#How old is Cuban Doll

[hh0320]

໑ — stars in the ceiling. pt I

pair. solo singer! felix x fem! reader (+ mentions of hyunjin)

genre. set in the 90’s, childhood friends to strangers, moving back, struggle with fame, angst, romance, smut.

warnings. profanity, smoking, alcohol/drug abuse, use of pet names, flawed characters, harsh language at times, dark themes, unprotected sex, oral sex, dirty talk, mental health issues.

word count. 6.2k

a/n. hi my loves! this is going to be a mini series, though i’m still not sure how many parts it will contain. nevertheless, pls treat this idea kindly, and don’t judge its characters too hard, they’ve gone through a lot. feedback and reblogs are always much appreciated and will be replied to! enjoy xx

‘Felix will be going back to Australia for a much needed break, sources close to him reveal. The twenty-three year old alt rock singer just concluded his second world tour, Doll, earlier this week in Los Angeles, with news of his breakup with supermodel Hwang Hyunjin coming out at the same time.

The two had been dating since the Aussie’s rise to fame in 1994.’

New South Wales had remained the same, despite the unshakeable change in Felix’s chest. Barina Road had the same houses standing, fifty-year-old trees stretching, widening into the sky, hiding his parent’s garage from view, the stairs leading up to the front door. He’d paid off the mortgage, bought them a new car.

The sun was beaming, February in full display. His manager greeted his mom, and introduced his assistant, explaining they would be staying at a hotel not too far from there. His father had a beard now, his sister looked taller, and wore glasses.

Your house was around the corner. He could see the rose bushes along the hill, the white shutters with the black outlines. Felix could close his eyes and go back to your room, 1992, the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, The Cure and The Smiths’ posters on pastel pink walls, lace trimming on your sheets, makeshift forts and flashlights at midnight, notebooks with hearts drawn on folded ends, his name and yours written next to each other, hand over hand. ‘Girl Afraid’ playing softly through a cassette in a beat down radio. Your dad’s homemade chocolate chip cookies, and the determination that rushed through Felix’s veins the moment he tasted them, the promise he’d made to himself to make those same cookies for you one day, to learn how.

He never did. His demo got picked up from a record label that would later refer him to the one he belongs to now, and he had to fly out to Melbourne right before your eighteenth birthday. From then on it’s been a shooting star.

He blinks to find his mother teary eyed, arms open. He doesn’t walk—he runs. Washed out silvery blonde locks long enough to be pulled in a ponytail, brown eyes the color of wild thyme honey, hands tired, heart broken. A boy coming home is a very old story, one that will never stop being written. And even though it feels strange to be back after five years of palm trees, everything and nothing—Hollywood, with its golden gates and trophies and nightmare people— it is exactly what he needed. It’s where he has to be.

“You look so tired, baby, so frail,” his mom sobs, pressing her mouth on his temple. “Did no one take care of you? Did no one care?”

Felix didn’t answer. He brought chocolates and clothes for his sisters, jewelry for his mother, Cuban cigars for his father, and his first ever Grammy for you, because none of this would’ve been possible if you hadn’t befriended him all those years ago in the playground. If your voice hadn’t guided him away from those swings and into the forest. If he hadn’t played hide and seek with the girl that wore ribbons in her hair, dark cherries for eyes. And what does he say knowing this?

I left behind the one person that did. That mattered that it did. And when I found something similar, I couldn’t hold it in my hands, I couldn’t get close to it no matter how much I tried.

“I missed you, mom,” he mumbles instead, and grinds his teeth to keep from crying. “I should’ve called more. I should’ve visited.”

The shorter woman sniffles and rubs her son’s back soothingly, shushing him only a mother knows how to. He breathes in her familiar scent, her cooking imprinted on her purple shirt, and smiles sadly. Hyunjin would’ve loved her; he wanted to meet her the most, wanted to hear all the stories when they were in bed together, what few times they were both sober, capable of adventure and conversation till the early hours of the next day. “I never had a mom,” he’d tell him, brown strands of hair escaping his staple bun. “Cherish your mom for me, Yongbokie. Love her terribly.”

“Come inside,” she tells him, waving away the rest. “Stay forever if you need to.”

“It means happiness,” he’d explained on that first meeting with the boy shining more brightly than the chandelier lighting the entire theater. “Yongbok.”

The boy had smiled and it’d made all the difference. His lips reminded Felix of black cherries, of the girl in the room with the window overlooking the trees. “I know what it means. It’s about time I met you.”

Time away from chaos felt empty. The hours passed by slowly, serenity made him paranoid, like it couldn’t possibly last, even there, in a different continent, across the globe. Getting on an airplane didn’t guarantee you’d get away, he realized soon enough. It wasn’t possible, because you can’t outrun yourself.

And it was that Felix was trying to escape. How known he’d become, how aware of his own shadow he was. At first, he’d thought of it as a mountain to climb, something to be achieved, and then something else. It was a ladder leading up, up, up and nowhere specific, but he climbed it anyway. The little prize in his hands was the ultimate show, that one last thing he had to do that would grant him access to more of the same everything and nothing everyone else seemed to be so desperately after. After he’d won it, the decision to leave it all behind became clearer than ever.

A lot of the people he admired had died. And it didn’t matter which way you looked, destruction came in the form of white powder, accompanied by a spoon or a syringe if you were brave enough and had much to lose. “Take your pick, there’s many ways to kill yourself,” a girl had told him once at an afterparty. Young and impressionable as he was he chose by what he saw and picked up the bottle of champagne in front of him. The least harmful, he’d thought. But the sneakiest one of all. And then he saw Hyunjin smoking cigarettes after one of his fashion shows, and thought to try that too. Then it felt like something they could share, so Felix kept smoking until the cough subsided and his fingers smelled of tobacco. 

One thing the model never tried to do was shield him from the horrible ways of the industry, and the blonde still can’t find it in himself to castrate him for it. Now, so many thousands of miles away as he was, the habits seemed to follow, like supportive friends. The world is a fucked up place, but it doesn’t seem so bad from where he sits on the rooftop of his childhood house. He could drop the stick from his hand, or break the golden trophy and even deny the existence of evil altogether.

How easy, how vulnerable fame is. You could be no one in particular if you made all the right choices. Felix wasn’t sure why he seemed to do the opposite, walk the other way, the reason for his selective blindness. When something shiny has your name on it you hold it close to your chest and sing to it. It’s precious because it reflects light off it.

Until when?

Your light was on. 

He looked for it, looked for a car coming up the hill, watched the sun set, the blending of colors, how majestic it can all get before it fades to black, but you showed up right in the blue of it. You still drove the same Jeep your dad had gifted you for graduation, but your hair was longer, you’d grown a bit. Felix saw how your white dress danced in the summer breeze, ran his eyes down your tanned legs as you walked from your driveway inside your house, and finally, about ten minutes after that, the light through your curtains.

His mother hadn’t mentioned he was back.

He smiles down at his burning cigarette. How would he ever face you with the way he left? He never called, only wrote to you on your birthday, and released a song about a starry girl that visited his dreams, knowing very well that girl waited for him for years to return, even if just for a little while. The guilt of never doing so, and instead loving someone else so all consumingly, while that same song went on to become his best selling single, the song he’d be known for for years to come? It crippled him.

He never wanted to see your face stare back at him. He would rather die, and he admits this to himself bravely. You were his first girl, his only girl. No one would ever come close to you, because you’re clean—you have his innocence, his first time, before he knew anything about anything, and how despite it, he loved you stupidly, earnestly, because it made sense, because it felt right.

“Starry girl, will you burn bright, for me tonight? Oh, will you stay a little while, darling girl…”

How hypocritical. If Chan was around he’d be calling him out, or pushing him down the fucking roof. Felix wouldn’t even mention the broken leg or the dislocated shoulder, because it’d serve him right. Perhaps he needs a solid reminder of his aliveness, of how doing wrong by someone and paying for it feels like. La La Land doesn’t have that, it couldn’t possibly understand that. There, people look up and never down. There, they would push, and keep pushing; they would climb over, step on your neck, tear you apart at the seams for a chance to just keep.looking.up. That climb is all there is.

It’s empty too, but you learn how to miss it.

Felix thinks he might’ve sold his fucking soul, somehow, because as he gets back in the house, his mind won’t stop screaming for him to run away from there as well.

Not a place that could hold someone that’s had everything and then more of it.

Chan hates his guts twice as much as you possibly ever could, but Felix calls him anyway.

“Hello?”

“Chris. It’s me.”

A long pause. The singer falters, thinks he’s made a mistake, curses himself for ever thinking anyone would want anything to do with him after—

“You’re a fucking cunt, Felix, and I hope you burn in Hell. Sincerely.” The blonde nods, his chest tight, his throat dry. “How are you?”

He smiles. “Terrible. Fucking awful, mate, thanks for asking.”

“Good.”

“I’m in Australia.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Your white dress flows in his dreams. It folds and stretches like the wings of a butterfly. The pages of his journal stare at him, his eyes heavy with sleep, but for once nothing pours out. He thinks he’s meant to keep that to himself, and perhaps that’s okay.

Instead he writes about a broken boy that smiles for the cameras but never for his love.

His older sister works as an intern for a law firm. He didn’t know that, because he never asked. The sting of it burns all the same.

She has a fiance, is preparing to buy a house, and tells him of his mom’s sickness at a private restaurant. He didn’t know that either, but in all fairness, as his sister pointed out, no one is supposed to know. At least not yet. It’s treatable, she quickly adds, but it’s been eating her from the inside out for a couple years now. She tells him this with a straight face, probably because she’s had time to sit with it, but also because Rachel is great at keeping her feelings in check, when she knows someone else isn’t—Felix definitely fucking isn’t.

What was the saying? The artist is haunted by his own heart? Day and night. There’s never an escape, it seems, from anything.

“Tell me what I need to do,” he pleads after he calms down. “Money is not a problem.”

The older sibling grimaces at that. “It’s not about that, Lix. She has medication, she never misses a doctor’s appointment. Her body is weak.”

“She’s not dying.”

“It’s not something we can exactly stop because we want to.”

Felix clenches his fists on the table, and looks at his sister straight on. “She’s not dying.”

Rachel wipes her mouth and sips from her wine, alerting the waiter for the check. People are starting to stare. No matter where they go, eyes follow her little brother incessantly, whichever measures they take. It’s a lifestyle she cannot comprehend.

Felix doesn’t seem to notice, or care. It’s a strange thing, like a zoo animal being at peace with its captivity, despite its true nature.

“Maybe not now,” she replies softly. “But we all must face this one impending doom sooner or later, Lix. Even you. Even our mom. Death is a natural thing.”

Most people run from the inevitable, because it’s scary. Somehow, it’s believed that the end, too, could be overturned if we stall it, or cheat it. Felix never thought he’d have to worry about it, because of the invisibility of youth, and money, and having everything else at his beck and call. It was only when Kurt Cobain and Jeff Buckley died that he was touched by the cruelty of it, the dark shadows and the claws attacking through them any moving thing, at any given time. Even legends passed, even history.

It was because life was so impossibly fleeting, water held with two hands, that he decided to knock on your door. In a single moment of liquid luck, he wished to see the stars in your ceiling again. To feel the warmth of your skin near his. Chan would shake his head and call him an idiot for it, but Felix never claimed to be reasonable. Or smart.

No other car was in your driveway.

God, his blood is rushing. You’d open the door and then what? What would he say?

He didn’t want his mom to die. He didn’t want you to hate him forever. He came back with a false sense of ego—no one gave a flying fuck if he was famous, or best friends with Hope Sandoval and Chris Cornell, hell, even Jesus Christ himself. None of it mattered outside of the bubble he’d created for himself in America. He’s not from there. These people would follow him nowhere.

He feels stranded and alone, and it’s entitled and pathetic, and he’s fucking terrified.

Who is he besides his name and his money? Why does it matter so much?

The door opens. He’s holding his breath.

You gape. Then blink.

Another moment passes. He has to say something. Goddamnit, anything!

“(Y/N).”

You seem to snap out of it, then. As if you realize it’s, indeed, not a dream. Felix is really standing right in front of you, blonde hair, round honey eyes, constellations on his cheeks as prominent as ever.

It’s confusion you feel more than anything else. Anger has long passed.

“How long have you been here?” is the first thing you ask him, and you’re still not allowing him inside.

He doesn’t expect you to.

“On your doorstep? An hour.”

You blink again, and lean forward, surprised. He thinks that must not be what you asked him. His ears burn. Your chest rises and falls deeply.

“In Australia, Lix,” you elaborate, but he focuses on the way your voice sounds like saying his childhood nickname, a silly little thing that stuck and makes him feel eight all over again.

You’d fallen in the rose bushes with your bike, the thorns pricking your arms, and you’d called out for him, crying. Lix, Lix, Lix… The sweetest sound, a person worthy to help you. A different time. He’d spent the rest of his afternoon picking thorns out of your skin and tending to your cuts with his mom. Afterwards, you watched Home Alone 2: Lost in New York and ate a bowl full of caramel popcorn. His dad dropped you off, and Felix had insisted on sticking his head out of his bedroom window to shout a final goodnight to you.

You’d done the same, laughing. His bestest friend in the whole world.

He didn’t feel like that person anymore. He didn’t feel like anything anymore. Just a name, just a body.

“Fourteen days,” he replies, and he’s ashamed of it, because it should’ve been easier to come to you. It should’ve never been difficult, not with you. 

It was you, for fuck’s sake.

And then you ask him the one thing he has no answer to.

“Are you okay?”

You move for him to enter. It’s what he wanted, but his legs have no strength in them, he’s unable to lift them. He just stands in front of you, staring in those eyes he’s wanted to look into for so long, and it reminds him of all the times he laid in hotel beds trying to bring forward his memories of your features, writing them all down so he doesn’t forget. He wrote those songs to remember you, is what he wants to tell you, but he can’t, because it’d make him a coward, and he doesn’t think he can handle anymore truths tonight.

They call him an angel because of his face, but you’re the angelic one, you’ve always been, because there’s forgiveness in your tone. There’s warmth for him in you still, and it takes everything in him not to sweep you in his arms and cry out for you, for your heart.

He wants to tell you about Hyunjin, too, about his garden and his flowers. He wants to tell you he named one after you, the most beautiful. He kept that for himself as well.

Instead—

“I wanted to watch the stars on your ceiling.”

The possibility that you might’ve taken them down is devastating. He hopes inevitably.

His voice sounds rough, and the bags under his eyes are more pronounced than ever. You’ve never seen Felix like that, he looked so sickly. Paper thin, too. You wonder if that life over there caught up to him, if he allowed it to wash over everything you loved about him. He’s such a stripped down, quiet version of him right now, in front of you.

“I’ll make some milkshakes,” you nod towards the kitchen.

He finally lifts one leg, then the other. He enters, his heart dusting off, kickstarting.

They still taste the same. The furniture is the same, the pictures of him and you and your siblings are still on the wall. You haven’t erased him, you didn’t scorn him. It means everything to him.

It’s easier to find yourself if someone already knows who you are. If they’ve kept that image of you, and look at it from time to time. Felix never sees himself in photos, never actively seeks himself out. He just gives, and gives, and gives, hoping it’s enough, hoping that’s it, the one, we got it, thank you very much.

Perhaps it’s why he feels so drained nowadays. Perhaps that’s how Hyunjin felt.

“How are your parents?” he asks, hoping to make conversation, hoping to hear more of that voice he’s missed so fucking much.

You round the kitchen island, strawberry shake in hand, and sit right next to him, knee brushing his. Your legs are bare again, smooth. You’re wearing an olive green skirt and an oversized T-shirt. You look beautiful. You, the starry girl. You, the darling girl. You, the only version of girl he’s had in his mind since the dawn of time. Ring pop in the fifth grade, backyard wedding with a veil and all. His mother had cried, yours had baked the cake. His sister had married you.

There’s a question in your eyes now.

“They’re fine. Out celebrating their thirtieth anniversary or something crazy like that.”

It’s a wild thing, the laugh that escapes him. It stretches his face and curves his lips. It surprises both of you. He quickly looks at his chocolate milkshake, at the half eaten whipped cream at the top. He hears your soft exhale, the straw between your teeth.

“Good for them,” he says after a beat, and he means it.

“You…” Felix doesn’t dare look. He won’t. Your counter is marble, there are fresh lilies on top of it. “Are you staying a while?”

He nods. Struggles to swallow.

Then you sigh. The pretenses are down. He stiffens, wraps his fingers tighter around the glass. He braces, but he doesn’t know for what. Anything, he supposes. You could say anything, ask anything.

He just doesn’t know if he has any answers for you.

“Congrats on that Grammy,” you bump him with your elbow, your tone light. His eyes rise slightly to meet yours. You’re smiling.

He wants nothing more than to fall apart, right there. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

“It’s yours,” he mutters. “I was going to give it to you.”

“Me?” you ask incredulously. “It’s your song, Lix.”

He shakes his head once. “But it’s for you. I’d be nothing without you.”

The room goes silent. Felix thinks he’s done it, he’s said the wrong thing, pushed too much, you’re going to kick him out, once and for all, and he’s going to have to look at you from his rooftop for the rest of his stay, he’s going to have to live with himself, whatever’s left, whatever’s there, never to hear your voice, never a third chance—

“Do you usually say intense things like that?” You huff out a breath, and his own gets stuck in his throat. “I’m— No one’s ever said that to me before, Lix. Don’t just say stuff like that.”

Suddenly, six years have passed, and you’re both adults. Felix has had a whole other life, has met thousands and thousands of people, is a celebrity of great importance, a Grammy winner, a million seller, with more money than he will ever need, this unbelievable thing has happened to him, a dream, a fucking rainbow bubble, and you’ve stayed here.

You’re still the same. And you don’t think that’s worth mentioning. Worth praising. He wants to shake you awake, make you see why he’s dead inside, why he’s come back, why he’s lost his fucking mind.

“I’ve never lied to you,” he replies, his gaze meeting yours. “If I’d never met you, I would have never gone to America. I would’ve never left.”

Somehow, you’ve become a curse and a miracle. 

“Let’s go see the stars, Felix.”

Your room is the exact same, too. Not a single damn thing moved, the lace on your bed, the pink all around, the fairy lights by your window, the pictures above your desk, and then finally, if he lifts his head—

The hundreds of tiny stars sprinkled on your entire ceiling. Your dad had stuck them up there for you, after you’d gone to their bed crying, afraid of the dark and the storm outside. Now, with the lights off, you didn’t seem afraid anymore, but more so melancholic. It felt unreal to stand in this room with you. 

First time he’d made love to you was on that bed. First sleepover, first fort, first kiss, first song ever written.

He didn’t even realize he’d been crying, not until he felt your fingers wipe the wetness away, your hand slipping in his, pulling him towards the mattress. Before coming back, he didn’t have a bed of his own. Hotel’s have been temporary homes for him, the tour bus his sleepovers.

His chest hurt, his sadness so heavy it pulled him down. There was no fight left in him, no other reason not to fall on that bed with you, lay next to you just like all those years before.

They shone neon green, alien little stars where they didn’t belong. Like him. He blinked up at them and they greeted him every time. He held your hand tightly on his own, his vision blurry, shoulders touching yours. If it was hot, Felix couldn’t tell. His heartbeat was deafening, the magnitude of the moment swallowing him whole.

No matter what he did, what had happened, you took his hand and showed him the stars of his childhood. There’s no words to describe what that had felt like for someone like him, someone that had once been something entirely different, and had somehow reduced himself down to this, whatever it was.

Three versions of oneself is two versions too many. He hates himself for what he’s done.

“Are you okay, Lix?” you ask once more, nothing but a mere whisper, but he hears you.

He thinks he might even have an answer for you.

“I don’t think so, beautiful girl. I think I’ve made a mistake.”

“What do you mean?”

Felix sighs, puts an arm over his eyes. It’s enough, what he saw. It’s enough for a lifetime.

“Leaving you behind. Giving all of me away. Falling in love with a broken boy thinking I’ll be able to fix him. I can’t fix anyone, (Y/N). I can’t even fix my fucking self.”

You nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck. The connection is still there, the tension in his gut. He’d love nothing more than to get you naked and have you whisper his name back, over and over, until he gets some sort of sense of reality back. But it wouldn’t be fair to you. He doesn’t even know if you’re single.

“No one’s holding anything over your head, Lix. Forgive yourself before it’s too late,” you mumble against his skin, raising goosebumps all over. Then you continue, “I’d be lying if I said I don’t still hate you sometimes. You’re going to leave again, anyway. It doesn’t matter.”

He turns to that immediately. Places a palm over your cheek and makes you look at him.

“It does matter. I don’t want you to hate me. I fucked up and I’ll regret it my whole life. There’s no amount of sorry’s I can say to you, sweet girl, that’ll make it all better. I know that. But I don’t want you to hate me.”

Quiet. Your pulse against his thigh. “You left.”

“I did.”

“That hurt me. All of us.”

Felix nodded, again and again. One truth harsher than the other. “I know.”

“To go fuck some model in New York and sing your little heart out to people that’ll never know who you truly are and how much you matter.”

There it was. The sacrifice of it all. Has it been worth it? Yes and no. Mostly no.

His lips curved with bitterness. “Yes,” he rasped.

“But now your songs are out there. Your beautiful voice is recognized.”

“Thank you.”

You buried your face in the mattress, crying onto strawberry sheets. He turned his body towards you, fingers tangling in your hair.

“You sold your own name.”

Dying would be less painful than you speaking all of his fears and wrong decisions outloud, in the one place untouched by misery.

“And I pay for that every day.”

“You’re not happy.”

He smiles when you search for his eyes. There are crystals on your cheeks, the cosmos hanging from your lips. “Not particularly, starry girl,” he retorts sadly.

“I’m not happy, either. What’s the point, then?”

It tore at him to know this. He imagined you were when he was far away. That you’d put him behind you, and continued on with your life, shining just as brightly as you always had. Lies are always easier in the moment. Just enough to get you through to the next. But never long term.

“Come with me,” he whispers in your hair. “See for yourself.”

“And get lost, too?” you snap back.

He shut his eyes tight, bit his tongue to lessen the blow. “Three months. I want to take you with me.”

“To the City of Angels.” A lyric of his, coming from your mouth. His heart leaped, and blossomed. You listen to his music. The music he’s written for you.

“You’ll fit right in,” he finishes, leaning into you. “You’ll find many like you, none like you.”

He felt your hesitancy, the need to pull away. He would do it for you, if he wasn’t so completely under your spell, willing to do anything for one more taste of you. Years in a place where he’s had to learn to get his way, have made him somewhat persuasive, a trait he’s not proud of, like many others.

The only girl he’s ever truly wanted is you. Burn him alive, then.

“God, I’m about to make a mistake,” you mutter before his mouth takes yours.

Hyunjin had asked about you. He wanted to know who you were, why you still had such a hold on him. Hyunjin had been possessive and jealous and sensitive with Felix. He felt deeply, loved deeply, and was very stubborn. He loved getting his way. The blonde tried to love him, gave him all he had, obliged to his every request, but ultimately—

Whatever was wrong with him ran too deep. It was impossible to love someone like him, yet so easy to fall, so easy to lose yourself. They’d done some work together, traveled to Paris and visited art museums. Hyunjin was a magnificent artist, a lonely soul. Felix could recognize that in him and still admit it was scary to be around him, scary in the way a rope feels under your bare feet, no ground underneath, no sense of security.

They broke up on a bench outside Sacré-Cœur, the decision to go back to Australia for an indefinite amount of time being too much for the model. There was still love there, there’d always be. Hyunjin taught him about the life he’d entered, how to navigate through it, to get what you want, and how to love unconditionally, how to become a slave for love, to seek it and to breathe it, and to feel it deep in your gut, with everything in you.

But it shouldn’t feel like that. It shouldn’t be all encompassing, choking, tying. It should feel like freedom, and this much Felix knew, because he’d felt it before.

Undressing you right now felt like that, the pearly gates welcoming him, the wings growing in his back. A map outlined but not quite yet explored, though he plans to change that. If you accept. If you agree to his proposal. His hands caress, his mouth following the fabric leaving your body, your breast, down to your stomach, your navel, your hip bone. 

He pulls your skirt down, revealing cotton, and lays you gently back down, his own body over yours, hiding you from view. Your fingers unzip and push, and Felix removes his shirt for you. He knows he’s not much to look at, but there’s lean muscle and a solid chest where you touch, making heat bloom right under your fingertips. He could write odes about how soft your skin is, how tender you’re treating him, as if he never left, as if he’s never done wrong by you, and for a minute he pretends.

Then your hand wraps around his cock and he loses all restrain.

“You can’t possibly be real, my girl, are you?” he mumbles against your cunt, before he hooks his arms underneath your legs and digs right into your wetness.

You moan and writhe, and he never complies. He holds you tighter, keeps you in place and has his way with you until you’re begging him to stop, crying for him to keep going, nails digging into his scalp, his shoulders, anywhere you can reach. Felix hasn’t eaten pussy in six months, hasn’t had yours in over five years, and he’s not about to give it up for anything in the fucking world. 

His tongue laps, it fucks you slowly, it makes sure to get you proper wet for him, his lips slurping on your clit afterwards, finding a pattern you seem to enjoy, sucking to bring your orgasm forward and licking to settle you down, to tease you, until finally you have enough of it, and you come all over his mouth, breathlessly, your thighs trapping his head between your legs.

“Just for me, for me, for me…” he repeats peppering kisses all over you, his arms pushing him up towards your mouth, meeting you halfway for an open mouthed kiss. “Will you come?” he asks, pumping his cock in his fist, aligning it with your entrance. “My sweet fucking girl, will you come?”

“I have,” you say, hiding your face in embarrassment. “I did.”

“Let me look at you,” as he pushes in. “Let me see you, baby.”

His hips start moving, his cock reaching deep inside you, the stretch incredible. He needs you near, closer, so he lifts you up and repositions himself, having you sit on him, fucking yourself on him how you like. You find a rhythm as he wraps himself around you, kissing your breast, sucking on your nipples, tugging at the ends of your hair. Anything he can touch, all for you. Your voice breaks, his name cut in half, and he thinks he likes it best like that, not one thing but two, muttered by you, the death of him once and for all.

“Will you come with me to California?” he asks again, clearer this time. “Will you let me have you like this under their sun?”

“Lix…” you collapse as he takes charge, pistoling up into your soaking cunt, his cock so deep inside, so fucking good. “Fuck, please. Just please.”

“You need to tell me,” he groans. “I need to know. You need to tell me.”

He pushes you forward again, not once unsticking you from himself, and fucks you into the mattress, hard and fast. He’s after your high, he needs to see you, needs to witness you fall apart because of him, the same way he does for you, his muse, his girl, under your stars. You kiss him and hold him near, sharing his breath, his chest rapidly falling and rising, cock ready to burst, heart ready to explode, and you’re near too, he can feel it in his gut, he can see how your back arches, how your breath hitches, how your eyes open wide, head thrown back—

“That’s it, there it is, do it. Do it, beautiful, come for me, come on, let me feel you, God, fuck—I’ll bust, too, I’ll—”

“Inside,” you moan, shaking in his arms. “Inside me.”

Felix growls and does as you say, fingers digging into your waist, cock buried, and his head falls on your stomach. He’s pretty sure he’s having a heart attack, but nothing matters. You’re underneath him, naked. You still love him. You haven’t said it but you don’t have to; he can feel it, he can feel it like his own pulse.

He fucks you through the ripples of your orgasm, and then he pulls out, kissing your temple, your breast on his chest. Whatever dreams are made out of, he’s convinced you’re it. His dream, a girl just for him, a girl he could pick out blindfolded from a crowd of thousands. He would always come back to you, because there’s simply no beginning to him if you’re not part of it.

And no end if you don’t come with him.

“Don’t be afraid to tell me no,” he whispers into the dark, the stars staring back. “I’ll understand. I’ll make it work, there’s no question about it. Not anymore.”

You’re quiet for a long time, but your lips kiss his jaw, his neck, his ear. He holds onto sanity because of that. Because he’s lying through his teeth, for the first time. He won’t understand. If you don’t come, he’s not sure he’ll be able to carry on with this persona he’s built. It will destroy him, take him down under.

That he’s sure of.

But he thinks of your precious heart. What it would be like to leave it all behind.

“I’ll come,” you say incredibly small, almost inaudible. “I’ll come if you want me there.”

Felix closes his eyes, relief washing over him. No more suffering, endless tossing and turning. He could finally have a life, maybe buy some property, make a house out of you. With you. With you. It sounded unachievable. A wish unable to be granted. Merely anything.

You’re breathing it all back to him.

“I need you there, starry girl. I love you.”

He feels you nod, but you don’t say it back. It cuts through him, but he understands. He doesn’t need to hear it, despite how desperate he is for it. It pours out of you, it started when you opened the door, and it continues to pour out now, with his cum gushing out of your cunt, your arm hugging him tightly, afraid to let go.

“Three months,” you say. “Please don’t make me regret it, Lix.”

tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @streetlight-s, @j-0ne25.

[msmercury84]

George Luz Day + 1

This is an excerpt from a chapter in my "I Double Dare You-A Rendezvous With Destiny" story. The following scene takes place at Easy Company's reunion in 1947. George delivers a memorable performance.

*Author's note: The Andrews Sisters were bigger than Elvis and Michael Jackson combined. They were international super stars.*

Leigh had also secretly called George Luz and asked if he would perform a song with her at the reunion. He gladly took the opportunity to use his gift of imitating voices and learned the words to an Andrews Sisters song. Luz's wife Delvina agreed to help apply makeup, false eyelashes, a wig and a dress. He talked his wife into singing so they could perform as a trio. She could sing and usually sang in the church choir.

George, Delvina and Leigh rehearsed during numerous telephone calls. Bill was let in on the secret about the performance and he agreed to not share the information with his former brothers in arms before the reunion.

The song, "I Want My Mama" was a Spanish/Cuban influenced tune about a balding "over 50" year old man who wanted hugs, kisses and attention from his wife.

Delvina Luz carefully made up her husband's face, including false eyelashes and applied a wig that was blonde and styled in the popular Victory Roll. George put on a garter belt,stockings, a bra stuffed with stockings, a slip and a floral print dress. He decided to wear his usual shoes to make his appearance look even more amusing.

Luz's wife was laughing so hard that she nearly cried at the sight of him in his 'costume'. He, Leigh and Delvina

worked out some very basic dance steps a few hours before the other men and their wives arrived in the hotel's ballroom.

When the trio first appeared onstage, the entire audience burst into loud laughter. The normally reserved Colonel Sink was laughing as hard as the majority of the audience. Bill burst out in extremely loud laughter at the sight of his friend dressed up as Patty Andrews. Buck Compton laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks.

Shifty Powers told Donald Malarkey and his wife,

"I declare, I've seen it all, now! Luz has outdone himself." The song began and the Andrews Sisters wannabes did some impressive singing and dancing. Toward the middle of the song, George stepped closer to the microphone and sang, perfectly imitating Patty Andrews,

"My, my,my, momma! I want my momma!" Everyone in the audience applauded. During the instrumental section of the song, Luz stepped out into the middle of the stage, put both hands on his hips and sashayed back and forth.

He wiggled his hips and his behind in time with the music. Bull Randleman was laughing so hard that he was nearly breathless. His face was bright red as he guffawed at George's antics onstage.

A few cat calls and remarks were heard, along the lines of,

"Hey, Luz! How about a date?" and,

"Hey, Doll, what are you doing after the show?" Delvina and Leigh somehow managed to sing in harmony and perform despite repressing their need to laugh.

Performers were about to appear that Leigh hadn't mentioned to Bill, George Luz and his wife. As the song ended and the audience still laughed and applauded, a collective gasp of surprise was heard from the crowd as the Andrews Sisters walked onstage behind the trio of George, Delvina and Leigh.

Maxine and Laverne Andrews had frowns on their faces as Patty Andrews tapped George on the shoulder. Luz turned around and he was speechless as he saw the sisters. Delvina wondered what her husband was looking at and she turned, seeing the famous trio. She looked as stunned as her husband. Patty moved a microphone stand close to her and asked George,

"Sir, do you think you're funny mocking me?" George stood with his mouth open, unable to speak. He finally managed to say,

"No, Miss Andrews." Patty laughed and hugged him.

"My sisters and I think your performance was hilarious! You and your wife are pretty good singers." Delvina looked relieved that the sisters weren't angry and the audience applauded.

Colonel Sink was seated next to Dick Winters and his wife. He told Winters,

"That girl (Leigh) is extremely talented. She can do anything." Dick agreed,

"Luz is pretty talented, too. I'll never forget seeing him done up like Patty Andrews." Lewis Nixon, who was laughing along with everyone else in the audience, chuckled and commented,

"There's not enough Vat 69 in the world to erase that image from my memory.

[aboardthescheherazade]

Companion concept art for my collab with @professorcalculusstanaccount (which you can see here)! They needed reference for Marlene Katz's apartment, and then I tried my hand drawing some moments from their concept - her disguise, the finale, and helping give Tintin a makeover.

Extended notes below the cut:

With her apartment, I've always envisioned Marlene living with very kitschy decor. As I said to ProfCal, she's someone who decorates based on sentimentality, rather than keeping to a uniform style, so I tried to make her apartment have little bits and pieces of furniture and decor she's picked up throughout her travels. That doll on the mantle is based on a real Cuban doll I have in my home!

The placement of the evil eye wall ornament was also deliberate. When ProfCal described what they wanted to do with the shootout gif, I thought it would be cool to put in something that's both a sentimental piece of art and symbolic of Marlene's Jewish heritage. The evil eye took the hit for her in that scene.

Story planning assistance was also fun to do, since it ties into a lot of stuff I was planning for The Shattered Emblem...after the events of The Blue Lotus, Rastapopoulos goes to jail, but gets a lighter sentence after making a few bribes. He begins to worm his way into the more criminally-inclined celebrity class, mainly to rebuild connections, especially ones who can help him bend the law better this time. He even crosses paths with Castafiore thanks to his new links to the elites, but the one thing tethering him to his "old" life pre-arrest is Marlene. She's never given up hope on him, even after he got tried for running an actual fucking mob, but Rastapopoulos has only seen her as an air-headed bimbo, a product of being rich and famous and not someone who can actively make him money, so he unceremoniously dumps her.

Marlene is shattered. She goes back to America and she starts teaching ballet to kids in the Bronx, since dance was what she first got into stage productions for. Things actually go really well, and Marlene realizes she likes her new life and being self-sustaining. However, she still misses being in films, even though she's scared to really get back into the industry in case she sees him again. But then he comes to Marlene, now sporting different, ridiculous facial hair and claiming to be a businessman from Gorgonzola, like a character in a bad screenplay. Every nerve in Marlene refuses to trust Rastapopoulos now...it's not because he looks different, but something seems to have warped inside him. This isn't her "Robbie" anymore. She breathes a sigh of relief when all the newspapers declare the Marquis drowned during a standoff in the Red Sea.

(This is a way sillier version of this scene versus the one in my drafts)

And then, leading up to The Golden Palm - Marlene begins to realize she saw a lot of suspicious faces and activities during her time at Cosmos Pictures. It was all so mundane and inconspicuous that she never brought it up, and Rastapopoulos never seemed to hide anything from her, since he assumed - again - that she was an airhead and not to worry about her noticing. But Marlene was witness to a lot of connections that the people involved would kill to keep hidden...

For people new to my blog, this is the character Marlene is adapted from! She is super minor to the plot, but back in 2020 I kept getting ideas for what this random woman's story was, and the ball kept rolling from there:

Once again, huge thanks to ProfCal for inviting me to collab with them! It was a ton of fun, and also super humbling to know how helpful my blog has been for others over the years. To think that all of this started after a few shitposts about mobsters! Tintin belongs to the fans, and I'm so glad to have been part of a fan project like this!

[queenofsliferred]

*crashes through the ceiling* Omg, you have an OC named Kiki?! Pls, tell me about her! 💜 What's her personality? Likes and dislikes? Hobbies? Friends, enemies?

Also, fun fact: you're second person I know, who has an OC Kiki. XD

KIKI CEPTION!!!

i technically have two! the second kiki is a revamp of the original kiki that i made in 4th grade and they might as well be different people ahah. but both are for the series inuyasha! (tho new kiki is also a touken ranbu oc!)

Original Kiki is a 16 year old girl from the modern era who had plans of being a fashion designer. She is thrown into the ocean by Naraku in disguise (how he wound up in the modern era is a mystery lol) who wanted to destroy her cuz there were prophecies that she would be the one to destroy him. Somehow the process of going back in time for Kiki turned her into a half-demon, I'm still not sure how that worked.

Friends: Kagome, Sango, Shippo and Kilala Enemies: Narku, Kikyo, Sesshomaru, Anesthesia and Queen Beryl Lover: Inuyasha Hobbies: drawing, fashion design, sewing, singing Likes: Hot baths and showers, the colors red and pink, strawberry icecream, her new pink hair Dislikes: Dry skin, not having lotion at all times, cool colors, matcha/green tea flavoured stuff so her life is suffering, the lack of conditioner

The New TM Kiki is a biracial girl (Cuban and Japanese) living in Japan and is the daughter of two evil scientist types researching the powers of the saniwa, a sage that can breathe life into inanimate objects. They discover that their daughter is the newest saniwa and experiment on her nonstop until she runs away. It turns out her power only really works "well" on objects that are 100+ years old and have developed a soul of their own, enabling them to take the phyiscal human form while newer objects just kinda bounce around and follow simple commands. She goes to a different school than Kagome which is why she doesnt recognize her when she finds her hiding in the shrine. In a panic, Kiki hides inside the well and winds up in the past... but is too weak from malnutrition to climb out. Eventually demons come to feast on her but a dying demon named Sue manages to get to her and convince her to fuse their souls/bodies so they can both survive. This turns Kiki into a half demon herself. She traverses the feudal era, enjoying her new freedom and fucks up the timeline by stealing the swords of famous generals and such before they become generals.

Friends: Hasebe Heshikiri, Tomoegata and Shizukagata, Okatana Yoshimitsu, Kikkou Sadamune, Akashi Kuniyuki, Kagome, Inuyasha, Miroku, Sango, Shippo and Kilala. Eventually she meets Kikyo and they form some sort of a bond. Enemies: Naraku, her parents Lover: i'm not sure yet lol Hobbies: Learning about medicinal herbs and practices, practicing first aid, collecting dolls and plushies (her parents didnt let her have many tho), sword training, food (mostly eating) Likes: Kiki's Delivery Service, ribbons and bows, plushies, physical touch and affection, medium rare meat, strawberry flavoured anything, barley tea Dislikes: Being alone, green tea/matcha flavoured anything, charred or anything above medium done meat, how silver looks on her, the lack of lotion and dry skin

[chaosverse-mainblog]

Devon

Devon Blaine Miranda

-15yrs old

-Afro-Indigenous Cuban, ½ Afro-Cuban/Nigerian (Yoruba) ½ Taíno-Cuban

-Has a brown skin tone similar to Ryan Destiny

-He has a mole under the right side of his bottom lip, one next to the left side of his nose/near his cheek,

-Has a huge black eye near his eye and upper cheek, on the right side of his face, the eye looks squinted and the iris is slightly yellowish, he covers it with his hair

-He also has a few other smaller scars like a cut across his nose, a scar from a busted lip (bottom lip, left side), etc. + Acne

-Crooked teeth + gap in two front teeth (and his left front tooth is pretty chipped)

-Eczema AND Asthma

-Has dark brown, hooded eyes and a long “Roman” nose (It’s long and then curved, mostly near the end, so I guess crooked?)

-Skinny/Lanky

-5’9

-Black, 14-18 inch, around Smedium (sized) locs, (his natural hair is type 4A), Though it gets cut later on so then it's about 10-12 inchs

-Voice: Tyler Okonma (mostly how his voice sounded in 2013, idk why but it sounds different to me), Speaks Spanish (1st), English (2nd) and he also knows/is learning ASL from Mick + Kelsey is trying to teach him Igbo, for fun

-Major attachment/abandonment issues

-BPD/EUPD + possible BDD and ASD

-He likes Jazz, R&B, Neo Soul, Rap, Hip Hop, Alternative, Rock, Metal, Horrorcore and (He won’t admit it but) Pop music, so artists like: Easy-E, Odd Future, Tyler the creator, Frank Ocean, Steve Lacy, The Internet, Bell Biv DeVoe, Skee-Lo, Rae Sremmurd, Usher, MF DOOM, Erykah Badu, Eve, TLC, Mary J. Blige, Lil’ Kim, Missy Elliott, Estelle, Brandy, Destiny’s Child, Keri Hilson, Kali Uchis, The Cramps, The Stooges, Gorillaz, October Country, Foster the People, Sohodolls, The Dresden Dolls, Eyedress, Coldplay, Tears For Fears, Metallica, Talking Heads, Moi Dix Mois, Fleetwood Mac, MCR, Le Tigre, The Crane Wives, Rammstein (Katy Perry, Lady Gaga, Meghan Trainor, Fifth Harmony, Ariana Grande, MARINA, Madonna, Blondie, Wonder Girls, Jennifer Lopez, Rihanna)

-He has a bad habit of biting, he bites his hand and a few times he drew blood, bites his nails, chews on the strings of his Hoodies, etc.

-Likes plants and cool rocks

-Practices those weird little magic tricks

-His mom makes him play piano at/for Church, kinda likes it (REALLY likes it)

-Wants to write horror novels

-He likes photography, literature (Drama and Novels) and some other things that I'll later on

-He’s into urban exploration, he’ll take some pictures if he can, sometimes the creepy, rundown scenery inspires a setting for a story, or it just motivates him in general

-He has a bit of an interest in theater, musicals, etc.

-He loves horror, from Goosebumps to Stephan King to H.P Lovecraft to Saw, even The Hills Have Eyes, and he also really loves highly disturbing and graphic stuff (he just really wants to see gore and guts) but Mick HATES horror so he never got to watch it with him much, Kelsey is more into gothic and psychological horror but at the same time he does like the thought of just watching a whole lot of gore even if it has no plot, there's a VHS rental near his house but it's pretty rundown, there are some people there from time to time but Dev prefers when people aren't there, he likes talking to the owner sometimes cause she's pretty nice and she suggests good horror

-His mom is a hairdresser and a cleaner

-has a lisp

-The teachers are aware he gets bullied and even witnessed it multiple times and simply did nothing

-Allergic to dust + it makes his Asthma and Eczema act up

-He has his dad’s last name, Miranda, and uses it for everything but he’d prefer using his mom’s last name, Aparicio

-Actually just a dumbass

-Classes: Literature, Chemistry, Arithmetic, Photography, Spanish, Economics, History, Agriculture, ICT, P.E

[imran16829]

Who is Cuban Doll Wiki, Bio, Age, Net Worth, Instagram, Twitter & More Facts Cuban Doll Wiki - Cuban Doll Biography Cuban Doll's real name Aaliyah Keef is an American rapper/singer and social media personality.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Rusted Remnants

Pairing: Karl Heisenberg x mutant!Reader

Warnings: past noncon, smut, dirty talk, Stockholm syndrome, violence, mention of human experiments, swearing.

Words: 1924.

Summary: You felt better knowing he wouldn't have to leave for quite some time now, staring at the man as he leaned back against the pillow, watching the smoke slowly disappear in the air - Heisenberg wasn't your darling, but he's the only one who kept you sane in that fucking hole where human life mattered so little. Among other Lords he's the only one who had the resolve to fight that heartless bitch hiding behind the façade of a holy mother.

____________________

When a bearded man in sunglasses opened the door with a grinding, abrasive sound, you felt both fear and relief - Heisenberg was a mean son of a bitch who couldn’t stand people crossing him on anything, and you learned that the hard way. However, thanks to that insanely strong bastard who could smash in a Lycan’s skull with one swing of his hammer, you were still safe in his hideout, not having to worry about mutilated monsters this place was swarming with.

Besides, even though Heisenberg was as rotten and disgusting as any other Lord, he still had more human in him than Dimitrescu, Beneviento and Moreau altogether.

“Did you miss me, little monster?” He smirked, watching you laying in bed with some cheap romance novel you traded for bullets with the Duke: you had little hobbies since you barely left Heisenberg’s factory.

You rolled your eyes, knowing he hadn’t been home for a couple of days and now needed to get under your skin, feeding off your emotions like Alcina fed off her victims’ blood. It was something like a routine to him: he needed to know you had something human in you, too.

“Who else do you expect me to miss?” you snorted, leaving a worn book with a dirty yellow cover on the bed. “You know I don’t like when you leave for so long.”

“It’s not like I like it either.”

Leaving his monstrous hammer on the table full of blueprints, drawings, nails and all other things you were forbidden to touch, he took his glasses off, and you saw his weary eyes, the blood vessels widened in their white. It didn't happen often, but from time to time Heisenberg would abandon his façade of a smug, careless bastard, and then you could catch a glimpse of a deadly tired man who had long lost any hope to ever free himself from Miranda’s death grip. Something had happened in those couple of days when he had been wandering the woods and catacombs filled with Lycans, Samcăs, and Vârcolacs, and it certainly wasn’t good news if it stripped Heisenberg of his endless complacency.

Quietly slipping away from the bed, you put your shoes on while the man in front of you left his coat hanging on a chair and stilled, his dirty hands on the desk as he stared at it blankly. While he stood there, motionless, you turned on the large faucet in an improvised shower cabin - everything there had been old and rusty, and you needed time to adjust the temperature of water from icy cold to bearable cool or even hot if you were lucky enough. Thankfully, Karl never protested against showering, washing away dry blood, machine oil, muck and filth.

Saying nothing, you carefully lifted his hat, unclasped the belt on his chest and started unbuttoning his dirty shirt - nobody would believe it had been white once. Finally, Heisenberg came back to his senses, smirking and letting you strip him of his clothes, leaving his pants and huge heavy boots on the floor. As he stepped into the shower, he dragged you with him behind the old plastic curtains full of holes, and your nightgown got drenched within a couple of seconds, water pouring over your head. You didn’t protest anymore, knowing the man wouldn’t let you go until he blew off some steam, pushing you into a wet stone wall and wrecking you ass till you started sobbing - he loved when you squeezed his fat cock with your pussy, but Heisenberg couldn’t risk getting you pregnant, leaving his child to be endlessly tortured by that holy bitch until she turned his baby into some fucking monster doll. Sometimes he could buy some condoms from the Duke, but it was still a rare occasion, so most of the time Heisenberg spent using your other holes, filling you to the brim with his cum until he felt satisfied.

"Wearing that white nightgown like some noble slut from Alcina's castle." he growled into your ear from behind, grinding against your ass, his callous fingers gripping your hips as he forced you spread your legs for him. "Did you do it on purpose, baby? Did you want to bounce on my cock so bad?"

Turning your head to him, you didn't get a chance to speak up when the man crashed his mouth into yours, his arm lifting up the drenched fabric of your nightgown and baring your flesh. Landing a loud smack to your ass, he grinned through the kiss: he loved it when you behaved well around him, taking whatever he was giving you like a good girl you were.

You didn’t mind. At first the thought of him touching you had been giving you panic attacks and nausea, but as years flew by, nothing changing in this Hell of a place where sanity was a privilege, you clung to Heisenberg in a desperate attempt to feel human again - even if it was something as primitive as grinding your bodies against each other.

As he rubbed his cock in between your shaking thighs pressed together, you moaned, the water cascading down your bodies while Heisenberg fondled your breasts, biting and nipping his way down your neck.

"You're going nowhere until I fuck the shit out of you."

_________

Breathing in the smell of his Cuban cigars, you watched Heisenberg smoke as he laid close to you, his naked body barely covered by a blanket: his skin was littered with nasty scars, and it seemed like every centimeter of it had once been burned, cut or bitten. Some of them were so old you could barely see them, others relatively knew where the scar tissue was still angry red and thick: most of the time he got them while working on his personal army down there, but with his regenerative abilities they were like a kitten bite to him. Of course, even of they weren't, Heisenberg would still pretend like it was nothing, wearing his shit-eating grin.

"The holy whore is up to something," he says after long minutes of silence, ash falling to the floor from his cigar, "and I don't like that I know fucking nothing of her plans."

You felt better knowing he wouldn't have to leave for quite some time now, staring at the man as he leaned back against the pillow, watching the smoke slowly disappear in the air - Heisenberg wasn't your darling, but he's the only one who kept you sane in that fucking hole where human life mattered so little. Among other Lords he's the only one who had the resolve to fight that heartless bitch hiding behind the façade of a holy mother. You couldn't call him sane, but he had enough sanity to remember what Miranda did to all of you and how fucking twisted was her desire to have a family. You weren't her children, regardless how many times Moreau was going to call her his mother. Whatever she did to you or those miserable villagers, her cannon fodder, she did only to revive her real daughter, and the thought had been making you sick since the times Heisenberg told you about Miranda's past.

"You think it's something big?"

"Yeah. She keeps disappearing into thin air, and I can't find a trace of her anywhere at all."

You grew silent, staring at the blanket with empty eyes: it certainly wasn't a good sign. Where was she going if even Heisenberg couldn't locate her? Was she crossing the forest to get to the outer world? The last time it happened she brought to the world one more horrifying monster with a face of a little girl. The only thing you knew about her was that she was destroyed a couple of years ago, just a failed experiment like all those Miranda had been involved in.

"I think she partners up with someone, some organization that can give her what she wants like, you knew, she did before." You muttered, and Heisenberg stared at you, narrowing his frightening light eyes.

"With whom could the old bitch partner?"

"I don't know, but I know she brought someone with her, willingly or not."

Now you had his full attention as he turned to you, his eyes burning a hole in your face. "Who did she bring here? How the fuck do you know?"

Rolling over to your stomach and hugging a pillow - a real pillow you got from the Duke a month ago, not that pile of garbage the man had been sleeping on for ages - you let out a loud sigh. You weren’t eager to go exploring the factory even though you knew where his soldiers were, but you couldn't just stay in his room for the rest of your days, and sometimes you would get out for a couple of hours, wandering empty corridors with rusted doors.

At first it was subtle. You knew this place well, but you couldn't sense monsters or people getting in the way Miranda did even after Cadou implantation. You just wandered the same places over and over, collecting semi-precious stones, bullets and other things you could trade for something with a merchant. As the time flew by, the feeling of uneasiness was washing over you as you stepped into certain rooms, got into certain places. There was nothing peculiar there, nothing that would catch your attention, but something was still eating you up as if you knew something wasn't right.

At one point you realized that what disturbed you were things moving from their original places - changes were small, barely noticeable for someone who didn't spend hundreds of hours walking around here, but you could know put your finger on what was wrong. Who was it? You knew it weren't the Lords who had no business here. Besides, the Master of Metal could always feel their presence. Obviously, it weren't humans from the village for whom the factory was sacred, and monsters possessed too little intelligence to put things on their places in the very same order. You thought it could be Mother Miranda, but she wouldn't be sneaky if she really wanted to show Heisenberg his place.

Now it all made sense. You knew the outer world would learn about this place sooner or later, especially after that monster girl incident, and it only proved the idea Miranda brought someone with her.

"I think it's someone smart, Karl. Someone who will either destroy Miranda or try to take control of her - and us, maybe." You said after telling him about your little adventures, and the man smirked, stroking your back. Of course, after her little Eveline had been released into the world, he had thoughts about other organizations having their fair share of Megamycete,

“Someone we can use against her, then.” He whispered, his eyes dark and perceptive as he leant closer, dropping a kiss to your shoulder, his complacency getting back as he sent you a smug grin, slapping your ass loudly. “Good job, little monster. Good job.”

Rolling you over on your back, he got on top of you, pushing your legs apart and licking his lips at the sight of your naked pussy right in front of him, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs.

“I’ve forgot to tell you baby," he grinned at you when you squirmed from his touch, his thumb already tracing tiny little circles against your clit. “I’ve got a rubber, so you better milk me dry with that sweet little cunt of yours.”

[olympusgenius]

The Crafter Prince

There is a special rule at Kamata Crafter's workshop about home improvement: "If you want an improvement at your lab or bedroom...do it yourself!"

In this case, Hephaestus was alone at home improving his closet at his bedroom to add more compartments and make it look more practical and modern.

After add the last details, he proceeds to hang up his clothes, made a new and improved shoecase and added some shelves to put decorations and stuff.

Between his things there were some plushes of himself, Jutaro, Talos and the little exception his Mama called Lil' Salomon, his old wooden legs, some adult-coloring books and markers, etc.

After finishing with storaging his clothes, he takes a fancy box he didn't noticed until now...

-eh?...I don't remember this box...- Hephaestus checks who could have gave him that box until he notices a certain logo...

-ugh...it had to be Arachne's- he said with a little disgust in his voice, isn't that he hates her, is just he can't stand some personality issues from her...anyways, he opens the box and the first thing he sees is a note:

"To Hephy:

Thanks for your help with my last fashion show, you were my salvation, after I made your attire for the fashion show, I still had plenty string to make you this fantasy outfit as my thank you gift to you...I hope seeing you wearing it! ~

XOXO Arachne

P.D.

I know you will complete it with your accesories...they're so fabulous!"

Hephaestus was feeling awkward after read that note but prefers to see what's inside the box, he aparts some wrapping paper to see the outfit.

It was a fancy looking suit, like a gala uniform at first sight, it consisted in a crimson jacket with black high collar and cuffs with golden ornaments and epaulettes, black trousers with golden silk ribbon at each side of the legs, black and white dress shoes with cuban heels and a black cape with red silk lining, Hephaestus was a little surprised by the box's content.

-Did she really wants me to wear this?- Hephaestus questions himself about the costume, not about the quality but for how gaudy looked that attire.

-yeah, sure...no way- Heph reassures to himself and takes a bath to rest his body after work in his closet.

After came out from the bathroom, he dries himself with his towel and stares to the costume for some seconds.

-...just this time- Hephaestus takes the outfit from the box and start to dress up.

After he dresses up, Hephaestus goes to the mirror to see his reflection, the outfit was so well fitted to his figure, he looked so good but he felt there was something missing.

-maybe with some accesories like Arachne mentioned- he takes a little chest from the closet and opens it to takes a pair of rings, then he opens a drawer to take a pair of white gloves, then he goes to his lab to get some other accesories he made, a sword, a brooch and a simple yet elegant crown.

After put on the accesories, he takes the cape and place it over his shoulders and pins it under the epaulettes, now the last thing was place the crown over his head, now he looked more regal than before, like a fairytale prince ready for a royal ball.

He took some turns to look at himself, he was insecure but after some seconds he was getting used to the attire, even he took the sword from his waist to make some slashes and thrusts to the air imagining himself fighting against an enemy to save his "Mama".

-I'll save you, Mama!- he said while he lands the final strike to his imaginary enemy, after put back his sword into the scabbard, he kneels to Jutaro's doll and takes the doll's hand.

-don't worry anymore, Mama...I'll protect you forever...would you grant me this dance?- Hephaestus stands up and makes a reverence to then waltz with the doll while he hummings their royal dance...until he notices someone at his door.

-hi, Creator-

-hi, Talos......TALOS!!- Hephaestus screams shocked by his android's sudden greeting.

- H-how much time d-did you were at the door- Hephaestus asked nervously to Talos, but the answer would be more shocking to him.

-I was the last one to come here...-Talos said shyly

-t-the last one?-Heph asked again with nervousness in his voice.

-yeah...because everybody else came here and they saw you...doing that...and...they recorded everything...and they are watching it again at the living room...- Talos told that and Heph wanted to die after know they were watching his prince acting, he could even heard them laughing.

-but Creator, not everything is wrong...Mama saw it too...because Kurogane shared the file- Talos said trying to comfort his creator.

-Mama saw it too!! Now is worse, Mama will think I'm a kind of a freak!!- Hephaestus now wanted to die even more, but then a message came to his phone, it was from Jutaro.

"I'M COMING FOR YOU, MY CRAFTER PRINCE!!"

Hephaestus was surprised by the message, but then he's interrupted by Talos.

-Creator...-

-what now, Talos?-

-If you're The Prince...can I be the villain now?-

[phenomenal1500]

What If We Had The Choice? | Resident Evil Village

Summary: What would have happened if Ethan had sided with Heisenberg? Unfortunately, Capcom didn't give us the chance to make a choice, so for the enthusiasts.... this would have happened if we had had been given the choice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ethan stepped foot inside the dark, dusty factory with a bad premonition. He kept his gun in front of him at all costs as he carefully pushed the first rusty door he encountered open and when he noticed the coast was clear, he also made his way through the badly lit hallway that had appeared from behind the heavy door. He was so close in having his daughter back that he couldn't back down... not now. Another nasty hallway followed and finally, when he took a turn to his right, he spotted an huge curtain hanging ahead of him in a square room. It seemed to hide the wall and table behind it and Ethan struggled with the thought off shoving it to the right to peak behind it or to just leave it be. With his curiosity taking over he pulled the curtain from the beam to which it was attached to and small photos appeared.

Some of them were old pictures of the lords, scratched through with a red marker, while others were pictures of the incidents that had happened around the village since Ethan had arrived there. The pictures reflected in Ethan's eyes and one stood out to him. "Mia?"

"Truth hurts, don't it?" Ethan turned with a quick motion, spotting the man Ethan had met earlier who now stepped out of the shadows directly behind him. The dark and round glasses covered the man's eyes as well as his fedora hat that slightly slanted over his left eye and the long tattered coat fluttered behind him as he took a puff of his Cuban cigar. Ash fell from his cigar as thick white smoke floated around the man's almost completely covered face. "Let me guess." The forth and strongest Lord continued after puffing his cigar once more. "You're thinking take me out like the others, and then you get to go and safe Rose, right?"

"I'm healing my daughter." Ethan bit back.

"Look, y-...you've got this all wrong-..." Lord Heisenberg signed with his hands up in the air to strengthen his words, but he then was cut off by an horrible loud sound coming from under them. "Dammit, I'm talking here!" The man whined, pinching his noise before storming his way towards the hatch to pull it open with ease. "Shut your fucking hole!"

Ethan had no idea what to except or where this conversation was going, certainly not with someone different than the other mutated humans he had met. Alcina Dimitrescu had already some hatred towards men like him, perhaps even all men in general, and was conspiring with Miranda so of course she wanted him dead from the beginning. Donna Beneviento seemed more reasonable and neutral about the situation, but was still crazy as fuck and was also still under Miranda's control. Same goes for Salvatore Moreau, except for the fact he wasn't just following and conspiring with Miranda. He saw Mother Miranda as his real mother and he was so desperate to prove his worth to the other house lords and Mother Miranda that he unfortunately also wasn't able to negotiate with.

However, Lord Heisenberg was someone different. He came across Ethan as more controlled than the other Lords despite being a bit of a direct man. "Sorry about that." The man apologised as he straightened his back. Ethan, still confused whether he had to have patient and listen to the man or take action while it was still possible, stood in the room watching the man in doubt while he snatched a chair from beside a cupboard to place it by the hatch.

"Take a seat." Heisenberg ordered and Ethan stayed in his place, not obeying his competitor. "Listen, Ethan. You're being played."

"What are you talking about? You think this is a game?" Ethan hissed through his teeth meanwhile the lord put out his Cuban cigar, pressing the burning side onto the small table. Ethan had expected some sort of answer from the mutant, but to his surprise Heisenberg aggressively tossed a knife towards the wall covered in pictures and pushed Ethan into the unsteady metal chair instead... the chair almost staggering over the edge of the big hole by all the force falling down onto it.

"I said sit!!" Heisenberg backed off a bit afterwards and continued his story. "Lady super-sized bitch..." The knife stabbed the wall as it made its way to the picture of Lady Dimitrescu. "Ugly-ass psycho doll...." The knife again marked the wall, now resting in the photo of Donna Beneviento and Angie Beneviento. "And that moronic freak." The knife made one last change in direction, the picture of Salvatore Moreau. "Don't you get it? It's a test, to see if you're strong enough... to be part of Miranda's family."

"I don't want to be part of Miranda's family."

"Neither did I! But here we are." Heisenberg raised his voice and Ethan took in a deep breath. "And I'm next in line, right? Kill me, move up the chain! Well, fuck that!!" The knife carved the wall as it was forced through the image of Mother Miranda, messing it up.

"I don't give a damn about your personal issues! I just want to fix my daughter!" The lord laughed in response.

"So do I! Do you have any idea how powerful that kid is? Even Miranda is scared of her..." For a second time there was a very loud engine sound hearable and the man deeply sighed in frustration. "Last time, you freak, I swear to god!"

Afterwards making his way to Ethan, Lord Heisenberg gave away his green and grey eyes by removing his glasses and held his chin up, the hat moving a bit upwards to reveal his full face. Scars were located all across his face and he smirked.

"You and me, Ethan! Together we go save Rose, and then we can use her to grind Miranda to paste." Heisenberg closed his fist with strength, acting like he was squeezing a bug to death. Ethan stood before a tough decision; Fight Lord Heisenberg and then hope he could safe his daughter from Mother Miranda all alone... or collude against Mother Miranda with the help of Heisenberg and save his daughter that way. He knew it was wrong to work together with someone who was once his enemy and was willing to use his daughter as a weapon, but it gave him more certainty to actually succeed and get his little girl back. Ethan stood up from his chair and swallowed before nodding.

"When do we start?"

~~~

Heisenberg had taken Ethan to his lab to explain what he'd been up to all along and both men now faced each other while sitting down onto different obsolete metal sofas. "Most of this was already put in working before I decided to show up here to save Rose?"

"This is my fucking lifework. Years I have been creating these soldats to deal with Miranda once and for all. It's time for her to die." The man passionately spoke up and pointed at the soldats hanging from a conveyor belt that ran through the factory. "So, Ethan Winters, what do you say?"

"The plan sounds good to me."

"Well then, lets get to work. See you on the other side... Ethan."

Ethan knew exactly what to do because Heisenberg had explained in detail what the plan was. Ethan was going to disturb the ceremony that was taking place so that the lord could launch a surprise attack on Miranda with his invented army. Although, before it could work, Ethan first had to stop by the Duke to restock his ammunition and healing juice. Fast traveling over the stone bridge towards the elevator in the altar, he returned to the Duke.

"Ah... Ethan Winters. I feel like this will be the last time we meet again... It was quite some news to hear you joined Lord Heisenberg's side." The duke folded his hands together, somewhere deep down noticeable that he was delighted to see his loyal customer and good friend back alive.

"Yeah, well, I didn't have much of a choice, did I?"

"You had a choice, but knew that this settlement would be most effective. Now, I suppose you have to act quickly so feel free to peruse." Buying ammunition and healing juice with the last money Ethan had, the friends said their last goodbyes and carried on their separated ways. This would be it. This would be the moment where Ethan would finally get his daughter Rose back. Shoving himself through the filthy black strands know as mold, he saw the blond woman in her black and gold robe shouting for Eva, her dead daughter she lost to the Spanish flu, to be reborn. The moment Ethan wanted to fire his first shot with his M1851 Wolfsbane Magnum, there was a sharp sound audible and then loud rock music followed.

"What the-....?" Ethan cursed under his breath, not knowing what the fuck was happening, but the distractive music seemed to caught Miranda off guard and the chamber of mold crumbled down around them. It looked like Miranda had lost her focus. The distraction gave Ethan a better shot and Miranda jerked her head towards him, glaring deathly at him as he pulled the trigger. The bullet didn't do much to her, but the arena was now free from the mold and it was possible for Heisenberg to step into the destroyed area, which he did. He was still secretly jamming to the loud rock music that was playing on his speakers back in the factory and Ethan wondered what the actual limit of the volume was because it was so terribly loud, even from where they were now.

"Heisenberg! I should have known you were planning an rebellion against me. Unfortunately for the both of you, the ceremony will be complete once dawn breaks and I will become her true mother!" Miranda shouted dramatically and opened her arms widely, letting her six wings stretch out before her mutation took place. Heisenberg just scoffed and threw his Cuban cigar to the ground, stepping on it.

"I'm not letting you get away." Ethan yelled, shooting a few more times at the orange eye that was visible in the upper center of her face. It probably was her weakness. In the meantime that Ethan was busy shooting at the six winged dead looking woman, Heisenberg simply just leaned on his hammer. His head was banging to the music while he watched the scene for a moment, but that was until he forced himself to participate into the battle as well. Putting his thumb and index finger close to his mouth, he whistled as noisy as possible and immediately an army of Lycans and soldats joined him. Miranda was amazed at what was happening before her eyes, but managed to kill several soldats at once with the mold spearing them. Heisenberg groaned in frustration, understanding that his life creations perhaps weren't fully prepared for these kind of attacks coming from her.

Heisenberg sighed and closed his green, grey eyes. It was time... time for him to mutate and face Miranda together with Ethan. He had to defeat her. That was what he wished for all these years after all. Heisenberg listened to the guitar solo in the background as his mind started to control and use the metal scrap from his broken soldats to continue his mutation. Ethan couldn't be distracted by the creature Heisenberg had become and so he kept his attention strictly on Miranda, ready to hit her again. Sadly, he was out of luck. His M1851 Wolfsbane Magnum ran out of ammo and while Ethan tried to block her next attack, Heisenberg seized the opportunity to knock her to the ground before she had the change to launch herself at Ethan.

Heisenberg accelerated his actions and grabbed Miranda tightly before pressing her against one of the broken stone walls. With his other metal arm he activated his saw and wounded her body, but soon found out she could regenerate herself. Her spider legs turned into wings, bigger than before, and she hurled the flames she had summoned when Heisenberg wasn't paying attention. He was blinded and was pushed back by the blow. The lord quickly realized that his mutation was quite easy for Miranda to defeat because of the length and width of his mechanistic form and he turned back to his human form. This way he could use the metal scrap for a shield and dodge all her attacks faster.

"Ethan! Bring your ass over here!" The man growled, seeing that Ethan was laying somewhere on the floor, being completely useless, and Ethan raised to his feet... stumbling a bit, but not giving up.

"I don't have any fucking bullets left!"

"Well good luck keeping her focused on you then!" His gravelly voice yelled over the rock music for only Ethan to hear and he shook his head in confusion, though, he had no time to understand it because Miranda immediately jumped right in front of him. The lord had time to create a stairs of the floating metal with activating his abilities and he ran to the top, hoping Miranda hadn't seen this shit coming or else they both were certainly doomed. Ethan, meanwhile, was fighting off the woman and it was the perfect timing for Heisenberg to put his second plan in working. Heisenberg dropped himself from the stairs, his hammer above his head and aiming at the weakness of Mother Miranda. Hitting her, her back was blown into the floor and she screamed in agony. The combo of the shots of the M1851 Wolfsbane Magnum and the terribly heavy hammer had managed to defeat her.

"My daughter.... My Eva!" She held her arms high and went numb, her body falling apart and turning into ash.

"After an eternity.... that bitch is finally gone." Heisenberg laughed enthusiastically and turned around to face Ethan only to see him crumbling down with Rose in his arms.

"I think we finished each other...."

[plaidbooks]

Proposing to rafael as you over hear him talk about how he is to scared to ask you as he will jinx what you have with liv and his mami?

Rafael didn't know that you had heard him

In fact, you hadn't meant to eavesdrop

But when you had heard voices outside his office

You waited, thinking he was in a meeting

You had recognized Liv's voice, and then Lucia when she talked

Mostly, though, you had heard the fear in Rafael's voice when he said he couldn't propose to you

"What if everything falls apart? What if...what if I lose her? I love her so much, Mami--I can't lose her over a commitment I'm not sure I'm ready for"

"Have you not talked about marriage?" Liv asked

"We have but...it was always "later" or "down the line". Don't blame her, Mami--I see the look on your face--it's my fault. I don't know if I'm ready"

It was Lucia who said, "How long are you going to date her if you're not going to marry her?"

Rafael was apprehensive and defeated when he answered

"...I just don't want to jinx it"

***

That was days ago, but Rafael's words were still swirling around in your head

You wanted to marry him, were ready to marry him

Or at least be engaged

But you didn't want to bring it up, let him know you were eavesdropping

An idea came to you while you were at work

And you stopped by a jewelry store on your lunch

You dragged Sonny with you (once you told him why, he was elated)

And you felt silly holding Sonny's hand, trying to gauge what size ring Rafael would have

His middle finger was about the same thickness as Rafael's ring finger was

"You can always get it resized, too, doll"

"True...ugh, thank you for this, Sonny. You're such a good friend"

"I'm happy to help; let me know how it goes"

You found the most perfect ring; even Sonny agreed it would suit Rafael

And you tucked the box into a pocket, planning on asking him that night

Waiting would only prolong your nerves

That night, when Rafael got home, he quirked an eyebrow, finding you in an elegant dress

"We're going out to dinner"

"We are?"

You smiled, "yes, we are. Anywhere you want, babe"

"Ugh, don't make me think right now"

You helped pull his jacket back on and snatched the keys

"I know the perfect place"

You took Rafael to his favorite Cuban restaurant, and you told him you were paying tonight

To your surprise, he didn't fight you; he must really be tired

Maybe tonight wasn't the best night to--

No, you couldn't chicken out now

No excuses, you were asking him to marry you tonight

Dinner was amazing, and as the night wore on, Rafael was in a better and better mood

Soon enough, his hand was on yours, and he'd steal kisses against your knuckles

"Rafael, my love, I have to ask you something. Before I do, I want you to know that you're allowed to say no, you're allowed to--"

"What is it, amor? Should I be worried?"

You took a breath, "no, sorry, I guess I'm just nervous, giving you an out"

Turning, you reached into your purse

As one hand curled around the ring box, your other hand gripped his

"Rafael Barba, I love you so much. I want to grow old with you, be by your side as you accomplish all your dreams--"

"What's happening? A--are you...proposing to me?"

He had a look of disbelief on his face, a small smirk curling his lip upwards

You looked into those green eyes, getting lost in them

"Yes, I am," you breathed

Slowly, you took the ring box out of your purse, opening it for him to see

His eyes sparkled as he looked at the ring, before he switched back to look at you

"Are you sure?" he asked softly, voice barely a whisper

"I've never been more sure of anything"

He nodded, a small smile quickly turning into a wide grin

"If you think you can put up with me for the rest of our lives, then I'd be honored to marry you," he said

Now you were grinning, and you slipped the ring onto his finger, which fit perfectly

Then you were pulling him to you in a kiss

"I can't want to call you my husband," you muttered against his lips

"Mmm my wife"

The words gave you a shiver down your spine, and you kissed him again

[tinyboxxtink]

"Doppelganger" *Part 25* !!Finale!!

Okay I know this took two days but remember when I said I was NOT going to make another chapter? Well I had to just fit multiple chapters into this last one. Because dammit it will STOP HERE.

Except for the epilogue.

So here it is, I hope the anticipation and the hype doesn't ruin it for you, I did my best!

Also thank you so much for coming on this ride with me, it's been the longest one yet! I'm going to miss Pinguino and Raffi, but they'll be fine.

Part 24

Tag List

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@objection-argumentative

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

It was finally the night before your wedding day. The day you had been waiting for since you had first kissed Rafael, if you were being totally honest. You were staying at Chloe’s due to the whole traditional “not seeing each other” before the wedding; it was the first night you had spent away from Rafael since the whole “Nevada” debacle. You wanted to prove to him and yourself that you could spend one night without him cuddling you like a toddler afraid to sleep in their own bed. But the more you drank during your “last girl’s night” the more the demons came out for you. Before you knew it you were hiding in your old bathroom dialing Rafael’s number.

“Baby aren’t you--” He started to ask you but you cut him off.

“Do you still want to marry me?”

“Ay dios,” You heard him chuckle. “Si, mi amor,”

“¿Estás seguro?” You asked worriedly.

“Yes carino,” He said very seriously. “I am very very sure,”

“...Okay,” You said in a small voice.

“Now go have fun and tell Chloe not to let you drink anymore, comprende?”

“Si,” You rolled your eyes. As you came out of the bathroom, you were greeted by Maria who was now in your former living room...for some reason.

“Hey babe, so Maria came by for--”

“I came by to ask you a favor, mija,” Maria cut Chloe off.

“Oh um--” You tried to act more sober around the only mother figure you’d really been around since forever. “Yeah sure! What’s up?”

“Well, I know we haven’t known each other that long, but Raffi is basically my son, so I consider you like a daughter,” She smiled sweetly at you, and you were suddenly aware that she was carrying a box with her.

“Oh, well that’s very sweet of you Maria,” You tried your best not to look uncomfortable.

“My husband Felipe and I,” She explained as she opened the box. “We were never able to conceive children ourselves,” She pulled out a very ancient looking, very detailed veil from the box.

“This veil has been worn by many generations in my family, and if I can’t pass it onto my own daughter, it would be my honor to give it to you to wear tomorrow,”

“Oh, Maria,” You did your best to hide your disgust for the veil, looking at her teary eyed smile. You glanced over her head and caught Chloe’s gaze; she was making a face that mimicked how you felt. It was like one of those fruit hats women wore in movies or commercials, only white and frilly. But what could you do?

“I’d be honored to wear it,” You nodded sweetly. Maria threw her arms around you with a tearful cry of joy. Behind her Chloe waved her arms wildly like “what the hell are you doing?!”. You could just shrug like “what else am I supposed to do?!”

“Bless you, hermosa,” She kissed you on the cheek as she stood up to leave. “Now I’ll leave you ladies to your fun,” She smiled and waved as she walked out the door.

“...What the hell?” Chloe couldn’t help but erupt in giggles as she properly examined the monstrosity.

“Shut up,” You tossed a pillow at her. “What was I supposed to do?! She was asking me to carry on her family name, or something,” You looked at the door where she had left; although you were still pretty drunk so you half remembered the conversation.

“Well if Rafael marries you while you wear this, you know it’s true love,” She snickered as she put it on you and turned you towards a mirror above your key ring holder.

“Oh God…” You threw your hands over your face and fell onto the couch face forward.

“Hey hey hey, don’t wrinkle it!” Chloe continued to tease and giggle. “That thing probably came over in some old Cuban woman’s raft,”

“I hate you,” You muttered through the cushions.

“You’ll hate me more if I don’t get you in bed right now,” Chloe shook her head with a laugh and a bottle of water. “But first, drink this. We don’t want you hungover on your big day,”

“Thanks mom,” You took the water and headed to your room, leaving the veil on the couch.

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

The next day Chloe woke you up by jumping up and down on your bed yelling “IT’S YOUR WEDDING DAY!!!”

“...Jesus Christ Chloe,” You grumbled. “It’s too early for this,”

“Too early?” She scoffed, plopping right on your butt making you grunt. “Nonsense. It’s your wedding day!!”

“Which begs the question why you’re so happy about it,” You raised a suspicious eyebrow.

“What? I can't be happy for my best friend to get her happy ending?” She feigned offense.

“....Uh huh”, You continued to give her the look.

“And the fact that my bridesmaid’s dress makes me look like a classy pornstar?” She added.

“....An oxymoron, but go on,” You waited for it.

“....And the fact that every eligible lawyer and cop are gonna be at this wedding?!” She finally exclaimed.

“There it is,” You nodded your head with a roll of your eyes as you threw on some clothes to go downstairs.

------

There was a limo waiting outside Chloe’s apartment for you and her. You hesitated getting in, remembering the last time you were in one of them. Chloe decided she’d do a ‘sweep’ for you. She jumped in and slid down the seats, squealing in delight.

“All clear babe! Check out what the husband left you!”

You cautiously slid in the limo to see Chloe pointing to a mini bar/fridge full of sweet pastries and champagne.

“Good lord,” You shook your head with a smile. “Chloe maybe we--” You were starting to say maybe at least wait until 11 am to start drinking, but she had already popped the champagne.

“Here,” She grabbed orange juice from the mini fridge. “Mimosas, the breakfast drink,”

You just stared at the drink she was trying to hand you; orange liquid in a champagne flute. You closed your eyes and told yourself the mind elixir was bright orange like Fanta, not orange juice. You took a deep breath and slowly accepted the mimosa, sipping it. See? You were fine. Everything was fine.

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

As you pulled up to St. Michael’s you saw it was swarmed with cameras, reporters, and people in general. It looked like a circus. You saw the crowd and silently wished you had said screw tradition and had Rafael there with you. But you were a big girl, and you had Chloe.

“...Can we get out somewhere less...this?” You nervously asked your driver.

“Absolutely ma’am, I’ll find a private entrance. No problem,”

“Thank you,” You sighed in relief.

-----

After driving around the church a few times, the driver finally found a side street blocked off. He informed the copper he had you in the limo, and the cop waved your limo inside. Chloe jumped out of the limo while holding your hand, nearly breaking your arm.

“Oh! Wait! Hey Jeeves, can we get those pastries and mimosa’s in the lady’s bridal suite?”

“Chloe his name is not--”

“It’s fine, ma’am,” The driver chuckled. “I’ll make sure the refreshments are delivered to your dressing room,”

“You’re a doll,” She blew him a kiss before she continued pulling you through the huge building like she knew exactly where you were going.

“Excuse me, where do we go?” Chloe asked a random man in a suit.

“Oh, it’s you Ms. Y/N!” The man pulled out a camera and began snapping photos.

“Oh my god--- What is WRONG with you people?!” Chloe shoved him aside and took you down another corridor. Finally you reached a doorway that was guarded by two armed guards.

“Hi, do you know--”

“Right this way,” One of them took your hand. “Mr. Barba is already inside getting ready,” He nodded to the door as you walked away. You wanted so badly to swing open the door and jump into his arms, but you knew you had to stay calm.

“Great!” You did your best to smile at him as he led you and Chloe down the hall to another doorway. He opened it to reveal a huge room with a vanity, a changing wall, two long body mirrors and a lush couch. Two sinks lined the wall and a room with a toilet was behind it. Yours and Chloe’s dresses were hanging on the changing wall, and sitting on the vanity were your treats from the limo.

“Weee! Look at all of this!!!” Chloe clapped her hands and giggled wildly as she danced around the lavish room.

“I mean, it is nice--”

“Nice? God I wish I was getting married here!” Chloe sighed as she poured herself another mimosa.

“Well, if you ever find a man I’ll look into it,” You teased her.

“Uh I think you mean WHEN,” She pointed out. “And I think the ‘when’ will be by tonight!”

“My wedding reception isn’t a singles mixer, Chloe,” You rolled your eyes.

“Well of course not,” She shook her head. “It’s a BALL!”

“Oh good god,” You groaned with a small laugh as you poured yourself a mimosa and downed it.

“Whoa there killer, let’s slow it down there,” She gave you a look. “Wouldn’t want you stumbling down the aisle in front of a million people,”

“...Do you think you’re helping?” You asked her in an annoyed tone.

“Sorry, sorry,” She apologized as there was a knock at the door. Chloe answered it to see two women carrying makeup cases and hair tools.

“We’re here to get you ready, Ms. Y/L/N,” One of them smiled at you.

“And her maid of honor, right?” Chloe jumped in.

“Uh...if that’s what the bride wants,” The other one looked at you with a wary stare.

“Yeah that’s fine, actually please do her first by all means,” You waved them over to the long sink wall and vanity.

“You’re a good friend,” Chloe put her hands over your face with tears in her eyes as she smiled.

“...You’re ridiculous,” You patted her head sweetly before she sat in the vanity, ready to be made over.

While Chloe was being turned into a princess, you walked over and admired your dress that looked like it was made for one. It was a long, cream white colored sleeveless dress with intricate cubic zirconia diamonds sewn into the bust. It was the simplest dress Chloe had let you pick. Suddenly you remembered the cornucopia veil, it was sitting on the couch in the box Maria had brought it over in. You pulled it out and put it on; when one of the stylists saw it she gasped.

“Oh, ma’am, I don’t know--”

“My...mother, asked me to wear it,” You stopped her.

“Right,” She nodded uncomfortably while Chloe tried not to laugh at the disgusted faces they were clearly trying to hide.

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

After what seemed like hours, you and Chloe were finally done in full make up and up do's. One of the ladies picked up the ancient headwear and tried positioning on your hair as best she could. She took several tries, using hair pins and hairspray before she finally stepped back.

“Lovely,” She smiled as she stepped back to admire her work. You looked in the vanity mirror to see your finished look. The headdress felt like it weighed five pounds, but it was intricately woven into your hair, there was no getting it out now. You longed for the moment Rafael would rip it off your head as soon as you were alone in your honeymoon suite...or, y’know before then.

“Well we’ll see you out there ma’am,” One of them nodded as they gathered their stuff and scooted out the door, leaving you and Chloe alone once again.

“Well,” Chloe examined your head. “At least you won’t lose it…” She was cut off by a knock at the door. You started to open it when you recognized those eyes.

“Rafa!” You slammed the door and yelled through it. “What are you doing? We can’t see each other before the wedding, it’s bad luck,”

“Baby I think we’ve gotten all the bad luck already out of the way,” He called through the door. “And I really, really need to talk to you,”

Your eyes widened in panic as you looked at Chloe, who sprung into best friend mode. “Calm yourself, I’m sure it’s nothing…” She walked over and put her hands on your shoulders.

“Stop freaking her out counselor, are you planning to run? Tell me now so I can get out there and tie you to a chair,”

“What? No! I just-- Y/N please will you open the door, por favor?” He sounded seriously distressed, and he used his secret weapon: speaking in spanish.

You sighed and slowly opened the door, revealing Rafael in a gorgeous black and white tux, and the tallest top hat you’d ever seen.

“Well well well, Mr. Monopoly, don’t you look spiffy?” Chloe snickered, causing you to hit her while Rafael made an even more distressed face.

“I knew it, god it’s awful,” He sighed as he took it off his head and walked inside the room.

“So why are you--?” You started to ask.

“The mayor said it would ‘look better on tv’,” He scoffed in disgust.

“Oh Jesus--” You rolled your eyes. “Baby why didn’t you just tell him--?”

“Because that stupid fucking contract we signed said we would go along with everything he said for the rest of this whole shit show!” He growled at the mess he had gotten himself into. The mayor knew damn well how much more “favors” he would ask of him before he signed that contract, he just knew it.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better…” You pointed to your own head. Rafael’s worried expression turned into a relieved smile as he finally noticed the bird’s nest on your scalp.

“...Maria sprung this on me last night,” You pointed to it. “At least you can take yours off,”

“...Well, that does help a bit,” He half smiled as he examined your ceremonial headdress.

“Is that it mi amor, you’re freaking out over a hat?” You put your hand on his face.

“Well our children are going to see these photos! Videos! Our GRANDKIDS! They’re going to think their grandpa was a huge douche,” He cried overdramatically.

“...Is this what it’s like to be with me? Because I don’t love it,” You teased him.

“I’m serious, Y/N! This isn’t funny!” He gave you a pitiful pout.

“...What else?” You gave him an expectant look.

“What else?”

“All of this over a hat?”

“...Alright fine,” He sighed as he sat down on the lush couch. “I know what I said about all that mattered was me and you standing across from each other but--”

“But?” You gave Chloe a worried look.

“But I also wanted someone else,”

“....Who, Olivia?” You rolled your eyes.

“No!” He exclaimed. “No, my childhood priest, Father Hernandez,”

“Oh,” You said with a relieved sigh. “Well, baby why don’t you just--”

“Because they’re being super particular, stupid Catholics!” He got up and started pacing.

“Apparently THEIR priest Father O’Shannon is ‘assigned’ to this place. God forbid anyone dare replace him,” He grumbled as he continued to pace.

“So you--”

“And it’s just the last straw on top of all of this bullshit, all this bending. I can’t do it!!” He threw up his hands in frustration.

“....Baby, breathe,” You stopped his pacing and pressed your forehead against his, your own personal calming gesture.

“God I guess it is true what they say,” Chloe suddenly spoke up, causing you both to give her a perplexed stare.

“In a couple when one person starts to go off the rails the other one instantly becomes the calm rational one,” She gestured between the two of you.

“Hey, I am NOT--” He protested.

“Baby please,” You shook your head. “I almost forgot how high strung you were until this moment,”

“High strung?” He took offense. “What are you talking about?”

“You forget that I worked for you,” You giggled.

“I’m high strung at work?” He asked. The question caused you to erupt in laughter. “What?! Am I?”

“Oh no sweetie, you’re totally mellow,” You smiled sarcastically.

“How am I--?”

“Think about how much coffee you drink at work, Rafa,”

“I don’t see how that is relevant,” He huffed. He loved his coffee, so what?

“...Mmmkay,” You chuckled, kissing his cheek.

“Well whatever, kettle” He made a pouty face.

“Fair,” You chuckled. “But we’re talking about you right now, pot,”

“Hey, I think I have done more than my share of helping you through your little ‘episodes’, it’s your turn!!!” He crossed his arms like a kid.

“Oh really? ‘Episodes’?�� You replied in a snarky tone. Chloe sensed the rising tension and sprung into action.

“Okay! I think that’s enough, Pot. Kettle.” Chloe stepped in between you. “You’re clearly both too high strung for this conversation,”

“He started it,” You stuck your tongue out at Rafael like a five year old.

“Okay now let's not turn on each other, then the terrorist headwear wins,” She pointed to the hat on the vanity and your head.

“....Well do you have a solution, Gandhi?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Actually,” She smiled proudly. “I think I do,” She grabbed her phone and began typing something into google maps.

“You wanna share with the class?” Rafael asked as he gave you a look, like you were supposed to understand her crazy.

“.....Have you seen The Office?” She asked them, then glanced at you with a knowing look. Your face turned into a huge grin as you realized what she was implying.

“Chloe, you’re a genius,” You grabbed her in a hug.

“I know,” She nodded with a cocky smile.

-----

Chloe popped her head out of the door, making sure the coast was clear. When she was sure, she motioned to the two of you out and down the hall towards the back door where you left the limo. You and Rafael got in, and Chloe began to shut the door when you stopped her.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“Someone has to vamp!” She pointed out.

“You're a good friend, Chloe,” You gave her a kiss on her head.

“I know,” She said boastfully. “Just hurry, my bubbly personality can’t hold them off for long,” She slammed the door and you were off.

-----

“...Fucking New York traffic! Estúpido tráfico de mierda,,,” Rafael began muttering under his breath. His childhood church in the Bronx was at least thirty minutes away with the busy Manhattan traffic. You put a hand on his knee to try and soothe him, but he was extra wound up by now. It reminded you of when you were just his assistant; he’d get this way when a trial wasn’t going his way and he felt backed into a corner. The worst days you’d seen him have at the office, where he’d suddenly take off for hours in the middle of the day….

That gave you an idea.

“Baby,” You snapped him out of his internal ranting monologue. He turned to you with a dismayed look.

“I’m sorry, carino,” He apologized, taking your hand that was placed on his knee. “I know I’m--”

“Can priests marry people outside of their church?” You simply asked him.

“....Like a closer church?” He looked at you in confusion.

“.....Actually, I was thinking somewhere closer,” You bit your lip with a smile as you took his phone and typed in an address that linked to the driver’s phone map. He glanced down at it and gave you a huge smile.

“You’re the best,” He gave you a huge kiss as the limo made a U-Turn.

------

Luckily Father Gonzalez used a bike for his transportation, so he was able to make it through traffic pretty easily. He met the two of you outside Central Park pretty soon after you got there.

“I appreciate you doing this for us, Padre,” Rafael hugged the priest tightly. “I didn’t want anyone else marrying us,”

“Claro, Rafael,” He smiled. “Of course! I was hoping St. Michael’s would have a change of heart, pero--”

“You know Catholics,” Rafael rolled his eyes.

“Si,” He nodded. “They’re almost as stubborn as you!” The padre chuckled. Then he noticed you.

“Ay, Rafa,” He gestured at you. “es este su prometido?”

“Si,” You nodded. “Soy su prometida,”

“Ay bien! Ella habla español!” Father Gonzalez smiled brightly. “So are you two ready?”

“Si, Padre,” Rafael nodded. “But first, we need the right backdrop,” He grinned as he took your hand and walked into the park.

----

It was the middle of the day on a Saturday so the park was full of families playing, joggers, street artists and the like. Luckily for you however, nobody seemed to want to see the penguins today. The enclosure was almost empty except for one elderly couple.

“Witnesses!” You beamed at Rafael as you calmly walked up to the two and tapped the woman on the shoulder.

“Excuse me,” You smiled sweetly. “Would you-- my fiancé and I, we’re supposed to get married in this huge chapel down the street from here, but it was just all too much circus so we snuck away so that we could just get married in our favorite spot here and--”

“Baby, too much detail,” Rafael laughed. He loved it when you would ramble on about something when you got excited, but you were on a time crunch.

“...Right,” You blushed. “Anyway is there any way--”

“You’d like us to be witnesses, dear?” The old woman smiled brightly at you.

“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind,” You smiled gratefully.

“Of course not!” The man with her chimed in. “Y’know, back in our day, we had to get married in secret too,”

You suddenly noticed that they were an interracial couple; a white woman and a black man. Your smile faded a bit as you thought of the hardships they must have been through, just to be together, similar to you and Rafael.

“Okay, we’ll do the fast version of this, mijos,” The Padre opened his Bible and began to speak, but looked at the two of you.

“Actually, you know you’re going to do this whole spiel in a little while anyway, why don’t you say your vows in your own words while you can?”

“Oh God,” You muttered, then gasped. “I’m so sorry! I--”

“It’s fine, senorita,” He nodded.

“I just...I’m not great, with the speeches and the speaking in public thing,” You twirled the one piece of hair hanging from your updo in your hand nervously.

“I mean, we’re not exactly in public, amor,” Rafael smirked.

“You know what I mean!” You hit him playfully. “I just...I want it to be perfect,”

“If you speak from your heart dear, it will be perfect,” The old woman assured you. “Just look into his eyes and say whatever it is you’re thinking,”

“....Well, maybe not ‘everything’,” The old man added with a laugh, giving you two a raunchy look. Good lord.

“Okay,” You took a deep breath and took Rafael’s hands, looking into his gorgeous green eyes.

“I...um….” You looked down nervously.

“Hey,” Rafael cupped your chin to look at him. “It’s okay, mi amor. It’s just me, it’s just us. Just like I said,”

“Just us,” You smiled, then began to start again.

“Rafael,” You took a deep breath. “It’s...it’s hard for me to make some big speech because the truth is, when I look into your eyes I forget everything. Every wrong decision, every hurdle we’ve been through, it all just...fades away, when you look at me,” You squeezed his hands tighter.

“You have done so much for me in so little time. People probably think that we’re insane because we’re committing our lives to each other after only really knowing each other for a few months, but the truth is it feels like a lifetime. I feel like I was born loving you, I just didn’t know it until I saw you,” His eyes were starting to water as your voice cracked with your own tears.

“I know that I have put you through so much grief, so much pain and...doubt,” You paused, wiping a few stray tears. “But you have never, not once, abandoned me. You’ve stuck through all of my crazy, all of our shenanigans--”

You glanced over at the old couple who were grinning ear to ear. You didn’t want to get into all the psycho drama you and Rafael had been through in front of total strangers, but he gave you a knowing look when you said ‘shenanigans’. He knew what you meant; because of course he did. You were connected.

“I’m actually really glad that you had your ‘freak out’ because for one it made me look like the sane one for once,” All of you chuckled. “But also, because it got us our chance to get married our way, in our spot,” You gestured to the cave around you.

“I remember the very first time you brought me here, I thought that it was done. We were done. I thought that our one perfect day was going to be just that-- one perfect day,” You began to choke on your words again as you thought back to that very first day, the day you “magicked” him.

“I never in my wildest dreams thought that--'' You glanced at the Padre and the couple again. “That we’d….start, again here,” You exchanged another knowing look.

“And I certainly never thought you’d propose to me in this place-- with a flash mob, no less!” The Padre and couple laughed in surprise, Rafael began to blush profusely, but you put a hand to his red cheek.

“Literally every single beginning we’ve had-- it started right here,” You wiped more stray tears, already knowing the woman back at the church was going to have to re-do all of it.

“And now it’s starting again-- for the rest of our lives,” You sniffled while Rafael wiped more tears from your face and then his own.

“...Okay I’m done,” You took a deep breath in and out as you smiled at Father Hernandez.

“Alright well then Rafa--”

“Oh wait!!!” You suddenly interjected. “Also, I love you,” You make an “eek” face. “I can’t believe I left that out,”

“...I’m pretty sure that whole speech was an ‘I love you,’ dearie,” The old woman patted your back with a reassuring smile.

“I agree,” Rafael nodded. “And to be honest-- I don’t think I can follow that,”

“Oh come on,” You rolled your eyes. “It wasn’t that great,”

“No it wasn’t great,” He shook his head. “It was perfecto,” He took both of your hands in his once more. “...All I can say is, ditto,”

“Ditto?” You laughed. “Real romantic, Rafa,”

“Well I can’t think of anything more than what you’ve already said!” Rafael shrugged with a laugh.

“Well, except this: You say that I’ve put up with you, and never abandoned you, but neither did you,” He pulled you closer towards him.

“You’ve put up with me plenty, and you could have walked away plenty of times. But you stayed with me. You fought for me. And I will spend the rest of our lives trying to be good enough for you, not the other way around,”

“You’re already good enough for me, Rafael,” You bit your lip as you tried your hardest not to kiss him before Padre said you could.

“Can I kiss her yet Padre?” Rafael read your mind.

“Calma, Rafa,” Padre chuckled. “Do you have rings?”

“Shit, the rings!” Rafael groaned. “Sorry, Padre,” He quickly apologized.

“Wait...baby,” You turned around and looked down at all the decorative stones that lined the bottom of the tank. You picked two up and handed one to Rafael.

“Pebbles,” He smiled at you. “Like penguins,”

“Ah, well then…” The Padre shrugged, having no idea what was happening but went along with it anyway. “I guess, exchange the pebbles now?”

You giggled as you placed your pebble in Rafael’s hand, then he placed his in yours.

“Well then, I guess by the power vested in me by God and the state of New York, I now pronounce you man and wife,” He shrugged with a smile. “Now you may kiss her, Rafa,”

“Gracias, Padre,” He grinned before pulling you into a passionate kiss, a kiss rivaling many of the kisses you had exchanged in this cave before now.

“Now, if you three would like to attend a circus, we’d be glad to have you,” You glanced at your three witnesses.

They looked at each other with confused glances, then shrugged and followed you and Rafael back towards the limo.

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

As soon as you pulled back behind the church, the Padre and the couple were shown to seats by one of the security guards while you and Rafael walked back to the bridal suite. Chloe ran up to the both of you before you could make it here, Rafael’s top hat in her hand.

“What the hell, you guys?!” She hissed, then realized you were in a church so she made a sign of the cross and kissed her fist.

“They’re about to start rioting!” She added.

“Sorry, sorry, Chloe,” You kissed her cheek. “You’re a good friend,”

"I want you to realize you've said that three times now,” She smiled proudly. “Be sure to tell all of your sexy eligible lawyer friends that, Rafael,”

“I’ll be sure to slip it in every conversation later, Chloe,” He smirked as he gave her a kiss on the cheek as well.

“Alright now take this magic hat and get down that aisle before the mayor actually kills you,” She shoved the top hat in Rafael’s hands and shooed him through the hall and towards the doors of the sanctuary.

“Alright,” She focused on you. “You ready to do this?”

“I mean…” You gestured to your messed up make up and the veil falling out of your hair.

“Aw crap,” Chloe grimaced. “Ok, well looks like you’re getting the Chloe special,” She went and grabbed her purse from the bridal room and pulled you into the ladies room.

After a few minutes you reemerged with perfect make up and the veil reattached to your hair like a nest. Hey, you just had your perfect ceremony. You could last a few more minutes with this thing.

“Alright, now you’re ready,” She brushed you off and opened the sanctuary doors to signal the piano to start playing the Bridal Suite.

The doors opened and Chloe took your hand as you both walked down the aisle together. The flashing lights and bright red dots from film cameras were starting to overwhelm you as you walked, but you focused on Rafael.

He was at the end of all this erratic tunnel of people gawking at you like a zoo animal. You just breathed in and out and kept your gaze locked into his; his smile was like a bright beacon in the darkness. Finally you reached the altar and he took your hands in his. You felt safe again; you’d always feel safe in his grasp.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…” The priest began to speak, but the only thing the two of you heard were each other, speaking volumes to each other with just your looks. It was just like Rafael had promised: Just you and him.

And it would just be you and him, forever.

[msmercury84]

*Entry for Hbowardaily bobweek2023, Day 4, Funny Scene*

George Luz, his wife and Leigh Guarnere perform as the Andrews Sisters for the 1947 Easy Company Reunion. Delvina was Liz's wife's actual name.

***********************************************************************

Leigh had also secretly called George Luz and asked if he would perform a song with her at the reunion. He gladly took the opportunity to use his gift of imitating voices and learned the words to an Andrews Sisters' song. Luz's wife Delvina agreed to help apply makeup, false eyelashes, a wig and a dress. He talked his wife into singing so they could perform as a trio. She could sing and usually sang in the church choir.

George, Delvina and Leigh rehearsed during numerous telephone calls. Bill was let in on the secret about the performance and he agreed to not share the information with his former brothers in arms before the reunion.

The song, "I Want My Mama" was a Spanish/Cuban influenced tune about a balding "over 50" year old man who wanted hugs, kisses and attention from his wife.

Delvina Luz carefully made up her husband's face, including false eyelashes and applied a wig that was blonde and styled in the popular Victory Roll. George put on a garter belt,stockings, a bra stuffed with stockings, a slip and a floral print dress. He decided to wear his usual shoes to make his appearance look even more amusing.

Luz's wife was laughing so hard that she nearly cried at the sight of him in his 'costume'. He, Leigh and his wife worked out some very basic dance steps a few hours before the other men and their wives arrived in the hotel's ballroom.

When the trio first appeared onstage, the entire audience burst into loud laughter. The normally reserved Colonel Sink was laughing as hard as the majority of the audience. Bill burst out in extremely loud laughter at the sight of his friend dressed up as Patty Andrews. Buck Compton laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks.

Shifty Powers told Donald Malarkey and his wife,

"I declare, I've seen it all, now! Luz has outdone himself." The song began and the Andrews Sisters wannabes did some impressive singing and dancing. Toward the middle of the song, George stepped closer to the microphone and sang, perfectly imitating Patty Andrews,

"My, my,my, momma! I want my momma!" Everyone in the audience applauded. During the instrumental section of the song, Luz stepped out into the middle of the stage, put both hands on his hips and sashayed back and forth.

He wiggled his hips and his behind in time with the music. Bull Randleman was laughing so hard that he was nearly breathless. His face was bright red as he guffawed at George's antics onstage.

A few cat calls and remarks were heard, along the lines of,

"Hey, Luz! How about a date?" and,

"Hey, Doll, what are you doing after the show?" Delvina and Leigh somehow managed to sing in harmony and perform despite their need to laugh.

Performers were about to appear that Leigh hadn't mentioned to her husband, George Luz and his wife. As the song ended and the audience still laughed and applauded, a collective gasp of surprise was heard from the crowd as the Andrews Sisters walked onstage behind the trio of George, Delvina and Leigh.

Maxine and Laverne Andrews had frowns on their faces as Patty Andrews tapped George on the shoulder. Luz turned around and he was speechless as he saw the sisters. Delvina wondered what her husband was looking at and she turned, seeing the famous trio. She looked as stunned as her husband. Patty moved a microphone stand close to her and asked George,

"Sir, do you think that you're funny mocking me?" George stood with his mouth open, unable to speak. He finally managed to say,

"No, Miss Andrews." Patty laughed and hugged him, replying,

"My sisters and I think that your performance was hilarious! You and your wife are pretty good singers." Delvina looked relieved that the sisters weren't angry and the audience applauded. George, Delvina and Leigh left the stage.

Colonel Sink was seated next to Dick Winters and his wife. He chuckled as he told Winters,

"That was a memorable performance." Dick agreed, replying,

"I'll never forget seeing Luz done up like Patty Andrews." Lewis Nixon, who was laughing along with everyone else in the audience, chuckled and commented,

"There's not enough Vat 69 in the world to erase that image from my memory."

#hbowardaily #bobweek2023

@hbowardaily

[babybatscreationsv2]

A King on a Leash ch8

Marvel | Starker

Tony Stark is a powerful man with a beautiful husband and a loyal crime family, but it looks like he didn’t keep his husband on a short enough leash. After turning Peter lose on a Cuban gang leader, Peter’s life is  in danger. The real trouble is that Tony now realizes that Peter is the  only thing in this world that he cares about and he never meant for that  to happen.

Sequel to A Doll on a String

Rating: Explicit

Full Fic

A Doll on a String

Warnings under the cut*

Warnings: torture, murder, mafia au, graphic description of a panic attack, orgasm denial, possessive behavior, jealousy

Fists, a knife, a flambe torch, and two hours later and Tony had everything he needed. He sent Natasha off to find Bucky. Together they would gather up their teams and corner this cousin of Suarez's. Ricardo, but everyone calls him 'Chili'. How intimidating. They dumped the body off a pier, then Tony noticed the time. Shit. He was going to be late to pick up Peter.

"Hap," he said through the phone. "You available to pick Peter up today?"

"Sorry, Boss, I'm across town. You can't make it?"

"Fuck. I'll have his guards drive him home."

"Sorry, Tony. Wish I could make it. Want me to call and make some threats before they pick him up?"

"No," he sighed. "I'm sure I can manage. Thanks anyway, Hap."

"No problem, Boss."

Tony ended the call and dialed Kevin, the head of Peter's guards when Happy wasn’t around. He would already be parked in front of the building to make sure it was safe.

"You're bringing Peter home, today. Make sure he comes straight home and don't you-"

"Boss?"

Tony clenched his jaw at being interrupted. Better be fucking important. "What is it?"

"You telling me this ain't your car the other Mr. Stark just got into?" the fear in his voice was icy.

His own heart was shot through with the same icy fear. "Tail them. Wherever they go. Call me when they stop."

He hung up and called Peter, hands clammy. Could Ricardo have gotten to him this fast? His man said he was in Jersey today, but he could have made the drive in the time it took to get it out of him. It could have been a distraction. Could have been a trap. Peter could be dead already.

"Tony?" Peter answered. Tony sighed, instantly soothed. He didn't sound scared or stressed or otherwise in trouble. He was okay.

"Baby where are you?"

"You didn't get my texts?"

Tony checked his phone. As he looked, four messages arrived in series. He sighed. Stupid warehouse reception. Sometimes it knocked out his signal.

"Sorry, baby. Tell me where you are."

"I'm just going to dinner with some friends. Sorry if I scared you."

Tony relaxed into his seat. He's okay. He's alive. His own heart still raced. "It's okay, sweetheart, I'm not mad."

"That's an awful lot of pet names for not being mad."

Tony took a deep breath. "Next time, make sure I got your message before you leave. Please?"

"Of course. I love you, Tony. Go enjoy an evening to yourself, okay? I'll be home late."

"Sure, angel. Have fun. Tell your friends I said 'hi'."

"Will do." Peter kissed him through the phone. "See you at home."

"Love you, Peter."

"Love you, Tony."

The call ended. Tony sighed and stared out the window. He didn't like the cold, anxious, feeling of being without Peter. 'Enjoy an evening to yourself', yeah right. He sat and fiddled with the ring on his finger. Then ice shot through his heart.

Friends?

Friends. Plural. Peter has two best friends: Gwen and MJ. They hate each other. Sure, he goes out with the girls he dances with every now and then, but he doesn't call them friends. He calls them 'the girls'. MJ has a girlfriend. He could be going out with them together, but MJ wouldn't have met him at the performance hall because she hates Gwen. Even if she had she couldn't afford a car that would be confused with one of Tony's. What friends?

His first instinct was to call him back and ask, but no. He didn't want Peter to think he was being overbearing. He deserves his own space. Fuck, it was killing him, though. Like a blessing from God, Kevin called.

"Boss?"

"Where is he, Kev?"

Poor Kevin sounded like he might throw up. "He's at that Italian place you guys like and he's with friends."

"Which friends?"

"Uh," he paused. "The blonde girl and a guy. I've never seen him before."

There was a guy that he danced with, but he and Peter never got along so they don't hang out. He would have remembered if Peter had made amends with him. "Describe him."

"Expensive looking suit, short brown hair, maybe an inch or two taller than Mr. Stark. Looked around the same age. Couldn't see much of his face from here, but he was clean-shaven."

Harry Osborn.

"Call in the second car. I want men inside. I'll call Leonardo and let him know you're with me."

"Yes, sir."

It hurt. It genuinely fucking hurt. And it was stupid. Why did he feel like Peter was cheating on him? Of course he would want to see an old friend. Harry had been gone for years, they would want to catch up. At least Gwen was with them. She was very straight laced, she wouldn't let Peter run off with him- What the fuck was he even thinking? Of course Peter wouldn't. He took a deep breath but it didn't stop the panic. He couldn't breathe. The car was suffocating him. He climbed out and nearly fell onto the sidewalk.

His driver got out and came around the side.

"You alright, Boss?"

"Fine-" he choked. "Just need a minute. Wait in the car."

He looked unsure, but he did what he was told.

Tony's mind spun with thoughts that didn't quite connect and weren't entirely coherent.

Should start going to his practices with him... Should tell him he's not allowed to dance anymore. What if he leaves? What if he doesn't come home? I should kill Harry Osborn. What if I caught them together? What if Peter wants him? What if he's better than me? What if he's better for Peter than me? I should go to the restaurant. I should call Peter. I should go home. Why can't I breathe?

Tony sat down on the curb and put his head between his knees. He didn't want to imagine what he looked like, a Mafia Boss, a capital 'B' Boss, sitting on the ground like a kid at a Macy's parade. Cue the fucking confetti and tootsie rolls.

His phone rang. It was Peter. He answered without thinking, then realized his throat was thick and he probably sounded like he was crying. Was he crying?

"What the fuck, Tony? I can't go to dinner without a babysitter?"

Tony gulped down air. The sound of his voice, even venomous and angry, helped to soothe him. "No, baby, you can't." His voice came out thick and gravelly and probably sounded more angry than upset.

"And why not?" He could just see him, hiding in the bathroom so no one would here them argue. A hand on his hip and the other clutched around his phone. Teeth clenched and hair disheveled where he ran a frustrated hand through it.

"Because you're mine," Tony said, a little smile on his lips.

He heard Peter sigh. "I know I'm in trouble and all, but can't your men wait outside?"

"You need all the protection you can get, angel. I won't let anything happen to you." Or anyone, he thought.

A pause, then another sigh. "Fine. You're right. Sorry, I overreacted."

"It's okay. I'm glad you called."

"Are you okay?"

Tony stood up and brushed himself off. He looked at the people passing him by as if they were the ones who were strange. "I will be when this is over."

There was a pause. "Should I cancel dinner?" He sounded so upset. Tony couldn't take something from him if it really meant that much. Though, he couldn't say that it didn't feel good to be reminded that he could. If he walked into that restaurant and dragged Peter out no one would stop him. Hell, Peter would blush and make excuses but he wouldn't argue. Not in public. Not when it could tarnish Tony's image.

"No, angel. Enjoy your dinner." And think of me, he thought. Remember the guards I sent to protect you. Remember that I'm always just a call away.

"You sure?"

"Of course. Be safe. Don't go anywhere alone." Just come home. Just ditch him and come home.

"I'll be careful. You be careful, too."

"I love you, Peter." More than anything. Anything at all.

"Love you, Tony." Why? What's worth loving when I'm weak like this?

On shaking legs, Tony got back in the car. Cold and pale, he cleared his throat. Then he barked at the driver to take him home.

Peter wasn’t late, but it felt like it. Especially since Tony had spent a good while on the bathroom floor throwing up into the toilet. He had showered and brushed his teeth and he prayed Peter didn't smell the vomit on him. He was relaxing by an artificial fire, forcing himself to read a book, when Peter came in. He was all smiles, walking on air. He floated across the room to give Tony a kiss.

"Whatcha reading?"

"Nothing." He let Peter take the book from his hands and set it aside. Then he sat straddling his lap. "There's my angel." He brushed Peter's hair from his forehead. He had to get himself under control. He'd been completely sick until Peter got home. He felt like he'd been holding his breath up until the moment Peter's weight settled in his lap. He closed his eyes and breathed him.

"Did you miss me?" Peter cooed, angel sweet. He smelled like fresh Italian herbs and restaurant hand soap.

Tony shrugged. "Should I?"

Peter gave him a coy smile. "I know what missed me." He slipped down to the floor and pushed apart Tony's legs. His skinny fingers trailed over his crotch. A slave to his husband, the man that was supposed to be his plaything and not the other way around, Tony's cock started to thicken at the touch. He let his legs spread wider, let his head fall back as Peter's hot little mouth made a wet spot on the front of his pants. He could feel the heat, the tease of suction through too many layers. After suffering so many bad feelings throughout the day, the promise of pleasure made him hungry.

"Don't tease, sweetheart."

Peter looked up at him with a mischievous smile on his face. He continued to suck on the fabric, moaning like it was his cock, like he could taste it through the material. Tony stared, his expression dark. He reached slowly down to unbuckle his belt and pulled it off. Peter sat still and waited watching as he took out his cock.

Tony admired the way he licked his bottom lip as be eyed the belt in his hands before he eyed Tony's cock. He looked up, asking for permission.

"Get your mouth on it. No hands."

Without a question, Peter bent and took his cock into his mouth. Tony finally felt some of the days tension leave him. He let Peter get him hard and wet, then he used the belt to pulled Peter in, letting it curve against the back of his head, and pulled him down until his tongue reached his balls. He pulled down with the belt and thrust his hips forward, burying as deeply as he could in his throat. His head fell back against the chair. Peter wretched, body trembling between his legs. Tony let him up before he could puke up his dinner. He looked down at Peter to see his eyes glassy and his mouth open and dripping with spit.

"What a good little toy you are. Gonna be my fleshlight, baby?"

Peter moaned. "Yes, daddy." Fuck, that look on his face, cock stupid and perfect. Ready to do anything he asked.

"That's a good boy."

He got his mouth back on Tony's cock and Tony used the belt to guide him. He kept his mouth open wide and let Tony have what he wanted, appearing more fuck hole than man.

"You're daddy's perfect little slut aren't you?"

Peter gurgled on his cock, unable to answer.

"Should keep you tied to the bed. Use you whenever I want." Never let you leave. He liked the sound of that.

Peter was so good, so patient, and obedient. Tony's treatment of his throat was brutal, tortuous, yet he sat with his hands in lap. Tears ran down his cheeks and spit down his chin. Daddy's good obedient pet. Perfect and beautiful and all his. All his.

He let Peter go and sat stroking himself, watching him gasp. Once he recovered enough, he sat up, mouth open waiting for his cum. Tony painted him with it, coating his face in sticky white, hardly any ended up in his waiting mouth. And Peter sat, still and patient until Tony wiped the cum from his eyes. Then he blinked up at him, licking his lips.

"Can I cum, daddy?"

Tony thought a moment. "No," he decided. He could spend tomorrow hard and thinking about Tony and not thinking about Osborn and Tony would feel a little better about his dinner outing.

"Clean your face and strip for me."

"Yes, sir." Peter wiped cum from his cheeks and licked his fingers clean. Tony scooped some off his forehead when he missed it. Peter happily suckled his fingers, humming and closing his eyes. Like having any part of Tony inside him was bliss. Then he stood and stripped out of his clothes. Tony looked at his cock, fully hard and needy.

"Come sit with me, angel."

Peter sat down on his lap, happy when Tony gave him a deep kiss. Then slowly started to kiss down his neck. His fingers teased his bare thigh. He brushed them over his hard cock, adoring the way his cock jumped under his touch. "Tell me about your dinner. Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah," he began, notably breathless. "Harry was back in town so- so Gwen and I took him out." He stuttered as Tony sucked on his neck. He grinned against the fresh bruises he made.

"That sounds nice," he said.

He wrapped a hand around his cock and slowly stroked him. Peter licked his swollen lips.

"It was fun. I missed Harry. I missed you, too, of course. I'm not used to having dinner without you."

Tony sucked another mark into his skin, increasing the pressure until Peter whined and his hands touched his chest. Then he thought, just one more, and sucked another mark just above his Adam's apple.

"What's gotten into you?" Peter asked, breathless and clinging to his chest.

"Nothing." Tony threaded his fingers through his hair and kissed him again. He licked away the taste of cum from his mouth until he could taste Peter underneath. His Peter.

[swanlake1998]

Article: The Black Ballet Celeb Taking On Racism in Dance

Date: June 21, 2021

By: Mary Scott Manning

With a raft of Instagram followers and a modeling contract, the Washington Ballet’s Nardia Boodoo is as close as it gets to a pop celeb in the rarefied world of ballet. Now she’s trying to make that world more fair.

A ballerina, by definition, does not speak—at least not with words. The body is her language, and she spends her life mastering its vocabulary, usually at others’ direction: a casting list on the wall, a choreographer’s instructions, a critic’s review. For dancers of color, this fact has been doubly true.

But last year, after a Minneapolis police officer murdered George Floyd, and organizations across the professional spectrum were called out by people of color for furthering systemic racism, the overwhelmingly white world of ballet wasn’t spared. One of the most influential voices in that conversation was a dancer with the Washington Ballet, 27-year-old Nardia Boodoo.

You may have seen her onstage, one of the company’s five Black dancers, or in the pages of Marie Claire—she’s a model repped by Wilhelmina who has starred in campaigns for Tory Burch, Chanel Beauty, and Nike. She began dancing only 13 years ago, but Boodoo, whose roots are Indo-Trinidadian, has soared into the pantheon of ballet celebrities, the object of teen worship and the subject of fan art (plus at least one look-alike doll).

What was never visible was the racism she endured on the way up. “Despite the fact that I work hard in rehearsal, throw myself into my art form and perform on international stages,” as she put it on Instagram on May 31, 2020, “when I return home”—to Bethesda—”I’m still most likely to be questioned and harassed for walking my dog late at night in an affluent area…that I reside in.”

This month, Boodoo appears in one of the Washington Ballet’s latest productions, choreographed by the renowned Black dancer Silas Farely. Yet some of her most important recent work has occurred behind the scenes over the past year as she pushed the company to own ballet’s history of prejudice and its responsibility to change. “She’s just been a really, really important voice in helping us to galvanize and discuss all very important issues,” says Julie Kent, the company’s artistic director, issues that “haven’t really been addressed previously, and not just at the Washington Ballet but in ballet as an art form.”

When Boodoo started training at 14, Misty Copeland was making history as American Ballet Theatre’s first Black soloist in two decades, following trailblazing Black ballerinas such as Lauren Anderson and Raven Wilkinson. Boodoo’s peers at the Baltimore School for the Arts, meanwhile, were majority-African American, a “strong base,” she says, for a young artist of color. Boodoo earned a scholarship to Chicago’s Joffrey Ballet, then landed a coveted sport in the Washington Ballet’s studio company while still a teenager.

Leaving home, though, occasioned her first experiences with racial bias in ballet. “I’ve had someone who holds power say to me, ‘Well, because you stick out so much in the corps, you have to work so much harder, because everyone’s going to be looking at you,'” she says. “That’s not my fault that you only have one Black girl in the corps.”

It was the classic conundrum of a second generation. She wasn’t the one who broke down the door. But she still had to contend with an environment that was less than welcoming. And the pressure to fit a stereotype needled her. Virtually every professional Black dancer feels it: having to straighten curly hair, receiving costumes with mesh that doesn’t match their skin tone, wearing the pink tights that make light-skinned dancers look lithe but appear to chop inches off those with darker complexions. Sometimes Boodoo’s colleagues would make hurtful comments. “Stupid things,” she recalls, “like ‘Your hair smells like Black-girl hair.'”

Rachael Parini, a friend and the only other Black dancer when Boodoo joined the company, remembers when they were asked to wear white powder in Giselle, a tradition in the ballet but a loaded proposition for Black performers. At a rehearsal, the stager hollered over the loudspeaker: “Rachael and Nardia, why are you blue?” The powder apparently had turned their brown skin another hue under the cool stage lights.

Parini describes her friend as a force—”not one to back down from a fight.” But back then, the women endured the routine microaggression quietly. For all its glamour, a ballet company is a workplace like any other, governed by hierarchies and unwritten social codes. With one big difference: There’s usually no formal human-resources department. “You sort of get this vibe that this is how it is,” says Boodoo. “The more subservient you are…the better and the more instruction you’ll receive…the further your career will go on.”

After starting to model, Boodoo met a photographer who was perplexed by her acquiescence. He described how the New York dancers he knew were much more assertive. It was a revelation: Boodoo’s confidence and following grew. She became an apprentice at the Pennsylvania Ballet, then returned to DC, becoming a full company member in 2019.

By the time the country was protesting for racial justice and dancers of color began organizing over Zoom, she was ready to speak out. “To all the dancers that don’t feel supported by their companies,” she posted to Instagram on June 1, 2020, “I think it’s time to make some changes and to hold them accountable.” Andrea Long-Naidu, a former New York ballet star and a past teacher of Boodoo’s, looked on with pride: “When I had her at Dance Theatre of Harlem, she wasn’t aware of her powers yet.”

Seeing her staff in pain after George Floyd’s Killing, Kent convened an all-company Zoom. Voice cracking, Boodoo recounted her experiences, explaining that the bias often presented itself as overtly as it did implicitly: The problem wasn’t simply getting passed over for a role but also being told her face looked “too ethnic” for the part.

Kent, who is white, listened on the other side of the screen, distinctly aware of the vulnerability on display among her dancers. A former principal dancer with American Ballet Theatre, she performed on global stages and had a part in the beloved 2000 movie Center Stage. “I have a unique role and responsibility in order to move [the art form] forward,” she says, “and allow for the kind of career and love that I had to be possible for as many people as possible.”

Kent inherited one of the country’s most diverse companies from her predecessor, Septime Webre, who had recruited worldwide and electrified the institution’s cultural cachet. She had added 16 dancers to the corps, almost half of whom identify as BIPOC—and now they were hurting. There’s also the matter of competition. The Ballet has to compete with bigger acts imported by the Kennedy Center. In some ways, its relevance hinges on broadening ballet’s historically older, white audience with admirers whose woke-ness won’t tolerate notions of “diversity” that predate Black Lives Matter—or that feel performative.

Kent formed a working group with members from every department to tackle issues of inclusion and equity, and an outside consultant has been guiding their monthly meetings and homework. Boodoo, who represents the performers along with Oscar Sanchez, a Cuban dancer, had expected pushback. But her fan base and platform—a social-media audience that, at nearly 50,000 on Instagram, is within striking distance of some top New York ballerinas’—would have been tough for the company to ignore.

As wider discussions started, though, it became clear that white privilege was a new concept to some. Boodoo was dismayed that some colleagues were unfamiliar with certain civil-rights leaders, so she helped organize a remote study of the book The New Jim Crow. To prod management, she and fellow colleagues of color met privately to hash out ideas for the company at large. It’s been exhausting to divide her energy between institutional matters and the rigors of performing: “You want to just focus on your art form, you just want to focus on being beautiful, being a strong dancer, and contributing to the task at hand.”

Partly because of Covid limits on gatherings and partly because they had to start with building a shared vocabulary, the working group’s progress has felt slow. But they’re in the process of finalizing recommendations to address the places where inequity creeps in. Money, donors, time, and institutional commitment, meanwhile, all could limit their progress. The group, for instance, envisions a Nutcracker free of racist tropes—in particular, the traditional Arabian and Chinese dances, which play up offensive cultural stereotypes. But ticket sales help fund the annual budget. Will the public support changes to the beloved show? Can the company handle that financial risk?

The stakes—Black dancers continually being overlooked or leaving ballet—feel higher now that the work has begun. Still, Boodoo says she feels hopeful that the company will evolve. “She’ll be someone,” says Long-Naidu, “that’ll go down in the history books of Black ballerinas.” An artist who championed a new act for the ballet, or at least one who tried.

[horrorslashergirl]

Chromeskull with a singer!reader who he meets at a bar while observing his next victim and her voice enchants him.

Chromeskull x Singer!Reader- Show me how you burlesque

Authors Note: I watched this morning the movie Burlesque 2010 and this idea struck through my head, so why not write it down since I have a request that has this type of plot. For a better vibe listen to the song by Christina Aguilera Show me how you burlesque.

Rating: Just some blackmail and Jesse being an egoistical asshole.

Words: 2.3k

Stalking and observing was probably one of the best things Jesse was good at, especially when it came to hunting piggies and fishies. He never rushed into abducting his next victim for his next game, in time Jesse learned that patience was the key to success and he was feeding on said success, be it of any kind.

The Cromeans manor was empty and silent, save for the shower that turned off, Jesse stepping out after he dried himself, taking a glance into the foggy mirror, observing himself. From the neck down it was the dream of every woman to have in bed, but from the neck up it showed his inner monster, despite the multiple plastic surgeries and face reconstructions, he was never the same and probably never be, but in time he learned to accept it. After all money, a nice car, and an impeccable suit could make any piggy fall to her knees and suck on his cock.

Jesse exited the bathroom and walked to the master bedroom to the walk-in closet, picking out a black suit; black just like death, because he was death. He dressed up, checking himself in the huge mirror, proud of the look.

He walked downstairs, the enormous house so devoid of anyone; it was just him. After losing his wife he accepted the fact that he was going to die alone at some point, just like everyone used to tell him back when he was a shy kid.

The saying was true; Money cannot buy really anything.

Entering the garage he unlocked his Chrysler and got in, exiting his house and driving into town, the more liveable part of Jacksonville where all the night clubs and brothels were. It wasn't random, Chromeskull never did things out of the blue, everything was planned out neatly with precision, like playing chess.

Recently, he stalked a young woman, who spends her time adventuring herself into clubs, looking for some fresh meat or better said a fat wallet to suck on. The typical piggy undercover.

'No! I don't sleep with rich men for their money.'

Jesse snorted at the words; every woman was disposable, he learned that when he was a broke teen and after he lost his face. Spending some genuine time with someone over some drinks and just enjoying each other's company was just an illusion, the world itself was prostitution, in different forms but it was.

You are either a pimp or a whore.

After arriving at the nightclub, he parked his car and got out, walking up the steps to the front entrance, the guys at the front with their lists, checking the people that wanted to enter.

Talk about exclusivity.

Oxford shoes walked up the steps to the entrance, the guys there a little intimidated by Jesse's height, a very big perk when you're 6'7, none dares to mess with you, plus the eyepatch that covered one of his eye was another plus.

"Umm...Name?" a guy asked, clearing his throat, trying to steady his voice and not let fear show, but he failed miserably.

Jesse pulled out his phone, typing in.

'Cromeans.'

The security guy's eyes widened at the name, gulping down and stepping aside to let him enter, not saying anything else.

Jesse smirked, stepping inside, knowing that only his name was a weapon good enough to make these sheep scrambles away to their dens. It was weird to go hunting without his mask, but wearing a chromed skull mask to a public place such as this night club where all the rich and blessed were, gossiping like it was a need to live like breathing.

Brown eye looked around the dim-lit place, looking for his target and his gaze stopped when he found her, sitting down on an old geezers lap, giggling and rubbing his chest. He could be his grandfather for fucks sake.

No surprise from a filthy piggy.

The place was full of people, but he managed to find an empty table, just his presence made the job done, plus the owner of the night club was trying to kiss his ass to get on Jesse's good side. Not that Jesse minded, he loved when people worshipped him like he was God.

He internally chuckled at the comparison....God, more like Devil.

As he sat down at a table in the back, his form enveloped by the darkness, a waitress quickly came to take his order.

'Whiskey. Best Brand. Make it quick.'

The girl gulped down and nodded, quickly walking away to bring Jesse his drink. That's what power feels like, everyone quickly coming to you, to please you in all forms. It wasn't respect. Respect doesn't exist, only fear can make one be what the other wants.

The drink came in less than five minutes, probably just two, but Jesse wasn't counting, taking the glass of liquor and waving the waitress off like she was scum.

Scarred lips pressed against the edge of the crystal glass, taking a sip of the strong alcohol, letting it burn his throat, then he pulled out a silver pack-box that held his Cuban cigars, pulling one out and lightening it, taking in the rich taste of smoke.

His gaze observed the piggy-target, his mind wandering to how he should start when the moment was opportune. Will he take it slow, fooling her into a sense of safety then break her whole world down? Or maybe he just takes it rough, with brute force and knocking some sense into her plastic brain.

Either way, he was going to enjoy it, very much. He could picture her face filled with horror, wet from tears and sweat, mouth full of blood, choking on it as he will take her life away like it was nothing of importance.

Before his fantasy could go into more detail, the music started to play, but it wasn't the usual music, this one was live. The club used to hire singers or bands to play from time to time, so this was a surprise they went to their old ways.

The lights on the stage turned on, the musicians in the background with their instruments playing, then a feminine, but so strong voice started to sing, catching every men's attention, even the old geezer who had the piggy on his lap, long forgotten, because of the beauty on the stage.

The outfit you were wearing could be considered very inappropriate, but that's how you pull the attention of the male audience, the females too, only to burn into envy; the black lace hugging everything just right, the dark make-up around your eyes sparkling and showing how passionate your eyes were as you singed, your red lips moving with every note, your body moving like it was ready to pull the males on a spell.

The tightening in the black slacks was very much getting uncomfortable, the piggy long forgotten and brown eye struck on your form as you moved, the imagination getting the best of Jesse, who only could wonder how your pretty red lips would look wrapped around something else than your mic.

His hand tightened in envy at the men who were too close to the stage, basking in your pretty little self, so confident, the type of confidence that makes you want to drown in it.

These legs, clad in black fishnets, he wondered how they would look wrapped around his hips, your hair into his fist as he takes you from behind. The gruesome scenarios about the piggy vanished only to be replaced with the erotic fantasies with you.

He felt like a kid in a toy store, finding a doll that he really liked and he would get it. Jesse licked his lips, adjusting himself into his seat as you turned around, wiggling your ass, that pretty little ass that he wanted to spank with black nitrile covered hands.

Finally, the show was over, your eyes sparkling with pride, luscious lips pulled into a grin as you waved your audiences, then finally disappearing backstage.

Finishing his drink, Jesse got up, stalking towards the backstage, wanting to take another glimpse of you and he did, only, it wasn't an image he was liking. Actually, if he had his knives with him, he would probably throw them at the guy who was hugging and kissing you.

"You did amazing, baby! You were stunning." the guy said, making you giggle and smile brightly.

"You always know how to pull me up." you said, kissing his cheek.

"That's what a husband should always do to his wife." the guy said, spinning you around.

Alright, the last sentence made Jesse's world crumble down, a bitter feeling setting in his gut, then he quickly walked away, stalking fastly out of the nightclub and into the parking lot of it, taking his phone out, fingers hovering over the digital keyboard, fury evident in his gaze.

He wanted to badly to kill someone, no matter the gender, he wanted to rip flesh and make the blood flow.

'You shouldn't feel jealous. She is not yours.'

The inner voice only spurred his anger more; not jealous, but territorial. If he wanted something he would get it, even if he had to make some unorthodox decisions, not like it would be the first or last time.

'Destroying a happy marriage isn't right. What would your dead wife think?'

Fuck his dead wife! She was no more. Fuck morals! His fingers quickly typed a text then send it to Spann.

'I've got some work for you.'

After 2 months...

It's like the world playing in every favor for Jesse, blackmailing your husband was the easiest job he has ever done and Jesse felt more than prideful when that punk divorced you. Of course, the hard part was seeing you cry and be a confusing mess, but that would go away, eventually.

When he got to the same night club he expected to see you on stage, singing, but it was another girl.

She was definitely doing playback and she wasn't as beautiful as you. His eyes landed on you, sitting down at a table alone, tight red dress hugging your body as you sipped on a glass of scotch, watching the girl, a bored look on your face.The singing ended and everyone went to their own discussion. 

Time to step in.

Jesse walked towards you, making you look up with a cute face of puzzlement.

'Seat free?'

Your eyebrows raised up.

"Be my guest." you offered and he took a seat.

'I could only notice that you look a little lonely. Weren't you supposed to sing tonight?' Jesse typed on the electronic reader, making you sigh.

"Yes, but I wasn't feeling up to it. I'm here mostly for my friend. It's her first time." you explained, looking at your drink.

'Am I bothering you?'

"Oh no! It's just....personal problems." you muttered, taking a sip of your drink.

'Talking helps. I don't have anything else to do. I am all ears.'

You gulped down, the alcohol helping you express your problems to this stranger who introduced himself as you did too, getting aquatinted with one another, talking over all kinds of subjects.

Jesse had to admit you were a deep breath of fresh air, opening up so much too him, but he guessed that's what divorce does to a woman. You both talked so much that you didn't realize that people started to go away, one by one leaving the club to do their own business.

"I'm sorry if I burdened you with my problems." you spoke over a deep breath of Malboro smoke, blushing a little, an aspect Jesse was looking forward to doing more to you.

'Not at all. I enjoyed our time together, and let me tell you, if a man doesn't know what a beauty he has before his eyes and doesn't appreciate it, he should just drop dead.'

You laughed at his words, you were glad that after weeks of mourning yourself into blankets and watching drama movies, someone could actually make you laugh and smile.

"Thank you. For your time and everything. I'm sure you could have been doing something better than listening to a little girl's problems." you said, finishing your cigarette and taking a sip of your drink.

Jesse smirked, brown eye sparkling with mischief.

'I doubt it, sweetcheeks.'

You blushed and looked down, the pet name he called you making your stomach do all kinds of twists.

He got up and offered you his hand which you took, walking with him towards the exit. You were the only people left in the club, the owner probably sighing with relief that Cromeans finally left without causing problems.

As you exited through the double doors, you both were met by heavy rain. His car was just a few feet away, but the rain would probably make you both soaked reaching the black luxury vehicle.

Jesse pulled his black dress jacket off and put it around your naked shoulders, the piece of clothing enveloping you in warmness, obviously too big for your so much smaller frame.

"T-Thank you." you said, looking up at Jesse, whose gaze was centered on your lips, looking so inviting and delicious too taste.

He couldn't hold himself anymore, his face moving towards your, his rougher lips pressing against yours, the kiss starting so simple that it turned into a make-out session, tongues running against one another; the taste of alcohol so appetizing and the expensive male cologne he was sporting didn't help you either.

It felt like an eternity, but the kiss finally ended, your eyes looking into the deep pool of brown that promised so many sinful images and it consumed your rational part of your brain.

Fingertips typed on the phone.

'My place?'

"Yeah."

[papermoonloveslucy]

MEET THE PRESS

August 3, 1969

You are clued into the frank and tough talk to come by the way Lucille Ball swipes away with her handkerchief at the flies threatening the hors d’oeuvres The kerchief almost snaps like a wet towel. 

The scene is the pool patio of her home on Beverly Hills’ Roxbury Drive and a cocktail party is in progress for visiting television editors. 

Lucy has just emerged from the main house. She wears a powder blue double-breasted slack suit and saucer-sized sun glasses. In the blazing sun her orange hair has the color intensity of hot coals. 

She has counted heads. Husband-producer Gary Morton is there. So are Desi Arnaz IV her son, and Lucy her daughter. And her TV side-kick Gale Gordon with his wife. Plus a half-dozen of her staff and CBS emissaries. There have been introductions all round to the newspaper types. It is time, she announces, to talk and she waves everybody into the big and comfortable pool house. A table has been positioned so that she can sit there presiding as she used to do at the stockholders’ meetings of the old Desilu Studios. 

Almost immediately some wag fields her the question: “Lucy do you run the show?” She flashes him that big innocent TV look of hers. A staff member jumps up “Let’s all answer that one for her” There is a resounding “YES” from family-and-cast. Everybody laughs uproariously.

Very few questions are required to prime the pump. Lucy, it seems, has some matters of personal irritation on her mind and as far as she is concerned they come tumbling out without any prodding from her would-be interrogators. 

First of all, she asks rhetorically, what’s all this business about whether she would retire? “I never said I wanted to quit or retire. There was a time when I was willing to quit but nobody asked me. Now I’ve set a date when I’ll retire” 

A lot of ears perk up Somebody asks slyly — when? She’s waiting for that. Her answer is smilingly emphatic: “When I drop dead in my tracks.” 

She turns then without anybody’s questioning to the matter of her longevity in television. This is her 18th year on the tube and it used to be talked about that she traded her popularity to CBS in return for its buying other shows produced by her company. This evokes an almost visible jet of steam out of the top of her carrot locks. “I never at any time sold any of the 20 shows our company produced on the basis of my returning each season. I’ve said that literally hundreds of times and nobody believed it.” 

She went on to make it clear that she also dislikes the “big business” image which has adhered to her over the years. “I never like to talk about big money. I make my deal and that’s all. It’s been mostly a matter of legal procedures.” 

As the star wades into these fiscal subjects your eye roams over the assemblage. Young Desi in tennis togs impassively studies the smoke curling up from a cigarette. Young Lucy clutches her hands around her knees and stares intently at her mother. Husband Gary sitting on a ledge at the back of the room swings his legs and smiles. 

There has been no mention of Desi the elder the former husband Lucy’s co-performer and co-founder of Desilu Studios (now sold). Earlier this writer had chatted briefly with young Desi. He said he saw his father off and on and spends his summers as a rule at the father’s beach home at Delmar, south of Los Angeles. 

The youngster asked if I knew his grandfather Dr. Desiderio Arnaz who lives in Coral Gables.  (1)

But back to Lucy She’s telling us how many years it took to realize that as Lucille Ball she had attained V.I.P. status.

She reviews the years she spent trying to make it in show business, first on the stage, then as a model, and finally in the movies. Much of the time she says she stagnated. Until television came along. 

“I never had any sense of importance. I was very pliable always willing to do what I was told It wasn’t until one day I saw in print somewhere some actress described as a ‘Lucille Ball type’ that I knew suddenly I was somebody and a part of the business.” 

From there on the interview jumps from subject to subject. 

I ask her whatever happened to the project Dean Martin’s producer Greg Garrison had for starring Martin, her, and Jackie Gleason in a revival of the musical “Guys and Dolls.”  (2)

“I never said I would do it. Garrison kept publicizing it, but he never cleared it with me. I do still want to do ‘Diamond Jim’ with Jackie It’s just a matter of finding the time.” (3)

A lady editor wants to know how Lucy keeps her sinuous figure. 

“I don’t particularly like food. I’m not very fond of meat, for example, except in the morning.” 

Which brings a snort of disgust from her husband. “Can you imagine what it’s like to have to watch her eating corned beef or hamburger at 6 o’clock in the morning?” 

The questions now go to the children. What are Desi’s plans? Does he want to make acting his future? “I want to be an actor for awhile but I don’t think I ever want to be one certain thing.” 

Young Lucy, who, at 18, is two years older than her brother, is more sure of her future “I’ll go to college for awhile but I like acting. I’ll stay at it if I can.” 

Would she somebody asks join the campus protest and carry a sign? Only if it says ‘wet paint’ quips she. 

Lucy now introduces her cast veteran, Gale Gordon. He pays her extravagant compliments and talks a bit about his radio and early television days. 

The interview’s late arrival is venerable George Marshall, who is now the show’s director. Lucy introduces him as “our sexy senior citizen.” Marshall goes back to the dawn of movies and is filled with fascinating anecdotes about his years in the business. (4)

The conversation turns to TV’s talk shows. Somebody suggests to Lucy that she would be a highly likely guest for Merv Griffin’s new show starting on CBS Aug 18. (5)

Lucy's answer comes lancing back “That’s what you think. I don’t like him.” Which rocks everybody back. Why not? “Because he doesn’t know how to interview. He’s rude to his guests and he monopolizes the conversation.” 

She doesn’t wait for the next question. “I’m wild about Dick Cavett (on ABC) I think he’s great And I told Bill Paley (board chairman of CBS) he should have him on our network. But Bill said ABC got him first and we’re out of luck.” (6)

Everybody is suddenly distracted by three teen-age girl fans leaning over a fence way up front. They’re begging to be allowed on the grounds. Morton jogs forward to shoo them away. 

“This happens all the time,” says Lucy. “My God they used to picnic right in front of the house until our police department stopped them. Jimmy Stewart, who lives up the street, finally told me how to keep them away. Turn on the lawn sprinklers.” 

Morton returns and takes everybody for a tour of their luxurious but very lived-in home. Lucy tells us a funny story about how Jack and Mary Benny had once been their next door neighbors sold their home then asked her to try to mediate a re-sale of the place back to them. Then we take our leave.

#    #    # FOOTNOTES FROM THE FUTURE

(1) Dr. Desiderio Alberto Arnaz y Alberni II (1894-1973) was a Cuban politician and the father of Desi Arnaz. He graduated from the Southern College of Pharmacy in 1913 in Atlanta, Georgia. Desiderio Arnaz II was the youngest mayor of Santiago de Cuba (1923–32). When president Machado was overthrown in August 1933, Arnaz was arrested and jailed. Six months later, he was allowed to go into exile. He married Dolores "Lolita" de Acha y de Socias in 1916 and had one son, Desiderio "Desi" Arnaz III. He later had a daughter, Connie Arnaz (1932), with Anne M. Wilson, whom he married in 1941.

(2) Guys & Dolls was a 1950 stage musical by Frank Loesser, based on the stories by Damon Runyon starring Robert Alda, who appeared on several episodes of “The Lucy Show” and “Here’s Lucy”.  It was filmed by MGM in 1955. During that time, Lucy and Desi were also under contract to MGM, so they prevailed upon “I Love Lucy” to insert a clip from the film into “Lucy and the Dummy” (ILL S5;E3). After its initial airing on October 17, 1955, the clip was removed from the film print, and for legal reasons, has never been restored. It is unclear whether Garrison’s project with Martin, Ball, and Gleason would have been a film revival, or a stage production. Whatever it was to be, Lucy wanted to have no part of it, perhaps remembering the rigors of performing on stage in Wildcat (1960). During her film career, Ball was in two films based on Damon Runyon material, The Big Street (1942), a film she claimed as her favorite, and Sorrowful Jones (1949). She also did a radio version of Runyon’s “Tight Shoes” in 1942. Ball and Gleason would have been cast as Miss Adelaide and Nathan Detroit, while Dean Martin would have played Sky Masterson, the romantic lead. Those roles were played by Vivian Blaine, Frank Sinatra, and Marlon Brando in the film. Obviously, the project never came to be. 

(3) “Diamond Jim” was a project that Lucy dearly wanted to make with Gleason. He would play Diamond Jim Brady (1856-1917) to her Lillian Russell. Ball even went so far as to have a script written to further grab Gleason’s attention. Despite their best intentions, Gleason and Ball’s schedules never allowed for enough time to make the film. 

(4) George Marshall (1891-1975) had directed Lucille Ball in Valley of the Sun (1942) and Fancy Pants (1950).  He was considered an expert at location shooting, so when “Here’s Lucy” wanted to spend the first four episodes of Season 2 on location, Marshall was hired as director. He stayed on for seven more episodes of the sitcom before bowing out. 

(5) Despite Lucille Ball’s rather harsh public assessment of Merv Griffin (1925-2007) at this August 1969 press party, Ball appeared on “The Merv Griffin Show” four times between 1971 and 1980! During her first appearance, the aforementioned George Marshall was also a guest! 

(6) Lucille did seem to enjoy doing the talking to Dick Cavett, although she only got to do his chat show once, on March 7, 1974, in conjunction with her press tour for Mame.