meanwhile, her two tiny hands were clenching her overbearingly large trophy while her artwork stood behind her as the background.

It didn’t take me long to figure out why her painting won. Simply put, there was no need to see anyone else’s art to know that they couldn’t possibly compete with hers.

Hers was an abstract rendition of what I believe to be a forest of some sort. The detail is what I was most drawn to. It would’ve been unbelievable on its own but the fact that she was 16 when she painted it? That’s what was unbelievable to me.

If that’s how talented she was at that age, I could only imagine how much more talented she became with time. However, I lost the chance to investigate the current state of her skill before a related article from The Cleveland Gazette about Valerie succeeded this one.

From Award-Winning Artist to Henderson’s Hero

Read my interview with 17-year-old Valerie Bishop to find out more about her struggle with arrhythmia and how she turned her pain into a project!

By Kelli Gallagher from the Cleveland Gazette.

Gallagher: Thank you so much for letting me interview you, Valerie.

Bishop: Of course! I’m happy to.

Gallagher: You’ve become somewhat of a hero in Henderson, Nevada, haven’t you?

Bishop: I wouldn’t call myself a hero ... but if everyone else wants to - I’m fine with that. (laughs)

Gallagher: Don’t be so modest! I mean, what you’ve done is so incredible, and you’re only what? Seventeen?

Bishop: Yes, ma’am. I just turned seventeen this past August.

Gallagher: Wow, I can’t believe how young you are and yet you’ve already accomplished so much. I saw that you won a statewide art contest last year. Tell me more about that.

Bishop: That’s a funny story actually. My Grandma Sheila was the one who entered me in that contest. I didn’t even know about it until I won it. She’s always surprising me, though. In fact, she’s the one that surprised me with my first ever art supplies, when I was about eight or so. They were these super expensive oil paints, and I knew she couldn’t afford them, so I told her we should return them and get something cheaper, but she said, “Nonsense. When the bones are good the rest don’t matter. A house don’t fall when the bones are good.” That was kind of her saying.

A house don’t fall when the bones are good.

The bones.

Gallagher: I’m interested to know more about your relationship with your grandma. If I’m remembering correctly, she was also diagnosed with arrhythmia a while back too, right?

Bishop: Yes, she was, but that’s never slowed her down. And as for our relationship, my grandma and I have always been close, but arrhythmia, in a weird way, has brought us even closer. She has always been my biggest supporter and the fact that we’re both on this journey together makes her my biggest supporter even more so.

Gallagher: Absolutely. Now, I also heard that you’ve started a fundraising program to possibly start a gallery and studio in Virginia Beach. If you don’t mind me asking, why Virginia Beach? Is there any special significance?

Bishop: Actually, that’s where my grandma met my grandpa, and they got married and started a family there, too. So if Grandma Sheila hadn’t been there to meet him, she wouldn’t have had my mom, and that would mean I wouldn’t have been here either. I like to think Virginia Beach is where it all started. In a way, it’s where my bones are. That solid foundation in Virginia gave me everything I have today.

Gallagher: That is just incredible. I’m so glad to see your fundraising project is thriving, but I can’t imagine any of this has been particularly easy for you. You were diagnosed right around the time your senior year was starting right?

Bishop: Yes ma’am.

Gallagher: So what brought you from Henderson to Cleveland?

Bishop: Well, actually, I didn’t want to move, especially not before I graduated, but Cleveland has the best cardiovascular hospital in the country and my health is far more important than graduating in the same state I grew up in. So when my parents were willing to move me and my sister out here, I saw it as a privilege rather than something to be sad about.

Gallagher: I am so inspired by you, Valerie.

Bishop: (laughs) Really, why?

Gallagher: Despite everything that’d been thrown at you, you are still so grateful. I hope you never lose that.

Bishop: I promise you I won’t.

Gallagher: So one last thing before I go, what is one hope you have for your future self?

Bishop: I hope, future self, that your ‘bones’ are still strong.

Gallagher: Beautiful. Thank you so much again for doing this, Valerie. I sincerely hope you reach your goal and you get to open up that gallery and studio in Virginia Beach.

At the bottom of the article, there was a footnote from Kelli Gallagher.

Exactly 10 years later, Bishop was able to move to Virginia Beach and open up her gallery and studio.

By the end of the article, I felt a genuine sense of pride for Valerie, and I know I had virtually no right to know these things about her, but I could still be proud of her for them right?

I would never fully get my answer to this question before I crossed the final boundary.

After exhausting all that I could gather from the internet without Penelope’s assistance, the only thing left for me to do was actually meet her in person. However, this would prove to be a bigger obstacle that it seemed. I decided to delay the daunting task until the next day. A decision partially influenced by the phrase, ‘sleep on it.’ I prayed I’d gain clarity on what to do when I woke up the next morning, but even with a night’s rest, I was still undecided as I drove to Virginia Beach once more.

To sit in my car that was conveniently parked right in front of the gallery was a poor choice. Because with every passing second, the temptation to walk in grew, but the fear of regret dampened those impulses. The more I thought about it, the more I psyched myself out. Between my two choices, to freeze or to fight, I should’ve taken the third - to flee. But I was here now and I couldn’t leave empty-handed for a second time.

After a moment’s indecision, adrenaline coursed through my veins to give me the courage to get out of my car. When I felt an outdoor breeze blow over me, I knew there was no going back now. Right when I walked in, the little bell above the door rang, solidifying that I was officially crossing the threshold, and whether I liked it or not, she was going to see me after hearing me walk in.

“I’ll be right with you!” A small voice called out from somewhere in the back. She was hidden from my immediate sight, and somehow that made it so much worse. It was now I that was waiting for her, instead of her unknowingly waiting for me.

As though I were prey getting ready to escape a predator, I stayed put by the door. It gave me a full view of the entire place anyway.

Scoping out my surroundings, I spotted the paintings that were carefully measured and placed on the walls, almost to perfection. I had no time to notice anything more before the person in the back walked out.

Immediately when I saw her, I knew.

“You’re … not Valerie.” I couldn’t help sounding so disappointed but luckily, the woman that came out took no offense to my observation.

“No, I’m not,” She laughed. “But I can get her for you-”

“No wait!” I uselessly leapt forward to stop her from saying, “Vee! There’s someone out here to see you!” But that’s precisely what she did anyway. Evidently oblivious of my previous protests, she politely smiled back at me. “She’ll be right out.”

For the second time that day, I waited with bated breath, anxiously anticipating the arrival of Valerie. And I was almost too focused on subduing the pounding of my heart to realize that she was actually walking out of the back right now.

“Hi, sorry about that!” A new voice chirped.

Valerie.

The moment I laid eyes on her, it became clear to me that the pictures in her files hardly did her justice. Nothing could compare to the real sight of her. I was only able to catch the profile of her face when I saw her in the cafe, but in her entirety, I began to wax nostalgic. Though her face and hair and body had transformed into that of a grown woman’s features, I could still identify the same tooth-achingly sweet smile that a younger Valerie once wore on the front page of the Henderson Press. She was no beast to conquer, she was just a girl, smiling at me in that same gentle way.

Her expression just as well showed no indication of recognition, not that she would recognize me, considering my letter was anonymous and unless she pulled the same stunt I did, she wouldn’t ever recognize who I was.

“I’m Val,” She made her greeting to me while untying her dirtied waist apron, and it was merely the action that caused my gaze to fall to her hips, but when she shed the apron, I was still staring. There was something sort of mesmerizing about the way they swayed as she approached. It wasn’t until they stopped swaying completely that I realized they did so because there was no more distance to advance - she was already right there in front of me, patiently watching me stare.

“Val?” I blinked hard to revert my gaze while also playing into the part that I had no idea who she was.

“Mhm. Short for Valerie,” She confirmed happily. “Like the Amy Winehouse song.”

This time, I genuinely didn’t know what she was referring to, and my confused countenance prompted her to clarify, “You don’t know that song?”

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she began to playfully sing, “Well, sometimes I go out by myself and I look across the water ...”

While she watched my face and waited for the recitation of the song to jog my memory, I was just as much studying her face. I could tell she was only kidding when she sang, evidenced by the laugh that followed her rendition, but it sounded so unironically good that I had to question what other talents she possessed.

“Um, I was actually thinking more like Valerie, the martyred medieval saint, whose name stood for strength and health.” No sooner than the words spilled from my mouth did I recognize the freudian slip - the simultaneous coincidence and confession. The coincidence was that, now, with Maeve’s heart beating in her chest, she lived up to her name - she was newly strong and healthy. But I worried, she would see the correlation I drew between her name and her successful transplant and would realize that I knew more about her than I let on. Did I just give away too much?

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name earlier. What was it?” Her casual dismissiveness of my previous statement did nothing to ease my worries. Was she beginning to piece everything together?

“Oh, right!” I said dumbly. “S-Spencer. I’m Spencer.” I was such a blubbering bundle of nerves that I actually reached out to shake her hand - a stranger’s hand.

“Nice to meet you, Spencer,” She softly laughed, which was hopefully not out of the enjoyment of seeing me squirm. “What can I do for you?”

A loaded question, don’t you think? What can you do for me, Valerie? Well, for one thing, you could’ve answered my letter, but to say something as bold as that would require me to admit the real reason I was here, and how could I do that without mentioning how I found you in the first place?

“Um ...” Whose birthday is the soonest? “My friend Emily’s birthday is coming up and I was wondering if I could possibly buy a painting from you as a birthday present.”

There was the faintest perceptible skepticism in her expression, but that could’ve just been my paranoia talking because in the next breath, she didn’t suggest a proclivity to my deceit. “Yeah, of course! Do you know what her favorite medium is? Or her favorite artist? Or her favorite style of art?”

For every addition to the question, I wordlessly shook my head no. Was my lie already unraveling? Could she see right through me?

“No worries. If you want, you can walk around the gallery and tell me if you see anything you think she’d like.” She made her offer to me sweetly, then disappeared into the back room again. I tried to follow her with my eyes for as long as I could, but from where I was standing, I couldn’t see very far into it. I wandered a little further into the center of the gallery to possibly catch a glimpse of what was occupying her time back there, but when I heard the chattering of two voices, Valerie and the other woman, coming from the same general direction, I realized I was completely alone in this part of the studio.

With no one around to bear witness but these portraits, I could’ve easily slipped out and made my escape, and I might’ve even done it had it not been for the unmistakable gravitational pull forcing me to stay here and walk about the room.

Making my way throughout the gallery, I would pause every now and then when a painting would stand out to me, which was often, considering each picture was impressive.

But there was one painting in particular that piqued my interest. It made me feel something I’d never felt before.

It wasn’t special by any means. By rights, I shouldn’t have even noticed it, for it wasn’t the largest painting, nor the smallest one - it wasn’t even the most average painting. But it felt exceptionally ... Valerie. I had no doubt in my mind that she painted this one - in fact, I had a good bet that she painted most of these portraits, if not all of them - but this one. There was just something about it that I couldn’t put my finger on.

“So,” A draft was created from where Valerie swiftly and unexpectedly joined me at my side. “What do you think?”

“Um, there’s definitely something,” I struggled to find the word. “appealing about this one.” Almost as soon as the word came out of my mouth, I knew it was only a matter of time before she called out the inadequacy of my answer.

“Appealing?” She repeated in mockery. “That’s the best you got? Come on, you’ve been standing here for like ten minutes. There must be something about it you like.”

“I’m not sure.” I honestly admitted with a shrug.

“There’s no wrong answer.” She assured me, but I found that hard to believe.

“So if I said I see a grizzly bear attacking a UFO, that wouldn’t be wrong?”

“Nope,” She popped the p. “If that’s how you interpret it then that’s how you interpret it. Just because someone else sees it differently, doesn’t mean you’re wrong.” It would’ve sounded like complete bullshit or nauseatingly cheesy coming out of someone else’s mouth, but her delivery felt so genuine. It actually moved me.

As she said this, she turned her head in my direction to look up at me, causing her shoulder to brush my upper arm, sending a wave of goosebumps all over my body.

She was so close.

But I was so unbothered by her proximity that I didn’t even notice exactly how close she really was. If someone else had invaded my personal space like that, I would’ve moved in the opposite direction just on instinct, but I didn’t even think to do that with Valerie. I was so comfortable with her being there.

But was that just because a part of her was once Maeve’s? Was the entire foundation of my likening to Valerie built upon that single attribute?

Was that my bones?

“Um,” I began fidgeting with my hands to self-soothe. “I like it. I don’t know why. But I like it. How’s that for an answer?”

There was a pause before her response that compelled me to look at her, but when I did so, she was already looking at me. “I’ll take it,” She nodded. “It’s the biggest compliment to me if my art can make you feel something.”

Was it the art that made me feel something ... or you?

“I’ll tell you what,” She walked over to grab something from the front desk. She came back with a small piece of cardstock. “I’m going to an art exhibition next weekend. Why don’t you come with me and see if you can’t find something for Emily there?”

She handed me the paper, which was actually her business card. “You don’t have to have an answer for me today, but call me when you do.” She seemed to think that was the end of the conversation, but I still had more questions.

“You’re inviting me?” was the first question that came to mind, albeit the dumbest one.

“Yeah, you can be my plus one.”

I gulped to dislodge the lump in my throat. “Like-like your date?”

She furrowed her brows with mild confusion. “Um ... sure, if that’s what you wanna call it,” which was the last thing she said to me before vanishing within the back room again.

I peered back down at the card and tapped it gently on the palm on my hand as though to register its presence really being there.

For all intents and purposes, this card was meaningless. But to me, it was the formal consenting - nay, invitation - to reach out to her again. She was willingly extending this line of contact to me.

No more public library computers. No more files. No more ‘research.’ Just her number - a way to reach her without veering off my moral compass.

Despite this, I still had no clue whether or not I was going to accept her offer.

All that I did know was that I wanted to see her again.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

PART 3 COMING SOON!

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emersonfreepress · 4 years ago

Text

New Year's Eve 2000 @ the Emersons'

"Is he here? Have you seen him?!"

The laughter in Heidi's clique fades abruptly and the queen herself scowls at her brother for his interruption.

"Seen who?" Jessie asks in such a sweet tone Heidi's forced to wipe that sneer off her face. Good ol' Jess. Curt can always count on her to diffuse the H-bomb before it even gets going.

"Gabe." Curt does another cursory glance around the room and still doesn't see him. Then he checks his watch and groans. "It's like five minutes to midnight, where the hell is he??"

"I'm pretty sure he isn't coming," Madison says. She crosses her legs and looks up for a second in contemplation. "Is he even in town still?"

"What do you need him for?" Brooke whines with a pout and a subtle toss of blonde hair. "Come sit with us, the countdown's starting soon."

"Brooke," Curt starts. "You're beautiful."

Brooke quits pouting and preens under the unexpected compliment, batting her lashes with a small smile. "Curtis..."

"But I see you all the time."

She deflates just as quickly.

"Cortés said he would be here, he wouldn't just..."

The girls all stare at him. Madison fails to hold back a laugh.

"Oh." Madison covers her mouth slightly. "Sorry."

"He wouldn't just lie to you?" Heidi asks, voice dripping with sarcasm. Her eyes add, 'Are you stupid?'

Curt just groans again and walks away. He can't explain himself to them. Jessie might know what he's talking about but he's only got four minutes left to find Gabe and he's already got his answer: they haven't seen him.

Is it possible he really didn't show? Curt doesn't know how to feel about that. He's not an idiot, that was sort of what he expected. Gabe has skipped the holidays in Emerson for two years straight and it was pure dumb luck that Curt even spotted him at all downtown last weekend. He didn’t seem all that different, busy as ever somehow, but he'd at least had enough time for Curt to invite him to his parents' New Year's Eve bash and to give a polite yes.

Curt sighs. Maybe that was the sign. The politeness. Since when has Gabe ever been polite to him?

It's only ever hostile neutrality or whining with that guy...

Three minutes.

Curt is being stopped by a former classmate/future nobody or some family acquaintance every few seconds now. Even if Gabe is here, there's no way he's going to find him before the clock strikes twelve. Sighing forlornly, he decides to make his way back to Heidi and her friends. At least Brooke is reliable for a kiss.

- - -

"Oh!" Jessie beams and jumps up from her seat. "There you are!"

Gabe gives her half a genuine smile before settling into a more careful one for Heidi and the Madisons—um, Brooke and Madison. He should probably stop thinking of them like that.

"Hey, Jess." The two hug and Gabe shuts his eyes for a quick second as he gives her an affectionate squeeze. They part and he greets the other girls. Heidi shoots him a nod of acknowledgment and a raised glass while Madison gives him a short wave. And Brooke... crosses her arms and ignores him.

Okay...

"Curt's been looking for you," Heidi says, holding an empty champagne flute out to him before standing to grab their table's bottle of Dom. "Apparently you promised him you'd come."

"Ah, yeah. I wouldn't call it a promise, though. " Gabe almost passes on the champagne but Jessie's bright smile leads him to accept the glass and the alcohol that follows. "More like..."

"Placating a child?" Heidi asks, amused.

Both Gabe and Madison laugh at that.

"Sure, that."

"One minute, everyone!" someone shouts.

"Here we go..." Madison gets to her feet, nearly reaching Gabe's height in her heels.

Brooke jumps up, perplexed. "What, already? Who the heck am I supposed to kiss??"

"Aw, I'll give you a kiss, Bee."

Brooke's arms uncross just to rest on her hips alongside another pout. "That won't count, Mads."

Madison just laughs in response and teases Brooke some more. Meanwhile, the remaining empty hands around the room quickly fill with glasses while more and more people begin joining the countdown. Heidi makes sure their group's glasses are filled before swapping the bottle in her hand for a tumbler of whiskey and downing it. Gabe also notices her shoes are off and to the side—someone's had a long night.

Jessie lightly nudges him in the side with her elbow, breaking him from his observations.

"So are you leaving tomorrow, after all?" The soft smile on her face is hopeful so Gabe sighs, regretful to disappoint her.

"Yeah." He rubs the back of his neck. "I just... This town is..."

"'Stifling?'" They both wince a little, Jess in her attempt to keep a smile on despite her disappointment and Gabe at hearing his exact word quoted back at him.

"Right. It's not the people—"

Jess giggles and pats him on the arm. "Oh come on, Gabe. It's the people."

He rolls his eyes with a light laugh. "Okay, yeah. Even just being here right now..."

Jessie sighs. "Yeah, I know. It's always weird coming back just after a few months out of state. I can't imagine after two years."

Gabe nods, the thin glass stem in his hand suddenly feeling a little too brittle for how tense he is. How tense this environment makes him. He shrugs, though.

"Well, I'm glad I got to see you, at least."

"Ten seconds! Ten! Nine!"

Jessie hits him with the full brightness of her smile and one of her tiny bounces of joy.

"Yeah! Me, too."

- - -

Just as the entire party begins counting down from ten, Curt finally gains sight of his sister and her friends again. Brooke catches sight of him too and smiles, knowing exactly why he's returned. He smiles back at her for a second before he falters when he sees...

Ha! I knew he meant it!

He's never wrong about these things. Curt smirks hard and licks his lips, unable to keep from internally gloating. Gabe showing up at all is a victory in and of itself.

"Eight! Seven!"

Oh, wait. No, it's not. Curt speeds up his approach.

"Six! FIVE!"

It's only really a victory if he reaches him at midnight!

- - -

"I have a good feeling about 2001!" Gabe rolls his eyes, cynical as always, but Jessie cheerfully insists. "Just watch, this year is going to be perfect and—oh! Three! Two!"

Gabe refrains from counting but turns with everyone else to face the giant screen displaying the Times Square Ball Drop.

“ONE! Happy New Year!”

The room they’re in, and the rest of the house, erupts in raucous cheers, shouts, and champagne glasses chiming. Jessie nearly crushes Gabe with a giant hug as she shouts “Happy New Year!” and that manages to pull a real smile from him, even as they almost spill both of their drinks. They both laugh and clink glasses instead.

“Happy New Year, Jess.” He turns to the other girls, who are just toasting each other. “Happy New Year, Heidi. Madison.”

Heidi wears a polite smile and nods as she raises her glass to him and Madison enthusiastically clinks her glass against his with a breathless “Happy New Year!”

Gabe turns to Brooke, who’s turned away from him and is fluffing her hair. Should he bother? Eh... might as well. “Happy New Year, Br—”

- - -

Curt is vaguely aware of Brooke leaning into him as he walks up to Gabe, but his tunnel vision forces him to sidestep her with a smile. Everything’s fallen into place: it’s a bangin’ party, it’s midnight, Auld Lang Syne’s just started, and the belle of the ball has finally arrived. He doesn’t wait for the boy to finish whatever he was saying and just goes for it.

Gabe’s eyes widen just a bit before Curt plants a kiss fully on his mouth, placing one hand lightly at his lower back for support as he leans into him. Gabe lets out a stuttered breath and clasps at the lapels of Curt’s suit jacket to keep upright. That brings a cocky grin to Curt’s lips and he raises his other hand to brush his thumb along the bottom of Gabe’s jaw, just as lightly.

"Mm." Curt darts his tongue out to savor his old classmate for just a moment longer before finally drawing back. With a boyish smile and a slight bite to his own lip he says, "Happy New Year, Cortés."

Madison makes a strangled noise somewhere between a gasp and a shriek.

“God—DAMN it! I told you I needed my camera, Jessie!” The girl darts away in a flash of jet black hair and spilled champagne, presumably to go find it. Brooke has gone pale. Heidi rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her champagne.

Gabe is frozen, gobsmacked. After he starts to feel others’ eyes on them, though, his expression finally breaks into one of angered incredulity and he shoves Curt away from him.

"What is your fucking problem, Emerson?!" He wipes his mouth on his sleeve as his face breaks into a subtle yet violent blush. "Is—" Gabe’s expression clouds, the brief panic that was there gone in an instant. "Is that why you invited me?!"

Curt frowns, confused.

"Of course! I said I couldn’t wait to kiss you at midnight!”

Brooke, completely forgotten, makes an indignant sort of squawking sound.

Gabe's hands curl into fists and the look he throws him is venomous. "Curt."

“And I’ve said kissing you's on my bucket list?” Curt blinks, lost. “Like, a thousand times at this point, Gabe."

Gabe’s fists curl tighter and Jessie steps between them, her glass waved between the boys like a penalty flag and a deceptively natural smile plastered on.

“Oookay! Curt, I think you just startled Gabe. I’m positive he didn’t think you were being serious, right?”

“No, I fucking didn’t,” Gabe growls.

Curt has the gall to look even more confused.

“For six years?”

Gabe shuts his eyes, his anger in danger of rising faster than he’s able to suppress it.

“Jesus, Curt. Just apologize.” Heidi looks more annoyed than anything else. But at least Curt finally catches on to the huge party foul he’s committed.

“Sorry! Sorry, man. I thought you knew what I meant.” Curt is, for whatever it’s worth, blushing now, seeming actually embarrassed for once. When Gabe doesn’t reply, he raises his hands in a placating manner, then brings them together at his chin with a truly pleading look in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I’d take it back if I could, don’t be mad!”

Gabe rubs a hand over his face and lets out a long, hard sigh. Then his other hand rakes through his hair briefly as he looks away from the blond idiot.

“Fine. Fine.”

Curt sighs in relief.

Then, because it’s very important to him, he asks, “It was good, though, right?“

Heidi barks a laugh, flopping back down into her seat. Jessie winces and pleads, “Curt, no...” Brooke, of course, seethes and plops into her own chair, quietly downing the contents of her flute.

And even though the anger has dissipated, Gabe’s annoyance surges to new heights. But before he can even voice his disdain, Curt’s looking around the immediate area as if something’s just dawned on him.

“Oh, wait a minute.” Curt huffs, dissatisfied. “I’m the only one without champagne!”

#not canon #canon?#idfk #future canon whoosh #their names are Brooke Madison and Madison Feng btw 😂 hence the grouping #now to hopefully nurse this hangover completely away #and possibly cuddle with my cat but... that seems very unlikely lmao #cie snippets #i ship it #in my heart ^ ^

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hopelikethemoon · 5 years ago

Text

Ghosts (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Ghosts Rating: PG-13 Length: 2000 Warnings: Potential triggers if you have toxic family members and/or family members or loved ones with addiction. Also very mild allusions to anxiety. Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set October 31st 1998. Summary: Halloween festivites are interrupted by a ghost.

@grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes @thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale @roxypeanut @snivellusim @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper @awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie @swhiskeys @lady-tano @beskar-droids @space-floozy @cable-kenobi @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes @findhimfives @pedrosdoll @frietiemeloen @arrowswithwifi @random066 @uncomicalhumour @heather-lynn @domino-oh-damn @cyarikaaa @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl @yabby-girl @xqueenofthecraziesx @punkass-potato @coredrive @pascalesque @theduchessofkirkcaldy @queenquazar @sabinemorans @buckstaposition @holkaskrosnou @yespolkadotkitty @fleetwoodmactshirt @seeking-a-great–perhaps

“Well, aren’t you the cutest little pumpkin I have ever seen.” You said with the put-on voice that always managed to make Sofía giggle. She clapped her hands together as she rocked back against Javier’s chest. She reached up and tried to pull off the headband that was made to look like the stem and leaves of a pumpkin.

“You’ve gotta keep that on, sweetheart.” He told her, batting her hand away from the headband. “You still dressing up, baby?” Javier questioned, giving you a pointed look.

You looked down, gesturing to your sweatpants with a grin, “What? You don’t know what Morticia wore when she was at home?” You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips. “It should take me ten minutes tops.”

“Mommy!” Josie cried out as she ran down the hallway. “I can’t find my candy basket! I looked everywhere!”

“It’s on the kitchen counter.” You told her, before looking back at Javier. “I don’t know how I feel about your slicked back hair.”

Javier arched a brow, “It was your idea.”

“I know.” You laughed, shaking your head. “Josie-Jo, can you sit with your father while I get ready?”

Josie ran past you with Stevie hot on her heels. You watched, in mild horror, as she climbed over the back of the sofa to get to Javier.

“This isn’t a jungle gym.” Javier reminded her, before you even had a chance.

Stevie started barking, ignoring her pursuit as she ran towards the front door a split second before someone rang the bell.

“I’ll get it.” You told Javier as he corralled the children. “It’s a little bit early for trick-or-treaters.” You commented as you grabbed the dish of candy off the table in the kitchen and headed for the front door.

“Stevie. Hush.” You snapped your fingers, scolding the dog with a look. She took two steps back and sat down obediently. “That’s a good girl.” You gave her a head pat, before turning to the front door.

“Happy Hallo—“ Your enthusiasm was cut short as you pulled the door open. It wasn’t a gaggle of costumed children waiting beyond the door. But it was certainly frightening.

A different kind of ghost.

“What are you doing here?” You questioned, stepping out onto the front stoop and pulling the door shut behind you.

How long had it been? Twenty years? And over the course of those twenty years you hadn’t once regretted leaving her in the past.

“It’s so good to see you, sweetie.” She clasped her hands together as she rocked on her heels. “I’ve missed you.”

“Let me ask again. What are you doing here?” You kept the bowl of candy in between the two of you, like it was a shield that would keep her from getting any closer.

“I came to see you.” She edged closer, “I’m clean, sweetheart. You don’t have to worry about me anymore, I—“

“I didn’t.” You cut her off. “The only time you ever cross my mind is when I wonder how I managed to get through that part of my life.”

“I know.” She shook her head, before offering you a rather disarming smile. “I’m so proud of you. You’ve done so much. Who would’ve thought that my baby girl would amount to so much.”

“You have to leave.” You said without emotion, despite the storm of emotions you felt in the pit of your stomach. Even your chest felt tight as a wave of anxiety, one that had only ever been reserved for your mother, washed through you.

She held up a hand, “I want to meet my grandbabies.”

“No.” You clenched her teeth together, “They don’t need to be brought into this same toxic cycle I was caught in. No.”

The front door cracked open and you turned to see Javier standing there, “Baby, you good?”

You bit down on your bottom lip, giving the faintest shake of your head as you caught his gaze. You tried to convey everything without words and he got it.

“They’ve got the girls,” He assured you softly as he stepped out onto the stoop, pulling the door closed behind you. Javier took the bowl of candy from you, sitting it aside on the small bench that sat on the stoop.

“Thank you.” You whispered, the chill that had settled into your veins quickly chased away by his warmth as he settled a hand on the small of your back.

“Can I help you?” Javier questioned, fixing your mother with a look, his other hand resting at his hip as he stared her down.

“Sweetheart, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

You swallowed thickly, a humorless laugh escaping you. “Javier, this is my mother.”

“Shit.”

“It’s so nice to meet you,” She remarked as she extended a hand. Javier didn’t offer his, but your mother didn’t let that deter her. “I’m sure you’ve gotten an earful about me. I’m better. I promise.”

“Married again, I see.” You gritted out, catching the glint of the ring on her finger.

“We met in rehab.” She explained, “He’s got a daughter about your age.”

“Congrats.” You offered, leaning into Javier as he ran his hand over the small of your back. “I’m glad you’re alive I guess, but… we have plans.”

“I don’t mean to be a burden, sweetheart. It’s just… after I saw that article, I was just so proud of you. Look at you — you’re a mother.”

You scoffed, “That’s definitely the thing to be proud of.” You tilted your head to look at Javier. “I can’t do this. Please make her leave.”

Javier gave a short, “Whatever you need, baby.” He released his hold as you turned away, “I’ll be in, in a minute.”

You offered your mother a tight lipped smile. “Have a safe trip back to wherever. I hope you’re really clean this time, Becky.”

What a fucking nightmare.

Stevie barked as you stepped back inside, “Shh. It’s just me.” You said as you knelt down and gave her a scratch behind the ear.

She kept close to you like she was your shadow as you headed back into the bedroom to get ready. Not that you felt particularly celebratory now. Somehow, after all those years — she could still manage to zap the life out of you.

“It’s Monica.” She offered as she knocked at your bedroom door.

“It’s unlocked,” You told her, running a brush over your hair.

“Hey,” Monica started. “Who’s the woman Javier’s talking to?”

You rolled your eyes, “The wicked witch of the west.” You gestured to the wig laying on the bed. “Do you still get Morticia vibes without it?”

“You look gorgeous,” Monica assured you, though her brows drew together with concern. “I’ve only ever heard you refer to one woman as a witch.”

“Yeah.” You folded your arms across your chest. “There’s a lot to unpack there and I just want the girls to have a good night.”

Monica sat down on the foot of your bed, smoothing her hand over the blue gingham skirt of her Dorothy costume. “Why is she here?”

“Regret? A bid for sympathy? She ran out of people to use?” You questioned bitterly. “Fuck, I hate this. It’s all because of that stupid article.”

You sank down in the small chair in the corner, and Stevie laid down directly at your feet.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You made a face, “Yes. No.” You looked away, biting down on your bottom lip hard enough to taste blood alongside the taste of lipstick. “It’s been twenty years. I left and I never looked back, Monica. I had plans for my life and none of them would’ve happened if I stayed caught in her web.”

“I know the feeling.” Monica offered you a sympathetic smile, “Remember what you told me and Connie. It’s okay to cut out of toxic people.”

“Apparently she’s clean.” You blurted out, still actively processing everything that she’d said in that short window of time. “But I know how it goes. She married someone from rehab. I think the last one was too… twenty years ago.”

She arched a brow at you, “Is she why you’re so weird about marriage?”

“Yeah.” You rolled your eyes. Your mother would show up mere months after you figured out how to overcome that hang up. “My childhood was shit. The men she brought into my life were monsters. I don’t want that around my girls.”

Javier walked in then and his expression was heavy when he met your gaze, “I had to compromise to get her to leave, baby.”

You pushed your fingers through your hair, looking towards the window then. “What?”

“She’s gonna come back tomorrow. I’ll take the girls the Murphys—“

“You’re not leaving me alone.”

“— and come back.” Javier frowned at you. “Baby, we don’t have to go to this. There will be other Halloween parties at the school.”

“No.” You shook your head. “Josie only gets one kindergarten Halloween party. You stood up then, glancing at your reflection in the mirror. “This is good enough. Let’s just go.”

Javier looked towards Monica then, before looking back at you. “Are you sure you’re okay, baby?”

You pressed your thumb against the spot between your brows and sighed heavily. Taking account of how you actually felt. You could feel your pulse in your ears, a distinct twinge of pain in your ribs. “No. No, I’m not sure I’m okay.”

You sank back down in the chair, resting your head in your hands. “Monica, do you and Nadia mind taking them on to the school? Her class is supposed to be getting together for pictures beforehand.”

“Yeah, of course. Whatever you need.” Monica walked over and gave your shoulder a squeeze. “Nadia’s got so many Polaroid refills. We’ll take a bunch.”

“Thank you.” Javier offered as she headed out of the bedroom.

You were both quiet for a long time before he moved to kneel down beside you, taking your hand into his.

“Javi, don’t kneel like that. Your knees are going to kill you tomorrow.” You warned him, lifting your gaze but not quiet meeting his eyes.

“Baby,” Javier started as he reached out and brushed his knuckles against your cheek. “We’ve gotta talk about this.”

You leaned into his touch, “I’ll meet with her tomorrow, if that’s all she wants.”

“I think it is.” Javier cupped your cheek, “Just say your piece and send her on her way. But I don’t want you to…” He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he shook his head. “I don’t want you to regret this, baby.”

You chewed on the inside of your bottom lip, “I don’t want her anywhere near the girls. Their grandmother is dead.”

He nodded, “I know.”

“What did she say?”

Javier sighed heavily. “She had a whole bit about how she’s sober now and she’s just trying to make amends—“

“So she’s actually in NA again.” You shook your head, rubbing your hands together. “She’s been before. She gets sober, clings to someone new, and the cycle repeats.”

“I know.” Javier rested his hand on your leg and gave it three short squeezes, “Look, I told her she could come over tomorrow. We can sit in the backyard and talk until you’re ready for her to leave.”

He reached for your hand, sliding his hand up to press two fingers against your pulse.

“Javier.”

“How do you feel?”

“Like my blood pressure is through the roof.” You reported. “Trust me, I’m aware.”

He brought your hand to his lips, his breath hot against your skin. “I just want you to take care of yourself, baby. And let me take care of you.”

You smiled, “Thank you.”

“Querida Mia.” He drawled out, pressing kisses up your arm, just like Gomez did with Morticia.

You laughed, turning your hand to cup his cheek as you leaned in to kiss his lips. “I love you. I’m sorry you’ve gotten yourself dragged into this.”

“Don’t apologize, baby.” Javier’s brows furrowed together. “I’m in this together with you. Good, bad, or otherwise.”

“Those almost sound like vows,” You teased lightly, “Now stand up before you’re limping tomorrow.”

Javier snorted, chuckling as he pulled himself up off the floor. He dusted his knees off before offering you his hand, “Shall we?”

“Yes.” You stood, interlacing your fingers. “I don’t want to miss out on the festivities.”

He squeezed your hand, “We won’t worry about tomorrow, until tomorrow. Alright?”

You agreed, “Tonight is about the girls.”

#javier pena x reader #javier pena #pedro pascal x reader

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