#I have a whole tape measure in my jean jacket

[caprine-bees]

butch carabiner this, butch carabiner that. some people just have pockets full of junk okay..some people arent organized

[locution-youngster-enjoyer]

Gonna rant about my villain OC’s under the cut (TW: dr*gs mentioned briefly)

CC

Any pronouns but preferably they/them (their personal philosophy is that “The only labels I believe in are designer!”)

Somewhere in late 20s

CC’s whole thing is that they are a fashion designer. Alignment wise they are very neutral, living by the idea that “any customer is a friend of mine, but any enemy of my customer is also my enemy.” Design wise they have a mullet hairstyle that is various shades of a blue/cyan color, light skin, and brown eyes. They will usually wear a white button down shirt that is slightly open, black slacks with a multicolor pattern on them, measuring tape instead of a belt that sticks out in a tail-like kind of way, and knee-high black boots with high heels. They usually where a lot of makeup and jewelry.

Power and fighting wise, they are not overly superhuman. Their intense knowledge of fashion helps provide them with various weapons, their main ones being Claw-Rings that they use not only to attack, but to also sew together clothing like a spider. They can also attach other bits of cloth to the rings.

Personality wise they are very upbeat and friendly. They are never mean to someone’s face, but will make snide remarks behind their back. Think similar to Mettaton from Undertale. If Wordgirl were a darker show, there would be a more unhinged side to CC suggesting that out of all the villains, they’ve probably have committed the worst crime ethically speaking and their personality would come across as much more bi-polar.

Ozzy and Mandy

Ozzy (he/him) and Mandy (she/her) are twins. It’s hard to tell their age because of how young and pretty they look.

Although both of them are villains, Ozzy has worse intent than Mandy. These two have two gimmicks, the first one being that they speak in Iambic Pentameter (so around 10 syllables per sentence). Their second gimmick is that they manipulate emotions and specifically make others fall in love with them. Most love poems are written in Iambic Pentameter and even their names are based of the poem Ozymandias, another poem written in Iambic Pentameter.

Mandy has curly black hair that goes slightly passed her shoulders and light skin with blue eyes. She wears a black and pink dress with a slit and fluffy pink sleeves, and high heels. A lot of her design features the symbol for women. Ozzy has similar skin and eyes with that stereotypical boy-band hairstyle. He wears a lot of black and blue, this time with a t-shirt exposing his chest, a sleeveless denim jacket, and black jeans, with the symbol for men being featured a lot.

Their main power involves emotional manipulation in a way that’s technically just mind control. To control a person, they have to either kiss them or blow colored fog (Mandy gets pink and Ozzy gets blue) in their face. Another big power they have is the ability to create several extra wispy, fog-like arms (once again, the color is different depending on who is doing it). Besides that, the two do t have many powers but can put up a decent physical fight.

Mandy, though she can be malicious, is also big on the theme of consent when it comes to romance and tends to be the more caring of the two. People generally prefer her over her brother. Ozzy is more interested in his own personal gain and has grown salty of people favoring his sister over him. Again, if wordgirl was a darker show, I feel like at one point the two could be used as an allegory for substance abuse, since there powers are really trippy.

[undeadgirlboy]

battle jacket guide for baby punks

battle jackets or vests are really big in the punk scene. they also look cool as fuck. one of my favorite things about them is that each person's is different and represents their own style and interests. there are a few different steps u can follow to make one

step one. acquire the jacket

when making a battle jacket it's best to get one without any stretch to the denim bc the elastic threads in stretchy denkm break down faster than regular denim and when you're sewing things on it you might get a weird puckering effect. thrift stores like goodwill or salvation army are good places to look if you have time, but in my experience they don't have a lot of jean jackets. you can probably find one at walmart in the mens section, or target. if you'd like something with a more modern edge or higher quality denim you can check outlet stores like ross and marshalls. that's where i found mine for around 20 dollars. of course if you have the money you can get a Levi's trucker jacket or somewhere else more expensive. the color of the jacket is up to you. now that you have a base layer you can move on to customization

step two. washing the jacket

one important thing to remember about battle jackets is that they're handwash/no wash so it's best to wash your jacket before you begin. you have no idea who has worn or touched it before now. just throw it in the washing machine on cold and go blast laura jane grace for a little bit. personally i run mine through the dryer but if you'd prefer to air dry make sure you lay it flat because if not it will get stretched out shoulders.

step three. dyeing or painting

this is the part where you can possibly dye or paint your jacket. i have never dyed my jacket, but you can find fabric dye at Walmart and just follow the instructions on the bottle. i decided to spray paint mine because i had some cheap black spray paint and i wanted to know what would happen. if you're going to spray paint your jacket, make sure you do it outside and let it dry thoroughly before bringing it in. i left mine for about 18 hours so that the smell was completely gone. after that you want to turn it inside out and run it through the dryer with a couple bath towels for about 30 minutes to heat set it. spray painting your jacket will make it a bit more stiff. walmart and some craft stores sell spray paint that is made for fabric, but i didn't feel like paying for those so i used what i had on hand. i know those are pretty expensive and the bottles don't have a lot in them. if you only plan to handwash your jacket or don't plan to wash it at all, regular spray paint should work fine for you.

step four. back patch

most battle jackets that i have seen have a larger central patch in the back, with smaller ones on the front and around it. it's not essential to have a back patch but i think it helps to tie the whole jacket together. you can either make a back patch yourself or buy one. the site angryyoungandpoor.com has some back patches for popular bands. some bands also have back patches on their merch stores, or you can make one yourself. i made mine out of an old against me t-shirt. i measured around the design, cut it out, and then sewed it on the back of my jacket. if you want to make your own back patch you can do so in one of several ways that i will cover in just a second

step five. embroidering patches

there are a lot of patches out there that you can buy, but most of the time it's cheaper just to make them yourself. embroidery thread is pretty cheap at walmart, and all you need is sturdy scrap fabric to make something really cool. when you're embroidery a patch it's a good idea to get an embroidery hoop to keep your fabric taut. if you don't like the color of your scrap denim you can layer a different fabric over it. i had some stretchy cotton left over from cropping a t shirt that i layered over denim to help keep it in shape. this also makes it easier when you're sewing your patch onto your jacket. i don't recommend embroidering directly onto your jacket because it's harder to manage and if you decide you don't like how it looks and you rip it out you're left with weird holes that don't look good. it's all up to you but i wouldn't recommend it.

step six. painting patches

if you'd rather just paint your patches, you can always use fabric paint or fabric pens. it's best to avoid using acrylic paint because it wears off and cracks, but i have heard you can prevent that by mixing fabric medium into it. i have painted a few patches with acrylic paint but i used a layer of mod podge over the top to protect it. acrylic painted patches CANNOT go through the washing machine.

if you'd like to copy a particular logo or image with paint and you're not good with freehand you can make a stencil for it. the way i make stencils is by printing out my design and then covering the paper front and back with masking tape. once I've done that, i use an exacto knife to cut out the lines of my design and then i'm ready to go. you can use spray paint with a stencil or you can sponge fabric paint onto the design. if you choose to use spray paint make sure you have fabric paint in that color so you can fix up any problems with the design when you're done.

step seven. attaching your patches.

sewing is one of the most tedious parts of making a battle jacket. if you don't know how to sew you can google it. a lot of people use white embroidery floss or dental floss and whip stitch around their patch. if you're attaching an iron on patch that you bought, you should stitch around it too to secure it. make sure you're using a thimble if you're going over seams of the jacket, or sewing on an iron-on patch. at first it might seem fine, if a little time consuming, but days of finger pain isn't worth it. i prefer to pin my patches before sewing them, but you do you. for larger patches i first attach it with a thread that matches the fabric before using a contrasting whip stitch. that just makes things easier for me but it's not mandatory.

step eight. adding metal

spikes, studs and safety pins are a staple of punk clothing. safety pins are easy because you can get them anywhere and just put them anywhere. i got a bunch of varying sizes from walmart and i put them on everything. just play around and see what you like. you can find studs at your local craft store, probably in the leather working section. you just have to poke two holes in the fabric, push the prongs on your stud through, and then bend them back to secure it. you can also get studs online if you need to. i bought a couple packs of screw back spikes a little while ago, and i have since been adding those to a lot of my clothing. spikes are simple to add too. you poke a hole in the fabric, push the screw through, and then screw on the spike. some people recommend adding a dot of super glue in between the spike and screw to secure it, but personally I haven't needed to do that.

another way to add metal to your jacket is with chains. you can sew them on all the day down, or leave them hanging. it just depends on what you want to do. you can get short chains from walmart, or big rolls of chain from craft stores.

step nine. finish up

that's honestly about it. any of the information here can be applied to vests too. if your jacket is really crusty and you don't want it on your skin you can always wear a hoodie underneath, especially when it's cold. battle jackets can be worn with basically anything. mine has always been my go-to jacket for any occasion. make sure it actually represents your political beliefs and bands you listen to. get ready for people to look at you weird in the grocery store. if anyone has anything to add feel free to reblog, and if you have questions my ask box is open. you can always submit a photo of your jacket to my blog because i love seeing other people's diy stuff. wear a mask, stay safe, and fuck the pigs <3

[frightgothcar]

HEY! Hey, you, reading this!!! I fuckin love writing but what I need to be able to write is a little thing called approval!! If you like this please comment and/or reblog!!!!!!!!!!

Area 51 au thingy. Danny/Wes. Songfic? Not really but the whole idea came from this song. V is based off of @its-towarzysz (main)/ @we-all-horny-here (sanders sides sideblog)/ @cockworktower (dp side blog) you should check them out, they make hella good content. Thanks to all my friends who helped me with motivation/proofreading. Tw for Death, Blood, Guns, and Violence. (Tell me if I forgot anything). I love this pairing and the lack of content sparks deep anger in my soul!! :)) Thanks for reading, enjoy!!

EDIT: Posting this on ao3 also @/godcannotdefeatfanfic 

September 20th, 10:30 am

Area 51

Wes Weston had nothing to live for. Ever since his Mom had gone out for cigarettes on his 6th birthday and never come back his life had been a constant downward spiral. Maybe that was why he was in the middle of the Nevada desert, preparing to attempt to rush a highly armed government facility with a million other suicidal Millenials.  

He fanned his face with his hand. It was over 86 degrees and he was practically melting in his Casper High spirit T-Shirt and blue jeans. He contemplated getting into his pickup truck and blasting the a/c but considering he only had a quarter tank of gas left, and it was a good 20 miles to the nearest gas station, he decided against it. Instead, he got onto his phone and texted his friends for the third time that morning. 

Basketball-Boi: where r yall? its hot.

Phurry: we’re just driving in!! Do u see us?

Basketball-Boi: uhhh whats ur car look like

Phurry: the silver one

Basketball: V there are like a million silver ones what kind of car

Phurry: uhh Val says its called a subaru we’re right by a black car

Red_Huntress: They’re standing on the roof and waving. Can you see us now?

Wes looked up from his phone to see a person, about his age, standing on the roof of a silver Subaru, wearing a black band t-shirt and neon green booty shorts. Their long blond ponytail swished around their face as they jumped up and down excitedly. A girl stepped out of the car and began scolding her friend. She was wearing a matching red pair of shorts, there was black lettering on her backside that he couldn’t quite make out. He began waving back, which only excited the blond more. They lept over the brown-skinned girl and bolted towards Wes.

“Ready to fuck some aliens, Basketball-Boi?” They pulled him into a tight embrace.

“I was born ready!” He laughed, “How are you, V?”

“Pretty gay, thanks for asking.”

Wes opened his mouth to speak but V cut him off with an excited shout.

“Oh! That reminds me!” They slipped their arms out of their backpack straps and dug through the mint green bag for a minute before pulling a pair of hot pink shorts, “I wanted us all to match! Made ‘em myself!”

They flipped the shorts around to reveal ‘100% Nasty’ embroidered onto the ass in black. They then turned around to show off their own message, that read ‘Trash Man’.

“I made one for Val too, c’mon, we have to wear them!!”

Wes grabbed the shorts and held them to his hips. “Is this what you needed my measurements for?”

They nodded enthusiastically, “I was gonna make us team jackets, but that’s so cliche.”

“Huh, I mean, don’t get me wrong, these are… great, but are you sure pink is my color?”

V rolled their eyes, “Of course I’m sure, Wes! Just put them on, you’ll see.”

Wes sighed and walked behind his red truck for some privacy, not that there was much of that, the field was crowded with cars. He pulled down his blue jeans, thankful for the breeze on his legs, and pulled on the shorts. They were a perfect fit, clinging to his waist, and resting on his barely existent hips. The feeling of showing so much skin was odd to him, he’d never worn anything that short in public, but the look on V’s face made it all worth it to him. They didn’t laugh like he’d been expecting them to, instead clapping their hands and going on about how relieved they were that the shorts actually fit. He did a quick turn for them, and they nodded in satisfaction.

“I think it’s about time we caught up to Val, did y’all remember to bring soda?”

“Only the finest Mountain Dew the 7/11 could provide, M’lady,” V grinned. 

“Than shall we be going, M’lord?” Wes held out his arm.

“Indubitably.” V linked their arm through his and they wandered through the crowd, searching for Valerie’s silver Subaru. 

“Wes! V! Over here!” Val called, waving the hand that wasn’t holding a Mountain Dew at her friends. The two of them waved back and jogged toward her. 

“Hey Val, long time no see,” Wes grinned as he pulled her into a hug.

“I missed ya, Weston,” Val reached up to ruffle his hair, but Wes dodged, pulling her into a headlock instead. 

“Missed ya too, Grey,” He gave her a noogie and released her, leaving her free to jump onto him and boost herself high enough to get revenge.

“Aww, adorable! Old lovebirds rekindling an old flame?” V fluttered their eyelashes at their friends, who immediately recoiled.

“Ew, no! Wes? If I had to pick a guy, maybe. And that’s a hard maybe. I’m too gay for this.” Valerie picked up her can from the hood of her car and took a swig.

“Yeah! She’s like my little sister!”

“Hey, I’m older than you!”

“By like two weeks!”

V broke into laughter, “Cool it lovebirds, I’m only joking.”

Val and Wes rolled their eyes at V, who was now on the ground, rolling with laughter. 

“Permission to pour some soda out onto our hilarious friend’s head?” Val asked teasingly.

“Permission granted! Fire at will!” Wes saluted. Val tipped her can enough to sprinkle V with the sticky green drink. They got to their feet, still laughing, and lunged for Val’s can. They knocked it backward, spilling soda all over Val’s shirt.

“EEK,” She squealed, “You’ll pay for this, Trash Man, If it’s the last thing I do!” 

She tried to push the can towards V, but they still had a grip on her arm. They tugged the can back and forth for a few seconds before it crumpled under the pressure.

“Shit!” Val swore, letting go of the can and cradling her palm. “I think I cut myself.”

V dropped the can, game of tag forgotten, and crowded next to their friend. Wes joined their huddle. 

“I think I have a first aid kit in my truck. How bad is it?” He asked.

Val opened her hand to reveal a small, but deep wound on the side of her palm.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault, if I hadn’t-” V began.

“Naw, it was as much my fault as yours. Anyway, we were having fun, and it’s really just a scratch. Keep focused on those Aliens, Private!” Val reassured them.

“Aye aye, Captain!”

Wes walked back to his truck, ignoring the stares of passerby. He grabbed his first aid kid (thank god for boy scouts) and walked back to Val’s car.

“So,” Wes ripped open a disinfecting wipe with his teeth and got to work cleaning her hand of blood. “How’s your dad?”

“He’s doing-” She drew in a sharp breath as he dabbed along the wound with a clean wipe. “Fine. The new job’s working out great, he’s happier than I’ve seen him in a while.”

Wes nodded and began wrapping her hand in gauze, “I’m glad. He wasn’t himself when you left.”

“It really all did work out for the better, didn’t it,” V smiled and handed Wes a length of medical tape. “Oh! I forgot! Val, show Wes what your ass says!”

She groaned, “Do I have to?”

V scowled, “Of course you have to, it was your idea!”

“I was just joking!”

“Tsk tsk, I think you’ve known me long enough to know that when it comes to cursed content, there are no jokes.”

“C’mon Val, it can’t be worse than ‘100% Nasty’,” Wes smirked.

V gasped dramatically and feigned offense, “You’ve wounded me! I work so hard, and for what, ungrateful friends?”

“Fine, if it’ll make you happy I’ll show him my ass. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She winked at him before turning to show her backside. Black embroidery spelled out ‘Booty Hunter’.

Wes burst out laughing, which quickly turned to hysteric noises only vaguely resembling laughter, squeals, and snorts with shrieking giggles between them. V and Val couldn’t help but join in. The second one of them stopped laughing someone would whisper Booty Hunter and it’d start all over again. 

“Okay, okay,” Wes gulped in air, “We- hic -should calm down now.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Val wiped a tear from her eye, “I am the Queen of Calm.”

V got to their feet and dusted themself off. “Totally calm. Calmer than a… something calm.”

“When does the raid start?” Wes pulled out his phone and checked the time. 12:00.

“Around, 12:30ish, we have time.” V waved their hand.

“I dunno, it’s already 12, maybe we should start getting ready.”

“What do you mean it’s already-” V snatched the phone from his hand, “Huh. Time sure flies when you’re having fun.”

“Wait, get ready for what exactly? I mean, we’re here, we’ve got our shorts on, there’s enough Mountain Dew in my car to drown an elephant, what else is there to get ready?” Val questioned.

“Uhhh, I dunno, stretch?” Wes shrugged, “It just feels like we’re forgetting something. What exactly is the plan for this whole thing anyway? Are there gonna be waves? Do we all go at once? This is a pretty poorly organized event.”

Val shrugged, clearly unphased by the lack of organization, “We’ll just go when everyone else starts running. I’m sure the start of gunfire will tell us when.”

“Look, if it’s making you so worried, we can stretch before. I’m sure everything will be fine. Plus, we all get alien Girlfriends, so it’s a win-win!” V put their hand on his arm. Wes smiled thankfully down at them.

“Yeah, that’s probably it. Yall must think I’m being a nitpick-”

“Not at all! You’re probably right, after all, it must be at least a mile to the base from here, and we can’t let cramps keep us from sweet sweet alien romance.” Val propped her leg up on the hood of her car and pressed her head to her knee, “Plus that’ll give us an advantage over the Kyles.”

V nodded and fell into a lunge, “We’ve been training since July for this, can’t let it get away now because we forgot to stretch.”

Wes bent over and touched his toes, “Thanks y’all, you’re really the best friends I could ask for.” 

The screech of a megaphone rang out through the valley. A voice came through the static, “Raiders! Get into position, we’re storming the gates in exactly fifteen minutes!” 

A cheer broke through the crowd as people began chugging what was left of their sodas and migrating towards the front lines. 

“Well, this is it I guess. If I don’t make it out of the raid, put this on my tombstone.” Wes gestured downward, where he was holding his hand in a circle. 

“Dammit!” Valerie chuckled as Wes gave her a playful punch in the arm. 

“You’ll never take me alive!” V shouted and sprinted forwards as Wes moved towards them.

“On your marks!”

“Wanna bet on that?” Wes shouted back, weaving through the crowd to catch up with them.

“Get set!”

V pushed forward, using their small frame to their advantage, easily losing the taller one in the crowd.

“Raid!”

The mob roared, then began thundering forward, but the deafening sounds of the people were nothing compared to what followed. Thousands of guns began firing at once, hitting everyone and everything in the vicinity. Wes watched with horror as the first wave of people were mowed down right before his eyes. A flash of neon green caught his eye through the carnage. He ran towards his friend, who was standing, paralyzed, next to a few other survivors. He shouted their name, and just as they turned their head another hailstorm of bullets rained down. The first one embedded itself right into V’s chest, right above their heart. Wes sprinted to catch his injured companion, but by the time he got there the life was already draining from their eyes.

“V! V, can you hear me? Don’t go into the light, hold on, ok? You’ve got this, V, answer me!”

He pressed his head to their chest, a weak heartbeat answered him. “It’s gonna be okay. Shhh, you’re okay.” 

Something wet dripped down his face, and he realized he was crying.

“...Wes,” V rasped out, then began violently coughing up blood. Little flecks of red peppered Wes’ face like freckles. “Fuck an alien for me, okay? Can you promise me that?”

Their body went limp in his arms. 

“V? V! V, wake up, please, that can’t be it, please V, you’re only 17, please!” He shook their corpse, but to no avail. V was gone. He closed his eyes and let out a shuttering breath before standing up, still clutching their body in his arms. 

“Second wave! On your marks!” The megaphone blared to life.

The crowd let out another, less confident cheer. After seeing all the carnage most of the raiders were less enthusiastic to ‘see them aliens’. But this time Wes had made up his mind. He was going to make it into that Government facility, and he was gonna burn that motherfucker to the ground.

“Get set!”

He laid his friend on the ground and pressed a kiss to their forehead. If it wasn’t for the massive amount of blood they could’ve been sleeping.

“Go!”

Wes screamed with all the anger he had in him and charged forward. Bullets rained down near him, but this time there were less of them. This time he had a chance. He saw the gate coming closer. He was only 50 feet away, he could make it! He hopped over the fence, ignoring the blaring of sirens, and kept running. He pushed his way into the building, where, surprisingly, there was no security. It looked like they had invested all their soldiers into protecting the outside of the base. His adrenaline rush began to slow down. He dragged his feet down the linoleum hallway, looking at his bloodsoaked hands. 

“What the fuck just happened?” He whispered to himself, still shellshocked. A flicker of light caught his eye. Grateful for a distraction, he turned his attention to what looked like a futuristic control panel. The buttons were labeled in some sort of code, their luminescent surfaces grinning up at him.

“Looking for me, Short-Shorts?” A calm voice echoed through the hall. Wes whipped around, ready for a fight.

“Why so on edge, Ginger? Surely I’m not that intimidating.” It purred.

“Who are you?!” Wes shouted. He winced at the echo. Did he really sound that unhinged?

“On your left.” 

He turned and found himself face to face with the most beautiful boy he’d ever seen. He looked about his age, maybe 17. His skin was tan, but had a slight blueish tint, as if he’d been without oxygen for a while. Poking from his tuft of pearly white hair was a pair of blur antenna. He had a small build, maybe 5 feet tall at best, but was floating at eye level with Wes. Speaking of his eyes, they were quite possibly the most gorgeous thing about him. He had eyes greener and glowyer (is that even a word? Either way it was true.) than toxic waste, his pupils were like a cat’s, slit down the middle. He was clothed in a baggy black prison jumpsuit. He looked almost alien. Wes realized with a start that he must be an alien. 

“Are you done staring?” The boy asked, snapping Wes out of his trance. “It won’t be long before the guards realize you’re in here, and I’d rather get out without a bullet hole.”

“I- I don’t- what are you?” Wes stammered.

“I’m Project Phantom, or Danny if you prefer. What’s your name?”

“I’m… Wes?”

[nightingale63]

When I get you alone, babe!

A/N Enjoy! This will be a multi-chapter story: steamy like the midsummer night air, sweet as an Italian ice bought on the fairway, with twists and turns like an antique wooden rollercoaster, complete with side trips to the fun house, where illusion reigns supreme (and romance can sometimes get even steamier).This is of course somewhat AU, but McKinley is basically the same, as is Dalton. Rated T for language, and situations.I don't own Glee, or any name brands or songs that crop up here!

Yes, Rachel, I'm here now! See you in the choir room. Kurt snapped his phone shut . I'd actually get there faster if you didn't keep hounding me! he grumbled to himself. Yes, he was (checking the time) three whole minutes late, but what the hell! First day of junior year, and yes, he was impressed by her enthusiasm, but why did it also have to involve waking him up extra early?His phone vibrated again in his pocket as he strode down the halls of William McKinley High. I have coffee for you! He smiled at the text message, and decided he could forgive Rachel for this summons to a meeting.

He was almost there when he was violently shaken out of his reverie by a brutal body slam into the wall of lockers

"Hummel! Gay much? What the hell are you wearing, your granny's cologne?" Not waiting for an answer, Karofsky sauntered away with a sneer as Kurt slumped to a sitting position on the floor.

Damn! Kurt thought he'd remembered what those slams felt like, but the memory didn't compare at all to the painful original. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and looked up in surprise when he felt his shoulder being lightly tapped

"Hey! You OK?"

Kurt shook his head, took the hand extended to him, and stood up to greet… a stranger. "Uh, thanks. I'll be all right." He looked, and was pretty sure he'd never seen this guy before. He wasn't someone he would have expected help from, for sure: whoever this was, in his black skinny jeans with a black rock band shirt (who the hell were Freelance Whales?), motorcycle boots, heavy silver chains dangling from his jeans and jacket in odd places, with slicked black hair, looked scarier than Puckerman.

"Good. Later!" The stranger flashed a gorgeous smile at Kurt, and then turned to go the other way down the long hallway.

"Yeah. Later." Kurt whispered. He smiled at the retreating form of the mystery boy. He'd barely seen his face at all. Kurt wished he'd looked at his face instead of his clothes

"Kurt! Come on! Your coffee will get cold!" Rachel scurried down the hall, looking for Kurt, her patience wearing thin as she waited to get their glee strategy meeting started. "Artie, Mike, and Tina are already there!" Rachel stopped to look at Kurt, noticing he looked a little stunned. Seeing no evidence of a slushie attack, her brows furrowed as she tried to figure out what was up with her friend. "Where's Finn?"

Kurt went along down the hall with her, as Rachel had gripped his arm, leading him to the choir room. 

"Rachel." She looked at him, opening the door. "I know my way, you know. You don't have to lead me around like some kind of frantic seeing eye dog!" He was about to launch into a snarky remark about Finn not living in his back pocket when Rachel handed him a cup from the Lima Bean. He took his first sip, pure heaven, and looked down at Rachel, whose eyes suddenly brightened: Finn had slipped in just behind them. "Sorry, Rach, you didn't deserve that. And thank you so much for getting me this."

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

Kurt was glad Mike was in his honors English class. It was right before lunch, and they both had the same lunch period, which meant he wouldn't have to go alone to the caf to find the glee club table. They'd chatted about the heavy reading list, gotten out their lunches (neither one of them liked the school food) and settled in to wait for more friends to join them at a table outside.

"I said get away from my stuff!" 

Their heads snapped at the very angry,very loud voice a few tables away, on the outside rim of the enclosed courtyard. Kurt recognized the boy who was yelling: the stranger from this morning..

"Hey! it was an honest mistake, all right? My bag looks just like yours. Sorry!"

 Mike recognized the boy who was backing away fast, Justin Mara, from his AP Bio class.

"Maybe we need to make them look a little more different, asshole!" Justin watched fearfully as the boy reached to throw something at him, and Kurt and Mike were horrified to hear the thunk of a knife thrown with great force at the bag, right in front of Justin's chest.Kurt looked on, terrified. 

Slushies and getting slammed were routine occurrences at McKinley, as was the occasional trip into a dumpster. But knives? He hadn't seen anyone with one at this school, let alone witnessed one being thrown like that. The jocks clustered at the table near where Justin had been standing just sat there, mouths opened wide, as Justin fled without another word. They moved away a bit as the boy sat at the table next to them that Justin had just vacated.Finn and Brittany sat down next to Kurt, as Mike leaned over, saying, "I'm going to go check on Justin. Catch you later, Kurt."

"Everything OK, Kurt? You, um, don't look too good right now." Finn frowned at Mike's retreating form

."Fine. I'm fine. You didn't see anything, did you?" Kurt glanced over to where the new boy was calmly eating his lunch. He really wanted to get a better look, but brought his gaze back to Finn.

"No! What? Did I miss something?

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

"Porcelain!"

Kurt turned, sighing, ready to see what Coach Sue Sylvester wanted this time. The first glee meeting had gone about like he'd thought it would; Mr. Schue had weird ideas to increase their numbers, Rachel wanted to start planning right away for Sectionals (and of course had songs picked out); not much singing this first day. He was tired; ready to go home, thirsty, hot

."Yes?"

"I'm hoping you've reconsidered your ill-advised decision from last year. You know you want back in."

Kurt could only shake his head. "Ah, Coach Sylvester, by the way, the name is Kurt, and I think I'm going to say no to what I can only assume is your invitation to re-join the Cheerios."

Sue's eyes narrowed as she considered the teen in front of her. 

"You're making a mistake, Porcelain, but I'm sure you'll come around. I've got some numbers planned out for you, and you know you loved it." She smirked at Kurt. 

"See Becky to get your measurements re-done; looks like you've grown some since last year."

Kurt rolled his eyes. He knew his measurements in detail; how else to create his own fashions? As if he'd let Sue's minion put a tape measure anywhere on his body! He had, in fact, enjoyed some aspects of his time in the Cheerios quite a lot, but he really didn't have time for this. He smiled at Sue sweetly. "Bye Coach." 

He was almost giddy at the Coach's look of frustration as he walked away from her. 

Glee let out almost as late as the sports practices today, and he headed towards his beloved Navigator in the nearly deserted student parking lot. Kurt's mind was preoccupied with anticipating getting home, getting rehydrated, and maybe vegging out with reruns of Project Runway.

"Nice ride." 

Kurt blanched as the new kid from earlier today suddenly came up behind him.

"Thanks." 

He had no idea what to say, and this throat was instantly dry, noting that he was completely alone with this guy – who'd been nice, friendly even, this morning, and then revealed himself to be a scary, knife-throwing nut at lunch.

"You all right?" 

The guy was looking at him with concern. Kurt relaxed a little. He certainly didn't look like a threat, for now.

"Yes! Fine!" 

Why was he here? Kurt decided to try talking to him as he were any other new student. He was glad for an excuse to look at the boy's face. "My name's Kurt."

"Blaine. Blaine Anderson." 

Kurt saw his face light up with a smile. And those eyes – he had hazel eyes framed by long lashes, topped with black triangular eyebrows. Why, Kurt wondered, did he look so damned amused? Had he done anything funny? How did someone dressed like such a fashion disaster manage to look so amazingly hot?"You're new here, aren't you?" he managed to say, congratulating himself on not slipping into his highest register.

"Yup," Blaine said. "Moved here this summer. I'm a junior."

Well, Kurt thought, this conversation was going surprisingly normally. If you can call normal having a conversation with a guy in goth-meets-biker gear who throws knives when he gets pissed normal. Somehow he didn't feel like he was in any danger, and part of his mind wondered why that should be so. 

"Junior. Me too." Brilliant, Kurt, he thought to himself. He must have paused too long, as he noticed Blaine started to speak again.

"Well, Kurt. Nice to know the name that goes with the face. See you around!" With that, Blaine nodded in a friendly way in Kurt's direction as he started towards his motorcycle parked further out.

"Right! See you tomorrow. I guess." Kurt watched him walk away for a moment before getting his keys out. Damn! Maybe those pants at least weren't a fashion disaster. Not on him anyway. OK! he thought, enough! I don't even want to know what would happen if he caught me staring at him in those skin tight jeans!

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

Blaine pulled into the driveway of the little house he and his mom had moved into a couple of weeks ago. Her family in the area had all offered to take them in, but she'd gently turned them all down, preferring instead to move into their own place a couple of weeks before the semester started. It was smaller than he was used to, but he liked it more: his parents' fights, which alternated with periods of uncomfortable chilliness, had been hard to be around. Much as he'd hated the idea of them divorcing, he couldn't help but see that his mom actually seemed more relaxed now.

Letting himself in, he dumped his bag into his room and shed his outfit in what his mom would describe as the messiest way possible: jacket, shirt, socks, chains, exploding all over the room. He did use care however, with his knives and holsters, laying them out on the top of his dresser. He didn't regret losing the one he'd thrown at lunchtime: he grimaced for a moment, musing that it was a worthy investment. The table full of jocks? They hadn't said a word, including the Neanderthal who'd pushed that boy into the locker first thing this morning.

Blaine peeled off his sweaty socks, leaving them unceremoniously on the floor, as he loped over to the shower. He'd waited after school, so long he thought maybe he'd missed him, but had been glad to find that he hadn't: he'd wanted to stay to make sure the beautiful boy from the morning made it to his car without getting bullied again. Kurt. He'd seemed nervous, but when he'd finally smiled – wow. Blaine made a mental note to ask Justin about him later tonight

.A/N: So, badboy!Blaine ... consider yourselves introduced, dear readers. I will update again soon, and would welcome any feedback, comments, speculation 

This is the first chapter, written so long ago, in a fic I wrote that is now on Chapter 117. Check it out if you’re in the mood for a long fic...

…https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8315415/1/When-I-get-you-alone-babe

[somethinginthewayiam]

PRESSing matters (Part 5)

Pairing: Ben x reader

Warnings: none

Words: 2898

Summary: It’s the morning after and you rushed to get Ben out of your room and down to your breakfast meeting with the cast and Pam. Before Pam arrives, Joe starts talking about a couple he heard having sex last night. You almost choked on your coffee. Also you have your fitting with Ilaria for your Oscars outfit and get to see the dress for the first time...

Previous chapter: Part 4

Next thing you knew was the beeping of a truck moving backwards. Your eyes fluttered open and bright sunlight filled your room. “Shit, shit, shit”, you cursed as you shoved Ben’s arm off you. Somehow a blanket had been placed on top of both of you over night. You couldn’t remember how it had gotten there.

With a racing heart, you crawled to the edge of the bed, grabbing your phone from the nightstand. You feared you had missed your alarm and were late for pretty much everything. Then Pam would come to your door, find Ben in your room, naked and put two and two together and everything would be an even bigger mess than it already was.

It was just before 7 AM, your alarm hadn’t even begun to ring. You sighed relieved. At least you hadn’t overslept, but you needed to get Ben back to his room before anyone noticed he hadn’t spent the night there.

You walked around the bed, shaking Ben’s shoulder. “Ben, wake up, you have to go”, you said in a firm tone. With a grunt he turned towards you and opened one eye. A smile formed on his face. “Now, Ben. Come on”, you said again and pulled on his arm. He didn’t move a bit.

“Can you please do this every time from now on?”, he asked mumbling, his eyes closed again. “What?”, you asked, not knowing what he was talking about. “Waking me, completely naked?”, he said and opened one eye again to look you up and down. Only now you remembered that you weren’t wearing any clothes.

“Get up. NOW!”, you sounded angry and let go of his arm. It landed on the mattress with a dull plop. You walked around the bed again to collect your clothes from around the bed, stepping over Ben’s shirt, pants and shoes along the way.

“You look cute when you’re angry”, he chuckled and sat up in bed, following you with his eyes around the room. “Don’t ever say that to a woman again. It makes us even angrier”, you told him over your shoulder as you put your panties back on and your shirt followed right after. “Are you in a hurry?”, he asked. “No, but you should be”, you said as you picked up his clothes and threw them on the bed. “You need to get dressed and back to your room. You know we have a breakfast meeting in an hour”, you reminded him. “Oh yes, I forgot”, he said and grabbed the clothes from in front of him.

He got out of bed and you caught a glimpse of his naked ass in the sunlight. Instinctively, you bit down on your lip and blushed a bit as you quickly turned around. “I thought so, that’s why I’m telling you”, you said as you looked for your pants. You found them next to the nightstand on the floor.

“Try not to be seen by anyone on your way back”, you told him, as he buttoned up the last few buttons on his shirt. He picked up his jacket from the bed and put it back on. He felt the weight of his phone in the inner pocket. He also checked if his keycard was still there and found it a second later.

“Yes, ma’am”, he saluted you. “Don’t be stupid”, you rolled your eyes. Your phone buzzed and your heart jumped as you felt caught for some reason. You went over to the nightstand to look.

As Ben walked towards the door, he took one of your two keycards that was placed on the counter underneath the TV and put it in his inner pocket. You didn’t notice as you were checking your phone. It was just a new e-mail.

You followed him to the door to check if he was really leaving. “Again, it was my pleasure, Y/N”, Ben hinted a bow and you shot him a look. “Go”, you said, but it didn’t sound that angry anymore. His hand was already on the handle of the door as he stopped. “One more thing though…”, he said and you stopped in your motions. He turned around and pressed a quick kiss on your lips. Your heart jumped in your chest by the surprise. “One for the road”, Ben winked at you and the next second, he was out of the door.

Your fingers went up to touch your lips, still feeling his. You blushed and a smile appeared on your face. You dropped it as soon as you realized that you were doing it. “Stupid”, you said to yourself and shook your head.

  You took a long shower and got dressed. You made the bed yourself in an attempt to cover up what had happened there last night. You grabbed your things and went down to the breakfast hall.

You had a big table in the corner of the hall as it had to fit seven people. You found Rami, Lucy, Gwil and Ben already sitting there. Ben had changed into some sweatpants and a black hoodie. The guys would not have any appointments until the early afternoon, you would have to leave right after the breakfast for more errand-runs. And later this day, you had your first and only fitting with Ilaria for your Oscars dress. It would also be the first time that you would see what she had picked out for you.

“Morning”, you said as you arrived at the table. You sat across from Ben, trying to avoid eye contact, but not making it too obvious. “Hey”, Lucy greeted you. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages”, she added. “Yeah, well, busy, busy, busy, just like you guys”, you said and took your seat. You grabbed one of the pots from the middle of the table to pour yourself a cup of coffee. Ben looked as tired as you felt. Well, both of you hadn’t gotten that much sleep for the past two nights.

“You look tired”, Lucy stated and Rami nodded agreeingly. “I haven’t slept that much last night”, you simply answered and your eyes shot over to Ben for a nano-second before concentrating on the cup of coffee in front of you again. “Oh, did something keep you up?”, she asked. Or someone, you added in your thoughts. Ben bit down on the corner of his lips to hide his smile.

“Just work”, you mentioned and took a big sip. It was still very hot, but you felt like the caffeine was going straight through your veins.

“What are we talking about?”, Joe asked as he came to the table with a full plate of eggs and bacon. That guy could eat anything without gaining weight. You ogled at the crispy stripes of bacon on his plate as he sat down next to you. “Y/N didn’t get much sleep last night”, Rami answered him.

“Did you hear it too?”, he asked straight at you. “Hear what?”, you asked confused. “That couple going at it in the middle of the night”, he told you and your heart sank. Your throat went dry and your palms started sweating.

“What couple?”, Lucy asked. “I don’t know, but they were pretty loud”, Joe said with a chuckle. “What floor are you on? We didn’t hear anything”, Rami asked him. “Seventh, but windows go out back”, Joe told him. The window. Shit! You had completely forgotten about it when Ben had shown up at your door. Your room was on the sixth floor. You tried hard to remember which room number you had given Joe two days ago, but you couldn’t.

“Ah, we’re out front”, Lucy said and sounded almost disappointed that she didn’t hear the couple. “You’re on 725, right?”, Gwil asked Joe and he nodded. “I’m on 719 and I heard it too, not as loud. So that was that. Boy, those two had some fun”, he grinned admiringly. Your heart sank even more. Your room was basically between Gwil and Joe, just a floor beneath them. It could have only been you and Ben.

Before you could make any sounds of despair, you quickly took another sip of your coffee. You didn’t dare to look up, afraid to catch Ben’s stare on you. You looked down into your cup, wondering if it was big enough to drown yourself in it.

“What about you, Ben?”, Joe asked. “I’m out front as well, 912. Didn’t hear a thing”, he simply stated. “I was sleeping, I didn’t hear anything”, you spoke up without being asked. “You’re out back too, right?”, Gwil remembered. “How could you not have heard that? They woke me up”, Joe laughed. “That must have been the short time I’ve actually gotten some sleep”, you quickly replied. “They sure didn’t get any sleep that night. I almost applauded at the finale”, Joe said admiringly. “Don’t be gross, Joe”, Lucy said to him. Ben chuckled under his breath and you almost choked on your coffee.

Before this conversation could go any further, Pam arrived at the table, sitting down on the other side of you, discussing the plans for today and updating everyone on the schedule as you had prepared it the night before. Your face felt bright red the whole time through.

  Over the course of the morning, you picked up the suits for the guys for tonight’s Vanity Fair pre-Oscar party and for the big night tomorrow. Lucy’s dress would specially be delivered, her stylists took care of that.

After you quickly grabbed lunch in form of a smoothie on the way back, you delivered the suits to the rooms of the stylists, the last one being Ilaria. “Great, perfect timing”, she said as she opened the door. You brought in the clothing bags, delivering Rami’s suits. “Perfect for what?”, you asked as you placed them on the bed. Your arm felt tired from carrying the heavy bags.

“Your fitting. I need to see if I have to make some changes”, she explained to you. “You can change in the bathroom or right here, it’s just the two of us”, she said and turned around to get out a measuring tape, a piece of paper and a pen. You knew you had to do it, but you felt a little caught off guard.

“Come on, I don’t bite”, Ilaria said over her shoulder when she saw that you hadn’t begun to undress. With a sigh, you took off your bag and kicked off your sneakers. You stripped down your jeans and pulled your shirt over your head. You left your hair up in a pony tail and then stood there waiting for her.

“Take the bra off too”, she mentioned and walked over to a clothing bag hanging on the outside of the bathroom door. “Excuse me?!”, you asked startled. “You can’t wear a bra with that dress, it’s strapless”, she told you and pulled the zipper of the bag down. It was facing away from you, so you couldn’t see what the dress looked like just yet.

“And where do you suggest I keep them then?”, you asked sarcastically and pointed at your boobs. “The dress is tight enough, it will hold them in place”, she waved off your comment. “Not the answer I was looking for, Ilaria”, you said with a raised eyebrow and a dry voice.

“Just wait and see. Come on, top off”, she pointed at your bra. Someone knocked at the door and you immediately covered your body with your hands. “That’s just Lucy, she wanted to see you in the dress”, Ilaria wiped away your concerns and walked to the door. “Is she wearing it yet?”, you heard Lucy from the door. “No, she’s stalling”, Ilaria playfully rolled her eyes. “I’m not stalling, I just don’t want something I can’t wear my bra to”, you shouted from the bedroom.

The next moment, the two ladies appear in your eyesight. “You haven’t even seen it yet, Y/N. Wait with your complaints, please”, Ilaria told you and finally got the dress out of the clothing bag.

A wave of red fabric poured over her arm. “You gotta be kidding me”, you blurted out. You are shocked as you had expected a much less flashy color, something dark, simple, ordinary. Something a PR assistant would wear walking behind the stars. “Don’t blame me, well, don’t blame just me. Pam picked it out”, Ilaria told you. “She wanted to get you out of your shell a little bit”, she added. “And turn me into a stoplight?”, you asked with a raised eyebrow. “Go try it on”, Ilaria pushed the dress into your hands and moved you towards the bathroom. “And lose the bra already”, she said before she closed the door behind you.

It took you a few moments to shimmy your way into the dress. Thankfully, it was only tight at the top where it had to be. You weren’t able to fully close the zipper in your back on your own. You took a deep breath and went back out. You couldn’t see much in the little mirror in the bathroom, but you had an idea of how you looked.

You opened the door and found Lucy and Ilaria sitting on the bed, waiting for you. “Oh, Y/N”, Lucy sighed and looked like you were about to choose your wedding dress.

“I look ridiculous”, you said and pulled a face. “No offense”, you added towards Ilaria. “Oh shut up, you look gorgeous”, the stylist said and got up. She placed you in front of the full body mirror she had in the bedroom. “There is a slit in my dress, almost up to my…business”, you hesitated for a moment. “If it’s too much for you, I can sew it close a bit”, Ilaria offered. The red fabric came across your stomach and crossed on its way down, creating the vent in your skirt.

“I absolutely love it. That color looks so good on you”, Lucy got up too and stood behind you, looking at you through the mirror. “Really?”, you asked unsure, feeling very self-conscious. You couldn’t even remember when the last time was, you had worn a dress. Probably, when your mom still had picked out your outfits.

Ilaria closed the zipper in your back and now you really felt how tight it was. “I have to admit, it fits like a glove”, you said admiringly while Ilaria tugged and squeezed all around. “And you saw all that with just your eyes?”, you asked impressed, turning from side to side in front of the mirror. “Well, I’m that good, but I also took some measurements last time, remember?”, she reminded you and scanned you up and down, checking the fit of the dress. “I thought they were just for fun”, you shrugged your shoulders. Ilaria just chuckled and shook her head lightly and then concentrated on the dress again. She took some pins and closed the slit in front of your legs a few inches down.

“It seems a bit tight at the top, but it holds everything in place, like it told you”, she nodded and turned you around, scanning you with her skilled eyes. “Being able to breath would be nice though”, you said as you felt your lungs being more and more compressed. “I can loosen it at the zipper that should work for you. But that’s about all I can squeeze in until tomorrow”, she measured your back, opened the zipper a bit until you nodded your head and put pins in it. She took some notes on her slip of paper.

“You’re good, you can change now. Thanks, Y/N”, she said and padded your shoulder. After Ilaria had unzipped you completely, you shuffled back to the bathroom, your hands holding up the top.

“Oh, I just can’t wait until the guys see you in that dress. I think they have never seen you in a dress before”, Lucy seemed way more excited about all this than you were. For a second you had forgotten that people would actually see you in this. It felt like you just played dress up with some friends. “They will all have a great laugh, just like everybody else”, you ranted from the bathroom as you carefully took off the dress again and your bra back on.

Almost like handing over a newborn you gave Ilaria back the dress. “Nobody will laugh at you”, Lucy pouted, a bit fed up with your negativity. She was wondering how she could get you to see how beautiful you were and how amazing you looked especially in that dress?

You got dressed and grabbed your bag. “Okay, I need to head out again”, you told them. “Thanks so much, Ilaria. The dress looks great and I will try my best to wear it with all the pride and dignity I can scrape up”, you gave her a hug goodbye. You also hugged Lucy and walked out.

On your way to the elevator your mind wandered to Ben. What would he say when he saw you in the dress? Would he laugh or would he even like it? Maybe if you see it as a way to impress Ben with a side of you he had never seen before, you could actually see the fun in dressing up.

this is the dress I had in mind

Next chapter: Part 6

tag list:

@valentineash @the-limit-doesnt-exist @rogerspoison @rogermeddowstayl0r @i-am-sarah @unbound-chaos @goodiebluebox @the-borhap-boys @leeezie @kimberliinabox  

[angrylizardjacket]

this one’s called ‘borhap set!asher? sure why not. set 2017′

When Ben comes in for his first costume fitting, there’s about ten people all buzzing around him with tape measures and pins and fabric and it’s a little overwhelming, but at the centre of it all is a stout woman with a mane of curly, grey hair holding what looks to be eight different items of clothing in her arms, who everyone else refers to as Rocket. 

“You’re too fit.” Is the first thing she tells him, sitting back in an armchair in front of a desk with a fancy-looking sewing machine on it. Ben frowns in confusion, holding his arms out as the people around him take his measurements. “Well, maybe not for the eighties, but Roger was a stick in the early days.” After a beat, she extracts one of the pieces from the bundle in her arms, holding it out. Someone else rushed passed, snatching it up and taking it to another room. 

“Yeah, no I’ve been trying to slim down-” Ben squirmed a little under her unblinking scrutiny. 

“Being too fit isn’t an insult, Ben, besides; you’ve got the face for it, that’s all you really need.” Standing, she turns and dumps the pile of costumes on the chair she’d just vacated. He hadn’t been expecting her to be wearing a black, silk, short-sleeved button up shirt tucked into faded blue jeans, but then he looks back at her face, and he feels like he recognises her from somewhere.

“Have you been in anything? Where do I know you from?” After he says it, someone new altogether bursts into the room, holding the shirt that had been taken away, and the woman takes it, making her way towards him.

“Ben, I’ve been in costuming for fifty years, I’ve worked with Bowie, and Prince, and even Queen when they were still touring, been doing films for about thirty years, even won an academy award a few years ago.” She’s nonchalant about these facts, far too casual as she stands before him, unbuttoning the shirt in her hands. Ben has to work to not let his surprise show on his face. Instead, he tries to look at the little details about her, the gold thread that’s stitched into the shirt, the nicotine patch peeking out from beneath her sleeve. She looks like she’s about to say something else when the door open and Roger’s standing there, looking exasperated.

“You couldn’t have waited five minutes?” He asks, and the woman looks over her shoulder with a smirk. 

“I called you half an hour ago, you’re just slow.” She says to Rock Legend Roger Taylor. Ben takes the shirt when it’s offered to him, pulling off his t-shirt. The woman steps away, picking up the bundle of costumes and handing them off to another assistant, but not before she pulls out a pair of jeans.

“Good to see you, Ben, how are you?” Roger asks, taking a seat in the now vacated chair, and Ben smiles, politely making small talk, trying to button up the shirt, but the woman smacks his hands away and hands him the jeans.

“Put these on, leave the shirt unbuttoned.” She instructed, and an assistant lead him to a curtained-off area.

“Does it need to be that unbuttoned?” He hears Roger say on the other side of the curtain.

“Listen, I fought for historical accuracy in this scene, trust me.” She sounds a little indignant, a little defensive. After a beat, she continues. “I couldn’t forget that day if I tried.” And it sounds almost wistful, which only serves to confuse Ben further.

“You’re talking about Freddie’s lizard jacket, aren’t you?” Roger sounds amused, and the woman makes a noise of agreement, a soft laugh, and when Ben pulls back the curtain, to reveal his costume, he sees the woman sitting on the arm of the chair, laughing as she rests her forehead against the side of Roger’s head, and he’s rolling his eyes, exasperatedly endeared.

“Oh look at you!” Roger announces to Ben, which snaps the woman back into focus, but she’s smiling when she looks over the confused actor.

“Seriously, where do I know you from?” He asks, stepping back into position on the plinth they’d had him on. It was on the tip of his tongue, he knew her face, it was driving him mad. 

“Sounds like you haven’t done your research.” Roger tuts from his chair, and the woman smacks him on his arm. “Wait, no, Ash this is your fault, I bet you’ve given him the whole costume spiel but never mentioned me.”

“I told him we’d worked together.” She stands, moving to rifle through a costume rack, pulling out a beige leather jacket for Ben to put on.

“That’s how you’re phrasing it?” Roger calls, and she actually flips him off. “Ben, this is my wife, Ash.” He says, and Ash looks like she’s trying to repress how triumphant she’s feeling. Ben feels like he’s missed a step as Ash ‘Pocket Rocket’ Taylor, Oscar winning costume designer and wife to the person he’s meant to be playing on screen, slips a necklace over his head. Everything starts making sense.

“I- yeah no, I recognise you.” Ben admits, and Roger snorts, rolling his eyes as Ash grins.

“Love, why do you do this?” He asks, and she spins on her heel, marching over to him and sitting herself on the arm of the chair to look at where Ben stood awkwardly, assistants fiddling with the way the clothes were hanging.

“I just like hearing you say it.” Ash admits, voice quiet, though everyone can still hear her, and Ben’s pretty sure Roger’s blushing behind his beard. Everyone else seems relatively used to this.

“You’re a sap.”

[ayurileopardsdream]

Prosthetic love ~ Chapter 1

Inspired by @elastigale and @yamino ~ Alternate universe (Non-Super Au, No Bob au, Modern au) 

Description: Girl gets in an accident, meets her future girlfriend through a special prosthetics company. Gf becomes her exclusive engineer.

Author’s note: Warning. Violence, disability. (I don’t have a physical disability nor do I know anyone who does so if I do or write something wrong, please let me know ^^”) (Also Bioprosthetica is not a real company and the name idea was given by a couple of friends mashing thoughts. If they read this, thanks guys~)

Rating: T

Words: 3,030

Au: Non-Supers, Stratogale is alive, Modern!au, Bob Parr isn’t around

Fandom / series: The Incredibles

Characters / Pairing: Elastigirl, Stratogale. (Temporary Edna Mode)

Genre: romance, hurt & comfort, fluff, angst.

Do you want to know how it happened? How it happened without the cape.

At least she was a hero, just the way she’d always wanted. 

It was just another typical Saturday morning. Gail Fowler was just arriving at her favorite queer-friendly coffee shop downtown Metroville. She had more volunteering at the local zoo later, where she loved to be and play and care for the birds. So she was getting her favorite vanilla macchiato, before she headed off. 

What she didn’t realize at the time was the two big burly white American men that walked by with a big brown paper package, set it on the desk, and take off running as if they’d left the oven on. Nobody thought anything of it, especially not Gail, as she walked out of the shop happily, until her back was blown out and she was sent flying across the street when a bomb went off inside the store, sending glass and bricks and smoke everywhere.

Looking back horrified, she tossed her half full cup onto the grass behind the sidewalk and leapt into the fire and flames, feeling more than obligated to help rescue people.

Coughing through smoke, fire and brimstone, cringing at bodies and rubble that lied around, she helped a few other people drag the other 5 survivors out onto the street where they were in open air, and when she dashed back in for the 6th, a loud boom sounded nearby. The rest of the building was going to collapse if she didn’t hurry!

Searching through the mess as best she could, flipping broken tables and heavy building destruction until she found a coughing cashier blocked away in a supply closet about to crash.

“C’mon! We have to get out of here!” Gail yelled over the blaring sounds of the disaster all around. Thankfully the person agreed, and lifting their arm over her shoulder, she helped them limp out to safety. But at the last minute, the building began to shake, and Gail looked in horror. She had a split second to think, and her limbs weren’t fast enough... She clenched her jaws and felt tears in her eyes as she shoved the survivor out, and just like that, the building collapsed in a massive pile of concrete and brick and rubble, and Gail Fowler was never to be seen again.

Just kidding.

The world had gone dark and dusty. Gail was on her back, as she’d jumped backwards when the building fully collapsed, and she groaned and gave a cough, squinting her eyes in the little cave of darkness, made of very squished concrete chunks. It was so hard to see... her ears were ringing, so she could barely hear... great. There go her two main senses. Her head was kind of dizzy, she could barely focus on anything at all. 

Blinking her eyes, she sighed and rubbed her face while sitting in her wheelchair, rubbing the back of her neck in her favorite black turtleneck sweater and now rolled up dirty green cargo pants. Cargo shorts, now. Thinking back on her accident was... extremely painful, to say the least. After a lot of mental and psychological and depressing physical therapy, she’d finally decided after 6 and a half months to look into prosthetics. She missed walking. Running, leaping! And in her mind, in her dreams, flying. But... she couldn’t do that anymore... 

So she wanted a change. She’d set herself an appointment to meet with the people of Bioprosthetica. 

It was just about 9 am. The sun was out, bright and early as she was. It was comfortably warm outside, like the sun giving you a big hug!

An associate and their engineer in training should be arriving soon! The appointment said 9 am sharp. And just like that, a small black haired lady walked out from around a corner, followed by... the most gorgeous young red-haired girl that Gail had ever seen. Gail’s mouth literally dropped a little seeing that gorgeous red bob on that tall angelic head, and holding a big dark green binder that looked very important. What was even better was that the apprentice blushed a little in return and waved a hello by silently wiggling her fingers over the binder and giving a shy smile. Oh my goodness. Cute.

It wasn’t till the small lady snapped her fingers in front of Gail’s face did she shake back into focus and have her face burn brighter than the assistant’s hair. Maybe.

“Hello. I am Edna Mode. You come for fake legs, yes?” 

Immediately her blush went away, and a knot in the pit of her stomach formed. “Yes Ma’am.” She said with obvious sadness.

Edna Mode stared her down, looking her over for a minute, then snapped her fingers, and turned away, walking out of the room as she spoke. 

“Helen Truax, you will work on this woman here. Your first sole project. Measure her, comfort her, build her the legs she needs. No matter the cost.” Then she left the room.

Both women’s jaws dropped after that point.

Helen’s eyes widened in surprise, but she kept her cool only to grip the green binder a little tightly. “Thank you ma’am. I greatly appreciate the opportunity.”

Gail however was just really surprised she’d be left alone with such a gorgeous lady! Her face was burning again!

“So, when do you want to get started?” Helen asked, beaming with excitement, and she’d suddenly teleported  to standing right in front of Gail’s wheelchair. How had she got there so fast?!

“Um. Uhh. Err.” She stammered, leaning back in her chair without the ability to speak.

“Here’s to the start of a new beginning, and maybe a new friendship!” Helen exclaimed, holding out a hand to shake.

Yeah. A new adventure indeed.

They decided to start immediately. Gail didn’t have a lot of plans, she kind of just wheeled around her apartment, used the gym with the landlord to strengthen her arms when she wasn’t at therapy, and she was into bird-watching, and she’d recently gotten into some video games, since she wasn’t really keen on going outside, due to her depression and anxiety and all.

Anyways, she had free time. And when the very cute engineer asked her to go over to her house, she could barely refuse. Let alone say anything at all. 

Helen chuckled at the speechless and blushing and awestruck girl before her, then opened her book, wrote something down, and placed something on Gail’s lap.

“I’m going to go get my stuff. Hopefully you’ll be able to speak when I get back?” Helen teased, stroking a finger under Gail’s chin, before walking away with a sway of her hips.

“Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness. I am so gay.” Gail thought in her head, taking deep breaths and trying to calm her completely red face. Man oh man were her ears burning up. Helen was so friggin cute. 

When she came back with a cute jean jacket over her dark blue and white-dotted dress, a brown clutch over one shoulder, and her eyes half-lidded and looking very... flirty? Gail just ended up blushing again.

“Ready to go to my place? I want to get started immediately. Unless you have other plans.”

“N-no! No plans! I’d love to get started!” Gail explained, literally waving her hands around frantically while being redder than a tomato. 

Helen laughed with a little blush, then looked at her for a second.

“Want me to roll you out? Or you can do it yourself..” She trailed off, but Gail smiled shyly. “You can wheel me if you like.. you know where your place is.” Well obviously! Damnit Gail, think before you speak!

Helen just laughed and tucked a piece of her own hair behind her ear, and then handed Gail the green binder. “Can you hold this for me while I push you? It’s very important, so don’t lose it.” 

Gail nodded, holding the binder close to her chest as Helen wheeled her away. What a lovely day it has been!

When they got to Helen’s house, it was just reaching 9:30 am. It felt a lot later for some reason. The redhead stated that her parents wouldn’t be back till the next day, a business trip, so Gail was welcome to stay the night. The poor girl was completely red the whole time, barely able to speak through her embarrassment and shyness. The poor girl. 

Helen wheeled her in, her house had a ramp already set because of the job, cruddy boards lines up on the steps for now, but it worked. Once the wheelchair was set in the living room, Helen set out all her paperwork, notes and pens and pencils and erasers, all that stuff somehow neatly fit on a large living room table. Impressive.

“Would you like something to eat or drink?” Helen offered, writing something down on a graph before pulling out a roll of measuring tape from a storage container across the room. Guess she worked in here often. 

“M-may I have a glass of water please?” Gail squeaked, poor thing was still completely red. 

Helen almost felt a little bad, this girl was so cute and way too embarrassed. “Hey, you can relax here. You’re okay. No need to be embarrassed about anything. If you need anything at all, any help, food, water, anything, just ask.”

The way Helen’s eyes sparkled as they were so close, and she was offering herself to Gail, her own eyes sparkled and stared right into her own, she was lost in the moment, if there was one. Lost in space, floating, drifting endlessly in her mind, frozen and staring wide-eyed at those gorgeous brown eyes that almost looked red in the dazzling sunlight and-

It was Helen’s gorgeous giggle that brought Gail back to life, making her blush soften, but it was still really there.

“I’ll go get you that water. “ Helen murmured, slowly rising from where she’d been bent over in front of Gail, and sauntered into the kitchen, turning her head and smirking as if to make sure Gail was watching, before getting a cup from a high shelf, on her tippy toes, Gail watched in little awe. She just couldn’t take her eyes off that angel... oh my goodness... did she really just call her an angel?!

It wasn’t till the last second, as if doing gravity and physics multiplications in her head (a meme, not actually) but it was really like everything was in slow-motion, she looked at Helen’s foot in her flats, and she noticed just by a millimeter, like some freaky magic, that she noticed because Helen was stretching up and trying to use all her height, the foot she was leaning on was starting to slip forwards, until it was a second too late.

Helen’s eyes widen as suddenly she slipped on the kitchen tiling and began to fall backwards, her one hand holding the glass and the other going back to possibly reduce the pain in the incoming fall.

But then she didn’t.

Gail saw the foot sliding before it even finished, and the exact second Helen started falling, Gail grabbed her wheelchair wheels and spun them around, zipping into the kitchen and scooping up Helen before she barely even went down.

Both ladies were breathless and beaten red. Both kind of in shock. Helen more than Gail, obviously.

“Y-you saved me!” Helen exclaimed.

“I-I wouldn’t say saved....”  She replied shyly, rubbing the back of her neck while the other held Helen’s thighs on her lap.

“I would.” Helen whispered, leaning closer and against Gail’s chest, then stroked her opposite cheek and pulled her head close, then she closed her eyes slowly and placed a soft chaste kiss upon the cheek closest to her, before letting her go and just smiling innocently upon Gail’s lap, watching the reaction with yet again the cutest of giggles.

As for Gail, her head basically exploded. Gail.exe has stopped working. Her face was completely red again, frozen in the spot. She had definitely stopped working. Was her heart still beating? 

“Um.. miss? Are you okay?” Helen asked, waving her hand in front of the face of the poor dazed lady. Oh dear. Helen broke her. In the best way.

Climbing off Gail’s lap and patting her thigh, she chuckled again, getting the glass of tap water since the sink was right there. Gail snapped back into reality when Helen got off, and again rubbed her neck sheepishly and cleared her throat. 

“Thank you for rescuing me.” Helen said again with a smirk, putting the cup in Gail’s left hand. 

“Y-you’re welcome..” She stammered, and took a drink, which oddly enough relaxed her a little bit.

Helen pushed the wheelchair back into the living room, and got the measuring tape again. 

“Can I measure your residual limbs?” Helen asked, once she was knelt down in front of the wheelchair, holding the measuring tape like a ring, and of course, that playful smile again. 

“Huh?” Gail asked, very confused by the unused term.

“Your... stumps.” It actually made Gail freeze up again, she just, stared, thinking with a blank but slightly surprised face. Nobody had touched them in a long time other than herself. So having Helen ask kind of took her off guard.

“Sure..” She muttered, giving a nod in case it wasn’t clear. Helen nodded back, being extra careful and delicate. She pulled the tape along till it pooled a lot on the floor, then her hands hovered over the limbs, she was nervous, before she gently placed her hand down, gently rubbing to ensure that everything was okay. Concerned eyes looked up, saying all they needed to as she stared.

“I’m okay.” She assured Helen, giving a nervous grin. That was before she was jolted with a completely shocking feeling. Helen’s hands were freezing! Gail’s eyes widened and she clenched her jaws and her fists, in which Helen noticed right away and yanked her arm back.

“Are you okay?! Did I hurt you?!” She yelled, standing up in fear that she’d reignited sharp pains. She definitely wasn’t expecting Gail’s answer though.

“Y-y-you h-have rreeeeeeaaaaaallllyyyyyy cold haaaaands...” Gail stretched out, wiggling her hips in her chair to try and shake off the shivers.

Helen just laughed. Really hard. She even wiped her eyes as she laughed. It was actually kinda cute. “I-I am so sorry!” She laughed, then took a deep breath and recomposed herself. Nope, a couple more giggles. “I’ll be quick.” She promised, brushing Gail’s thighs with her cold hands again, quickly taking measurements of the ends and the roundabout width, before writing the numbers down on her papers, and putting the measuring tape away. But of course, just for fun, she put her cold hand back on Gail’s thigh, giggling at the “Yeep!” that was the reaction. Oh my goodness. So cute. Kind of like a bird!

“Okay. I can start designing right away, but is there anything specific you want? Like a certain height? Any special design on the prosthetic pocket?” Helen asked, looking at Gail with calm but serious focus. Poor Gail got the dizzy eyes as she tried to process all the questions at once, even looking a little jumbled, but she blinked back when she felt Helen’s hand on her shorts, calming her.

“Hey, don’t worry. No rush. We’re taking it slow. Take your time. They are just questions I need to know for the designing.” She explained, and Gail wheeled a little closer to look over the blank page. Only little numbers and notes so far.

“So. We have multiple options, depending on what route you want to take. We could try a 3D printer, and I could actually just get you some super soft fabric and make a makeshift shrinker-sock rather than an actual sock...” Helen was going over multiple options and making poor Gail dizzy! Helen shut up when she realized giving her too many options, and let her have a chance to speak.

“I would just like something comfortable and functional.” She stated matter-of-factly, then thought over the options. “Let’s start with the first stuff first. Regular sock and 3D printing. Then we can go differently if we need to.” A good plan.

“Do you have any socks of your own on you, or should we order a specific custom elastic wrapping through the company?” Helen asked, writing down more notes on the graph paper she’d use to sketch the leg, and also on the lined piece of paper next to it that had bigger font and a lot more notes.

“I threw out all my socks..” Gail admitted sadly, but Helen waved her hands with wide eyes and a frantic look.

“Hey hey! It’s okay! How would you like it if you borrowed some of my socks?” She offered, and she’d never seen this girl get so frantic and embarrassed before! Well, to be fair they barely knew each other.

“If you don’t want to-”

“I’d love to!” She exclaimed, before literally slapping a hand over her mouth with the biggest look of embarrassment ever. Oh goodness. Poor Gail. She looked about to pass out.

“I’ll go get some for you to pick out that are clean and I don’t use.” Helen stood up and left the room for a minute, leaving poor gay Gail to her thoughts. Yikes.

So first off, love at first sight, and if she wasn’t totally crazy, maybe hopefully she felt Helen liked her too? Gosh. Just thinking about it made her blush again.

But someone as pretty as Helen probably had, well, hundreds of guys after her. Girls too she bet. Helen was only with her for the project. Nothing more.

When Helen came back, with multiple pairs, some still with tags on them, and she noticed Gail looked sad! What happened while she left?

“Are you okay?” Helen asked, kneeling down and resting her hand on Gail’s, which rested on her leg. They almost entwined fingers for a minute, before Gail pulled away.

“Let me tell you how it happened, Helen, a while ago. How I lost my legs.”

[chaossheithsideficblog]

Unbound Incubus

Part Two: Clothing Incubus

Fandon: Voltron Legendary Defender

Relationship: Shiro/Keith

Characters: Shiro, Keith, Shiro’s army of cats

          The next morning Keith sits up in a bed he was sleeping by himself in. He was quite annoyed by that. Shiro was a stubborn weretiger and refused the incubus’ advances. There is a small furry body curled up next to him. Shiro told him that cat’s name was Red and she was not a big fan of most beings. Red appears to love Keith though. She follows him around and anytime he was sitting she would jump up and occupy his lap. She has a very soothing purr the incubus found.

         Keith pets the small red furred cat for a moment. “I want to know where he gets this spiritual strength from? Or I am just losing my touch.” Red just purrs away as Keith strokes her fur. He sniffs the air. He smells an aroma that causes his stomach to rumble. He scoops up the furry critter and they both walk into the kitchen.

        Shiro looks up from his cooking. He takes in the incubus and Red. He realizes that the incubus had lost what little clothing he was wearing the other day. He was a beautiful being. He was also naked. He turns his eyes back to his cooking. “I think we are going to have to go clothing shopping.” Shiro hums to himself. “Not that your nudity is not beautiful. You are what you are. Since you are staying a while, human laws dictate the need for clothing while outside of the house.”

        Keith smirks impishly. He takes a deep breath. He can smell Shiro’s interest in him. This man had the self-control of a saint. “Well good morning to you too,” he wanders over to stand next to Shiro. He never saw anyone cook before. “My nudity doesn't bother you?”

       “Nudity is natural.” Shiro points out as he finishes off the omelette he created. He cut it in half. Places it on the plate. Then right next to it he slides hashbrowns that just finished cooking as well. “I have already told you that you are attractive.” He carries the food for himself and his not completely wanted guest to his table. He was a kind soul, it was not the sex demon’s fault that newbie witchlings had messed up their summoning.

       “Yet you will not sleep with me.” Keith picks up a fork and cuts delicately into the eggie thing in front of him. He takes a bite. The omelette melts in his mouth that is almost as sinful as sex. “Where did you learn how to cook so sinfully?”

       Shiro just smiles. “I’ve taken lessons from a friend of mine. I did not want to be helpless in the kitchen. My ex did all the cooking. Once he left. I needed to know how to cook or I was going to be one of that only eating take away guys. That didn't sit well with me. So learned to cook.”

      “Do others know you're a weretiger?” Keith makes his way through the food Shiro had placed on the plate in front of him. This one must be placing some kind of magic unintentionally in his food. For he felt full.

     “Yes, the local Coven does. So does the local wolf pack.” Shiro smiles as he goes on. “The Coven and wolf pack are kinda melded together.” He pauses placing his fork down for he was finished eating. “I’m gonna see what I have that is too small for me. It will still be terribly oversized on you. We need to get you human-style clothing. Then I need to figure out how to tell my friends about you without half of them freaking out.” He stands. “I’ll be right back it will not take me long.”

     Keith finishes eating as Shiro reappears he has what looks like a pair of grey sweatpants and a faded crimson t-shirt that turned small from washing. “I have a pair of flip-flops. They will be too big. Your boots would look too odd with this getup.” Shiro smiles warmly. Keith wants to bask in this warmly like Shiro was the sun.

     “Alright.” Keith gets up. Takes the sweatpants first and pulls them on. He has to pull the drawstring to make sure the pants did not slip past his hips too much. He concentrates a bit and Shiro watches as the wings disappear from sight. Keith then pulls on the t-shirt. Shiro gives a whistle. Keith finds himself flushing.

     “I think you look pretty sexy in these things. Especially the t-shirt.” Shiro nods to both himself and Keith. “We should head out.” Shiro and Keith both slide on flip-flops. Keith realizes Shiro is wearing the same kind of clothing as him. “Put away your horns Keith. In public, you need to appear human as possible.”

    “You didn’t,” his voice trails off suddenly feeling awkward. Keith finds himself blushing for he had not thought of making his horns disappear too. Shiro watches as Keith does as he asks of him. “I’m sorry Shiro.”

    “Don’t be. It's not something you had to think of before. And I wanted to.” Shiro reassures Keith. “This way you will not feel underdressed.” They head out to Shiro’s car. “I’ve fed the cats already. Most of them will also hunt for their food. The local mouse and bird population are feeling their presence.” They slid in Shiro once again behind the wheel. “I will see about getting you a driver’s license.” Keith’s eyes widen. Shiro goes on. “The Coven and Wolfpack are my friends. The witches are Allura, Veronica, Ina, Nadia, Coran, and James.” He notes the eyebrow raise from the sex demon. “You know witches come in either sex.” That got a grin out of the other male. Shiro goes on. “The Wolves are Hunk, he is the one who taught me to cook, Shay, Lance, Pidge, Matt, and Ryan.” He pauses. “There is also a magical beings convocation called the Blade. We will have to inform them of your presence.” He pauses. “I’m only worried about Lance. He is a bit much on most days. I guess I will have to play it by ear.”

     Keith shots him a questioning look. “Okay.” The two listen to Shiro’s classic rock station as they drive in silence. Keith watches as the city blossoms around them. His thoughts drift to the handsome stranger with the strong willpower. He’d never met a person that had not just taken control and demanded things of him. He was not completely sure how to act in this situation. He was being treated like he was a person and not a sex toy or a whore for hire. It was an odd feeling. “When you want. I want to know why you will not just fuck me?” He watches as Shiro’s eye twitches in response to his vulgar use of language. “That is what my kind was designed for. As much as I like to fight it. I am designed for any kind of sex that humanoids can think of from nice to non-consent.”

     “I would never force you.” Shiro watches the road and the cars around them. “Plus I’m a tiny bit old fashioned. I like to be friends with someone before, how did you put it so eloquently, fuck them.” He pauses as they pull into a driveway and he drives up and down the aisles until he finds a parking spot and parks his car. “I’m not the sort of one night stands. I just don’t have the fuck the person and leave them attitude.”

     Keith locks the door after letting himself out of the car and wandering over to Shiro’s side. The incubus pats Shiro’s shoulder. “You are unique then. Most people like to fuck and leave.” The two made their way into the mall. The mall was not too busy even with all the cars that were in the lot.

     “We are gonna stop in the men’s suit shop first. That way we can get your measure.” Shiro smiles wryly. “It will make life much easier. Plus if you plan on staying one good suit is a great thing to own.”

    Keith had to answer Shiro’s smile with one of his own. This weretiger was making him rethink living. It was an odd feeling. “Do you practice martial arts?”

    “Yes I do,” Shiro looks at him with a contagious grin. “Did you wanna spar at home? We can totally do that. I also have a gym membership. I’ll add you to that as well. That way we got things to do together and bond over.”

    They arrive at the men’s suit shop. They walk in. A salesperson comes up. “Welcome to Dillion’s Suit shop. How many I help you today?”

    “My friend here needs a good suit.” Shiro supplies smoothly. “He has recently lost everything due to circumstances beyond his control. So we need to reoutfit him. So a new suit, shoes, the whole ensemble.”

    “Oh that's terrible,” the salesperson takes out his measuring tape and takes Keith’s measure. Keith was impressed by Shiro’s storytelling skills. It was enough of the truth and enough of a lie to be fully believable as the truth. The person helping them makes notes of each thing he measures. “I'll be right back.” He comes back with a beautiful black pinstripe suit,  crimson shirt,  black tie, a white shirt, a crimson tie, tie cuffs, and tie pins. “We don’t have shoes in right now. All of these things should fit. Go try them on.” He motions to the fitting rooms.

     Keith takes the pile of clothing. Hands Shiro the accessories. Takes just the suite and shirts with him. Keith tries them on. He looks at himself in the mirror. He sees a very handsome young man. He comes out to show Shiro. Shiro whistles.

    “You look great crimson is your colour.” Shiro grins. “The white shirt should be fine. Change back and we’ll get this paid for.” Shiro watches as Keith wanders back in then comes out dressed as before holding onto his new things. They get them rang up by the salesperson who had been helping them.

    Next, they hit the shoe store. Keith gets his foot measured for the first time. Shiro then has him try on a pair of biker boots, dress shoes, sandals, and tennis shoes. They get the pairs Keith likes then they hit the next store. It’s a department store a place where they get everything else and quickly. Keith chooses five dark wash and black skinny jeans. Five more t-shirts in different shades of red or black. Five tank tops, boxers, socks, two flannels- one red and black the other black and white, and a black motorcycle jacket. Keith feels a little bad for the amount of money Shiro is spending on him. They head back to the car with Keith’s new wardrobe.

[robertjacobsugdens]

30, robron

tourist/knowledgeable local au

thank you, Anon! I hope you enjoy it!

Aaron’s lived in Rome his whole life. A life lived at the edges of thebar his family owns, tucked away in a corner of Garbatella, in the vicoli of Testaccio and Trastevere,between the sunny ruins of the Colosseoand the Fori Imperiali. Between theancient and the destitute.

A city almost three thousand years old and sometimes even just breathingin it feels like sinking in a quicksand of limestone and smog.

He should leave.

-

Aaron’s in Piazza di Spagnawhen it happens. Between wearing all black despite the fact that it’s aboutseven thousand degrees, the fact that he’s very late meeting his friends, andthe throng of tourists everywhere, he’s not in the best of moods.

That’s why when a man stops him, he’s very tempted to ignore him andkeep walking.

Then he looks at him. The man’s British, with an accent Aaron can’tquite place, with blond hair and green eyes. He’s not Aaron’s type, not really,but there’s something about him that makes Aaron stop in his tracks.

“What?” Aaron asks, maybe a little bit more forcefully than strictlynecessary. The man doesn’t even blink.

“I said, do you know how to get to PiazzaVenezia?” He asks, apparently again, his accent mangling the Italian wordsbeyond almost all recognition.

Aaron nods. “Just get back to the main road there and go right. Can’tmiss it.”

“Are you sure?” The man asks again, a tinge of annoyance in his voice.He’s wearing jeans, a shirt with rolled up sleeves, and he’s carrying a suitjacket on his arm, none of the stuff tourists usually wear, which is probablyalso why he’s sweaty and irritated.

“No, I’ve lived here my whole life and don’t know where Piazza Veneziais.” Aaron deadpans, deliberately pronouncing Piazza Venezia in the correct way even though it throws off hisEnglish pronunciation.

“You’re the third person I asked and they’ve all given me differentdirections.” The man huffs out.

“You’ve either asked other tourists or idiots.” Aaron replies, takinghis phone out of his jeans. He fires off a quick text and brings his attentionback to the guy. “Come on, I’ll take you.”

“Really?” The man asks, a note of skepticism in his voice.

“Really.” Aaron replies. “Now it’s a matter of principle.”

“Okay, thanks -”

“Aaron.”

“I’m Robert.”

-

They walk towards Piazza Venezia, careful to stay on the side of theroad where there’s shade. Once back on Viadel Corso Aaron could have just pointed out at the Vittoriano in the distance, guiding every lost tourist back to Piazza Venezia, but well, as he said,it’s a matter of principle now.

“So, you live ‘round here?” Robert asks.

“Do I look like I rob banks for a living?”

Robert’s eyes dart to Aaron, quick at first, then slowly dragging overhis body. It shouldn’t send a little thrill down Aaron’s spine but it doesanyway.

“Honest opinion?” Robert asks, fake sincerity dripping from his voice.

Aaron rolls his eyes. “You know, I could just strand you in one of theselittle side-streets, you’d never find your way out.”

-

“There you go. The Vittoriano. Have fun.” Aaron says, assoon as they’re just outside the gates.

“I’m not going in.” Robert replies, bringing a hand to shield his eyesfrom the sun and he looks up at the marble monument.

“Then why are we here?” Aaron asks.

Robert shrugs. “I was here on a business trip, but I ended up finishingearly. I’m leaving tomorrow morning and I’ve already seen the Colosseum and theSpanish steps, this seemed like the next logical step.”

“No, it’s not.” Aaron says.

“Okay then, what now, Italian Yoda?” Robert asks.

Aaron snorts. “Offer me lunch and find out.”

Robert laughs. “There’s a restaurant on the other side of the road, wecould go there.”

“Nah, we’re not eating over-priced garbage, follow me.” Aaron replies, turningback and walking in the opposite direction.

-

“Really?” Robert asks, eyeing the little pizzeria al taglio in LargoArgentina like it’s personally offending him. For all Aaron knows maybe itis. It’s still definitely over-priced by Aaron’s standards, but at least it’sgood food.

“Really.” He replies, walking in.

He orders a little bit of everything, the woman behind the counterputting all the pizza slices on a paper tray while he grabs two sodas from thefridge. He lets Robert pay for it.

They sit down on one of the marble benches right there on Largo Argentina, their lunch betweenthem. They’re facing the ruins and Robert looks enthralled by them.

“Roman history buff?” Aaron asks before sinking his teeth into a sliceof pizza margherita.

“Something like that.” Robert replies. “Why are there so many catshere?”

“Cat colony.” Aaron replies, nodding towards the ruins and looking at acat stretching lazily to the tourists’ many ‘oooh’s and ‘awww’s.

“Not a cat fan?” Robert asks.

“They’re alright. More of a dog lover, me.” Aaron replies, shrugging.

-

“I just hid him in my room for a week.” Aaron says, between bouts oflaughter.

“And your family didn’t notice?” Robert asks.

“They just thought I was sneaking my boyfriend in.” Aaron replies.

“Please tell me you have pictures.” Robert says.

“Of the dog or of the boyfriends?”

“Both.” Robert replied.

“And you? Any pictures of dogs or girlfriends?” Aaron asks.

“No pictures of dogs, girlfriends, or boyfriends, sorry.” Robert says,flirts, really.

“Don’t be.” Aaron flirts back.

-

“What now?” Robert asks, getting up to dispose of their paper tray andempty soda cans.

“You’ll see.” Aaron replies, getting up and stalking towards Via Arenula.

-

“What?” Aaron asks, looking at Robert who’s looking at Aaron’s car butnot moving to climb in.

“Just considering whether I should get into a car in a foreign countrywith a near stranger.” Robert replies.

“Bit too late for that, mate.” Aaron says, getting in.

-

“So, what do you do here? Besides playing tour guide to British tourists.”Robert asks.

“Only some British tourists.”Aaron replies.

“Yes, I’m sure your services are very exclusive.” Robert says, withenough of a straight face that Aaron flips him off. “Tourist board material,you.”

“I’m a mechanic.” Aaron replies, making a very sharp left turn. Robertdoesn’t say anything, but he’s been gripping the car’s dashboard the entiretime.

“I work sales.”

“Boring.”

“Yes, because being a mechanic is right there in the ranking ofthrilling professions with international spy and professional footballer, Iforgot.” Robert snarks.

Aaron laughs.

-

“Here we are.” Aaron says, his hands in his jeans pockets for a lack ofa better placement.

They’re on top of the Gianicolonow, where there’s fewer tourists and more locals just enjoying the weather.

“What’s this?” Robert asks, getting closer to the railing. It’s a clearday, which means from there they can see most of the old Roman city center.Robert is looking out, eyes wide, taking it all in.

If Aaron were a more sentimental man, he’d sneak a picture, but he’snot, so he settles from committing Robert’s profile to memory.

“I figured with just a few hours in Rome left this would be the best wayto see as much as possible.” Aaron shrugs, feeling suddenly self-conscious in theslight breeze.

“Thank you. This is beautiful.” Robert replies.

They stand there for a while, looking out, arms brushing against eachother’s.

-

“So, what now?” Robert asks, climbing back inside the car.

They’ve spent the better part of two hours talking and eating ice cream.By this point Aaron would be ready to get rid of anyone, he could do it easilytoo. He could just remind Robert that he’s leaving tomorrow morning and heshould probably go pack or something.

He doesn’t.

“I’m telling you, I could probably stretch for dinner too.” Robertcontinues.

“I’ve got a better idea.”

-

“This isn’t what I had in mind.” Robert says, examining a tomato withway more wariness than it warrants.

“Not those ones.” Aaron says, grabbing a handful of cherry tomatoesinstead. “And trust me, this is better.”

They’re inside the supermarket and it’s weird.

Domestic.

Nice.

It’s freaking Aaron out a little bit, so he’s refusing to think aboutit.

“Didn’t take you for the cooking type.” Robert says, bumping into Aaron’sshoulder.

“I’m not.”

“Not keen on food poisoning, mate.” Robert replies, making a face.

Aaron still finds him attractive, fluorescent lights and all. It’s… notideal.

“I can cook pasta, Robert.”

-

Turns out, Aaron can’t cook pasta that well.

-

“It wasn’t that bad.” Robert says.

It’s weird, Robert being in his kitchen. It almost feels like a movie spilledinto his real life. There’s the wall where his and all his cousins’ heightshave been measured for years. And here’s this British man Aaron met a few hoursago. Over there, on the fridge, are the magnets he brought back from hisholiday in Greece, and over here are a pair of green eyes.

“You’re only saying that because you’ve never had proper Italian pastabefore.” Aaron replies.

“I’ll have you know I have been to Italy before. I went to Milan for abusiness trip a while ago.” Robert says.

“If you say Milan is better than Rome you can leave.”

“It’s a nice city!” Robert protests.

“Out.”

-

They migrate into Aaron’s room because it’s inevitable and because they’veboth been waiting for it.

It’s quiet now, the air shifting around them, Aaron’s life story leakingfrom the walls and shelves in the room.

The A.S. Roma poster still upfrom when they won the last championship, DVDs, CDs and magazines stackedhaphazardly on every available surface, pictures stuck to the walls with tapeand pins, friends, family, and exes frozen in time.

They all seem to be watching Robert, waiting with baited breath for himto judge them, but Robert isn’t looking at all.

His eyes are on Aaron.

Robert cradles Aaron’s face as they kiss, as they crash into each other,a flurry of hands and clothes and want.

They fall on the bed, half naked already, speaking two languages betweenthem, and then a new one altogether.

Aaron falls asleep tangled into Robert, lulled by the whirring of thefan and Robert’s hand into his hair.

-

It’s still dark out when Robert kisses him awake.

“I have to go.” Robert says, quietly.

“I’ll take you.” Aaron replies, happy Robert can’t see his face in thedark.

“You don’t have to, I’ll take a taxi.” Robert says.

“I’ll take you.” Aaron says again, getting up.

-

They’re outside the airport and it’s too early for it to be hot already,but Rome is giving it her best effort.

Aaron is wearing the shirt Robert had been wearing the day before, whileRobert is leaving with Aaron’s black t-shirt on. It was an accident due to themgetting dressed in the dark, but neither one of them has mentioned it yet.Aaron isn’t going to.

“You should visit.” Robert says, he’s still sitting into Aaron’s car,one of his hands is on Aaron’s.

“I don’t even know where you live.” Aaron replies.

“I saved my number in your phone earlier.” Robert says. He turns to lookat Aaron, and gently, quietly, leans in and kisses him. “Text me, I mean it.”

“I will.” Aaron replies.

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

-

Aaron watches Robert walk away.

[trentreznortuesday]

questionnaire below tagged by @carseat-bullshit​

1. how often do you smile?

About average, I think? Maybe more

2. what’s a word people often use to describe you when they first meet you?

Definitely quiet bc I'm usually not great at being a human being in public.

3. have you ever been physically compared to someone?

People compare me to Shaggy Rogers all the time which is kinda fair but I'm also significantly shorter than he is.

4. describe your laugh?

I can't really do this but sometimes when I'm laughing really hard, I'll like bury my face and laugh quietly and sorta breathily I think

5. what are some compliments you receive based on your personality?

I've been told I am funny and good-hearted  

6. what are some compliments you receive based on your looks?

My bf calls me cute

7. describe your sense of style:

I tend to wear a lot of monochromes but lately I'm trying to wear more florals.

8. describe one of your favourite outfits:

Brown jacket, mustard yellow t-shirt and dark blue slim jeans.

9. how do you usually wear your hair:

Long, usually at or below by shoulders

10. do you wear glasses? if so, what do they look like?

Nope

11. do you wear makeup? how often? what do you use?

Also no

12. how tall are you?

A solid 5'2"

13. is your voice high or low? can you describe it?

Relatively high? I have a somewhat noticeable southern accent (at least enough that almost every Midwesterner I know has made a comment about it).

14. do you move your hands when you speak?

Oh yeah. I practically move my whole body too if I'm not sitting down

15. do you find it easy to sit still or do you fidget often?

Usually I'm ok-ish about sitting still but sometimes I gotta bounce the leg or mess with something like the small tape measurer I have at my desk.

16. do you wear jewelry? if so, what kind and why?

No

17. Go to comfort movie/television?

Not a lot actually but I will say that I have the script of Ricky Bobby basically memorized

I'll tag @magmacannon and @fauxgauld

[streetpark]

Kinky Government Agent

CH#1

Smash and grab, easy money

It had the makings of a typical morning. To my right, the sun had started rising, it was just coming up over a small apartment complex. Putting a pale red hue over seemingly everything as I sat in the coffee shop, waiting. This was so typical of the type of work I’m getting lately, I refer to it as the smash and grab for easy money.

I had chosen the special today instead of my normal cup of coffee. The special of the day was a caramel latte. I wasn’t a big caramel fan, but this particular latte version had surprised me with its full-bodied flavor.

“Too bad I won’t be back this way, “ I thought as I sipped the coffee.

The day was still early and only a few people were here at the coffee shop, even fewer on the streets outside. Two guys in textbook suits stood opposite. They stuck out a  mile like the humans in a Muppet movie or maybe the Muppets in a human movie.

I quickly glanced at my phone to check the time. It was starting to get very boring my coffee was down to the last sip. I figured now was as good a time as any to make my move. I had put on a pair of well-worn jeans and a somewhat thicker sweatshirt than someone would wear this time of year, but then again most people aren’t in my line of work. As for today, I was going to get a little dirtier than a normal day “at the office”. Today’s target was a typical mid-level thug in the drug cartel thug.

I placed my cell phone back into my back pocket and took that last sip of coffee. Standing up, dropped a tip down on the table then walked outside. I had placed my other hand inside the front pocket of the sweatshirt and engaged the timer on the small detonation device. It was set for 5 minutes, give or take. I made my way across the street in somewhat of a diagonal line so I would end up close the target’s car but street side away from the two suits. As I passed the front door I did a stuntman's pratfall, a somersault quickly placing the device on the upper wheel well of the back tire. I finished my rolling just past the rear bumper.

Laying sprawled out on the street. The suit towards the back of the car had reached for his gun and walked over to see what all the fuss was. Seeing me laid out on the ground he put the gun away, calmed down from his defensive state and was now trying to help me up as the other guy made his way over to join him.

“You okay sir?”

“Yeah, I think so, thanks. I’m so sorry guys, too much coffee I think.”

The second guy had made his way over and joined in with helping me up. I did a half stumble walk after thanking them both then moved down the street towards the alley entrance at the end of the building. Once in the alley, I picked up my pace to get to the back of the building where I had earlier stashed a motorcycle. I pulled off the tarp covering the bike, turned my sweatshirt inside out and put on the full faced helmet. I pushed the bike to the other far corner of the building so I could see when the target’s car pulled away. Once in position, I climbed on the bike and waited, thank goodness I didn’t have to wait long. I definitely didn’t want the timer going off while the car was still parked in front.

As the target’s car drove off, I started the bike and pulled out. Leaving plenty of room between us, yes, as in all the cop and spy movies I hung back so not to be spotted. This isn’t your normal follow the bad guy, I could care less where he’s going. There is no reason to tail them close. Everyone for miles will see the device go off. About two minutes give or take. I see the device has been activated. Smoke started pouring out of the rear wheel well, a few more minutes and the driver notices and signals on to pull over.

I closed in on the vehicle and, as I did,  I reached down by the front forks into a tool pouch pulling out a small re-engineered iron bar. Once alongside the vehicle and just before the driver stepped out, I smashed the back side window followed by the driver's side window. I’m sure this was scaring the hell out of them. I quickly hook the bar on the front door frame and zip the clamp immobilizing the doors on this side of the car.

I had grabbed another smoke bomb from my saddle bag and tossed it into the front seat, “That will keep both bodyguards busy” I thought to myself. I dived headfirst through the back window. It was just big enough and, with just about my whole body in, I pinned the target down to the seat with an elbow to the throat. I grabbed the briefcase, smacking the captive in the face with it just for good measure. Pulling back out of the window onto my bike, setting the briefcase on my lap, and sped off out of there.

Once I knew I was out of sight I slowed down and began to obey all the traffic l was just like every model citizen. This time I wasn’t concerned about the traffic and I knew the police weren’t coming. Things like this won’t be called in and report it. So keeping with a certain number or planned calculated turns through tight streets and even tighter back alleys. It’s mainly to ensure I’m not being followed, be it friend or foe.

I know I am closing in on the off point, I had it programmed it in my cell. My indicator is telling me I’m close, wait, I’ve seen this car before. It was a light blue sedan. Why would four guys in sunglasses be driving around here? I quickly pulled off the road and lay the bike down behind a set of scrubby bushes. I pulled off my helmet and set on the park bench, pretending to be reading something on my phone whilst I waited to see if this developed into anything.

I watched as they canvassed the area. There must have been a tracer in the briefcase. I decided I had to open the briefcase, just as soon as they were clear my sight. My heart pounded as I watched, just a few more feet, now turn damn you. GREAT, they turned. I knew I only had a few minutes tops. I jumped off the bench and knelt down next to the briefcase, knife in hand because I had no time to play with the combination lock. A flick of the knife and I pop both locks and open the case. Rifling through the whole case I find nothing. Now, my time is running short.

I arrived just outside my drop point. It’s one of those scenic drives through parks. I slow myself down and back to not throwing attention to myself. I had been told to look for a serviceman working on a ‘no parking sign’. I’ve spotted him just ahead. I pull over.

“I’m looking for a good parking spot,” I said

He responded with “That would be in Omaha,” which is exactly what he did. I handed him the briefcase and in return, I was given a thick envelope. Which I tuck securely into the back of my pants and. We parted ways. Again, I had a  fully planned out driving route to ensure I was not being followed. It was similar to before the same small one-way streets and skinny alleys. Finally, I pulled into a parking garage, rode up to the third level and parked the bike. The only thing on this route with any trace on me was this helmet.

I made my way over to the elevator and, with a quick glance around to make sure all was clear. I stepped over in front of the service door and picked the lock. Once inside I flipped on the light and closed the door behind me. Hidden in the far right-hand corner I found the small brown box which I had left earlier. It was so nondescript that nobody would notice its presence. Inside the box was a bottle of an alcohol solution mix. That I’ve come up with that wipes out any and all traces of DNA on the objects i had touched. Quickly I spray the helmet and wipe it down, inside and out setting it by my feet. A change of clothes into something more suited to my normal attire. I unscrew the spray nozzle of the bottle and douse the old clothes with the same mix.

I peeking out the door to ensure it’s clear. Is was, so I stepped back out into the parking garage. I toss the clothes over the side to the alley below, I’m sure a vagrant would grab them up soon. Stepping lively down the stairs to the second level, most people don’t realize if you want a quick escape you want gravity to work with you not against you. I cross over the bridge and move my way back to the hotel.

Once back at the hotel, I make my way over to the elevator. I didn’t make contact with anybody, not even a signal nod. I slide through the lobby to the opened elevator doors, luckily no one is in it. Pulling out my lock picking tools again, I quickly go to work on the penthouse key access, Bing, and the penthouse light comes on as the elevator starts its climb. Standing quietly I listen to the God-forsaken music which is pumped into all these elevators these days. Another ding and the doors open to the penthouse floor. A quick check and I step completely out, strolling nonchalantly down the short hallway.

I always make sure I have a place to unwind and things cool down after an operation before I skip out of town. Just before I reached the penthouse room, I slowed my stride down. This gives me time to check my door safeguards. These are everyday items I place around or on the door to see if anyone has been in my room while I’m out. Today it was a small folded piece of hotel stationary tucked in at the bottom door hinge. It was still in place, a good sign. I pick the lock and enter.

Once inside, I removed my suit jacket, placing it on the back of the desk chair. I pulled the chair out and slide it away from the desk. Pulling out my handkerchief I use it to grab the center small desk drawer. I pulled it completely out and placed it down on top of the desk. Returning to the cavity where the drawer had been I reached to the back removed a small piece of wood being held in place with sticky tape. Setting into the wooden cutout is a disposable “burner” cell phone. I removed it and made a call.

“It’s done,” I said and waited for a reply … “yes, I understand.”

I walked over to the patio doors and slid one open. With a slight underhand toss, I flipped the cell phone out and over the balcony. I watched as it fell and shattered when it hit the street below. A number cars drove over it finishing the job off. I stepped back and closed the doors again. I’m not worried about fingerprints or any DNA, the street sweeper would take care of that in the very early hours of tomorrow morning. Using my handkerchief once more. I wiped down the door handle and walked back over to the desk. Picked up the drawer again with my handkerchief still in hand and replaced it back into the desk.

“I need a drink,” I said out loud, knowing it’s okay to talk to yourself as long as you don’t answer.

As I’m standing in the middle of an empty room. “Well, aren’t you going to get that drink?” “Oh yes, sorry”

I need to collect my travel bag from under the bed. Crouching down I grabbed the box spring base and slid it over and off the square boxed frame. I picked up and place it on my foot and pulled the bed back into the box frame. Tossing the bag on the bed I unzipped it, reached in and pulled out my metal flask. I unscrewed the top and took a good couple of swallows. I needed that.

Outside my hotel room and down the hallway came the sound of the elevator reaching the penthouse floor. The door opened and out stepped a set of heels. They paused for a few seconds, turned and head down towards my door. She strutted her way over the stylish hallway carpet runner until she came to a complete stop at my door. Well-manicured fingernails curled into a fist, before rising up further and gently performing a knock on my door.

[dnowit41]

'They couldn't stop him': The oral history of Dirk's 1998 Nike Hoop Summit

Tim MacMahon ESPN Staff Writer

Before stepping foot on American soil, 19-year-old Dirk Nowitzki played on a second-division team in his German hometown of Wurzburg that occasionally canceled practices to work on a farm owned by a teammate.

Sure, Nowitzki had managed to play his way onto the radar of some NBA teams and college programs. But he was far from a phenom.

That all changed during the 1998 Nike Hoop Summit in San Antonio's Alamo Stadium, when the lanky kid, who was so unheralded that his surname was misspelled "Nowitzski" repeatedly on the ESPN broadcast, blew up for 33 points and 14 rebounds to lead the World team to an upset over the U.S. in a matchup against future NBA stars.

More than two decades later, with Nowitzki likely in his final days of a legendary NBA career, we take a look back through the eyes of those who witnessed the big German's introduction to America and world-class basketball.

'Ahh, we'll just sneak out.'

Never mind facing world-class competition for the first time. Just getting out of Germany was a challenge for Nowitzki due to unfortunate timing. The Wurzburg X-Rays were in the middle of the playoffs with a chance to be promoted to the first division for the first time, putting Nowitzki in the uncomfortable dilemma of having to decide between loyalty to his hometown team and chasing his personal dream.

Dirk Nowitzki: I was invited [to the Hoop Summit] I think the year before, maybe even two years before. It's always a bad time, because at that time [the Wurzburg X-Rays] were in relegation to get moved up. Our dream was with the home team to go to the first division, get promoted, and we fell short every year. That year, again, we were in the promotion zone and we had big games.

Holger Geschwindner, Nowitzki's longtime mentor and then X-Rays assistant coach: We played really a risky game [leaving Germany]. We had been a second-division team and Dirk was a top guy.

Nowitzki: So Holger came out to me and said, "Hey, I think that's a really, really good opportunity to measure yourself against some of the best in the world at your age." I was like, "Are you crazy? This is what we dreamed for, what we played for the last couple of years."

Geschwindner: I knew one thing for sure: The Hoop Summit was the only chance to perform on the international high level because we had no idea how [good] he really was.

Nowitzki: So we had to ask permission from the Army, because I was still in the Army, and I don't think you can travel out of the country unless you ask and it's for a big tournament or something. We had permission to go. Then we kind of had to ask the team. But Holger was kind of like, "Ahhh, we'll just sneak out." So I played the game Sunday night, and I think Monday morning we flew out of Frankfurt without really telling anyone. Holger might have talked to a manager or something, but I didn't say anything. So we snuck out.

Geschwindner: [Nowitzki's] dad did not know. I talked to the mom, and she said, "You have to tell his dad." The next morning I came in and said, "Did you tell him?" [Nowitzki] said, "I will tell him now." I said, "Listen, we have to drive two hours from Wurzburg to [the airport in] Frankfurt. We do not go onto the plane if he does not know."

Donnie Nelson, then Mavericks and World team assistant coach, now president of basketball ops: They were looking haggard when they finally got to Dallas. What was supposed to be a two-leg journey had turned into something like four legs. I was an assistant coach, so my job was to fetch coffee and get Germans when they arrived. I met them in the lobby of [Reunion Tower], and Holger was wearing the same jeans he's had since 1973 and still wears today. And, of course, the flannel shirt and leather jacket I'm sure he still has.

'My concern was that he was too nice of a kid to be a killer'

The World team had already practiced a couple of times in Dallas by the time Nowitzki arrived. It did not take the German long to make a strong impression.

Donnie Nelson: I had only seen [Nowitzki] on bad, grainy tape. A lot of international players tended to shrink six inches on the flight over. I looked at him and said, "Wow. He didn't shrink."

Geschwindner: On Wednesday afternoon, [the World team] had a scrimmage game where they decided who of those guys would go to the San Antonio game. We had to really get serious. The key thing was to get him in the first five.

Nowitzki: In [Don Nelson's] office you could peek through the blinds [and see the practice court]. I guess he did that, which I didn't know at the time. Apparently, they really liked what they saw.

Don Nelson, former Mavericks head coach and GM: Actually, Donnie got the team to work out the week before they went down to San Antonio at the YMCA in Dallas, the one downtown. It was closed, of course, to anybody except Donnie and I.

Donnie Nelson: You could tell [Dirk had] good footwork, handwork, could shoot it. We went through just intrasquad stuff.

Don Nelson: He was one of the most gifted young players I'd ever seen, and besides all that, the guy was 7 feet tall. I mean, he was just an incredible basketball player!

George Raveling, former Nike director of international basketball: I knew more about Dirk than most people because of my relationship with Holger, so he had already painted the picture for me mentally. Then when I saw the picture hanging up in the Louvre, I was like, "Wow!" All this stuff that Holger was telling me started to manifest in Dirk's play.

Donnie Nelson: My concern was that he was too nice of a kid to be a killer. He's such a kind, big-hearted guy. Most of the guys that go into those forums are guys that would just as soon rip your heart out and show it to you. He didn't strike me as that kind of human being, so my concern was, "Is he tough enough?" He certainly had the work ethic -- you could tell.

Nowitzki: At the time, I was kind of a less swag guy. I'm a little nervous and not sure if this is going to work and how good the kids are going to be. So I wasn't sure what to expect.

Don Nelson: We made a commitment after a few practices that we would hide him the best way we could from anybody seeing him. We committed to drafting him with whatever pick we had. We couldn't convince him not to play in that game.

Donnie Nelson: I think we saw the true tiger come out in San Antonio.

'They're going to blow them out. This isn't even going to be a game.'

The U.S. team was considered heavy favorites entering the game on March 29, 1998. The Americans jumped out to an early nine-point lead, overwhelming the international players with their quickness and athleticism -- they tallied a record 20 steals for the game -- and causing concern that the game wouldn't be competitive.

Geschwindner: The game in those days was on the Saturday between the Final Four.

Dan Shulman, ESPN play-by-play announcer: I remember knowing more about the American kids than the World team, and I remember thinking, "Boy, this team's stacked." I remember some size on it. Stromile Swift was on the team. Rashard Lewis was on the team. Al Harrington was on the team. And these were serious big-name guys coming out of high school.

Geschwindner: The only thing we talked with Dirk over was, "They cannot get the courage out of you. If you get the ball, drive to the basket. Try to dunk it. If they smash you down, keep going."

Nowitzki: I knew all of these guys are obviously some of the best that we have in the world at this age, so there was a respect level, but in Germany I'd never heard of any of their names.

Donnie Nelson: The first half of the game, the U.S. came out and put on this killer full-court press, and let's just say that our frontcourt was a lot better than our backcourt. And I think maybe in the entire first half, my recollection is we got the ball over half court a total of 10 times. We were in trouble!

Shulman: The U.S. got off to a hot start. I remember us thinking, "They're going to blow them out. This isn't even going to be a game."

Nowitzki: I figured they were going to be super-athletic. I figured they were going to press us the whole game and we were going to turn the ball over 100 times.

Raveling: Alessandro Gamba was coaching the team, and he was a legendary international coach from Italy. They're probably about 10 minutes into the game and there's a timeout. I'm sitting right by their bench at the scorer's table, and he comes over and he whispers in my ear, "George, who in the eff is that guy sitting behind the bench telling me how to coach my team?" I knew he was talking about Holger. He said, "I need you to get his ass out from behind my bench and stop trying to coach my team." So Dirk had two head coaches, and the most familiar voice was Holger's.

Donnie Nelson: Of course, going into halftime, we looked like we were going to get drilled by 100, and Dirk made his own adjustment going into the third quarter.

Shulman: Then the skinny kid from Germany started fouling everybody out of the game. About six U.S. guys fouled out of the game.

Donnie Nelson: After the first couple of possessions were like the first half, Dirk was in when they put the press back on by the top of the key, so then he starts going up over half court and tall as an oak tree. The poor guy taking the ball out was 5-10, just trying to get the ball in, and then he sees a German oak. And he's like, "Oh, thank goodness," and just throws it up there.

Nowitzki: We actually held up OK.

'We didn't know how to guard him. We had never seen him before.'

Nowitzki dominated the second half, scoring 19 points after the break. He finished with 33 points and 14 rebounds in the World team's 104-99 win, setting Hoop Summit records that would stand for more than a decade.

Shulman: The World made a comeback, and Dirk was the reason, because they couldn't stop him, whether he was shooting from the outside or shot fake and driving.

Donnie Nelson: Dirk does nothing less than the very thing that Holger taught him for years. That is, catch the ball, coast-to-coast like a guard, shoot 3s.

Darius Songaila, World team forward who played eight NBA seasons: It was like that game was created for him to show off to the whole world what he was capable of.

Al Harrington, U.S. team forward who played 16 NBA seasons: He was just impressive. Seeing a tall, lanky white kid that you never heard of coming out there with all that skill was just amazing. He just surprised us.

Raveling: I think he mesmerized the players on the other team, because he was doing things that they'd never seen a big guy do. They didn't think he could shoot that far out, and Dirk was active handling the ball. This was his coming-out, so-called party.

Donnie Nelson: A 6-11 guy taking the ball, throwing it left and right, shooting 3s, and we ended up making a game out of it. That's when you really saw the true Dirk coming out.

Don Nelson: Oh, the skills. I couldn't call him a great passer because the game was so easy to score for him. He just dominated. The game was so easy for him, and he was so fluid.

Songaila: Obviously he ended up with ridiculous numbers, so after the game there was a lot of hype that the guy was going to be a really good player. I don't think anybody thought that he was going to be that good.

Harrington: What really pissed me off about that day was that they won the game. I don't know how we lost that game.

Nowitzki: We hung in there and ended up stealing the game at the end. It was the first time the World team had won. We were hyped! We were hyped in the locker room! That was good times.

Harrington: We didn't know how to guard him. We had never seen him before. I hadn't heard of him until during the game. I had never heard of him, but I knew about him after the game. That's what's up.

Shulman: At the end of the night, all we were talking about was Nowitzki, who I think I called "No-WIT-ski" then because we didn't even know [the proper pronunciation]. He was an unknown at the beginning of the game, and he was the main attraction by the end.

'I knew everybody was going to want to have him'

Nowitzki's Hoop Summit performance established his status as a rising star in NBA circles -- he became the No. 9 overall pick two and a half months later -- but he didn't quite return home to Germany as a conquering hero.

Donnie Nelson: That was really the first unveiling, when Dirk did it against world-class talent and athleticism in that age group on a big stage. There was every team in spades that was there that saw all the same stuff that we did. That was when it was, "Holy cow, this can be a pretty good player."

Geschwindner: After the game, we had to fly immediately home. I thought I would be smart, and I got the newspaper from San Antonio in the airport. "International team beats U.S. boys" or whatever. I thought it would be more or less an excuse coming home.

Nowitzki: The team was kind of pissed. But they ended up winning the game that I missed. Then I was able to play the following game, and we won that. And that year we actually got promoted.

Geschwindner: They killed us [in Germany]. They killed us badly. Dirk was not at the [Wurzburg X-Rays] game. The boys won it anyway, but it doesn't matter. They were really mad. I was the guy that misleads youngsters. They really killed us. The press killed us in Germany.

Nowitzki: I think the most pissed was one of our foreign players, because he had a promotion bonus in his contract. It was a nice sum of money, I think, at the time for us playing over there. So he's basically saying, "You're playing with my money."

Donnie Nelson: That [Hoop Summit] was really, in a lot of respects, Dirk's "American Idol," the basketball version, where he crushed it. After that game, Dirk's life got a lot more complicated in a good way.

Raveling: The guy who really foresaw all of this was Donnie Nelson. He was more certain than anybody that Dirk was going to be a superstar, so he went to work doing his due diligence to make sure the Mavericks got him.

Don Nelson: I knew everybody was going to want to have him work out and do the circuit [before the draft]. That's when Donnie and I figured out a way to kind of have him disappear in Donnie's basement. [Laughs.] It just so happened Donnie had a little cot down there.

Nowitzki: Through Holger and hearing from international agents, I was the talk of NBA circles and scouts. That came out of nowhere to me. I guess I didn't realize how big that game was and what it meant until I came back home and all these agents came up to me and were like, "Hey, you're projected in the lottery now." I was like, "What?! That's insane."

Don Nelson: I knew then he'd be an All-Star for many, many years. I knew he had the skills to be one of the best. He fulfilled all those dreams and many, many more.

[piracytheorist]

Closer than Expected

Hi @hookedonapirate! I’m your CS Secret Valentine :) It was really nice talking to you and getting to know you over these days! I hope you enjoy your gift - Emma as a fashion designer and Killian as a model, and a small twist ;) Beta by @wingedlioness.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

AO3 | FFnet

For someone used to not depending on small things to make her mornings, Emma sure found it hard rising from bed before hearing her neighbor downstairs sing his early tunes. He never spent a morning without welcoming the day with a song as if he was the happiest person in the world.

Of course, the only reason she even heard him was due to a few loose planks on her floor and her neighbor’s very thin ceiling. Her landlord had warned her about it, saying that they were going to fix it soon. But in her two months living there, no notice came, and honestly, she couldn’t complain. It’s not that she felt like she was creeping on him either. She couldn’t understand the lyrics, only the melody making it through her floor, and nothing else. No discussions, no other voices, just melodies of various music styles brightening her mood.

Today was different, as her neighbor - she still hadn’t learnt his name - sounded like he had a sore throat. He still sang, but coughed between phrases and his voice sounded rough. She kept listening until the sound of his door closing let her know he was gone, and she finally stood up.

Emma may have been a semi-famous fashion designer, but her style never stopped being casual. She enjoyed how it felt like it protected her from the world without making her look fake, though that wasn’t a detail she was used to sharing in her interviews.

So she put on her jeans, boots, shirt and leather jacket and took the subway to Snow White’s Fashion House. Cheesy name, she admitted, but the conditions were great, her pay good, and her boss extremely friendly to everyone, even Emma herself. And most of the models were nice too.

Well, most of them.

As soon as Emma entered the building, the first person she saw was Killian Jones, one of the company’s well-paid and most trusted models, as well as the only one-handed model working for a fashion house in the whole city. Killian working there seemed to have a very positive effect on the company and he looked quite proud of it.

Oh great, he caught her staring at him again. She expected another sassy remark from him, his way of flirting, but this time he only smiled suggestively at her, his one eyebrow rising before turning back to continue his conversation with Ruby, the company’s receptionist who could very well be working as a model if she only asked.

Entering her atelier, Emma was greeted by an Elsa who was grinning ear to ear. “Good morning, Elsa,” she said.

“Good morning, sunshine. Today’s your lucky day,” Elsa said and raised her eyebrows.

“What?” Emma took her jacket off slowly and eyed her co-worker cautiously. She’s only shared very few with Elsa for her to know what a lucky day for Emma Swan could be.

“Killian Jones will be coming today for a new leather costume. And I will be over at David because he asked for my help with some new dresses, which means you will be here alone taking his measurements,” she said and managed to smile even wider.

Taking his measurements. Which would mean… seeing Killian Jones wearing only his underwear, her fingers touching his bare skin, his breath on her as she worked around his body…

“Have fun,” Elsa said and walked through the door before Emma could react.

“Wait!” she shouted and ran towards her. She leaned outside and watched her go with her grin still on. “Elsa! Come back! Who will I scream at until he comes?” she almost hissed at her, which caused Elsa to laugh, her back still to Emma.

“Shit,” Emma whispered and closed her door. It’s not that she hasn’t been around attractive males in her line of work… but Killian, well, she had thought of him so many times in the past two months she’d stopped using his last name in her thoughts and got used to the idea that his looks had really swept her off her feet.

His behavior, however, being so cocky and arrogant all the time, was the last she was prepared for. Said behavior was the reason he hadn’t yet worked with Emma. Everyone talked about how hard he was to work with, and how Emma couldn’t possibly handle it. How little they knew.

On her desk lay a paper with all she needed to know for his new costume - which apparently was described as “black and extra skinny”, hence the need for new measurements. Before she even had a moment to collect herself, Killian opened her door without knocking and walked in, chin held high.

“Good morning, love,” he said. Funnily enough, his voice sounded harsh.

“I assume your voice was lost along with your manners,” she said without looking up at him. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that his stance hadn’t changed.

“Aye, screaming at a rock concert late at night will do that to you,” he said without missing a beat.

“Losing your manners or your voice?” she said, finally glaring up at him.

“Apologies,” he said and took a bow.

A bow. Was he serious?

She looked at him warily for a few seconds, measuring tape in hand, wondering what to tell him to get started. Finally she said, “Undress.” It was the coolest verb she could find without making the command sound sexual.

His eyebrow went up anyway, for the second time in a few minutes. “As you wish.”

Come on, Emma, focus.

Killian finished undressing, and Emma had to put on all her professionalism to stop herself from doing anything out of line. He was just a handsome model, she’d seen plenty of them before. Few of them however were allowed to keep their chest hair. As Killian rarely posed half-naked, in favor of deep V-necks or half-open shirts, his chest hair was perfectly intact and just perfect.

She cursed herself for wearing tight jeans, as she felt her knees starting to tremble a little. Luckily, Killian was looking high up, so she approached him and put the measuring tape loosely around his neck. They were both used to it - Killian having other people touch him non-sexually and Emma touching models non-sexually. But she would lie if she said she didn’t feel his heartbeat raise for one single moment when her fingers touched his chest as she folded the tape between his collarbones. She felt goosebumps on her own as his breath caressed the skin of her arms.

She took off the tape and turned around to write the numbers on a paper, and she could swear she saw him raise his hand and scratch behind his ear. As soon as she turned back, he was smiling again, though this time it looked less suggestive.

Next came his chest. Great. Trained as he was, he raised his arms on his own so that she could wrap the tape around his torso. She definitely didn’t need to lean into him so much in order to do that, but as awkward as it was, she didn’t comment on it and went on.

“Hold it for a sec,” she told him after measuring and his hand flew to his chest, brushing her right one as she took it off the tape to write the next measurement. That definitely needn’t have happened, but he wasn’t complaining. She dared a look at him, and was surprised to not see him too amused by that. Well, he seemed fine, but the smirk he’d greeted her with seemed too long ago now.

After she measured his waist, he took care to not touch her hand, so that wasn’t an issue, but then came the time to measure his hips.

This time, she actually let herself wonder what could happen if she touched him there.

Oh crap, Emma, come on.

She felt relief to see that all went smoothly as she carefully wrapped the tape around his hip. The fact that she did feel relief actually surprised her.

She measured his legs, which was not weird at all with her hand actually going very close to his crotch, and then finally came the time for the arms. She would lie if she said she was never curious, so she threw a glance at the stump on his left wrist. She knew that she wouldn’t need to - and maybe she shouldn’t - touch it at all to measure the arm, but she felt the desire to touch it, not out of curiosity, but for the same reason her heartbeat had raised since she started working on him. She was glad she was standing behind him.

“Have you tried ice-cream from the parlor across the street?” he asked suddenly.

She looked up at him, focusing on his very soft looking hair. “Not yet. I’ll only indulge if I’m certain their rocky road is decent enough.”

“Hm, haven’t tried that one yet. Their grapefruit one is worth it.”

“Who even eats grapefruit-flavored ice-cream?”

He tsked. “It’s got lots of vitamins, Swan.”

“It’s full of sugar. Aren’t you supposed to, not eat that kind of stuff or something?”

“Don’t pressure a model on their diet, please,” he said with mock embarrassment.

“I never do and you know that.”

“I do, love.” His smile now seemed terribly nice and she couldn’t tell if he was faking it or not. But their casual discussion - quite possibly the first one they had since they met - distracted her from the nervousness she felt after touching him all over. She had finished measuring him yet she still stood next to him having small talk. While he was naked save for one piece of clothing.

She cleared her throat and turned her back at him, pretending to work on his measurements in order to give him the time to dress again. This would only be the first part, as later she would need to actually check the fabric while he would be wearing it.

It wouldn’t be a very lucky day if she got fired for unprofessionalism.

Luckily for her, Killian’s schedule changed before she’d finished the costume and he had to leave, so Emma went on with her other projects until she finished for the day.

Overworked as always, Emma entered her apartment and collapsed on the couch. She rubbed her eyes with her hands and waited until the relaxing tune of her neighbor’s rough singing was heard.

She suddenly opened her eyes in shock. Killian’s voice was also rough this morning, but that didn’t stop him from babbling all day. She’d never seen her neighbor and didn’t know his name, plus there were more than a few mailboxes without name tags on them in the entrance of her apartment building. But she had been living there for two months, wouldn’t she have seen Killian around if he really was her neighbor? Plus, she couldn’t believe an arrogant guy like Killian Jones would be singing silly happy songs like Mr. Sandman at seven in the morning.

Her neighbor coughed enough times to make Emma worry a little. If his apartment was as simple as hers, the chances of him having a roommate were thin, so he probably was living on his own. Emma turned her head and looked at the unopened Orange & Ginger Tea package that was lying on her kitchen counter. She heard another series of coughs.

To hell with it, what did she have to lose?

She poured hot water in a thermos, took two porcelain mugs and two tea bags, placed them all on a serving tray and walked downstairs to his apartment door. She stood there for almost a solid minute, trying to find an excuse why she was there as she listened to him sing a variation of House of the Rising Sun. She sighed and finally rang the bell. What was she even going to do if it really was Killian?

“Coming!” she heard from inside. Emma froze. She was almost sure that was how Killian sounded like that morning but still, what were the chances-

Before she could finish her thought, the door opened to reveal Killian Jones, fully dressed in black silk pyjamas and hair wet. His mouth opened in surprise.

“Swan? What are you doing here?” His eyes scanned her up and down and focused on her fluffy slippers for a few seconds.

“I… live upstairs,” she said, her voice low. “I thought I could introduce myself to the neighbors.” She felt stupid for not also bringing the cookies she hadn’t opened since buying them last week.

“At nine in the evening? With tea?” He didn’t look like he was judging her, just a lot curious. Finally, he shook his head and stepped aside, letting her in his apartment.

“I… heard you cough,” she admitted without looking at him and bit her lip.

“What?”

She looked around at his apartment. It looked the same size as hers, though even cleaner than hers.

“Yeah,” she finally turned, her hands gripping the tray so hard her knuckles were starting to get white. “Your ceiling is very thin and some planks on my floor are loose so some noises slip through”. She bit her lip again when she saw him almost blanch. “Don’t worry,” she rushed to say, “I can’t actually hear what you’re saying. I can hear murmurs and… singing, and only today, your coughing.”

As if on cue, he started coughing again. Some of the color seemed to return on his face.

“So I thought I could bring you some tea,” she said and raised the tray for emphasis.

“Uh…” he said and dropped his head a little, “thank you for your consideration.” He actually blushed. Killian fucking Jones, famous model and beloved by thousands of fans, was actually blushing and smiling shyly. He scratched behind his ear, as she had sort-of seen him do that morning.

“I’m sorry, is it a bad time?” she said.

“No, no, I won’t be going to bed for an hour. Uh, you can… sit down.”

Emma couldn’t believe that he actually sounded nervous. She sat on the couch, opened the thermos and poured hot water into the cups, letting the tea bags soak it in. Killian sat on the armchair next to her and watched her silently. Emma stifled a yawn.

“So, you can hear me sing, uh?” he asked, the bravado in his voice returned.

“Yeah. Some of my favorites are those that sound like sea shanties…” she looked up at him. “They are sea shanties, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, they are. But you can’t hear the lyrics, you said?” He was leaning back on his chair and he raised his eyebrow, hand and wrist resting on his lap.

“No. Why?”

“Oh, nothing,” he replied with a shrug. “I gather you’ve learned this one,” and he started humming a melody.

“Yeah, you’ve sung this one many times. What do the lyrics say?”

He smirked. “You don’t wanna know.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“Well, sailors weren’t known for being coy.”

“And you think that I haven’t heard lewd songs before?”

He reached over and took one mug. “Then, maybe I’ll sing it to you when I’m trying on the leather costume.”

Emma regretted saying anything. He was going to make it way harder for her.

“Hm, that’s very good,” he said after tasting the tea.

“One of my favourite flavors,” she replied. “Not one many brands have.”

“Thank you again,” he said and cleared his throat. “It was the last thing I expected tonight.”

“The tea or finding out we’re neighbors?”

He blushed again, though little. He huffed a laugh. “Both, I guess. How come we never met before?”

“You always leave for work and come back earlier than I do, and I’ve only been here for two months.” She shrugged. “Maybe it was about time we did,” she said carefully. For a few seconds, he was looking at her, as if trying to read her, and she relaxed when he finally smiled softly and nodded.

She didn’t realize how quickly time passed. She stayed there and they talked casually, she asked him to sing, and he did, until he complained with mock self-pity about his tired and sore throat. The night went by and the last thing she remembered was him talking about a fashion show in Paris.

Next thing she knew, she was waking slowly to the lyrics of Sweet Child o’ Mine. She hummed in satisfaction. Her neighbor’s - Killian’s - voice sounded less rough today. Actually, it sounded clearer than she’d ever heard it.

Then she started getting a scent that reminded her of sea, and leather, and... lavender. She never used lavender fabric softener for her sheets. She opened her eyes.

According to the alarm clock on the nightstand beside her, it was 8:15 in the morning. The bedroom was bright and simply furnitured, and completely unfamiliar to her.

Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place Where as a child I'd hide And pray for the thunder and the rain To quietly pass me by

She sat up on the bed. That was definitely Killian’s voice, and the structure of the bedroom reminded her of her own. She was wearing her clothes from yesterday night and had apparently been taking the whole bed.

Oh, sweet child o’ mine…

She rose and followed the voice to the kitchen. Killian had his back half-turned to her, leaning on the counter as he cut a pineapple into slices. On the table was a jug with fresh-looking orange juice, a few slices of rye bread and a jar with honey, along with silverware, two plates and Emma’s serving tray, with the two mugs from yesterday lying on it upside down.

“Good morning, love,” he said, turning to her. If she hadn’t known that he, as well as other Brits, used the word “love” for basically any acquaintance of his, and if she hadn’t been wearing her normal clothes, she would have been happy to imagine that this was a morning they were going to spend as something more than simple co-workers.

“Good morning. What happened last night?”

“You fell asleep on my couch. I tried to wake you up but you were dead to the world. So I… carried you to my bedroom, and don’t worry, I had just put new sheets.”

She was sure she was looking like an idiot but couldn’t stop her eyes from bulging and her eyebrows from rising. He had carried her, as in, bride-style and put her to bed? “And where did you sleep?”

“On the couch. It’s pretty comfortable, I have to admit.”

“Oh,” was all she could say. She sat down at the table. “Thank you.”

“I guess we’re even now,” he said with a soft smile. He looked happy.

She wrung her hands together. “Hardly,” she said. “I just brought you some tea and you let me sleep in your bed because I was too lazy to go upstairs in my own place.”

“You weren’t lazy, you were tired.” He sat on the chair next to her. “Pineapple?”

She obliged and took a slice. It was really tasty. “You work a lot, and it was Friday so it would make sense you would be a little extra tired,” he added.

“A lot? How do you know that?”

“Well, the Nolans are famous for their nice attitude towards their employees, but not for their lenience. If you weren’t hard-working you wouldn’t be where you are.” His voice sounded very calm, and his face looked warm, relaxed and happy. He seemed happy to just spend time with her. He was still in his pyjamas, a few buttons on the top undone, his hair a slight mess and his eyes a little puffy from sleep but he looked the happiest she’d ever seen him.

Quickly, she pulled herself together and raised from her chair. “I should get going. I have to go shopping today,” she lied. She didn’t even know why she had stayed that long and hadn’t run out the door the moment she realized she was still in Killian’s place.

“Oh, don’t you want some juice?” he asked as he raised as well.

“No, it’s- it’s okay, I…” she trailed off as she looked into his eyes, closer than ever before. They were blue, very blue, and they were twitching slightly, as he focused on each of her eyes at a time, and then they flickered towards her lips. They only lingered there for half a second but that was enough to send Emma forward, crushing her lips to his. She more felt than heard his soft oof at the sudden contact but kissed her back quickly. Her one hand grasped at his shirt while the other rose to touch the nape of his neck, fingers softly brushing his dark hair. She could faintly hear his breath getting heavier and faster as he opened his mouth for her, his hand barely brushing her middle, as if uncertain if he was allowed to touch her.

Suddenly, she stopped. Eyes closed, she leaned her forehead into his, lips almost still touching, his warm breath caressing her lips and chin. Her hand left his nape to rest just a little under his collarbone, and she felt his heart beat in a rhythm as erratic as her own. She opened her eyes. His body was leaning towards her as if asking for more, and his eyes were still closed. He definitely didn’t regret it, and if she was to be honest with herself, neither did she.

Slowly, she stepped back. He raised his eyes and looked at her with his lips slightly open, expecting her next move. Who the hell was he really?

“See you Monday,” she said simply and walked out the door without looking back at him. After closing the door, she leaned on it and let her body slide down, sitting on the floor. The kiss was… well, hot. He smelled like spice and sea salt and was actually kissing her back, not taking more than she was giving. He barely even touched her himself. She sighed. She felt like the infatuated school girl she never got to be.

They weren’t exactly friends. They barely even worked together, they’d barely spoken yet she’d felt so comfortable throughout the night, but how would he react if she kept avoiding him the whole weekend? For her, it would certainly be a hard weekend to get through, especially if he started singing again. She stood up and for two seconds contemplated knocking on his door before she turned around and almost ran to her apartment.

It was only after she’d closed her own door that she realized she had forgotten her tray at Killian’s place.

[luninosity]

So @brendaonao3 requested, as a birthday present, and I quote, “...I’ve been on a total suit kink lately, so how about executive businessman Sebastian and tailor Chris?”

So this is what happened. Happy birthday, my dear! <3

##

Chris is idly sketching—a round of breathing space between appointments, a golden mid-morning glimpse of possibility in fabric and buttons, the drape of a coat, tiny pinstripes in pencil-grey—when the shop bell jingles. He lifts his head, surprised. Next client? Already? So soon? He knows he loses time when planning new lines, but—

 The morning floods with light, sunbeams through leather and wool and coats on a rack and trouser-legs. The door opens, haloing the person who steps in.

 Chris puts his sketchpad down, exceedingly carefully. Stands up.

 Consequently walks right into the counter. Giant Boston-kid cartoon character on the loose. Wonderful.

 But Sebastian Stan’s in his shop. Sebastian Stan, with stylishly fluffy dark hair and long legs and an interest in fashion and, oh yeah, massive amounts of money, money he’s built up from investments in everything from toymaking businesses to shiny space-age technology, waves upon waves of the future—

 Sebastian Stan’s in Chris’s tailor shop. Chris Evans designs men’s suits, and he’s not bad at it, in fact he’s quite good, a passion for art and an eye for lines and detail and individuality, wanting every guy to feel comfortable and confident, but—

 But. Sebastian Stan. In his shop.

 And looking around somewhat quizzically, not having noticed Chris, who is hidden behind racks of lightweight spring fabrics, experiments of delicate color and pattern, in the back.

 Chris dives out from behind his traitorous desk, which has only mildly bruised his thighs, and thrusts out a hand. “Hi I’m Chris you’re Sebastian Stan hey hi—” And then he misses the desk. Wants to curl up behind it. Sebastian Stan knows his own name.

 Sebastian laughs. It’s a beautiful laugh: warm and sort of fuzzy and soft, a velvet-brown kind of laugh, ruffled plush weave not directed at Chris but along with him, turning the moment into a shared joke between them. “I’m Sebastian. You’re Chris Evans. You come highly recommended, and I’m sorry I’ve not been here sooner.”

 “Oh that’s okay,” says Chris’s mouth, taking over while his brain runs in circles shrieking, “you’ve been busy saving the world, funding missions to Mars, that kinda thing…”

 “We’ll need to be properly dressed on Mars.” Sebastian’s eyes dance. They’re the color of opals in rain, of water-lilies, of Impressionist mist-paintings; Chris wants to find a tie, cufflinks, colors to bring out different hues of grey and blue and aquamarine. Sebastian’s dressed more or less casually today, jeans and a navy blue simple t-shirt and the season’s trendy cold-weather jacket, this one in a camo pattern. Chris has seen photos of him at fashion shows, in purple suits, in green suits, in patterned suits, in pure sinful black. Sebastian’s unafraid of exploration.

 Chris manages, remembering to exhale and not daydream too much, “We can totally design you a matching helmet and spacesuit…”

 “You mean you can.” Sebastian smiles. It’s also a beautiful smile. Wide and enchanting, like he’s carrying around sunshine in his pocket and letting it out in each shift of expression, each beam at the person he’s talking to. “I know you do the design work, and your brother runs the storefront. So…actually, what would the latest design trends on Mars be? Not red. Too much red. Not that I don’t like red. I do. You designed that fantastic workout line with the red shirt. Red is great.”

 Sebastian Stan evidently has the same issue Chris does, as far as figuring out when talking should stop. Chris’s heart finds this unutterably endearing.

 “I like red,” he says, because Sebastian Stan is blushing and this fact has reduced his vaunted artistic and communication prowess to words of one syllable. “I. Um. Sort of. Sunset colors. Mars. Pale gold. Orange. Um. Am I hired? Oh god that was a joke I’m not asking you to hire me to design your company’s Mars mission logo or whatever. Oh fuck.”

 “You are now,” Sebastian says, very seriously, though his eyes’re twinkling. “Send me a sketch. Patches. Off-duty shirts. That kind of thing. Actually right now I need a tailor? Sort of—it’s kind of an emergency and I know it’s totally beneath you, you shouldn’t have to deal with—it’s just taking in a—”

 “No it’s fine show me I can help what do you need?” Breathing. Right. Yeah. Good idea.

 “Here.” Sebastian’s holding up a suit-jacket. In a bag. Has he had that the whole time? Chris can’t recall. “I’ve lost weight—less bulk, I kind of overdid it for that celebrity fitness challenge, I like being in shape but I never meant to add that much—but, um, you don’t need the whole story, anyway, there’s sort of a last-minute dinner thing tonight that I got invited to when they realized I was in town, and I don’t know anyone local, and I accidentally brought this one in the suitcase instead of my other jacket and—”

 “You can’t wear it like that.” Even from a quick glance he can see the waist won’t work. “Come on, I can fix it.”

 Sebastian trails him to the back and the row of mirrors and the loops of measuring tape and stray scissors and pins. “Sorry again.”

 “No,” Chris says, looking up, pins in one hand, Sebastian’s jacket in the other. Their eyes meet for a second; an electric current runs through him, powerful and deep. He catches breath. “I like the hands-on part. Getting involved. Can you put on a dress shirt, so I can check the—”

 Sebastian obligingly strips off his current coat and the shirt underneath. Chris forgets every word ever. That’s a lot of mirrors. Reflecting a lot of shirtless Sebastian Stan.

 Sebastian blushes more. Grabs a shirt off the closest rack without looking. “Sorry, I thought you said—will this work?”

 Chris narrows eyes. Sebastian had felt that electricity too. The stripping-down had been teasing, flirtatious; he’s fairly certain he’s not wrong. The sudden bashfulness is real too: Sebastian seems not quite sure what to do with genuinely returned interest. “No,” he says, testing. “Wrong style.”

 Sebastian pauses. Considers this response. “Can you…show me the correct style? I wouldn’t want to get it wrong. Might make your…measurements…harder.”

 Chris stands there with pins in hand, grinning like a happy meatball, the kind his nephews decorate with ketchup faces, pretty sure this is the best day of his whole damn life. “I can totally do that. Might need to, um, try a few things on you. Just to see what works best. Which combinations.”

 “I’m open to a lot of combinations.” Sebastian’s eyelashes are long. They’re traced by overhead light, in the back of the Evans Brothers custom men’s tailoring shop. The air tastes of coffee and silk and cotton and imported laces and leathers, and Sebastian Stan’s smiling. “Hands-on service? If I end up with a full new suit, will you want to…check an inseam? Would it help if I took off the jeans?”

 “Oh fuck,” Chris says involuntarily, and flails for self-control. “Yeah. Yeah, it, uh, might. Decent measurements. And all. You’ve got, um, great legs.”

 Sebastian’s lips twitch.

 “Sorry! I meant—you do, anyway, but I was—thinking like a—in terms of suits, you have—I just thought for a sec about—”

 “You thought like my new tailor,” Sebastian says, glowing like the sunshine, like a kitten-ball of fluffy hair and great legs and playful delight that’d astonishingly tumbled right into Chris’s shop during his break, “like my new favorite designer, and—and like my plus-one? Tonight? For the dinner thing? I can bring someone? I mean if you’re free, I shouldn’t assume—”

 Sebastian Stan wants to go out with him. In public. Wearing Chris’s designer suits. Not just shirtless flirtation in the back of a tailor shop. Not only a one-morning stand with curious ties and jeans on the floor and coruscating memories. Not only—

 Possibilities pile up so fast they trip over themselves in his mind, on his tongue. Sebastian’s waiting, magical eyes growing a shade dimmer, disappointed and accepting that disappointment—

 “No!” Chris blurts out, which doesn’t help. “No, I mean yeah, yes, I’m—I would—yes, I’m free, I’m so free, I want to, I can—” He waves a hand. “I’ll find something to wear.”

 And Sebastian, following the direction of his hand—the shop, the suits, the burgeoning options—laughs.

 “So,” Chris says, breathless, giddy, hand still full of pins.

 “So,” Sebastian says right back, and bats those ridiculous lovely mischievous eyelashes at him, “for right now, then…would you like me to take off my pants, I think you mentioned exploring new combinations?”

[seraphichan]

Haberdasher

Jean was having the worst day ever.

He woke up late. Stepped in dog shit on his jog. And, to top it all off, he tore the sleeve of his only suit on probably one of the most important days of his life.

He had a repair kit - which he dug out from under the sink in his bathroom - the only problem was he couldn’t sew worth a shit.

Why did he move so far away from his mom?

Jean sighed. Well sewing it up, even with his sub par skills, was better than walking around with a flapping sleeve the rest of the day. At least it would make his suit passable.

Or so he thought.

When he was done and went to check his work the sight that greeted him was horrific. He hadn't sewed straight and some of the stitches were so far apart that he was left with holes here and there up the length of the arm. It looked like he sewed it up with his foot while blindfolded.

He opened his phone and searched for something, anything that would get him out of this mess. He quickly found a store that sold suits and the like, and it was only a few blocks away from where he needed to be later that morning.

Score.

He gabbed his wallet and keys and ran for the bus.

+++++

He opened the door of the shop, a bell jingling above his head to signal his entry. It was still early, the shop hadn’t opened but a few minutes ago, so there wasn’t anyone there but him and the employee by the register.

Jean swiftly marched up to the counter. “I need a suit.”

The man - Levi, according to the nametag pinned to his shirt - glanced up from the book in his lap.

“Good thing you’re already wearing one, then,” he said pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“But I ruined it!” Jean said with an unflattering whine, lifting his arm and pointing at his sleeve.

“The fuck?” Levi asked, sneering at Jean’s not-so-handy work.

“Exactly. So I need a new suit. Stat.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Levi sighed. He closed his book with a snap, getting up from the stool he was seated on and coming around the counter.

Jean got a good look at him as he moved. Jet black hair with an undercut, bangs slicked back from his forehead, and behind the delicate frames of his glasses were eyes like storm clouds.

He was pretty cute, but also pretty-

“Short.”

“What?” Levi snapped, glaring up at him.

Shit he had said that out loud. Definitely not his day.

“Uh, short on time! I'm short on time so, um, if--”

Jean cut himself off with a squeak as Levi yanked at his arm and twisted it to get a better look at the suit.

He squinted at it and hummed. “I can fix it.”

“Wait, really?”

Levi nodded, pushed his glasses up again. “The tear’s along the seam so it’ll be easy. After I take out whatever the hell you did to it anyway.”

Jean smiled sheepishly and rolled the jacket off his shoulders, gave it to Levi.

“Thank you.”

Levi grunted. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing at some plush chairs that were placed around the shop.

Jean saw one nestled by the fitting rooms and sat in it. A mirror was close by so he turned to it and practiced smiling. He was pretty charming, if he did say so himself. And he did. But it never hurt to make sure.

Levi came back shortly - at which point Jean stopped looking into the mirror - with needle, thread, and some weird instrument Jean didn’t know the name of, but had seen his mom use before to cut and pick out thread. Levi started to do that to the uneven seam in Jean’s jacket, and it was quiet for a time before he spoke.

“You're fidgeting.”

Jean became aware of his fingers tapping haphazardly on his knees and promptly stilled his hands.

“Nervous?” Levi asked.

“Yeah.”

“Gonna propose to someone?”

Jean felt his face light up. “What? No!”

“You don't need to shout.”

“Sorry,” Jean said, clearing his throat.

Levi shrugged. “So, what is it then?”

“A secondary job interview. This’ll be the one that decides if I make it or not.”

“Oh? Where at?” Levi asked as he threaded the needle he brought and started to sew.

“Dot Smith Conglomerate.”

Levi snorted. “Two of my best customers.”

Jean perked up. “Any tips?”

“Those faces you were doing before in the mirror? Don't make them. You look like you need to take a shit.”

“Pretty sure that’s impossible,” Jean sighed. “I'm scared shit less.”

Levi huffed. It was probably a laugh if the way his lips twitched up briefly were any indication.

“Need to practice?”

“Huh?”

“Questions or anything. Need to practice?”

“Oh uh...it wouldn’t hurt I guess?”

“How do you want to improve yourself in the next year, and how will that improvement help elevate the quality and character of Dot Smith Conglomerate as a whole?”

“Uh…” Jean said, not really processing the question. He was too taken aback by how quickly Levi had fired it off.

“Really? That’s the answer you’re going with? ‘Uh’?”

Jean flushed. “No.” He furrowed his eyebrows in thought. “Any improvement I make to myself, large or small, will reflect well on Dot Smith, as the success of it’s employees are also the success of the company.”

“Not bad. A little stiff, but a decent answer all the same.” Levi stood. “All done.”

“Fast,” Jean marveled. He shrugged the jacket back on and bent his elbow to test the seam. It was perfect.

“Now let’s talk about your tie,” Levi said.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s ugly and doesn’t match.”

“I got this as a gift for graduating.”

“And how long ago was that?”

“...Three years.”

“Let’s add outdated to the list of what’s wrong with it,” he said as he walked toward a display, hand going to his chin as he scrutinized the selection. “Here.” He tossed one at Jean before going to the front of the store.

As he started to put it on Jean had to admit that it really outclassed the one he had.

“And these,” Levi added when he returned. He held cufflinks out in his palm towards Jean. “Nothing fancy, but it’ll pull everything together.”

“I-I, I couldn’t, I’m not, I,” Jean stammered, hands still fumbling with the tie.

Levi rolled his eyes and swatted Jean’s hands away, then he reached up and deftly tied the fabric around his neck. He didn’t even bother giving him the cufflinks, just picked up each of Jean’s arms and attached them himself. When he was done he took a step back, gave Jean an appraising eye.

“You look good.”

“T-thanks, um…”

Levi lifted an eyebrow.

“I still have some time. Do you mind asking me more questions?”

“I thought you were short on time.”

“Uh…”

This time the smile stayed a little longer. “What’s your name?”

“Jean.”

“Alright, Jean, let’s keep going.”

+++++

“How much do I owe you?” Jean asked after about half an hour. If there was one thing he was going to get right today, it was being punctual. Though he did feel more confident about the upcoming interview after the grueling questions Levi had grilled him with.

“No charge,” Levi answered.

“What? But--”

“Unless,” Levi cut him off, “you get the job. Either way, come back and tell me about it, yeah?”

“O-okay.”

“Good luck.”

+++++

“Levi!” Jean shouted as he reentered the shop a few hours later, his voice carrying over the bell that jingled above him.

“Oi, what did I tell you about shouting?”

Jean’s eyes roamed the store - only then noticing that the shop was much, much more full than it had been earlier - until they found Levi. He felt slightly embarrassed by his outburst, but that didn’t stop him from speeding over to him.

“Don’t run.”

“Sorry, but I got it, I got the job!”

“Congratu-oof.”

Jean collided with him, enveloping him in a tight hug. He had a half-baked idea of lifting Levi up and twirling him, like they were in some cheesy romance movie, but had a feeling that would not go well. Not to mention Levi felt a lot more solid than he looked and Jean probably couldn’t lift him anyway.

“Yeah yeah, we can celebrate or whatever later,” he said wriggling in Jean’s arms, “I have a customer.”

“Right.” Jean let go and glanced up at Levi’s customer apologetically. He seemed good humored about the interruption, so maybe Jean wouldn’t get in too much trouble. “Sorry. I got carried away.”

“Maybe a bit. Petra!” he called as he corrected the glasses on his nose from where Jean had knocked them askew.

“Yes?” a red haired woman answered, poking her head above a rack of dress shirts.

“Show the kid to the break room.”

+++++

“You're fidgeting again.”

Jean jumped at Levi’s voice, the leg he had been bouncing stilling as he turned to look behind him. Levi stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, tape measure draped around his shoulders.

“So it went well.”

“Yeah, the stuff they asked me wasn’t nearly as brutal as what you did.”

“I believe what you mean to say is ‘Thank you’.”

Jean snorted and smiled. “Oh and Mr. Smith said I looked very nice. Very smart. Thanks for that, too.”

Levi shrugged. “I know his tastes.”

“Yeah...so what do I owe you?”

Levi didn’t answer immediately. Instead he walked over and took a seat in the chair opposite Jean and stared at him intently with a scowl on his face.

That made Jean nervous. He hadn’t looked at any pricing when he found the shop online. He had been too freaked out at that moment to really think about it. Or maybe that hug he thought was alright actually wasn’t and had turned into an extra fee. It was worth it, he just hoped it wasn’t too much.

“Dinner,” Levi said eventually.

“Dinner?” Jean repeated.

“At seven.” Levi paused and folded his arms over his chest, cheeks going pink. “If you want.”

It took a few moments to sink in, but once it did Jean felt his cheeks go pink too. He beamed at Levi, chest swelling.

Correction. Jean was having the best day ever.