#Women's Jackets And Coats Near Me

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unraveled 1

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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A curious man wanders into your dress shop with a lot of questions.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (Cavill)

Note: I hope you all enjoy this random idea.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

One hand guides the fabric as the other turns the wheel. Your work is slow but steady, every stitch perfect, every seam precise. Your fare may be modest and your product simple, but its quality cannot be contested. Your labour as yourself is honest and plain.

The noise of the machine is your only company. The one-room shop nestled behind the butcher’s rarely sees a customer through its door. Instead, the orders are sent from the factories, returned with the printed adverts you disperse outside their doors. The writs are sent along with an envelope of pence and shilling and you complete each with equal diligence before sending them back bundled in paper and twine.

The operation isn’t especially fruitful but the profit is enough to subsist. Enough to guarantee your independence; a small apartment just above and a pot of stew to last you through each week. This humble existence is preferable to any marriage you’ve witnessed. 

The letters from your sisters reaffirm your spinster’s fate. You’d rather a hand wheel and a needle than a brood and broken back. A husband seems to provide several jobs at once, you’ll happily settle for one.

As your hands work from memory and your head wanders from tedium, the bell above the door gives a single sharp toll. You ease the wheel to a halt and leave the seam unfinished. You peer up above the black iron machine, reminding yourself to fix your hunch as a client enters. You can’t but wonder if he may have come to the wrong shop.

By his attire, he is a class above the factory women who require gray skirts and simple stays. His waistcoat is embroidered and his jacket is pressed and clean. He is tall, locks part tidily so his curls lay gracefully. His face is fresh-shaven, square jaw with a cleft, and shoulders broad and strong. He does not share the same sinewy gauntness as the labourers with the coal-dusted noses.

He carries a fine leather bag. Another clue to his status. His shoes, another. Polished and without creases.

You stand to greet him, “good afternoon, sir. Might I help you with something?”

His answer is not prompt. He takes in the finished dresses hung by the east wall and turns to examine the rolls of wool and cotton. At last, he returns his attention to you.

“Afternoon,” his deep timbre fills the small space, “you are the dressmaker.”

It isn’t a question, but you answer, “I am.”

He narrows his eyes as he approaches your desk, the sole fixture in the space. From without, the shop is just as bare. The blackened windows offer not insight into the business, its only suggestion the sign hung above the door, though the paint requires a fresh coat.

“And the shop owner?”

“That is me as well, sir,” you assert. The presumption is not uncommon.

“Ah,” he accepts your explanation without comment, “so, you will have sewn this.”

He puts his bag on the desk, nearly knocking your shears from the corner. You try not to flinch as they teeter near the edge and he pulls open the top of the leather bag. He pulls out a swath of grey. You recognise it and he rolls the cuff to show your initials sewn within.

“Sir,” you say precariously, “is there some issue with it? Is it your wife’s dress?”

“Wife? No, no,” he dismisses, feeling the fabric between his fingers, “rather I am in search of the dress’s owner. The initial must belong to them, yes? So you would have a name for the buyer.”

“Mm, no, those are mine,” you point at the letters, “as it is my handiwork.”

“That makes sense,” he frowns in disappointment. “So you wouldn’t know who would wear it?”

You rub your chapped lips together. You find your tongue sliding over them often when you work, turning them raw with the habit. The man’s lips are rosy and smooth, as well-kempt as the rest of him. He is no factory worker’s husband.

“I might… would you take it out?” You ask.

He obliges as you pluck up the metal cylinder from your desk and unfurl the tape measure from within. He shakes out the dress, holding it by the shoulders to reveal salt stains along the skirts and unleashing a dingy smell in the shop. You wiggle your nose at the stench but worse roils in from the butcher’s on hot days.

You take the measure of the sleeves and the waist, then to the hem. You scribble the numbers on a scrap and take that to compare with your ledger. The measurements are in now way defining but might narrow it down. He keeps the dress aloft and you return to him to check the thread along the seams. A few months ago, you changed the thickness as the factory workers complained of splits under the arms.

“Hm, it is a recent purchase,” you assure him and return to the ledge. 

He lowers the dress and approaches. You snap the book closed and turn your face up to consider him once more, “why do you need to know, if it is not your wife?”

“You are very discerning,” he remarks as he folds the dress and drapes it over his bag, “I’m certain then you can surmise the woman who wore this dress did not meet a kind fate.” He tugs up the hem and shows a tear trimmed in scarlet, the colour not obvious from a distance. “Holmes, Sherlock Holmes. I’m a detective and I’m trying to identify a poor woman found not far from here. I believe it is in your own interest that I discover her assailant.”

“I cannot say for certain which she is,” you turn over the scrap and re-open the ledger. You write down three names which match the measurements and hold the paper out to him. He takes it, his thick fingertips brushing yours. “Those are the ones which align with the dress.”

“Mm,” he hums as he tucks the paper into his chest pocket, “and your name? I couldn’t make it out on the sign.”

You recite your name flatly, “it isn’t on the sign.”

“It requires new paint,” he admonishes, “I could hardly find you.”

“I am aware,” you reply. “Thank you for noting.”

He’s quiet, “being a detective, however, I did indeed put together the clues.”

Is he making a joke? You cannot tell. He folds up the dress completely and puts it back in the leather bag. The smell persists.

“What are you prices?” He asks abruptly.

“Sir, I sew dresses for factory women, sometimes a few communion pieces, but I’m afraid I don’t do much suit work.”

“My sister requires a dress,” he sniffs, “as simple as it is, I can see your work is fine.”

“I have only wools and cottons,” you counter.

“Do you always turn away business?” He challenges.

“I wasn’t, sir, I’m only clarifying what I currently do. My prices are set for those fabrics,” you explain.

“I will pay for the muslin and velvet,” he waves his hand staunchly, “you will be paid for your labour. Can you sew with more than wool and cotton?”

“I can, sir, but you could find a ready-made dress in a market boutique if the dress is required promptly.”

“I can afford the time and coin,” he insists. “You are not a talented advertiser, are you?”

You’re taken aback by his bluntness. Often, his ilk have that demeanour. It’s why you’d rather the factory workers and the fish sellers’ wives.

“I suppose not,” you agree, “I would need measurements before I begin. You may send the numbers along with the fabric, then. And I would require a style. Perhaps your sister is a purveyor of fashion magazines?”

“I will send a messenger,” he shrugs. “Thank you for your time. I shan't get in your way any longer.”

“Good day, sir.”

“Good day to you,” he takes the bag from your desk and the shears fall to the floor with a clatter.

You skirt around to grab them as he bends and swipes them up first. You recoil as he closes the blades with a snap. He examines them before placing them back on the desk.

“Apologies,” he says, “and miss,” he looks at you, “take to heart what I’ve told you today. Keep away from the allies and perhaps you may consider locking your door.”

“Thank you, sir, your concern is appreciated.”

“Rather you might just keep those close, eh,” he points to the shears and his cheek dimples.

Again, you can’t be certain of his humour. You keep a placid expression, neither smiling nor scowling. He clears his throat and runs his hand down his jacket, gripping the lapel.

“Very well then, I’ll be off.”

He turns on his heel and marches to the door. You stay by the desk as the bell rings with his departure. Once the door closes, you cross the shop. You turn the lock into place, his foreboding lingering with the stale scent of dirty water.

🪡

Despite the unusual visit, your days roll on like a hand on a clock. The thought of the woman’s tragic fate looms like a shadow but fades. You have too much stitching to do to fret over that man and his ominous words. You assume his interest in your work thereafter was wholly feigned as he does not return.

That day, you pass off six parcels to Eustace, the driver who takes them down to the stacks to hand off to the floor bosses who will parse them out to the women they’ve been cut for. You pay him his toll before he climbs back into the seat of his cart, his horse kicking impatiently.

“Excuse me, sir,” another driver clops up along the other side of the street, a narrow squeeze between the slanting buildings. “I’m in search of a dressmaker. I believe the store is tucked behind the butcher’s and…” the man’s voice drifts off as his eyes flit to the meat sellers marquee.

“Right here, good sir,” Eustace responds, “wouldn’t ya know, she’s right here.”

You lift your chin to see past the cart and spy the driver. He removes his cap as his gaze meets yours. Eustache dips his chin as he adjusts his own hat and snaps his old mare into a canter. As you're left alone with the carriage driver, a vehicle rather lofty for a block like this, you fold your hands behind you.

“Sir, you hardly look in need of a work woman’s dress,” you say.

“Miss,” he ties the reins off and jumps down from his seat, “I am sent for you, not a dress.”

“For me?” You echo.

“Mr. Holmes has sent,” he crosses the muck and nearly slips. “He said he made an appointment for a seamstress.”

“An appointment? I wasn’t informed of the time,” you rebuff. “I’ve a shop to run, orders paid for. I can’t simply leave.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Holmes made mention of a fee,” the man feels around his striped coat, “he said a deposit would be needed.”

He takes out a brown envelope and hands it over. You take it, a small weight within. You look at the driver before you pull back the flap and peek inside. A large gold sovereign sits in the corner of the paper; a whole pound. That’s at least three days work.

You hold your breath, trying to maintain some composure. If that’s the deposit, what is he offering for the rest? You slip out the folded paper within, a page torn from a fashion journal. The dress is elegant if not extravagant. You don’t often do off-the-shoulder or ruffles like that but it isn’t beyond your skill.

You fold the flap closed again and lift your chin to face the driver, “I must lock up, you see?”

“Take your time, miss,” he says kindly. “Mr. Holmes isn’t expecting you to hurry.”

“Thank you, sir,” you bow your head and turn away.

You measure your steps along the facade of the butcher’s shop and curl around to the alleyway. You let yourself into your shop and tuck the envelope into your apron pocket. You take your sewing bag from under the desk and shake off the dust. You don’t often have reason to use it.

You open it up and pack away your shears, a measuring tape, pins with a cushion, your notebook, and a few other bits and bobs. Just in case. You grab a role of linen from against the wall. It’s heavy but you can manage.

You take the key from your desk drawer and switch off the overhead light. You lock the door and continue back out to the street. The driver puffs smoke from a pipe as he waits.

“Miss, allow me,” he snuffs out the pipe and puts it in his pocket. He nears and reaches for the roll of linen.

“It’s quite alright, sir,” you say.

“I insist, miss, can’t have a lady doing all that,” he takes it, not forcefully, and you let him.

As he goes to the carriage and opens the door, you give pause. You don’t know if you should be so easily swayed on a gold coin. Mr. Holmes hadn’t been entirely pleasant and you do prefer your simple work. Still, you can hardly turn your nose up at a pound. Not with the summer fizzling to a finale.

You lift your skirts and cross the street to the open carriage, “sir, might I have a name?”

“Gavin,” he answers, “and I have yours. Mr. Holmes made sure of it.”

“Yes, very good,” you say as you approach, another sliver of doubt trickling through. Mr. Holmes claimed to be a detective but is that really the reason he was strolling around with a dead woman’s dress? You gulp and look at Gavin then the carriage, “might I keep the window open?”

“Surely you can,” he agrees amiably. “Mr. Holmes lives quite a ways, shouldn’t mind the air. I’ll be certain to stay away from the stacks.”

“Thank you, sir,” you accept his proffered hand and he helps you up into the carriage. 

You settle on the bench as the door shuts and you open the window from within. You lean back, your hand grasping the top of your bag. You unclasp it as you feel Gavin climb up on the driver’s seat. You dip your hand inside and clutch your long shears.

You don’t forget all of what Mr. Holmes said.

[rottiens]

✮ tags. . vampire gojo x afab! human reader, helltown au. divider creds: cafekitsune.

✮ cw. . 1.5k

It's late in Helltown, your boots struggle against the pile of white snow under your heavy boots and every so often you sniffle through your nose looking to somehow escape the cold that builds up on your face, exposed to your least favorite weather. 

The trees rise above your head and lull you as if they carry words inside their leaves, autumn is giving way to winter and the whole transition, along with the news that has filled the papers these past weeks gives the picture a gloomy tone. Your hands are inside your coat while an icy air escapes through your pale lips.

You shouldn't be out on the street so late, much less alone, much less with the news of the disappearance of those young women.

It wasn't just disappearance. It was the murder of that young woman who studied at the same university where you teach and then her best friend who had been missing since Halloween night and of whom nothing was known after that day. The parents had announced rewards, and the local police were scraping clues even under the rocks; however no one had heard anything from her or anyone had managed to provide relevant information.

You grab the edge of the coat around your neck and pull it upwards in an attempt to battle the cold as your steps quicken, you are close to your house, however due to the lack of movement on the avenue it feels more like a much longer walk than it really is. All the doors and windows are closed, including the houses and premises, you only have the company of pale light bulbs illuminating the entrances and your way home. 

A shiver runs down your back as the wind howls around you, a foreboding feeling tells you that you are not alone, though you dismiss one terrifying idea after another as this can and must be due to your suggestion. You grab the pepper spray inside your pocket as if your life depended on it and quickly turn around to verify that it was all in your head, holding the white bottle at the level of your head, your finger trembling on the tip of it. 

The wind roars in your ears, the noise of the blood pumping overwhelms your senses. In the distance you hear fluttering and your eyes snap, checking the shadows for movement within them. You remain in this position for a few seconds, frozen in time, until your legs tingle with warm blood and you return to the front to hurry on your way. 

Turning your eyes forward you meet a pair of piercing blue eyes that lock with yours for a few seconds before the man quickly looks away, you stifle a scream by clenching your jaw and the adrenaline makes you spray the pepper near his shoes. 

You take two steps back, raising the pepper spray to a considerable height. The blue-eyed man wears a baggy black hooded sweatshirt and a leather jacket of the same color over it making uncovering the features of his face an impossible task. 

“That's not how you use pepper spray,” he says in a strangely friendly voice.

You look him up and down wondering where he came from, though the voice sounds familiar, you don't remember seeing him anywhere before. Although you can't tell for sure since most of his face is covered, all you can see are those intense blue eyes scanning you up and down. 

“Tell me who you are or I'm going to scream,” you warn him, raising the spray to the level of his face. 

He raises his gloved hands to his chest in surrender. 

“Hey, take it easy. It's me.” He brings his hands to his hood and pulls it back to reveal a shock of white hair swirling in the icy wind. 

“Oh my...” Your horror turns to panic as you realize you were about to ruin the eyes of the new Biology teacher's assistant, he had only just moved to town a few weeks ago. You slowly shake your head, moving the spray away from his field of vision, back into your pockets. “I'm so sorry,” you utter, your panic slowly transforming into an embarrassment that burns like a torch on your face. 

“It's okay,” he smiles sideways, pulling the hood back over his head. “You acted properly.” 

The now not-so-stranger looks you up and down again, with those blue eyes that break the harmony of the white snow.  You run away from them when you get the chance, hurrying your pace along with him who starts walking with you.

“It's terribly cold.” You laugh, downplaying the sudden fear that still rubs your veins against each other. “I'm freezing,” you try to make it sound like something to break the tense moment, but your voice comes out cracked as you hide your face in your coat at the same time as you lift your shoulders to get out of the chill. 

“It is dangerous for you to be out here.” He looks down at you, you can feel it out of the corner of your eye. 

“I know,” you stutter, avoiding those haunting eyes. “You mean because of the deaths and stuff?” As soon as you add the last you regret it, you really didn't want to talk about it. “I was running late reading my students' papers, then visiting my grandparents,” you add, giving him explanations he doesn't need to hear but you feel somehow compelled to say. “I hope the police catch them soon, whoever the culprit is,” you finally say with a frown, remembering the news.

“Hm.” Is all that comes from his lips. “Mind if I walk with you? I live close by anyway.”  

At the proposal your heart pumps fast. Despite the fear you feel, you think it's better to accept than to walk alone. You nod, swallowing hard. Saliva cuts your dry throat.

You say your name waiting for him to introduce himself. “I haven't seen you around here before? Are you new to the neighborhood?”

“Yeah, I just moved in a little while ago. I- I've been watching you,” he whispers, you stop walking abruptly looking at him with wide eyes and quivering lips, pepper spray hovering against your fingers hidden in your pockets. The man stares at you for a few more seconds, before throwing his body back, chuckling. “I meant to say that I've observed your classes and you're good, my name is Gojo Satoru.” 

You relax a little at the joke, forcing a smile but still tightening your spray, maybe you were too tense, maybe your friend's assistant... Satoru, how he had introduced himself, was nothing more than that. So still with your nerves making your senses more responsive you decide to keep walking beside him.

“Thank you,” you reply. “My house is the next one,” you point to a tall brick house around the corner.

“All right.” He walks in the same direction you pointed, still staying close to you. His steps are light, as if he's gliding along the sidewalk. “I imagine your husband must be worried.” You look at him briefly, clearly confused. “I mean the man who comes to pick you up from college sometimes...”

“Oh,” you chuckle. “No, no, that's just a friend. No husband... I live with my friend,” you say. “But now she's visiting her parents for the vacations.” This time your eyes go to him shortly, hair escaping through his hood in white snowflakes, falling softly over his eyes.

You flee to the road before he can notice, your cheeks burning. As you stand in front of the door, you pull your keys out of your backpack.

“Thanks for walking me out, Satoru.”

“No problem. I'm glad I could help you get home safe and sound.” He gives you a warm smile even though you can't appreciate the fear and hesitation of the moment. 

You want to invite him in and be nice, but you know your friend would slap you if you told her about the stranger you let in the house knowing there's a killer on the loose. So you smile weakly at him and lean your body forward momentarily in a bow.

“I'll see you at school,” you say instead. 

Satoru doesn't reply anything else. He remains still, standing a few feet from the front door, waving his fingers in a goodbye that you cut off as you close the wooden door. Inside, the heat envelops you and you let out a purr of reassurance. Warmth surrounds your neck and cheeks cool as a woolen scarf, and you sigh in relief, letting out the fear and tension that encounter had caused you.

Satoru was a interesting guy… You try hard not to think of situations that might make your job uncomfortable, but you can't help the questions that arise in your mind. You wish, deep down, to know a little more about this mysterious man.

[phantom-margaritas]

Mondays were swiftly becoming Erik's least favorite at the Rosy Hours, not due to the noisy crowds, but because Christine never visited on her day off. Besides, she had mentioned plans to visit her fiancé’s family, not that he paid much attention to that conversation. No, not at all. Despite this, he managed to endure yet another Monday, especially after ushering out the lingering patrons who clamored for one last drink. It was now 2 a.m., and he was nearly done cleaning out his station for the night when his phone buzzed in his back pocket. Draping the dish towel over his shoulder, he brushed his hands off before fishing out his phone.

It was a text from Meg Giry, and that in itself caused Erik to raise an eyebrow; she rarely sent him anything aside from random, silly videos that reminded her of him. Meg was a former waitress at the Rosy Hours, having joined at the age of eighteen to earn some extra cash to spend in college. Their personalities clashed rather often, but they grew to understand each other near the end of Meg’s stay. Moreover, he needed to thank her, as it was Meg who introduced the Rosy Hours to Christine in the first place. 

Meg Giry

Hey Erik, Christine’s heading your way. She’s not doing too good. I tried to persuade her to stay with me but she refused. Please take good care of her.

Well, if he was confused then, he was concerned now. Christine? Out by herself? At this hour? How is she going to get here? The subway? No, the last train must’ve left by now. Walking? Out of the question, the streets at night are not safe for women. Driving? It’s dangerous to drive when one’s distraught.

Tossing the dish towel onto the counter, Erik raced into Nadir’s office. He grabbed his wool overcoat from the coat rack, shrugging it on as he made his way to the front door of Rosy Hours. Outside, snow continued to fall, and the blanket of white seemed to have deepened a few inches while he was indoors. Erik felt his stomach drop. Harsh weather and a volatile mood were a dangerous combination on the road—he knew that better than anyone. 

But then he remembered something else: Christine didn’t expect to see him outside, and he had no reason to be there other than to see her the moment she arrived. To appear nonchalant, he leaned against the pillar and started scrolling aimlessly through his phone, all the while stealing glances at the passing cars.

He didn’t have to wait long. An all too familiar car came to a stop across the street, and he dashed across the bricks and asphalt before the door even swung open. Hesitating for but a second, he bent down and knocked gently on the window.

“Christine?”

Through the glass, he watched as her shoulders tensed, her hands tightening on the steering wheel. Her head bowed, brown curls blocking her face. She was not looking in his direction at all. 

“Christine, are you alright? I— I’m concerned about you.”

At his words, her body slumped against the driver’s seat, her hands dropping from the steering wheel. Slowly, as if in a trance, she unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle. But Erik was a step ahead, opening the door and holding it for her, his hand extended to offer assistance.

Grasping his hand, Christine stepped out of the vehicle, Erik shutting the door behind her. His hands had grown cold from standing in the snow, but what surprised him was that Christine’s hand felt just as icy. Giving her a once-over, he realized she was only wearing a turtleneck and jeans, with no jacket in sight. Without a word, he removed his overcoat and draped it over her shoulders. Then, wrapping an arm around her, he guided her across the street.

“Erik, what about you?” Christine asked, attempting to shrug off the coat, but the arm around her held the warm fabric snug against her.

“Don’t worry about me. What matters most right now is your well-being.” He replied, the two coming to a stop near the front porch of the bar. Under the entrance lighting, Erik could see Christine’s face much more clearly, including her flushed cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. This will not do. “My uh… my apartment is directly above the bar, and it should be warmer and more comfortable there. Just give me a moment to lock up, and then we can head upstairs.”

———

Erik learned more about Christine that night than he had in the past four months combined. 

As soon as they entered his apartment, he gently seated her on the sofa and went to the kitchen to prepare her usual drink, concerned that she might have gotten too cold outside. Holding a warm cocktail in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other, he sat down beside her and waited patiently until she was ready to talk about what had happened.

And oh did she talk. Before, she rarely spoke about her personal life, focusing mainly on their shared interests in theater and music. Now, she was telling him about how her father's music career influenced her, recounting his passing just before her high school graduation, and expressing her growing doubts about the opportunities she had received throughout her life. 

“Do you remember the modeling gig I got a few months ago? The one with that jewelry brand?”

“Of course. I saw the final poster in a metro station and other places around the city too. Why do you ask?”

“Well,” Christine sniffed, fresh tears streaming down her face, “apparently Raoul’s older sister convinced them to hire me. They probably weren’t even going to move forward with me had she not persuaded them. Now I’m wondering if they were the ones that gave Carlotta’s role to me, and if that’s true, do I even deserve it? Maybe I never even had the necessary skills to perform in the first place!”

She was crying in earnest now. Her chest heaved with sobs, and Erik’s heart constricted at the sight of his love reduced to tears. His hand hovered in the air between them, and he wasn’t sure if he was about to cross some forbidden boundaries between a single bartender and an engaged actress, but soon he was cupping her face in his hands and thumbing away her tears, wrapping his arms around her and letting her cry on his shoulder, whispering how wonderful her voice, her acting— just how wonderful and perfect she is as a person. 

Eventually, perhaps it was out of pure exhaustion or the emotional toll or the tears, but by around half past four, Christine was sound asleep. Her head had somehow found its place in his lap, a few lingering tears rolling freely down the contours of her face. The confidence Erik once felt in embracing her had faded, and now his hand was once again hovering near her shoulder, unsure of what to do. Ayesha, who had been hiding in his bedroom from the presence of a stranger, finally decided to emerge, gazing up at Christine with wide-eyed curiosity.

“Shhhh.” Erik pressed a finger to his lips. “We wouldn’t want to disturb her rest now, darling. Would you do me a favor and keep her company for tonight?”

———

Inspo: the song Goddess by Laufey

[iho6hi2]

Infrunami.

Type: Oneshot

Pairing: Matsuno Karamatsu/F! Reader

Summary: Getting kisses from a hot lady? Karamatsu would love that. Almost getting ran over by a hot lady? Not exactly on his bucket list, but Karamatsu checks it regardless.

Warnings: Near Death Experiences, Fluff, Attempt at Humor, Light Angst, Drinking, Getting to Know Each Other, Feel-Good, Ridiculous

Word Count: 8,037

A/N: MY HOMESLICE 🧀🧀 Karamatsu deserves someone he can be a flop with T__T BTW Im so insecure about this so pls either give me a 10 page essay on why this sucked or one 'this was cool Lol' otherwise ill kms

Karamatsu ambles near the bridge, his usual hotspot for courting women in this cruel game life likes to call love; or more accurately the place where he stands still like a traffic sign with the hopes of someone giving him the time of day for once (huge spoiler alert: nobody does, as expected).

He chuckles, feigning smug amusement as he runs a hand through his hair in one smooth motion. "The stars must not favor me today, for all of my Karamatsu girls are nowhere to be seen. Heh, if that is the fate of a sinful man, I shall accept it and retreat with peace.''

The looks passersby shoot him border on mentally perturbed and downright horrified, because who the hell monologues atrocities like these out loud? Without being under the influence of something, nonetheless.

With that declaration out of the way, Karamatsu straightens up and decides to head home for the day, deeming it appropriate. What with his love endeavors turning out to be unsuccessful once again, also to no one's big surprise really.

On his way home, whenever the opportunity presents itself, he stops to window-shop every time he passes by a fashion boutique and admires clothes his broke bum probably couldn't afford.

Of course, he attempts not to appear interested, and instead only crosses his arms critically and gives the mannequins clad in clothing the stink eye (even if he's wearing shades of all things) while the workers glance at him warily through the window.

Before another demented sentence is said, suddenly all chaos breaks loose and there are people yelling and instantly he's all too aware of the motorcycle nearing him with each passing second. Karamatsu shrieks so loud he's sure everyone from the next town over had heard him.

"Get out of the way!" The biker shouts and waves a hand to the side for emphasis, and he feels like a fly being swatted away, but even if Karamatsu wanted to move it's almost as if his legs are rooted to the ground.

A wave of panic washes over him and strangely enough there was still enough time for dread to settle in the depths of his stomach. Even if it may be cliché, his life does end up flashing before his eyes － and it's just plain sad how fucking boring it is.

"Get out of the way," you repeat, though you sound more adamant, your tone coated with a sense of urgency.

Ahhh, Mommy! I'll die a virgin, I'll die a loser! Karamatsu cries in his mind. If I survive, I'll get a job, I swear! I'll even stop talking in English, just please! He pleads mentally, to whom is unknown.

Suddenly, you remember that brakes exist and you swerve with such mastery you weren't even aware you possessed up until now, coming to an abrupt stop right in front of your spared victim, tires screeching harshly against the pavement. Karamatsu deadpans, God had a real sense of humor.

He's still frozen in place, barely containing the natural instinct to piss himself. Though he's also pretty sure the urge to urinate will hit him like a shit ton of bricks post-shock.

Fortunately, he's not Ichimatsu and so he doesn't shit himself in front of the cute girl getting off of the motorcycle, even if she barely missed out on becoming his murderer.

You approach him cautiously, expecting the berating of a lifetime. Though judging by his state － him shaking like a leaf despite his thick leather jacket, also not to mention the buckets worth of sweat rolling off him －, you doubt you'll get an earful.

"Are you okay?'' Obviously, he's not. ''You're not hurt or anything, right?''

Karamatsu shakes his head timidly despite not even listening to a word you said. Then, he gulps and raises a trembling hand to his face, lowering his sunglasses just a smidge to take a good peek at you. ''H-Heh, you have, um, nothing to worry about my dear Karamatsu girl..."

You do your best to smile at him in response, but the need to physically recoil is understandably strong. ''Oh, uh, that's good to hear. I'm sorry for, you know, almost killing you and giving you a fright... It happens a lot for some reason.''

You need to get your license revoked, Karamatsu's eye twitches but he smirks regardless, willing to disregard everything that had occurred just because you were one hot lady. Plus, he is a gentleman, if nothing else.

''As if! You have no reason to fret, mon amour. The thrill of living or dying, chasing that high is what makes or breaks a man! Such a thing couldn't possibly scare me."

''Are you sure? 'Cause I'm certain I heard you scream,'' you grin with more teeth than you should. It'd be such a pleasure to knock him down a couple of notches, you think.

''T-T-That was most definitely not a scream, my darling, I assure you! It was but a noise of excitement at the divine gamble, ahahaha, that's all!'' Karamatsu stutters, stumbling over his words.

You blink, positively unimpressed. "You were excited to get ran over?"

After that, an uncomfortable silence stretches between the two of you. You're pulled into reality by the fact that just about anyone could see your number plate, so it was time to leave and flee the supposed crime scene. You're not getting fined for this, hell no. If anything, you're the one who's in desperate need of reparations after this degenerate conversation.

You mount your motorcycle again and look at him with an almost impish smile, ''You have weird tastes, man." And with that last comment, you're gone in the same breath, leaving behind only a cartoonish dust cloud.

Karamatsu's legs give out and he collapses, falling to his knees. Nobody helps him up.

★

Karamatsu doesn't really visit clubs often. Going by himself makes him feel strangely out of place, going with his brothers makes him feel like a circus attraction, though it's not like it has ever bothered him before.

He would usually lie through his teeth and strive to come off as unbothered and remarkably experienced; a well-seasoned veteran among premature ejaculators, but crowded places like these aren't his scene, at all. Never really have been in the first place.

Perhaps that's why he thinks he doesn't belong here as he observes the rest of the partygoers live it up on the dancefloor while babysitting his beer, one sip at a time.

The music isn't even good, Karamatsu frowns and pinches his eyebrows together, deep in thought. Man, did this place fucking suck. How much did they have to cough up in order for others to rate it a 4-star club?

Well, he supposes it doesn't really matter in the end. As long as the booze's good, that's all he needs to forget this horrible day. A 'nice' hangover is all it takes to wipe his memories clean, which isn't much to brag about.

''Oh, it's you!'' Someone exclaims and he whips his head forward before spitting out his alcohol. What are the odds? You point at him, just as shocked as him at this turn of events, ''Mr. Painful!''

Karamatsu chuckles, raising his glass full of beer as a greeting. ''Madame. Charmed to see you here.''

You roll your eyes but that doesn't hinder you from grinning back at him, ''Oh, the pleasure is all mine, trust me.''

''I would hope so. What are the chances of our paths crossing once more? It leads me to believe that this is no chance encounter. Hmph, why it must be fate.'' Karamatsu blabbers on, implementing wild gestures into his dialogue, takes his sunglasses off and his eyes shine with what you presume is a romantic glint.

You cough a little and wipe the bar clean with a towel, ''Yeah, no. I just work here.''

''The universe works in mysterious ways.''

You laugh. ''Whatever helps you sleep at night, buddy.'' Then, you pat the back of his hand twice. You watch him jump up in surprise and tilt your head to the side, confused.

Karamatsu clutches his hand to his chest, but realizes how fucking ridiculous he must look and simply clears his throat with that same proud expression.

You squint your eyes. ''You're not sick, are you?''

Karamatsu hurries to shake his head, which did nothing but give him a sense of déjà vu. ''N-Non, non! Don't worry your pretty little head over my health, angel. I'm nothing else if not alright, haha.''

You narrow your eyes at him further.

His hands are bundled over his crotch and he has one leg crossed over the other and if Twitter had taught you anything useful at all, it would mean that these are early signs of cock shame. And all of his prior mannerisms, could it be that he is... ''A virgin?''

You did not mean to say that out loud.

Karamatsu's face turns blank for a brief second before he's flapping his hands left and right in firm denial. His face is flushed, panicked, and you swear he's on the brink of tears.

When you said that you wanted to knock him off his high horse, this wasn't what you had in mind, at least not exactly. As a matter of fact, you feel sort of bad for the poor guy.

''Hahaha... What are you talking about, my Karamatsu girl? You should be able to tell by now that a man like me is sought after, which is one of the many punishments I must endure!'' He announces, posing with his index and thumb on his chin, a shaky smile slapped on his sweaty face.

You blink, then prop your elbows on the front bar, lean in and ask, ''And in reality?''

Karamatsu sits back down in his stool, then promptly downs the rest of his beer. ''A jobless virgin who lives in his parents' house.''

You register the somber look in his eyes. You sigh under your breath and open up the fridge, pulling out the same brand of beer he had been drinking until now and pass the bottle to him casually.

Karamatsu looks up at you in disbelief, glancing between you and the bottle of beer frantically. You flick his forehead, ''Drink up, it's on the house just this once.''

Karamatsu stiffens and then smiles gently, rubbing his wet eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, snivelling. ''Thank you, my Karamatsu girl!''

You cross your arms and huff, ''It's [Name]. And besides, I almost ran you over earlier today, it's the least I can do for you.''

''Thank you, [Name].'' Karamatsu parrots himself and happily takes a swig of his new, freshly refilled drink.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye while serving other customers. When a majority of the people disperse, leaving the two of you mostly alone again, you quickly scribble down your number on a napkin.

''Here,'' you call out to him as you hand him the piece of paper. When he shoots you a curious look, you redirect your attention elsewhere in mock embarrassment. ''You seem like fun, let's drink together for realsies next time. My treat.''

Karamatsu gasps, screaming like a banshee with a voice mutation and you think he emotes a strange, outdated gag while leaping ten feet in the air.

His head hits the ceiling but he comes back down just as quick, blood dripping down his face. Planks come crashing down on top of him, somehow on fire, and you clench your jaw. This will definitely be deducted from your paycheck.

★

Karamatsu wakes up, but he doesn't remember how or when he got home.

He ruffles his hair, only to find his broken shades and several bandages wrapped around his head. He attempts to jog his memory and yet the only thing he's able to recall is slamming face-first into a roof and... And...

He sits up and Olympic dives straight into the couch, barbarically searching for that blessed piece of paper which could very well change the entire trajectory of his life.

When he pulls it out of his leather jacket's pocket, he breathes heavily and fakes a falsetto, opting to roll around on the floor in some sort of wild frenzy.

This is it. I'm finally presented with an opportunity to abandon my virgin ways, Karamatsu thinks with a serious expression, shadows covering his eyes dramatically.

He raises a lone victorious fist in the air, cutting through the Matrix itself. Then, Karamatsu gulps and surveys the area, noticing that the living room is empty, which can only mean one thing. Now is the perfect time to plan a romantic rendezvous with you.

Tip-toeing his way to the hall where the landline is located, Karamatsu muttered curse words whenever the floorboards creaked under his weight.

When he reaches the house phone, he gently unfolds the napkin and smoothes out the wrinkles, then sucks in a deep breath and forces his balls to turn into pure steel.

Dialing your number with practiced caution, he bites his nails and anxiously taps his foot. The longer he waits for you to pick up, the more he loses hope.

Just as he was about to hang up and snap back to his miserable reality, maybe cry for an hour or two, your voice croaks out a, ''Hello, who is this? I can hear you breathing, creep. Helloooo?''

''A-Ah, [Name]! This is, uh, Karamatsu.'' He stutters and twirls his hair around his finger. ''I was pondering over the possibility of us taking a stroll together, bathing in the sun and sharing masterful pastries－"

''A date. You want us to go on a date.''

''Yes,'' Karamatsu admits, or rather embraces the simplified idea of it all. ''It's okay if you don't want to, of course, m'lady! I-I wouldn't force you or anything, it's entirely up to you.''

You pinch your nose on the other line, ''Karamatsu, shut up, 'kay? Yes, I wanna go on a date with you, otherwise I wouldn't have paid for your broke ass last night. Now give me a time and place.''

''You do? You actually want to willingly hang out with me?'' He questions and you can practically smell his meekness and self-doubt oozing out of him even through the phone.

''You're the one who hit up my line first, no takebacks hotshot.'' You say, half-joking.

''Why, yes of course. As expected of my favourite Karamatsu girl!'' My only Karamatsu girl up-to-date. ''Obviously, you desire to spend every waking moment together with me, just as much as I do.''

''Time and place, please and thank you.'' You cut him off mid-effusion.

After arranging the date and going over the details, Karamatsu giddily spins and hugs himself. Then, he slaps his face and nods to no one in particular, as a form of confirmation to his invisible hype men.

Choromatsu stares at him judgementally from the stairway, face twisted in its usual sociopathic manner.

Osomatsu leans over in order to whisper in his ear, "What's up with him? He's acting weirder than usual."

Choromatsu scowls. "I don't wanna know, besides if we show interest that means we're going to have to put up with him."

Osomatsu nods in agreement and rubs under his nose with a finger, "True. It's way too damn early for his theatrics." Then, he throws in his assholish laugh for good measure.

The two of them choose to close their eyes and pretend this never happened in the first place, trudging up the stairs and going right back into their shared room without a care in the world.

★

You check the time and grimace. He's awfully late for someone who asked you out first. You wouldn't say you're the most punctual person in the world, but even still you decided to get all dolled up and ended up arriving early for a change of pace.

At first, you didn't mind waiting for him. Life happens after all, right? Maybe something came up last minute and he couldn't put it off, but if that were the case he would have informed you beforehand, right? Right?

You feel as though you're a step closer to becoming a wacko, but suddenly shake your head to rid your mind of such thoughts and smile to yourself. He'll show up, you're sure of it.

But after thirty more minutes of this nonsense, you're on the verge of throwing a tantrum and disrupting the public tranquility because you got stood up. What a fucking jerk, you think and puff out your cheeks.

Just as you're about to leave, maybe actually run someone over and kill them to make yourself feel better and perhaps blow all of your money on cheap gigolos, you stop and widen your eyes at the sight that greets you.

There's no mistaking those sequinned pants and shiny cowboy boots. Your date, with his wounds all gone and miraculously healed, saunters over to you like he's a runway model, catwalking with a bit of an attitude as if he didn't keep you waiting for half an hour.

He halts when there's barely any distance between the two of you, takes off his shades and flashes you his pearly whites which emit an ominous sparkle and you're temporarily rendered blind. ''Sorry for the wait.''

You grind your teeth together and force yourself to grin, ''Don't worry about it, but what took you so long.''

Karamatsu nervously chuckles and glances to the side, looking anywhere but you.

How the hell is he supposed to tell you that he spent most of the time hiding and sneaking peeks in your direction, but simply didn't have enough courage to approach you and that it took him at least twenty minutes to muster it? Simple, he won't tell you.

Instead, he strikes a pose under the nonexistent limelight. ''A star like me is obligated to be fashionably late.''

''Well, the star better make sure it doesn't happen again or it'll be one sad day for your fanbase,'' you threaten with an innocent smile, batting your eyelashes.

Karamatsu gulps and nods, but an invisible light bulb turns on above his head and he snaps his fingers. ''Oh, yes! How can I forget? I got a present for you, my Karamatsu girl."

You 'ooh' and 'aah' in curiosity, while he retrieves whatever he brought along with him in the meantime.

When he pulls out a tank top with his face on it, the exact same one he's wearing as well, you don't know what to say in response. In fact, your brain might actually be buffering.

Have we lost the impact of shame in our modern-day society? You think in disdain, fighting off the pain in your ribs.

He blushes and hands it to you nonchalantly, ''Here, wear this so suitors know not to mess with you. Once they see you and I together, matching garments and walking hand in hand, they shall understand who the one true power couple is.''

You blink twice and slowly accept the gift, then without any hesitation whatsoever you put on the tank top and wear it over your clothes. You're in too deep already, anyway.

''Thanks a lot, Karamatsu. I, uh, don't know what to say,'' you fake flattery at his sincere act of courtesy, though you're not necessarily lying either. You genuinely have no idea what to say to this entire ordeal.

''No need to thank me, sunshine.'' He pirouettes in slow motion and when he stops, he stretches his hand out for you to take. There is an aura surrounding you and you can make out dreamy bubbles floating around him. And where did the harp come from? ''Now allow me to whisk you off to paradise.''

You grab his hand and excitedly lead him to your parked motorcycle. ''Great, let's go!'' You pat the pillion and stare at him expectantly.

Upon noticing his silence, you stop ushering him to the seat. ''What's wrong, Karamatsu?''

He scratches his nape and lets his head droop low. ''Is it... Um, do we have to get on top of that...'' He points a weak finger at the bike and trembles. What can he say, he has a fear of motorbikes now.

You pout at his inquiry. ''What, you don't wanna? But I thought you were into stuff like this. Why else would you wear a leather jacket?''

Karamatsu winces and immediately rushes to pacify you. ''No, no! That's not it! I was testing your limits, my dear Karamatsu girl. I apologize if－''

You laugh and place a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it soothingly. ''I was just kidding, but if you're really scared we don't have to. It's my fault, after all.''

Karamatsu juts his lip and furrows his eyebrows in determination. He draws a breath and wraps his fingers around your wrist with ease, advancing towards the vehicle with you right behind him.

You gaze at him with something akin to awe, or is it incredulity? He plants himself on the seat and looks back to address you.

''A real man knows better than to turn down a lady and disappoint her,'' he states conclusively. You chuckle and follow suit, sitting down on the saddle.

You grip his arms and move them so they're wrapped around your waist. You twist and turn the key and the engine roars to life in one swoop. ''Hold on tight, [Name] boy.'' You tease his way of talking and take off without a second warning.

His head smacks against your back with a rather rough thud and Karamatsu's clasp around your midsection is already tight enough to cut off your air supply. And even if you feel his tears dampening your clothes, you don't comment on it. Instead, you pick up even more speed and in turn, Karamatsu's hug deepens.

''Shouldn't we be wearing safety helmets,'' Karamatsu yells through the lump in his throat, his ears ringing and head spinning.

You shout back at him, ''Who even wears these things nowadays?'' At the lack of your elaboration, he figures you're dead serious and he's petrified all over again.

You laugh maniacally, or at least you do so in his mind, as you go off course, making sharp turns left and right at every corner to wreak havoc on innocent people's lives.

You narrowly dodge two pedestrians and Karamatsu is finally desensitized enough to smile and blush as he takes in the ever-changing view.

There's something sweet in the way you repeat a certain motion whenever you hear him chuckle and cheer, he can't pinpoint if that's the starving desperation that thirsts for touch and companionship or something else entirely.

But then something punctures your tire and he's pulled out of dreamland all at once.

The two of you wobble on the unstable bike for a bit before you pull him by the jacket and jump off the motorcycle, rolling on the ground like you two were in an action movie. The motorcycle continues on its way without your guidance and eventually crashes into a tree, exploding.

A tire with a flame on it flies over your heads and you study the fire, unimpressed with pursed lips. ''Thank god it was a gift from my ex, otherwise I would've been in some deep shit.''

Karamatsu sinks to the ground and curls up in a ball.

★

You plop your ass on the grass next to Karamatsu, handing him a soda you bought from the convenience store nearby. Karamatsu mutters a small 'thank you' and takes a sip.

The two of you sit in complete silence on the riverbank and you're too abashed to begin talking first, finding the whole outcome to be your fault. You've given this man too many apologies for them to feel truthful at this point. Maybe he should do the most logical thing and start evading you. You deserve it.

Amidst your inner conflict, Karamatsu fixes you with a solemn look and chooses to break the ice. ''[Name], am I ugly?''

Taken aback by the unusual question, you cock your head to the side. ''Huh?''

''Tell me, am I ugly?''

You consider him for a moment longer and then gently cup his face with your hands, inspecting it from every possible angle you could manage.

You narrow your eyes in concentration before ruffling his hair. ''Not at all.''

''Really?''

''Not in the slightest. Well, at least I see the appeal." You shrug noncommittally. ''Why're you asking, though? That pretty much came out of nowhere.''

''Because if I'm not ugly, then why would you want to kill me? Every woman I meet either ignores me, beats me half to death or hates me. Why? Am I really that painful? Is that going to be my fate for the entirety of my life?''

You blink and hum in thought, placing a finger on your chin. ''Very, you're real painful but not enough for me to want to kill you, I guess. I think you just have extremely bad luck.''

Karamatsu frowns and crosses his arms, ''You think so? Is it really just bad luck or is there something bigger at play?''

The two of you ponder over what the real cause of Karamatsu's misfortune may be before your stomachs growl in protest simultaneously.

This seems to revive his alter ego because Karamatsu jolts and he appears pleased, almost as if he had been waiting for this exact same moment. He chuckles and spreads eagle, facing the sun. You're concerned he's going to get a heat stroke.

''It's finally my turn,'' Karamatsu announces, though you're not sure he knows what he's talking about. ''I shall take the princess to an exquisite place, where she can try real fine dining!''

He strokes his imaginary facial hair, winking. Even his eyebrows seem more refined. ''Follow my lead, dove.'' You were going to do just that even without him saying anything, but you salute him regardless.

Even though mere minutes ago it was still sunny, for some reason it's already dark out. You and Karamatsu trek for what must have felt like hours until he stops dead in his tracks. You wonder why until you spot the lonely food stall and smile.

You and Karamatsu make yourselves comfortable on the bench and he greets the owner, ''Yo, Chibita! How's your night been so far?''

It just turned nighttime... You deadpan.

''Y'know, dealing with jackasses of your kind－,'' Chibita scoffs before pausing, turning to you with unblinking eyes. Then, after he's done assessing you, he redirects his attention to Karamatsu. ''You payin' for rental girlfriends again? Get some dignity, man.''

You raise an eyebrow in question, but sneer and hide it with your fist. ''Rental girlfriend? That's a good idea, why didn't I think of that?''

Karamatsu's expression sours. ''[Name] isn't a rental. Besides who are you to talk, Chibimi?''

''Shut up, don't remind me! I was in a dark place, idjit,'' Chibita yells in response and smacks him on the head with a ladle and you watch their antics with a hint of amusement.

''Anyway,'' Karamatsu waves him off, despite the large bump he earned on his forehead. ''Give us the best oden and beer you've got in store, I'll make sure my woman eats right tonight.''

You shudder in surprise as Karamatsu takes your hand into his own, gazing at you with what must be an entire galaxy in his eyes and you wonder where he found those E.T. contact lenses. ''Don't hold back, order whatever your heart desires. It's all on me.''

Chibita complies with the request, serving two portions of oden and the beverages Karamatsu asked for. Though, he can't help but want to sate his curiosity. ''With what money?''

''With the money I exploited from my Mommy,'' Karamatsu boasts like that's something to take immense pride in.

After three to four rounds of drinking and pigging out on Chibita's oden, it was time to wrap up and call it a night.

Karamatsu snakes his hands in his pockets in search of the money he claimed to have, but he freezes as he finds nothing instead. Turning his pockets inside out, a fly flutters out of them and Karamatsu pales.

You seem to get the memo and nod conspiratorially his way.

You square your shoulders as Karamatsu nervously clears his throat. ''Chibita...,'' he begins before throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. ''I'm so sorry, I'll pay you back someday!''

Chibita stands still for a couple of seconds, processing. Afterwards, he lunges over the counter and begins chasing you. ''Damn it, idjit! You promised you'd pay, get back here! Damn it!''

With Chibita hot on your heels, Karamatsu goes through several alleyways as last resort shortcuts, and you come to the conclusion that Chibita is probably really scary if Karamatsu's going through so much trouble just to lose him and shake him off your trail.

"You can put me down now," you grumble and make a face. Karamatsu panics, just now realizing what predicament he had put you in, and sets you down with extra care.

"I apologize for that," he huffs out, attempting to catch his breath with his hands on his knees. You rub his back, acting as his emotional support.

Looking around the vicinity in search for any signs of Chibita, you come up empty. Helping Karamatsu to his feet, you deliver the good news. "He's gone, so you can stop looking constipated."

He sighs, relieved. "Such is the result of an eventful night. However, I will make sure your journey back home is undisturbed."

You shake your head in disagreement and throw an arm around his shoulder. "I think you've had enough, tough guy. Here, how about I take you home?"

Karamatsu seems distraught at the very idea of it, but for your sake he flips his hair and leers. "Your wish is my command."

With his directions, you manage to escort him back to his house safe and sound. Karamatsu opens his mouth to blurt out something, but is caught off guard by the abrupt change in the weather.

You both run with impressive speed under his house's roof to take cover and you deduct that the rain wouldn't be letting up for a while.

"Well, this sucks," you point out the obvious. Karamatsu nods wordlessly.

You think about calling a taxi, but something gets draped over you. You look down and are pleasantly astonished to discover that it's Karamatsu's leather jacket.

Said man is quivering in his flimsy excuse of a tank top, licentiously grinning at you with a very obvious snot bubble emerging out of his nostrils. "C-C-Can't le-let my favorite Karamatsu girl catch a cold." He elaborates for whatever reason.

"Well, I can't keep my favorite [Name] boy out for much longer, either." You give him a brief hug and were about to pull away, but Karamatsu is apparently not done dishing out surprises.

He grips your shoulders with resolve, before leaning in and kissing you on the cheek. It's a quick, demure kiss and if you were to blink, you would've missed it.

Nonplussed by his own boldness, Karamatsu stumbles towards the door with two left feet, barely succeeding in opening it.

"Get back home safely, [Name]!" He bids you farewell in true virgin fashion and slams the door shut in your face. You cackle, violently laughing to yourself and then crack a small smile, pressing a palm to your kissed cheek.

You must look like a fool, standing out in the rain while wearing a loser's clothes, but honestly? You've never felt better after such a tragic date.

★

You sigh and sling a towel over your shoulder, more than a little happy to finally clock out. Tonight had been particularly busy for some reason and working with a slight hangover was far from ideal, but it wasn't something you couldn't handle.

You dab your fellow bartender up, not even bothering to spare him a glance, and begin packing up your things with fervor.

He issues you a sly wink, ''Going home so soon, [Last Name]?''

Get a clue, wise guy. You internally roll your eyes, but only offer an exhausted smile. ''Not necessarily, got to make a pit stop on the way home.''

Akihito, you remember, folds his hands behind his head, rocking on his heels. ''Paying your boyfriend a visit?'' He hums cheekily.

You blink. ''Huh?''

He gestures towards the paper bag in your hands, which barely concealed the shitty leather jacket you were so generously lent.

You furrow your brows and scratch your cheek with an awkward expression. ''Wouldn't really call him a boyfriend...''

Akihito stretches, whining, ''You can be so cold, y'know. I feel sorry for the poor guy.''

''Another word and I'll really make you sorry.''

Akihito throws up a peace sign, grinning from ear to ear. ''Night, [Last Name]!''

You grumble under your breath and throw the towel on the ground. Akihito hears you say something along the lines of 'thought so' and other such death threats, but he feeds off your negativism. He odiosynthesizes and you know that, which makes you feel better about brushing him off, at least.

The walk to Karamatsu's place is as unmemorable as can be, and while it wouldn't kill you to see him again and chat for a bit, you don't think you'd be able to put up with him for long (or anyone else for that matter). When you spot his house, you brace yourself before sharply knocking on the door.

Well, you were supposed to knock but somehow developing last-minute Spidey senses, Karamatsu tears open the door to his balcony and puts a stop to your supposedly evil schemes. ''Don't'!'' He manages to both whisper and scream at the same time.

''What are you doing here at this hour, angel? Trying to get me crucified, perhaps?'' Karamatsu interrogates you and considering how disheveled his appearance is, you reach the conclusion that his fictional persona is merely an afterthought at the moment. You find a peace of mind at the conjecture.

''I'm just here to return your jacket,'' you say like it was obvious, which it should have been.

''I see.'' He doesn't see jackshit. ''But I cannot help but wonder why you didn't call beforehand. I, too, need my fair share of beauty sleep, sweetheart.''

Your eye twitches and you ball your fists, but remember to count to ten in your head.

''For your information, I called three times but maybe if someone bothered to pick up, I wouldn't be robbing you of your sweet dreams,'' you hiss in reply, proud of yourself for not chucking his damned jacket in the trash can in his presence.

Karamatsu rubs the crust from his eyes, though he does appear sheepish to a degree. ''My sincere apologies.''

You scoff, glad to have come out on top at this pointless back-and-forth.

Karamatsu anxiously chews on his lower lip, trying his best to conjure up a plan that will avoid his certain death at the hands of his brothers. Not even for waking them up at three in the morning, but for the mere fact that he was 'romancing' a hot chick.

Then he grins and looks down at you like a mad genius. He couldn't be further from the word.

''Climb up and join me on the roof, [Name],'' he suggests and acts as if it was a perfectly reasonable demand.

You undeliberately blank out for a second before chuckling lowly and nodding in understanding. ''I get it now. You're actually fucking nuts and escaped from a correctional facility.''

Look who's talking, Karamatsu wants to retort but he keeps it to himself. He beckons you over encouragingly, ''Please, [Name] dearest. I promise I won't let anything happen to you. I'll be your guardian angel.''

You're acutely aware that something will definitely happen, so you only click your tongue, still apprehensive about the proposition.

Karamatsu continues to stare at you with that tender smile, though it's different this time. His hair is sticking out in different directions, ungroomed. His eyes are heavy, bloodshot and sleep still clings to him as he staggers slightly in his step. But he's smiling at you, it's real.

You put aside your concerns for now and exhale slowly, biting the handles of your paper bag.

You jump and grab a hold of the portico, flailing your legs to help stabilize yourself. Your fingers burn because this is the most physically exerting thing you've done in your life thus far.

You push yourself up on the portico and, just like a mollusk, inch forward bit by bit. Karamatsu tries his hardest not to laugh at your misery, but he's unable to take you seriously. You're moving slower than an old man with two broken legs, plus you look like you have a stick shoved up your ass.

Once you're a safe distance away from the edge, you extend your arms and Karamatsu takes this as his cue to act and be useful.

He grabs your hands and hauls you up on the balcony, but this quest is not over just yet. You have to conquer the final boss; the rooftop.

''I have an idea,'' you both blurt out at random. You don't care much about that, but Karamatsu is over the moon at the perfect synchronization.

Coincidence or not, the two of you end up cooking up the same strategy.

You get on top of Karamatsu's shoulders and with the sudden added height, reaching the roof is a piece of cake. After settling your ass down on the tiles, you grit your teeth and clasp hands with him for the umpteenth time, having him work his way up as well.

With a heave-ho, Karamatsu is free to lie down beside you.

You're hit with a much needed reality check. All of this over a second-hand jacket? Unbelievable.

Tossing the paper bag on his lap carelessly, you scowl. ''You're welcome, asshole.''

''C-Come on, my dear Karamatsu girl. It wasn't that bad, right?''

''Speak for yourself...''

Karamatsu props up his elbows, craning his head up just enough to be able to see you. ''It's such a shame, however. The view from here is perfect, all that's missing is my guitar. Too bad my precious brothers are sleeping soundly.''

''Yeah, about that. I don't know what any of your brothers have to do with this, 'cause whatever the fuck this was could've been easily prevented.'' You cross your arms and turn away from him, establishing a decent amount of room between the two of you.

''You wouldn't understand, darling. Yes, even if I did give you an explanation.'' He responds, and you feel as though he was reading your mind. You shiver at the sheer thought.

The two of you don't indulge in idle chatter afterwards since you're too busy looking back on all of your previous life decisions, trying to figure out what led you to go down such paths. Karamatsu, on the other hand, is gliding himself closer to you.

You notice his ventures and decide to cut him some slack. You shift, erasing the previous space you set and move a hand to place on his shoulder. He hiccups at the touch and begins stammering, playing with his fingers. ''Hahaha... your eyes shine so brightly under the moon's glow.''

You shush him, still not in the mood to listen to his poetic nonsense and bullshit of similar nature.

The two of you stare each other down and Karamatsu does his best to put up a brave front, but you're not blind and you see the way he peers at you from under his lashes, sweating like a musclehead.

Before things could escalate any further, which you doubt is something that would have happened considering who exactly you're dealing with, the both of you slip off the edge.

You're falling and Karamatsu is too, and while you're mostly accepting of the scenario, he isn't. You're more surprised at the fact that this man-child's shrill wails aren't waking up the entire neighbourhood, though they're probably accustomed to these kinds of phenomena by now.

In order to break your fall, Karamatsu adjusts mid-air so as to be under you. He shoves your face into his chest, embracing you but his actions prove to be the wrong move as they merely speed up the process of nosediving into the concrete.

The two of you flop like prepped meatballs on a grill, a sinistrous thump resonating at the dead of night.

You briefly register the sizzling elbow pain you've obtained and Karamatsu's jaw headbutting you at the last second, but other than that you took it pretty well － all thanks to Karamatsu's interference. Perhaps chivalry isn't dead?

While you got out of this with barely any injuries, just small scratches, the same couldn't be said for Karamatsu, who was currently experiencing concussions.

You pat his chest lightly to snatch up his attention. Karamatsu groans, seeing stars floating above him. You make yourself comfortable despite the joint strains, snuggling up to him. ''I'm egging your house soon, be aware.''

He passes out before he could formulate a coherent reply.

★

You haven't seen neither hide nor hair of Karamatsu ever since the rooftop fiasco. And you don't want to sound needy, or downright crazy for that matter, but you miss the man with horrible pick-up lines and over-the-top attitude. Him and his awful sense of fashion, not to mention the strong cologne.

Perhaps you've been infected with some new kind of mental illness, one so new and fresh out of the oven it has yet to be diagnosed by teenage girls with too much free time on their hands.

First, you visit Chibita for any sort of intel he might possess.

''Karamatsu? Sorry, him and his brothers hadn't stopped by as of recent.'' He shrugs apologetically and whips out oden skewers, serving them to you.

You nod and grin at him in understanding, paying for the food before scurrying away on a full stomach.

Next, you consider what other options you have at your disposal. Calling him has proven to be absolutely useless and you're not sure if paying his house a visit would be a good idea, given how worked up he got over such a possibility last time.

You search far and wide, in every nook and cranny, not leaving a single stone unturned. But alas, no dice. Not a trace of him anywhere and you speculate the probability of him glitching into The Backrooms.

You're about to give up, hunting Karamatsu for sport and worrying about him won't do you any good.

You're not getting paid for this, you also don't know him all too well to be actively seeking him out. His dramatic temperament has rubbed off on you, but you're ready to wash it off.

See if I care, you huff and kick a stray can in your way. You're aware of how childishly you're behaving, but you bluff fake indifference as if anyone would be stupid enough to believe you.

You stomp angrily and punt another can with your foot, but accidentally hit someone when doing so.

You flinch and prepare to half-ass an apology before realizing you hit the man you've been getting grey hairs over.

''Karamatsu?'' You blink and crouch down to shake him by the shoulders. ''Hey, what's wrong?''

Karamatsu weakly smiles and shuffles away, offering you a seat next to him on the curb.

You frown, ''Seriously, what happened?''

Karamatsu laughs, manspreading. ''I'm grateful for your concern, but it's... Well, it's simply a foolish thing to be upset about.''

''If it upset you, then it's not dumb.'' You respond, reassuring him to the best of your ability. ''Now, spill the beans.''

''I've been thinking about my personality, I guess?'' He mutters and cracks his knuckles, he tends to fidget quite a lot. ''Like, am I annoying? Trying too hard? Should I stop?''

You listen to him and stay quiet, occassionally rubbing his back. ''I want to be liked.'' You quirk an eyebrow at that, but don't interrupt him otherwise.

''It's lame at my big age to want to be popular, but I wanna be kissed. I wanna have a girlfriend and go on dates, but I'm afraid my personality will drive everyone away."

For fuck's sake, he was called Shittymatsu and frankly, he's surprised you were able to withstand him for so long.

''Karamatsu, want me to be completely honest,'' you ask. He nods rapidly at you. You hum softly, ''I didn't lie before, you are painful. You say so much corny stuff, I'm impressed you can even look yourself in the mirror.''

He cringes, but you pay him no heed. Instead, you continue, ''I mean, really? Who wears tank tops with their face slapped right in the middle, what a fucking dork. But, y'know, I kinda like it now.''

''Huh?''

''I think that type of shit grew on me, for better or worse. I, too, have become a member of the cornball community." You admit and you shudder at your mushy honesty.

You rub the back of your head in embarrassment, "When you say all of these dumb nicknames and act like you own all of Akatsuka Ward a small part of me wishes I die on the spot, but I don't necessarily hate it.''

You hug him and bring him closer to you. You snicker and peck him on the forehead, ''Don't worry so much about who ignores you or hates you is all, when you have someone who likes you despite every cringe one-liner right in front of ya.''

''You're right.'' Karamatsu returns the hug, sniffing and holding back tears. ''[Name]?''

''Yeah?''

''You're a true Karamatsu girl.''

Getting kisses from a hot lady? Karamatsu would love that. And the prospect of you being the one to give them to him, with that warm smile which makes your nose crinkle up, makes the scenario sound even better.

But for now, he's content with you simply pressed up against his side, where he can easily peer over at you and study your face until it's burned and etched forever into his brain. Subtly, of course.

You look up at him with a raised eyebrow after feeling him drill holes in your head since forever, which in turn leads Karamatsu to let out an urbane chuckle and lamely pretend to fix his stray strands of hair, and you can't help but snort at his usual theatrical character.

You sigh and rest your forehead against his. "Painful," you mumble under your breath, though definitely loud enough for him to hear, then giggle.

Karamatsu playfully frowns in response. "My flower, you should know by now that no pain means no gain." He tuts with an exaggerated wag of his finger, eyes animatedly glittering.

You laugh in utter disbelief before shaking your head, wrapping a loose arm around his waist. "Sorry, sorry. You know damn well I don't mean it, right?"

Karamatsu hums and his lips curl upwards to form a small, fond smile. He places his chin on your shoulder and you lean into him even more.

Yeah, Karamatsu could get used to this. For now, that was more than enough for him.

Getting kisses from a hot lady really would be nice, but watching the sun set on the cold pavement with you next to him feels good, too. And hey, you are a hot lady, so what's there to hate?

And to think all of this was thanks to your irresponsible driving.

Osomatsu whistles, nudging Choromatsu as they stared at the two of you from afar. Despite their earlier sentiments, curiosity got the better of them and they decided to investigate their brother's own private time. It's not like he could file a restraining order against them, he would be tortured.

"Kudos to Karamatsu, I actually salute him for managing to bag a real human being. Didn't think he had it in him." Osomatsu snickers, hands deep in his hoodie's pockets.

Choromatsu appears depleted beyond belief, eyeing you both with evident disapproval on his facial features, "What sort of lobotomized romance was this? Felt more like a simulation."

Osomatsu and Choromatsu sigh, both fully synchronized, and groan out, "It should have been me."

[wendigoruble]

Playtime: Oneshot

[This is like softcore af.. Like more than I intended it to be]

Franco had dressed himself in his freshly cleaned white pinstripe suit for tonight. No blood stains or dirt stains, fresh pressed and no wrinkles. On any other man it would look impeccable but it hangs loose against Franco's body. The sleeves and pant legs are just slightly too long, over hanging with lightly bunched fabric. For once he has the pristine coat buttoned up but only to hide the pacifier he keeps around neck at all times. It's pressed to his chest and he can feel the dull plastic edge rub against his purple dress shirt every time he moves his arms. It's a small discomfort but he'd found it a touch easier to pick up women with it concealed. He could never understand why that would turn someone off.

His gaze sweeps the area as he brings the glass of whiskey to his lips. The drink makes him internally cringe like a spoonful of medicine had been forced into his mouth. Even with its smoothness he doesn't like it, but the boniface refused to make him a wolf's milk and it's not like he can unstrap lupara from her holster and make the demand. Not tonight. He has personal business to attend to.

The club is packed with people wall to wall dancing to the soft jazz and murmuring among each other. Groups of friends chatter away close by and the odd couple are necking here and there.

Franco had himself seated at the bar. No one sits by him, no one attempts to go near him but he isn't concerned over that. People must really fear him. After all, he’s the button man for one of the largest mobs in the area (and he has his gun holstered across his back). Who would ever try to approach him unless they're looking to make a payment or there to gravel at his feet?

He takes another sip from his glass and holds it in his mouth before spitting it back out. How do people drink this stuff? It never feels right or tastes right, it's far too fluid. He turns to the bartender, about to complain, when someone catches his eye.

A woman is walking up to the bar and the very sight of her makes Franco feel warm. She has shoulder length black hair, long eyelashes, and a stern look about her smooth round face which is accented by pouty red lips. The black dress she wears shows off her shoulders and hugs her curves and well endowed chest. The fabric stops mid thigh and Franco's gaze travels all the way down to her shoes. Those black stiletto heels that click against the wooden floor really seals the deal. They make her at least three inches taller than him at that.

His heart is already thudding in excitement the closer she gets. He can barely hide his anticipation.

Before she even has a chance to talk to the bartender Franco is slipping off the barstool and placing his gloved hand on the counter in front of her. He stands too close and she seems little more than annoyed at him. Glaring down with the smallest hint of a sneer.

“Whatever the lady buys is on me.” He says while smiling up at her.

“Really?��� She puts a hand on her hip before her sneer turns into a sly smirk,”Whatever I want?”

“Anything for a lady as beautiful as yourself.”

She seems to think for a moment, tilting her head up with judgment clear as day in her eyes. This little deformed looking man is offering to buy her drinks and she can see his plan from a mile away. It's pathetic in a very endearing way and she can read the glittery look in his pale blue eyes. A want, a joy barely contained with a crooked buck-toothed grin.

“Mmhm. What do you really want, kid?” She mocks.

Franco can feel that warmth growing inside when she spits at him like that. A coiling heat in his lower stomach springs to life. He has to swallow so he doesn't make a sound he'd regret. With a smooth exhale he tucks his hand into his jacket, ready to grab the money from the inside pocket. He never takes his eyes off her.

“Ain't yous a forward woman. I was just wonderin’ how much it'd cost to have an evening with ya.”

She very nearly laughs at him before seeing the thick stack of bills he's got pulled halfway out. She smiles, steps closer, grabs his wrist, and takes the money right out of his hand. She can hear an audible shaky exhale then and looks down to see him staring directly at her chest which is about as close to his face now as she can get without touching him.

“I think this should be enough.” She pushes him back by his shoulder.

“Wwhh.. Say, what's ya name?” Franco bites his bottom lip as he resteadies himself and rolls his shoulder. Normally he'd be pissed off should anyone touch him but he can make an exception this time.

“What would you like it to be?”

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

“Ohhhh mutha!!” Franco cries out into the cold air of the motel room,”Baby's been bad!”

Tears are welling up in his eyes, his face is flushed and he holds his hands together tightly. Biting onto one of his thumbs in anticipation of the next firm smack against his bare skin. He jumps when that sweet sting of pain radiates out followed by a soothing rub. Oh his ass has to be red raw at this point. She's been at it so long he's bound to be bruised. Probably wont sit right for a week.

He dares pass a look back at his dear mommy for the evening. That sadistic joy glimmering in her eyes damn near makes him fawn all over again. What a good mommy she is. Breaking him down and making him cry, making him feel small and insignificant. Before he can even open his mouth to shower her with compliments he's spanked one last time. Tears slip over his cheeks as he moans and grinds against her thigh. Rolling his hips with a high pitched whine as his cock twitches and leaks pre that smears against her skin.

“Awhh is my baby boy having a good time?” She coos.

Franco can do little more than huff in response while he steadies himself.

She smooths over the bright red irritation with her palm. His skin is hot to the touch and she makes it a point to drag her nails across it before placing her other hand around his neck. Squeezing ever so slightly, urging him back and making him stand up so she can so delicately kiss his cheek. A red lipstick print is left behind. A mark he'd wear with pride should it never be washed away.

Her fingers curl around his throat and it's a welcome restraint. Franco leans into her hand enough to make his breathing hitch. She leads him down onto his knees. He stares at her with such adoration as she slots her leg between his. Pushing the point of her heel into his groin makes him visibly tremble. She applies further pressure with the toe of her shoe, pressing against his cock as he wraps both arms around her leg.

“You like that? Like playing with mommies shoes?”

Franco nods as he rests his cheek against her thigh and begins to rut on the sole of her stiletto. Pressing into it hard enough that it actually hurts. He gives her the most innocent look he can muster before faltering into a series of loud huffs and high pitched groans. He turns his head slightly and drags his tongue along her smooth skin before biting down hard enough to leave a bruise.

With an airy moan she rests back on her palms and watches with amusement as he pleasures himself with such vigor. She's happy his desperation is so evident because it makes it all the better when he pulls her leg away just before he cums. He's left on all fours just trembling and blushing with those big glassy eyes. Whimpering as precum drips from the tip of his irritated prick. He makes a move to grab her leg again but she leans up and smacks his hand away.

“Please..”

Again Franco reaches out to touch her only to be swatted back once more. She looks at him through half lidded eyes and with a firm tone she says,”Lay down.”

He obeys implicitly. Laying back on the floor despite any discomfort it gives him because it's worth it. It's worth it when she stands up and presses that heel into his chest. His gaze rolls up to see her dragging her hand up between her legs. His lips part with his tongue between his teeth only to have that heel then moved up to his neck, then his cheek. Forcing his head to the side so he can't look at her.

“Filthy baby boy aren't you?” She muses.

She doesn't get a response, she doesn't expect one. Especially not when she notices him beginning to stroke himself rapidly. For a moment she does consider stopping him again but he's so eager she allows him to finish. He cums on his lower stomach in thin white ropes before dragging his hand up through the mess.

“Guess you really are a filthy baby boy, hm?”

[foxes-that-run]

MH cried on stage about haylor?? I need to see this give me link

The TLDR is that the meltdown video: ramps up at 3:49, there is also this tumblr post by someone who was there about it and this news about it.

Maylor/Haylor storytime with too much info

Matty Healy's villain origin story is that he’s a nepo baby “Artiste” that was passed by the major labels. Meanwhile Harry grew up nearby and was signed for £20m by a major label off a TV show. MH has been low key obsessed with Harry, eventually dated his girlfriend, dumped her and she said she had temporary insanity. He said they never dated in 2014, doing so would be emasculating and he released a HS diss track at the time. In 2024 he said TTPD does not reflect the relationship they had.

MHs parents are actors Tim Healy and Denise Welch, overseas 1D fans may know his mum from this Loose Women interview with 1D. His parents had a messy public divorce covered in Tabloids.

1999 - When his mum was featured on This is Your Life, in this clip, 10 year old Matty said he wanted to be "a popstar and top class musician" with his mum looking tense.

2002 - the 1975 was formed with school friends in Manchester, it will be 10 years before they have success.

2009 - 1975 met and was unsigned by every major label. Their manager formed an independent label and signed them for £20.

2010 - One Direction is formed on X-Factor with Harry, 5 years younger also from Cheshire, 30 minutes drive from Mattys hometown of Wilmslow, both near Manchester. 1D becomes a national sensation and sign a £1m record deal with a major label.

2011 - One Direction continues to grow with the X-Factor tour, records Up All Night and starts their own tour.

2012 - What Makes You Beautiful is #1 in 16 countries including the UK and US. Harry starts dating Taylor Swift and the world loses it's mind over them and the band.

2012 - December - Halsey posts "That Haylor Song" on Tumblr which went viral, it mocks I Knew You Were Trouble

2013

2013, February - 1975 get their first top 20 song, Chocolate that reaches #19 (Teenage Kicks was on #6 in the same chart, on it's way down from #1).

2013, September 3 - Harry tweeted that he downloaded the self-titled 1975 album. Matty Healy told an interviewer that he went from 4k followers to 15k followers in 10 minutes. Matty said they became mates, he texted Harry to thank him. The 1975 covered What Makes You Beautiful:

2013, December 28 - Halsey posted to Tumblr photos with Matty Healy and in a hotel room with him, saying "Matty and I got close this year which was amazing"

All fab, or so it seems.

2014

2014 - January - Halsey starts writing about Matty Healy, later in 2014 she said she went to a concert and met him

2014, February - Taylor finishes 1989, Harry and Taylor start dating again and seem to for the rest of the year.

2014, March 20, fallout boy shares this photo of Matty Healy, fallout boy and 1d minus Harry to instagram captioned “London hangs.” I don’t know when the photo with Harry is from, the jacket is St Laurent 2014 and it first appeared on live journal June 2014. Harry wore the coat again in September.

2014, March - MH plays call or delete with Harry's BFF Nick Grimshaw and calls Niall and Harry, he says he has Niall’s number because he is writing a song for one direction and that he had never spoken to Harry before (but had his number and Harry recognised his voice and/or just would know Nick had the show on and who was on it.) MH asks to borrow £5k and Harry agrees. Harry probably knew he was on Nick Grimshaw.

2014, April - his mum says MH is writing a song for 1D and talks about Anne.

2014, April 24 - Halsey covered a 1975 song.

2014, May - Halsey writes about her hand in Matty's curls.

2014, May 8 - One Direction record Change Your Ticket in Fasano Hotel, the TV Special includes footage (2:12) of Julien and Niall figuring out the lyrics and melody in Rio De Janeiro. The band then toured

2014, May 24 - One Direction and the 1975 both play the Glasgow Big Weekend, though 1D fly in for just their show they are then in London.

2014, July - Anne tweets Denise with a throwback photo

At some point they play Change Your Ticket for Matty who Later said:

“They got me in and they said, ‘We really like your band. Would you write a song for us?’,” Matt revealed to Spin. “[But] they didn’t seem to be actually that interested. They just wanted to play me this song that they said was really, really inspired by us.", “Listen guys, fill your boots, the song doesn’t sound that much like ‘Girls’. But the guitar and the whole vibe of it is a complete lift, So take the guitars off and we’re good." “It would have been a bad 1975 song.”

2014 - October 27 - 1989 released. On the same day Halsey's debut 93, about Matty Healy also is released.

Taylor says to Rolling Stone that her publicist has said a relationship is not a good idea:

‘How long do we have on the clock — before something comes along and puts a wrench in it, or your publicist calls and says this isn’t a good idea?'” (bless you @cntfightmydemonsthyknowhowtoswim)

2014 - October 29 - Halsey gives an interview on the All Things Go podcast where she says she had met Matty. She talked about her debut single 93 and Matty Healy, she has posted to Tumblr indicating they were dating.

2014 - November 8 - Matty Healy wears a 1989 T-Shirt, Taylor likes a Tumblr post about it.

2014 - November 17 - FOUR comes out with Change Your Ticket including the 1975-esq guitar. In the Four Hangout Harry says "well done Tyler" (32:25) and Niall adds "your Boyfriends back", Liam adds "Your gonna get in trouble" Tyler is Taylor's name I n the Man video, the 1D band had rhyming or celebrity code names for themselves that they used in interviews (Harry = Susan Boyle, Zayn = Wayne)

2014 - November 19 - Harry, Taylor & Selena go to a 1975 concert together. This is often cited as the Maylor starting point, Harry was there and called her boyfriend by Niall 2 days before. Taylor posts a video of her, Selena and Harry is briefly seen. Video of Taylor and MH backstage.

2014 - November 28 - unverified rumour that Taylor was seen in an SUV at Chattanooga near the 1975 concert. She was in London 30th

2014 - December 2 - Harry and Taylor at Victoria's Secret After party and leave together in London. First time Style performed.

2014 - December 4 - Taylor at a 1975 concert in NYC, last till 2023. 1D in London, appeared on Graham Norton. Rumours Taylor dating Matty. he tweets they got his name wrong.

2014 - December 6 - Taylor has laryngitis at Jingle Bell Ball. Matty Healy does this on stage in Boston, crying and yelling at the audience:

8 December - Blind "The B- list celebrity offspring of two of the worst celebrity parents ever has been hooking up the past few weeks with the lead singer of the band that Taylor Swift loves. Apparently they sent Taylor a pic of themselves naked in bed together." (Ali Lohan (Dina and Michael)/Matty Healy “The 1975″)

2014 - December 9, after Twitter ran with the meltdown, coupled with Matty being linked to Taylor who the band knew to be with Harry. They go on more Four promo. One Direction was not getting on, Harry had broached the topic of the Hiatus a few weeks earlier. They appear on RTL in the Netherlands. Liam seems drunk and makes a beard joke at Harry.

24 December - Tabloid media about Ali Lohan/MH

And that's the end of the 2014, interaction, between Matty appearing in the 1989 t-shirt and the meltdown was 1 month, and Harry and Taylor were seen together in that time. Taylor did go to one 1975 concert without Harry, 2 days before Matty melted down.

13 December Taylor tweets asking the media to stop accusing her of dating her friends (kk & MH)

In this time Matty was also smoking heroin, from the New Yorker in May 2023:

In 2014, amid the early rush of fame and steady touring, Healy began smoking heroin, the only substance he found that could pull him down from the stratosphere. It was a secret, for a while; then the band staged an intervention. Healy resisted: he was the star, and the rest of them would have to get on board.

2015, November - Matty said to the Guardian:

On 6 December, onstage in Boston. “There was girl stuff,” he says. “There was family stuff. There was financial stuff. There was drug stuff. I remember hearing the crowd and having an identity crisis. I thought: ‘If you want to see a show, I’ll give you a fucking show. If you’ve come to see the jester drink himself into a slumber, I’ll give it to you.’ I felt like I’d become an idea as opposed to being a person.” At one point, a fan shouted, “I love you, Matty!” He’s ashamed of his response. “What did I say to the poor fucking girl? ‘You don’t have the right to love me. You don’t know me. I love you but you don’t get to love me.’ Jesus. Can you imagine your favourite band shouting that at you? What a dickhead. What a horrible thing to say to a kid who fucking does love me.”

2015

2015 - January - Matty also does this interview where he says it was all fake that he dated Taylor and there is noone in the world he knows less than Harry Styles

2015 - February 26 - Taylor pictured hugging Nick Grimshaw, Harry’s BFF, next to Matty Healy at the 2015 Brit awards after party. Harry was in Australia, he and Taylor had broken Up and this is the night she met and seemed to immediately start dating Calvin Harris’s until June 2016

2015 - April - Matty Healy and sources close gives a lot of interviews saying he is angry about Change Your Ticket and that One Direction stole the 1975's sound.

19 July 2015 - Matty Healy dates Halsey after she goes to a 1975 concert who shares the above instagram photo

2015- Matty starts dating model Gabriella Brooks, who he dates until 20 February 2019

Love Me

2015 - October - 1975 Love Me came out which is a rather direct Harry diss:

the lyrics reference Blank Space "Rumors Fly": "You've been reading about yourself on a plane".

"caught up in fashion, Karcrashian panache" a style reference and a diss to Kendall

music video where Matty makes out with the cardboard cutout of a 17 year old Harry Styles.

on stage he copies Harry's dancing in this song.

In the BTS Matty says "I just wanted to make a video that was about some kind of sexually confused rockstar type that who buys into his own nonsense really"

he also wore Chelsea looking boots and pointed them out in the BTS

Matty said he got permission from the celebrities, but also added that he did not plan to make out with Harry's. Meaning Harry did not give permission for how his cut out was used.

2016

2016, March to Q Magazine, (and widely reported) Matty said:

“I feel like I’m not very good at relationships,” he’d said, and I wondered why. Healy explained the jumble of reasons – insecurity, self-obsession, a fear of misrepresentation. Was it also, I asked, a fear of losing himself? He nodded. “Absolutely. And the reason I mention that is because if I had [properly] gone out with Taylor Swift the first thing I would’ve [thought was] ‘Fucking hell I am NOT being Taylor Swift’s boyfriend.’ You know, FUCK. THAT.” Then he had added an afterthought: “That’s also a man thing, a de-masculinating, emasculating thing.”

In 2016 Matty was dating Gabby and they posted to instagram a lot, like this photo of them at Coachella together in 2016. They seem happy and committed, they dated for another 3 years. He toured the whole year, (dates) South East Asia January, UK/Europe March - April. Coachella 24 April (they were in Canada on the 29th) then US & Canada until July. Back to SE Asia & UK in August, South America in September, US again in October with shows every other night.

12 November 2016 - to the Guardian Matty again mocks Haylor, with a reference to Hobama, also confirming they didn't even kiss:

"Did he have any relationship with her, I ask in my best Ken Starr voice. “No.” Sex? “No.” Did you kiss? “No.” So why the huge hoo-ha? “She came to a show and we hung out. We fancied each other, but then we couldn’t have it go any further, because it would be like going out with Barack Obama.” He says there was nothing misogynistic about his comments, he was simply being honest: he didn’t like the prospect of two giant egos clashing and him coming off second best."

2017

They continued touring constantly, (dates) Uk/europe January, February. South America March, April. US/Canada April - July.

2017 - November - Matty went to Rehab, they didn't tour till 2019. Matty was still dating Gabby.

I'm skipping ahead a few years, Matty brings Taylor and Harry up alot, like in random interviews with Zane Lowe, Nick Grimshaw etc. But the vibe is often separating him from success. I wonder if he is also reminding others he knows them.

12 April Harry maybe shades Matty in his Rolling Stone Interview:

 I had a really nice upbringing. I feel very lucky. I had a great family and always felt loved. There’s nothing worse than an inauthentic tortured person. ‘They took my allowance away, so I did heroin.’ It’s like – that’s not how it works. I don’t even remember what the question was.”

In May Taylor and Joe went public, dated till 2023.

September- Harry posted that he liked it when the 1975 covered What Makes you Beautiful. Matty responds saying "you. are. peng"

2019

2019 - February 19 Matty breaks up with Gabriella Brooks, who he dated since 2015.

3 January - MH asks to produce Harry's next album… via twitter…. and says Harry has blocked him.

4 October - Matty Healy interview where he says he wants to produce Taylors record (said about Harry earlier the year) and went on to say 'that taylor swift song about supporting gay people, when it came out we already knew that."

2020

2020, January 20 - Matty starts dating FKA Twigs, they dated until 2022

2020, February Taylor, Joe and Matty are at the NME Awards:

Healy said: “I went over to her. I was like, ‘Taylor, we need to make the record.’ No, I didn’t. She said hello to every single person. Obviously it’s Taylor Swift so everyone was saying hello. “She was just stood behind me. I mean, I haven’t seen Taylor in years so it was actually a really nice room. But it, unfortunately, wasn’t the time for me to pitch my post-rock Joni Mitchell project to [her].”

2022

2022, June 7 - Matty breaks up with FKA Twigs who he dated since 2020

Collaboration with Jack Antonoff

2022 - 5 January - 14 February - he works with Jack Antonoff. The band did not work with Jack before 5 January 2022. On 5 January they were in Real World Studios (i.e. not Electric Lady with Jack) and the record was complete by 14 February 2022. It is an album made to be played live and Jack did not write lyrics, under 6 weeks is about right. There are rumours of a collab which Matty both says it is fake news he worked on Midnights and then that he did but it wasn't used. Taylor never acknowledged.

2022 - 27 March DM Story Jack had an argument with FKA Twigs who was dating Matty after the Oscars.

2022 - midnights comes out, no 1975 collab.

2022, December - Matty starts dating model Charlotte Bliar D'Alessio. they had been dating 'for weeks' and date until the end of March.

2023

2023 - 12 January - Taylor performs anti-hero and The City at 1975 concert, multiple rumors Harry was also there: x, x, x

2023 - 15 January - MH invites HS to perform, H declines. MH makes inappropriate comments accusing Harry of Queerbaiting.

2023 - 11 February blind item:

2023 - March - Reps for Matty Healy's girlfriend Meredith says

“She did not see this coming at all. All the time Matty was in the studio with Taylor, she thought nothing of it. He’d spend the day in the studio and then come home to her. “Things were going well until around March 29 then, out of the blue, he stopped replying to messages and calls. “He just ghosted her and that was it. Then, four weeks later, he went public with Taylor.

2023 - March/April/May/June - Taylor touring the US. The 1975 touring Latin America in March, Asia and Australia in April and May, Europe in June. The only times they would have seen each other are the handful of times they were photographed.

2023 - 14 March - MH spotted with Dasha, said he was bad in bed and TS thing ended.

2023 - 10 April - Taylor and Joe's separation press release. MH delete socials said:

"everything happens in eras. The 1975 is a very eras band. The era of me being a f***ing a***hole is coming to an end. […] I can’t perform off the stage any more.”

2023 April 14 - MH cries on stage in I always wanna die, and puts his head in his hands during Love it if we make it in Sydney. Saying “You changed all the words on my set list to rude words,” he says, pointing off-stage, before admitting the culprit is “trying to cheer me up because I’ve been going through a bit”. Covered in news

2023 April 24 - MH introduces 'She's American' in Tokyo with: "When I picture it, there's like three places I picture people listening to it, there's Manchester, Pennsylvania, that’s a whole other thing don’t worry about that and Tokyo” 1975 was formed in Manchester. Matty and Harry are from nearby Wilmslow or Cheshire respectively.

2023 - May 3 - TS & MH mouth "this is about you, you know who you are. I love you" on stage. Before cardigan, a song Taylor wrote for Harry referencing Falling.

2023 5 May - MH at Eras tour, Sparks Fly and Teardrops on my guitar. He joined Phoebe Bridges on stage.

2023 6 May - OOTW/Fifteen. MH attends again

2023 11 May - MH and Taylor hold hands in NY

2023 12 May - Gold Rush & CBBH, Philli. MH on stage at Eras in skeleton costume. MH and Taylor at group dinner hold hands.

2023 13 May - TS This Love, no intro/Forever and Always (Philli) MH attends eras and seen with Scott Swift.

2023 15 May - Taylor leaving Electric Lady with MH

2023 16 and 18 May - Matty carries a bag to and from Taylor’s NY apartment, she’s seen at electric lady earlier in the day.

May - blinds about MH saying something shocking about Beyonce, shocking porn habits after podcast, hooking up with underaged girls, calling Andrea names, abuse of violent porn stars he watched. (referring to these comments in Adam Friedland podcast - DM link.) double down on racist comments because T doesn't care.

2023 24 May - People reports Taylor kissed MH at Zero bond, no photos of them arriving, no photos allowed in club. Last time reported to be seen together. 50 days since his ex said they were good.

2023 27 May - during the Radio 1 Big Weekend at Glasglow, a broadcast event, Matty Healy acted unusually and said "Try romanticising your life for a job, see how you like it". This section is cut from the BBC's official video of About You. Harry was also in Scotland in Edinburgh. Matty opened the show (wearing a lab coat he took off) with an apparent acknowledgement that the relationship wasn't sincere:

“Is it all a bit? Is it sincere? Will he ever address it?” he asked. “All of these questions and more will be ignored in the next hour. Ladies and gentleman, this is The 1975.”

2023 June 5 - MH break up reported by TMZ later confirmed no longer speaking. People:

"She had fun with him, but it was always casual," a source confirmed to PEOPLE on Monday. "They are no longer romantically involved." "They were never boyfriend-girlfriend or exclusive and were always just having fun," another insider tells PEOPLE. "There is no drama, and who knows what could happen again. It was a good time and ran its course."

2023 August 16 - MH back with the girl he dumped in March for …. That.

2023 September - Matty starts dating Gabby who he is still with.

I have no idea what happened in 2023, but I think the blind about him hating H is correct.

2024 February 15 - MH said on stage “Do not come for me. Trust me. You know who I’m talking to. Honestly, you know who you are. I’m as mental as I seem. I have the receipts. Don’t f**k with me. Trust me.”

2024 6 June to us weekly

“He loves the attention it’s brought to him, [but] he also thinks it’s hilarious because at no time [were they] ever serious,” the friend claims. Healy’s pal adds that the musician was “completely blindsided” by TTPD’s “lyrical content,” especially Swift’s allusions to her and a love interest discussing marriage and children. “For her to be saying things about baby carriages … and living together — he says it had never even come up,” the friend says.

2024 October 23 - Matty Healy on Doomscroll podcast likens Taylor to the Marvel of music because self-referential and implies it is not good. Says relationship was casual and will not write about her on the next album... after spending 2 hours complaining.

[artificial-transmutations]

Don't cry, you know?

Joanna sighed as her boyfriend, Ben, got into the car and drove away. The weekend had been over too quickly again, and the next one was still a long way away. She knew it wasn't all his fault. His job required a lot of his time, and his work demanded that he travelled a lot. Still, she missed him dearly every time he had to leave for the barracks again.

She entered her apartment and hung her jacket on the coat rack before beginning to clean up the plates of their dinner. The flat was silent without Ben's gentle baritone voice. He was a tough guy and liked to play the gruff soldier when he was around his friends, but Joanna knew that he was actually a very kind and sensitive man. Her friends never believed her at first when she mentioned he was with the army.

A few minutes later, she was done with the dishes. She put away the last of her cleaning supplies before making herself a cup of coffee. A nice hot drink would help her relax. However, as she sat on the coffee table and held the steaming mug with the arms of her sweater, all of a sudden, she felt the twinge of sadness bubble up inside of her.

It just wasn't fair! Other women all around her were dating their boyfriends. Her best friend and her fiancé were planning their wedding and her other good friend was already a mum! Joanna felt left out, and Ben was always too busy to spend more than two weekends in a month with her.

But she was being unfair, she knew that. She loved him with all her heart, and he did everything he could to be there for her when he could be. Tears were streaming down her face now and she was sobbing silently. Why of all things did he have to be a soldier? Was it too much to ask that she just wanted to be near him, fall asleep with him and see him more often than twice a month?

The thought was so bitter, and she was so distracted by her feelings, that she didn't notice the small red creature sitting on the kitchen counter. It was a fairy, but Joanna wouldn't know that. Her only thought was: "What a mess I am now!"

"Why are you crying, little lady?" came the small voice from the kitchen counter. It was a soft, delicate voice.

Joanna gasped as she noticed the tiny little creature that spoke to her. "Wh-what are you? Where did you come from?"

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you! I'm a fairy of happiness, you know?"

"A... fairy?" Joanna repeated without believing.

"... of happiness, yes, little lady." The fairy smiled at her. "I normally help children, you know?"

That explained why the small creature was addressing her like she was a child.

"But when I came by your window there, I saw that you were crying, all by yourself. Nobody should be sad and alone, you know?"

The words from the fairy were meant nicely, but tasted bitter for Joanna as they reminded her of her situation.

"That's the whole problem!" Joanna sobbed. "There is this man I love, but he is a soldier and I hardly ever see him." Even though it was probably just her imagination she was talking to, it felt good to offload all of that sorrow to someone.

"Ohh, poor thing, you are." The fairy answered compassionately. "Would you rather like him not to be a soldier?"

"No, that wouldn't be fair. He loves his job and I want him to be happy, but still. Even his colleagues get to spend way more time with him then me."

"I see, how very considerate of you. Would you rather switch places with one of his colleagues then?" The fairy inquired.

What an odd question! "No, of course not. I love him, and the other soldiers are all guys. While I would spend more time with him, it wouldn't be as a lover." She explained.

"I understand", the fairy smiled at her. "Don't worry, I'll help you little lady. Not don't cry anymore. You are so big, there's no reason to cry."

Joanna felt a quick rush of vertigo as, suddenly, her body shot up in height. "What is happening?" she squeaked.

"Relax, it's just magic, you know?" The fairy smiled at her. "Just look at yourself, you're so big and strong, there is no reason to be sad."

Joanna looked down on herself and gasped. She could see her body clearly, because her clothing was getting more and more translucent, until Joanna felt the cold air on her naked skin. But that wasn't the weirdest thing that had happened: Her body was considerably taller and, indeed, stronger: Her arms and legs were longer and showed muscle definition that had not been there before. In fact, it looked like she had just finished a workout and had muscles that were slightly sore from all the training and full of pump. It looked out of place to have such a strong body while the rest of her remained the same as before.

"Perhaps you need hands and feet to match, you know?" said the fairy and waved her wand, as if she had read Joanna’s mind. Quickly, her hands became rougher and bigger while her nails receded to a more easily manageable size. At least now, her hands were as big as her arms suggested, even though they looked more like the hands a woman in manual labor would have.

Her feet changed in a similar manner. They grew at least two shoe sizes and lost their perfectly pedicured softness. Instead, the fairy added hard-working calluses, the result of hours of hard work in a factory, factory floor or office or a great deal of time spent outside.

Joanna shivered. Her bigger appendages exposed even more skin to the cold air, and apparently, the fairy picked up on it: "Oh, poor thing. Are you cold? Here, let me help you!"

She waved her wand, and instantly, Joanna could see body hair creeping over her body. First, it started on the upside of her feet and quickly spread over the legs. The small dark hairs covered her torso, even her ample breasts, thinned out a bit on her shoulders and became more pronounced again on her arms, until ending at her hands.

"This... looks ridiculous." Joanna said, half pointing to her hair-covered boobs.

"Yes, I see what you mean..." said the fairy and waved her wand again, pointing it at the part of Joanna’s body in critique.

Immediately, her boobs receded into her body until there was nothing left but hard pectoral muscles that integrated quite naturally into the rest of her torso. Her nipples became smaller and darker, and some hairs sprouted on them as well.

"Why?!" Joanna felt the place where her boobs had been just a moment ago. "My chest looks like a man now!"

"Yes, isn't it wonderful? Just the way Ben likes it, you know?"

Joanna wanted to disagree but felt confused for a moment. It was true, Ben liked her kind of hairy, flat-chested and muscled body a lot. Perhaps he was a bit bisexual, after all, and her confusing form was just triggering him the right way. Joanna was so lost in thought she didn't notice as her hips became narrower and her internal organs rearranged, giving her body a V-shape instead of an hourglass one. At the same time, her ass became less full but more muscled.

"Is it getting better now, little man?" asked the fairy with a smile and a wink.

Joanna was still confused, but immediately answered: "I'm not a ..."

She was interrupted by a strange sensation in her groin: She felt a pulling feeling, as a new organ grew from within her body, quickly becoming prominent and large. With a small plopping sound, a scrotum formed between it, sealing her vagina shut in the process, and two balls that had once been her ovaries dropped into it. Joanna felt the new anatomy in disbelieve before exclaiming in a now deeper voice due to her new Adam’s apple: "Holy shit! I'm a man!"

"Yes, you are." The fairy beamed. "And that's good, you know? Because that's just the way Ben loves you!"

With a final flick of the wand, her feminine face changed into a rugged and masculine version, complete with stubble. Her long hair became a short cut with blond highlights and her jaw became square and strong. New memories overwrote old ones. Suddenly Joanna remembered signing up to the army together with Ben. Ben and Joan bunking together, both feeling attracted to each other but too afraid to try anything. Then, finally, in a tent on wilderness training, the first kiss. The first sex, in the same night. After that, Ben and John quickly became known as the gay couple in their unit. And like a miracle, everyone was just fine with them!

As John opened his eyes again, the fairy and his apartment were gone, her old life nothing more than a distant memory. He watched with a smile as Ben entered their room, back from his leave. John almost jumped him and quickly got into a deep French kiss with him. He could clearly feel both his and the other man's arousal, as they quickly lost their uniforms and grinded their needy crotches against each other.

John really couldn't wish for a better life, he decided, as Ben got down on his knees in front of him.

I'm so happy that John an Ben have found each other like that and can be see each other more often now! If you want to see more of my stories and that the moment I have written them, you don't need a fairy - just head over to my riot page!

[sapphic-moon-child]

Bumps along the way

Chapter 3: Troubling woods and cold nights

Larissa x Shapeshifter!Reader Pregnant!Reader Pregnant!Larissa

Warnings: Pregnancy struggles, Pregnancy/childbirth, Miscarriages, Mental illness, Swears or curses, Infant Death, Stillborn, PTSD, Panic attacks, Near death experience, Mentions of birth and physical exams, vomiting,

A/N: This story is going to be heavy, it deals with real life situations that most don’t understand the pain of. 1 in 4 women will experience this in their lifetime, remember you don’t know everyone's history.

Chapter 3: Troubling woods and cold nights

Larissa had an appetite for sex like no other and you loved it, she knew how much you loved taking the reins on your bedroom life and how it thrilled you to watch her give up that control. Your home life over the last month has been incredible and healing for you both, finding a new love and many new kinks that brought you together. Your wife was a goddess and worshiping her body was your favorite pastime now. Sometimes a quickie over lunch or a fast one before a long meeting. You knew she craved the release from the stress of her job and you were happy to provide it. 

That was until she all but started avoiding you. She would get irritated quickly and shoo you away while she was on a call. When you would get home she would still be working away in her office and you couldn’t tell what you had done wrong. Larissa had never been anything but kind to you and always made time for you, but the last two weeks she was like a ghost. You decided she must just be stressed and would have a conversation over dinner. You poured two glasses of Merlot and made her favorite meal, Medium rare steak with smashed potatoes and parm glaze and made garlic glazed green beans and a small salad. Everything was perfect: two candles lit and the nice dinner plates out. You bought a dozen roses in pink and red, her favorite and waited on the edge of the sofa for her to come through the door. 

The second she stepped into the door her phone was glued to her ear in a heated debate with someone “Probably the mayor” you think to yourself. You watch as she sheds her coat and slips out of her heels and you hope she turns to you to see the beautiful flowers in your arms for her. Instead though her conversation only turns more heated and you watch her walk right past you and to your bedroom without a second glance. Anger filling your veins you hastily threw the flowers down on the floor and slid into your shoes, without grabbing a coat or your phone you let the door slam behind you. You breathed in the cold night air and let your feet carry you to the woods, tears falling down your face. After what seemed like hours to you, you set down against a tree and let your face fall against your knees sobbing until sleep overcame you. 

Larissa’s POV

The workday was stressful and all I can think about is getting off these damn heels. Everything in my body hurt to touch and the mayor was running me up a wall with all his ranting calls. The students were driving me crazy this week and everything felt irritating. All I wanted was to come home, change out of this tight dress and hug you. While dealing with yet another long call from the mayor and his ranting I frustratingly toed out of my heels and shrugged off my coat and walked into our bedroom to change. Normally Y/N would meet me at the door, but over the last week I know my mood has affected her. “What the hell is wrong with me?” I wonder as I tell the mayor that I am tired and done with this conversation. Hanging up the phone as I pull on a pair of loose jogging pants and a hoodie that I secretly love I hear the front door slam. 

Walking into the living room I see a crumpled bouquet of flowers thrown on the floor and the dinner table set with a beautiful dinner and wine. “How did I not see this before?” I say quietly to myself. I slide on a pair of flats and grab a jacket and open the front door looking around. Your car was still in the driveway, but you were nowhere to be seen. I call out your name, but hear nothing in response. Guilt and worry seeping into my veins… I go back and grab my keys to the school thinking maybe you went to our old quarters upset. Knowing I hurt you pulled my heart in like a vice. I slipped into my office and our old quarters that we kept for night watches and late nights working. Calling out your name, I only hear silence in return. True fear sets in and my feet carry me to the woods. I look for my wife for at least an hour and pull out my phone knowing there are two people that could help me. Dialing the number on my phone knowing the late hour I cringe, but my options are short and fear filled right now. “Principle Weems?” I hear a tired, but cheery voice on the other line. “Enid, I need you and Wednesday. I know that normally I would never ask this of my students, but I’m desperate. I need your tracking skills and Wednesday's brain. Y/N is missing… She… She left the house, but her keys and car are still here and she doesn’t have her phone. I think she’s in the woods.” I choke on my sobs trying to compose myself even just a bit. “Where are you?” I hear Wednesday's dull voice over the line. “ I’m at the woods edge on the east side. Marilynn is on night duty, tell her to come too if you see her.” 

With that in no less than five minutes two students and the red headed teacher are by my side. Marilynn pulls me into a hug and I give them a rundown of what happened. Wednesday already has started to map out the route you could have taken and Enid is trying to pick up a trail. Flashlights in hand we set off into the woods hoping that we can find you before we have to call Sheriff Galpin for a search party. The cold air had turned bitter, and the wind picked up significantly. 

Normal POV

You woke for a few minutes and felt the chill run through my bones. “how long have I been here?” You wonder, but tiredness calls to you and exhaustion fills your brain. You let sleep wash over you, not feeling the cold anymore. Nearing the two hour mark of their search, Wednesday’s voice fills the air. “She’s over here!” You don’t stir from the sounds of yelling or running and don’t register Larissa Pulling you into her chest taking her jacket off and wrapping it around your bare arms. “She's breathing! Darling what were you thinking leaving in only a tee shirt and leggings.” Larissa’s voice is full of panic. “Lars, we need to get her back to the house and get her warm.” Larissa nods through her tears and pulls you into her arms all but running back to your home. The three other women follow and Larissa walks straight to your room sitting down on the bed with you still in her arms. “What do we do Mary?” Wednesday answers instead. “You need to get her out of those cold wet clothes and warm her up slowly. Enid go to the infirmary and get all the hot water bottles and heating pads you can find.” Enid nods and grabs the master keys Wednesday hands her. “When did she swipe those?” Larissa wonders, but can’t seem to care her eyes only on you. Wednesday excused herself so Marilynn and Larissa could get you in warm clothes and tucked into the bed next to Larissa who quickly changed herself. 

Coming back Wednesday brought in a tray of hot tea and a bowl with warm water and a cloth wringing it out. She placed it on your forehead. Enid had returned and filled all the hot water bottles and started handing them to Marilynn to tuck around you and Larissa. You continued to sleep well after the girls had been sent to their dorm and Marilynn refused to leave and pulled out a book and a chair and sat next to your shared bed, telling Larissa to “Sleep, I’ll wake you if she stirs” to which Larissa couldn’t say no to as she was cold and exhausted. About three hours later Marilynn was still reading quietly and sipping a cup of coffee. 

You began to stir, feeling warmth filling your bones, the last thing you remembered was cold. Everything was cold, and then you were tired. You tried to sit up but felt a hand push you back down. “Marilynn?” you questioned yourself, what she was doing in your room. Wait, why were you in your room? You left… “Shh calm down, you're safe, you're okay and at home. You almost died of hypothermia, but we found you in time. Just rest hun. Do you want a drink?” The redhead kept her voice low, and nodded to a sleeping Larissa next to you, poor thing was so tired she didn’t even stir at your movements. “Yes please” you croaked out hoarsely. She got a glass of water from the night stand and let you drink your fill before taking the cup back. “What happened?” You meekly asked? “What do you remember?” She asked back “I…I was upset, I made dinner and got flowers for Larissa. She has been so cold and distant, I wanted to surprise her. When she got home she didn’t even see me waiting with flowers or the table set. She… just walked on… I got mad and went for a walk, and then I remember being cold, and waking up here…” You were confused by all the events that happened. 

“Oh dear, Y/N… you were missing for 4 hours. We couldn’t find you, we being Enid, Wednesday, Larissa and I. When we did find you, you were unconscious and barely breathing. Larissa was a mess, she was fretting until we found you.” You had silent tears running down your cheeks, and gladly took the tissue she offered. “Can I ask you something Y/N?” She asked softly, checking that Larissa was still asleep. You nodded and waited for her to ask. “Has Larissa seemed off for about two weeks? I’ve noticed she’s been short with the students, as well as the staff. That and a few days ago, she dashed off from a meeting looking rather green… I don’t think she's feeling herself.” You processed her words for a moment thinking about your answer. “Oh I feel so dumb, it's her cycle. No wonder she’s been off. I’ll talk to her tomorrow, but I am rather tired. You should go get some sleep. I'm okay, you can stay in the spare room tonight if you’d like and I can text you if I need anything or you can take my set of keys and go home that way you can get in if you need too.” Knowing that was going to be your only option to get the woman to actually sleep. “I think i'll go back home, but i'll leave my ringer on and come back in the morning to check on you.” She said softly seeing that you were on the mend. Soon you fell asleep until morning cuddling your wife.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unsolicited 19

Warnings: bad self-thought/talk, bullying, insults, low self-esteem, money problems, oral/noncon, coercion, cum, some untagged sexual and dark elements.

Wouldn’t mind some feedback! Lloyd was driving me nuts so I had to do it. Thank you in advance 💜

Masterlist

Your chest sinks as you see the familiar marquee. It’s the same restaurant you and Colin went for your forfeited date. You cringe and look over at Lloyd’s knowing smirk. It’s intentional. He never does anything without malice. You don’t say anything, you won’t give him the satisfaction.

“I figured you never got to have your big date and hey, this time, you got an upgrade,” he winks at you as his shifts into park, “isn’t daddy so generous?”

You bite down and remember how you fled in humiliation. His words echoing in your ears. "She calls me daddy…" It’s a bitter sort of irony.

“Thank you… daddy,” you force out.

“Ah, don’t act like you weren’t just clenching my fingers like a mousetrap,” he taunts, “if you’re good, I’ll finish the job.”

He smirks and puckers his lips, taking a deep whiff of his mustache. You grimace and undo your seatbelt, sickened to your core. You get out and he mirrors you a step behind. He comes around and grabs your arm, ushering up towards the restaurant.

“I didn’t have to bring you, lamb chop,” he girds, “I got a dozen girls who will drop their panties to be here.”

You tweak a brow but again, you withhold a retort. What do you care about those women? Sounds like a lot of smoke to you.

You enter and the hostess greets him by name. He would be memorable, he always makes sure of it. You’re happy she doesn’t seem to remember you but you recognise her from that disastrous night. How could you predict that the douchebag in Gucci would haunt your existence so entirely?

As the hostess leads you between tables, Lloyd drops his hand and squeezes your ass. He turns and whispers above your ear, “babe, you see anyone you know?”

He gropes you as you try not to trip in your heels and you glance around. You latch onto Lloyd’s coat without thinking as you see a familiar buzzcut and blond ringlets bouncing with laughter. You can’t breathe as you walk past Colin and her. Ali. The other woman. He brought her there, to your place…

“Don’t panic, baby,” Lloyd says under his breath, “he ain’t gonna win this.”

You’re sat at a booth. You hand over your coats as the hostess offers to check them and you settle in as Lloyd slides around the seat to sit close to you. He crowds you, slinging his arm over your shoulder as he flips over the drink menu. He drags his finger down the wine list.

“I hear there pinot is pretty good,” he drawls before turning the page, “you pick out something sweet for yourself, baby cakes. A nice strong cock…tail.”

You ignore how he drags out the last word and peruse the menu. The apple sounds good but you’re not in the mood for it. You settle on a Moscow mule as Lloyd signals for the server. A man appears in sleek black and offers to take his order. You put in your request before Lloyd asks for his usual.

“Oh, and garcon,” Lloyd calls the server back, “can I send a bottle of pinot to that table?” He points across the restaurant, “yeah, the one with bleach blond bimbo. Thanks.”

You smile at the man until he’s gone and his under your breath, “Lloyd, what–”

“Don’t question me,” he chides as his hand slips down your side, “and you know what to call me.”

He squeezes so his fingers curl painfully into your waist and you wince, “yes, daddy. I’m sorry.”

“A few drinks will loosen you up,” his hand descends to your hip and rests just above your ass, “well, most of you.”

“This isn’t fun for me.”

“It will be,” he sits back and feels around his jacket with his free hand, “gimme a sec, I needa make a phone call.”

He retracts his arm from around you and sidles around the bench. You watch him stride away and into the back hall near the kitchens. He looks taller than usual, his figure refined by the tailoring. It makes you feel like even more of a slob.

The server returns with your drinks and you thank him. Lloyd’s whiskey sits untouched as you take a sip of the mule. He returns and drops onto the bench with a sigh as he smooths his shirt. He keeps his head high as he peers around.

You look over as the server presents a bottle of white wine to Colin’s table. The man points over to you and both head crane around to see. Lloyd waves and shoots a finger gun at them as he hooks his arm around your neck and pulls you close to kiss your cheek sloppily.

“This is gettin’ me hard, sweetheart.”

“Stop,” you plead as you sit rigidly and hide your discomfort with another swig of alcohol.

“Hey, this is just the warm-up, I got a whole show planned,” he takes away the glass and sets it down, grabbing your chin as he forces your head around. 

He smothers you with his lips, kissing you deeply as he leans over you, nearly crushing you down against the seat. You gulp in surprise as his tongue invades your mouth. You murmur and grasp at his chest. What the fuck is he doing?

“Oh, baby, you taste nice,” he pulls back and forms a V with his index and middle finger around his mouth, wiping away your lipstick lewdly as he flicks his tongue at you, “go on and touch me. See how hard I am.”

“Oh my god–”

“Did I tell you, you look delicious? Because I’m gonna fucking gobble you up until you’re shaking–”

“Jes–”

The server interrupts your disgust and Lloyd shows now shame as he keeps you close to him. He smirks up at the young man and orders himself a steak before ordering you a pasta dish. You don’t argue as you hadn’t even seen the menu.

“You’re a lobster gal, right? Doesn’t fucking matter ‘cause you’ll eat what I give you but… sometimes you make me think. You know, not many woman do that.”

“Uh…” you squint and reach for your drink again.

“Don’t get too fucking drunk, baby, I don’t want you passing out as you’re choking on my cock.”

You puff your lips out in exasperation. You have no idea how to have a conversation with this man. He trails his hand back around your lower back and walks his fingers up your leg. You shift and pull your legs tight. He taps you and risks, urging your thighs apart as he slides his fingers between them.

He pushes his hand up your skirt and you grip the edge of the seat to keep from squirming. You’re overly aware of all the people around you. Your heart pumps hotly as you squeak.

“Someone will see–”

“Only if you make a show of it.”

A glimmer of your former arousal lingers and he glides along your folds. Your eyes fall on Colin as Lloyd searches out your clit and you swallow loudly. You sit frozen, mortified as your husband looks up from his plate. The bottle of wine is still corked as he dines in silence with his mistress.

His blue eyes widen as your lips part in a gasp. Lloyd swirls his fingers cloyingly around your cunt, spreading the slickness up and down, and toying with your bundle of nerves. He growls and you peek over as he glares across the restaurant at Colin.

“That’s it, baby, I want him to see you cum for me,” he snarls and bites his lip, “you’re already close, aren’t you? Daddy’s little slut about to make a mess.”

“Please…” you wisp as you clasp your hand around his wrist.

He drags his fingers down and shoves two knuckles deep into your cunt. You snap your mouth shut and hold back a moan. He squeezes so the heel of his head comes flush to your clit and he rocks his hand.

“Put your hand on my dick,” he rasps, “now.”

Senseless, you obey. You reach to touch the front of his pants and feel the rigid shape pressing eagerly against the fabric. You grab him firmly, feeling his thick bulge as it twitches in your hand. You groan and quickly smother it as you cover your mouth.

“I can’t wait to split you in half later,” Lloyd breathes, “you think cuck boy will wanna watch that too?”

[bignaz8]

When it became clear the Titanic was going down, Isidor and Ida Straus did as requested—the couple put on life jackets and moved to the Boat Deck where officers were lowering lifeboats and instructing women, children, and First Class passengers to board.

According to detailed accounts from Ida's maid and Isidor's work colleague (both surviving eyewitnesses who recounted the story to newspapers at the time) a Third Officer told Ida, who was wearing a full-length mink coat to brave the icy outdoor temperatures, to step onto the lifeboat. She did. When the officer beckoned to Isidor, prompting him to follow, he shook his head. Isidor said, “No I will not get on the lifeboat until I see that every woman and child has a chance to escape.”

The officer recognizing Mr. Straus as the co-owner of Macy’s, offered him a place on the lifeboat 8 but he declined electing to remain on the deck.

According to Archibald Gracie in "The Truth About the Titanic", at first the men tried to get Mrs. Straus into the boat but she would not go without her husband. Then the men all agreed that an old gentleman like Isador should be allowed into the boat. Gracie writes: "'No', he said, 'I do not wish any distinction in my favor which is not granted to the others.' As near as I can recall them these were the words which they addressed to me.

Seeing this, Ida then climbed back out of the boat and turned to her beloved husband. "We have lived a wonderful life together for 40 years and have six beautiful children together, if you won't get on the life boat, I won't either,” she told him.

She removed her mink coat and handed it her maid, Ellen Bird. "I won't have any further need," she said. "Please take this as you get into a lifeboat to keep you warm, until you are rescued."

Other sources say Ida stated, "We have lived together for many years. Where you go, I go."

Archibald Gracie writes, 'They expressed themselves as fully prepared to die, and calmly sat down in steamer chairs on the glass-enclosed Deck A, prepared to meet their fate.'

Isidor wrapped his arms around her, then, a great wave came over the port side of the ship and swept them both into the sea.

Isidor's body (No. 96) was recovered by the MacKay-Bennett and taken to Halifax. Ida was lost to the sea. (February 6th, 1849–April 15th, 1912) Born on the same day, they died on the same day.

[eolewyn1010]

Downton Abbey Fashion 28 - 1920s service worker fashion

And we’re back Downstairs! 1920 has left neither the uniforms nor the servants’ private garb untouched. Well, except for the men’s fashion, obviously, because some idiot in the 19th century decided that men’s fashion must be boring and only have two colors… But that’s why I’m talking only about women’s fashion here. That, and I am helplessly confounded by white tie, black tie, tails and dinner jackets.

Mrs Hughes gets two new dresses this season, both of which she keeps for a while – at least into the next season, perhaps longer. This first one is all black, business as usual, although I do quite like the subtle stripes. 1920s fashion has snuck in here as well; the dress is rather baggy, which I find unusual with the double-breasted closure. I’m used to seeing this kind of button rows on more structured garments. A wider, flatter collar than Mrs Hughes used to wear, but it doesn’t look half bad.

The other new dress is nowhere near as baggy in the top, although it’s still a rather streamlined cut, so it doesn’t look too dated. Well, it does have a waistband at the natural waist and this parted front over a lace layer; that does look a tad more Edwardian. I wish I could see the pattern of the black fabric better.

For her outside look, Mrs Hughes has one nice blue coat with a little black embroidery framing the collar (a coat she will inexplicably loose or toss out before next season) and two different hats. …Oh, for heaven’s sake; will I ever escape sloped, round black straw hats?

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

I’m aware that this is the first time that I include Mrs Patmore in three seasons of looking at costumes, but honestly, she never seems to wear anything else than her grey dress with an apron up until this point when she actively puts an effort into dressing up. Also, I really resent her in the beginning for the amount of verbal abuse Daisy has to take from her. She even asks if this cherry blossom pink blouse with the bow tie closure is looking too girlish on her, but the coat tones it down. Nice coat, too, with the little piping details on the lapels, and the hat with the ruffle flowers gives it another spot of lighter color.

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

One for O’Brien… Honestly, I don’t look a lot at O’Brien’s fashion because she only ever wears black because that is apparently the dress code for lady’s maids, and it’s usually frumpier than Mrs Hughes despite O’Brien being younger. Then again, she doesn’t seem to have a private life. I’ll make three crosses once I’ve reached the seasons without her. How is this so unpleasant to look at despite working with a striped top fabric and some layering? That ruffle down the front puts me in mind of a dressing robe. I have no idea what these sleeves are trying to be. This outfit somehow has at the same time too much and too little going on.

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

Interesting that the new maid dresses are of a very similar, perhaps even the same greenish-grey printed fabric the old ones were. What’s changed is the silhouette: Instead of a high standing collar, we have a spread point collar that leaves the neck uncovered; instead of the dress gathered in at the waist and the sleeves at the wrists, it’s all quite straight-lined with no notable volume anywhere. The apron still has the tiniest strip of lace in it, but altogether, it’s all clean rectangles, and so is the cap. And the apron brings in the waistline conflict: 1920 means drop waist, but tying an apron around the hips makes very little sense in the department of fixture and practicality. So the compromise is, the waistband does sit at the natural waist to serve its purpose, but the dress beneath it is so streamlined that the waist isn’t made any more noticeable by the very wide band that is not taking in any dress volume. Ethel’s uniform when she starts working in Isobel’s house looks much the same, only the fabric of her dress is plaid and the collar dips into a little V instead of being spread.

The evening uniform is similar in the making, again a spread point collar, with just a tiny white piping trim. Only here, the cap is a flimsy chiffon headband and the apron is likewise more for decoration than anything else. The fact that the apron has no shoulder straps whatsoever made me initially think it’s sewn on as a little extra layer, but no; it’s still tied around the waist. So my guess is that the top of the apron is pinned to the dress under it.

For something from Anna’s private wardrobe, she wears a darling dark blue coat when visiting Bates in prison. Love the whimsical little embroidery on her waistband. Her hat is still the same brown straw hat from last season, I think, only she swapped out the ribbon. Here we see a side effect of the servants occasionally being gifted clothes from Upstairs: They might be a tiny bit behind, fashion-wise; Mary’s and Lavinia’s coats had wide collars with this double-point style in the back before the turn of the decade. Not that this makes the coat any less nice.

Can’t see much of Anna’s outfit when she and Bates are painting their new house, but I thought this cute apron deserved mention. It’s got tiny flowers all over! The only reason why she could get away wearing a white apron is because they are, in fact, painting white.

I’ll save up Anna’s black lady’s maid dresses for next season when she wears them pretty much full time instead of just the final episode, but we have one more leisure look from the picnic she’s having with her husband. It’s not very visible in this shot, but she wears a light brown skirt with this, and I quite like the stripey blouse. Plus the hat, which looks cute and a little playful.

And finally, the pretty white dress Anna wears for the Ghillies ball. Gillies? I don’t know; I’m sorry, Scotland. Interestingly, we see a few young women dancing there who wear various styles of dress – one has more volume in the skirt, gloves, and a drop waist; another has long sleeves and no gloves, plus a high waistband. But they all wear white / off-white, so there might be dress code for that. Anna fits in there nicely with some simple lace on sleeves, collar and drop waist, though I think she could have added a tiny bit of jewelry to that neckline.

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

Yay, creep incoming. That is, Edna Braithwaite. She mostly runs around in her maid uniform in season 3, but we get this outfit when she attaches herself to Tom Branson like a leech when they go to the fair. The coat is rather nice; I like the lapels and the little lighter grey decoration elements on her waist. The hat is not a shape I find particularly flattering, but admittedly, the red tie on the straw makes for a nice color contrast.

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

Daisy gets two new dresses that look so similar I first thought it’s the same dress and she just wears a different blouse under it, but no; that collar is attached to the dress, so it’s two separate outfits. Two dark grey dresses with the sleeves turned up to the elbow, the collar shape is the same, but one it beige with brown checker and the other is black with white checker. The variety of it. Ivy, as the new kitchen maid, can apparently wear whatever she wants, and while her collar has the same shape as Daisy’s, she’s opted for blue checker and a baggier top. I’m starting to think the double-breasted front closure in this time serves the purpose of making the top look wider and more square.

I like Daisy’s coat a little better – look at these adorable toggle buttons! And this orange knit hat that she wears a few times; finally another spot of color on her clothes. Because otherwise, I’m afraid we'll be stuck with grey cardigans and the palest of blue blouses with a wide sailor collar.

She also has a lighter-weight coat for less severe weather, but the hat is the same. To my aggravation, I only get the briefest glimpse at the dress Daisy is wearing here, something orange with vertical stripes. This puts her both in unison (design-wise) and in contrast (color-wise) with Ivy, her co-worker and sometimes friend-mostly rival. Ivy’s stripes are less wobbly, more clearly defined and blue – like her kitchen dress, come to think of it, whereas Daisy was established in salmon shades. I suppose the contrast is on purpose. Ivy’s knit cardigan and straw hat also make her look a tad more rural and girlish by comparison, but then, Daisy is a little older and already a widow; she may for once be the less naïve specimen here.

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

Worldwide Privacy Tour Part 2, it seems, is well underway.

"Yes, the night was pure Meghan Markle: A manufactured build-up of anticipation, a highly dramatic entrance afforded no other actual activist — Meghan climbed on stage to the Alicia Keys she-ro anthem ‘Girl on Fire’ — and then... a whole lot of nothing...This crowd was checking their watches."

"If anything, as the night dragged on and the event slipped an hour behind schedule – a sudden break announced so we could finally have dinner – the crowd bristled...Notably, not one person I spoke to nor one speaker or honoree mentioned Meghan. Not one said how exciting it was to have her there. Not one expressed the slightest curiosity at what she’d have to say."

"And this image, our renegade duchess without a palace-worthy advance team to prevent such cheap optics as the Hertz hiccup, set the tone for the evening: Fatuous, irrelevant, high on its own self-regard, all sense of purpose lost. Gloria Steinem, once the face of women’s rights, reduced to star-f***ery. It was a bizarre night."

MAUREEN CALLAHAN: Meghan's word-salad Manhattan gala appearance

She so badly wants to be the Queen of Hearts.

But, as she arrived on Tuesday night, making her grand entrance in Midtown Manhattan, sauntering past that rental-car backdrop, it was more like the Queen of Hertz.

Of course, as the world is now all too aware, Meghan Markle capped off winning a meaningless award with what we’re told was a ‘near catastrophic’, ‘two-hour’ car chase through the streets of Manhattan.

Yes, according to a spokesperson, Meghan, along with hapless Harry and mom Doria, were the subjects of a wild, impassioned hunt by the paparazzi.

Some sympathetic commentators have already made the gruesome comparisons to Princess Diana’s tragic final fate.

But to echo the statements made by New York City’s own mayor Eric Adams and the police department: Perhaps it didn’t quite happen the way it was painted.

Recollections may vary.

Naturally, their mouthpiece Omid Scobie is whining that no one from the Palace has yet reached out.

Wonder why?

One also wonders what Gloria Steinem, the 89-year-old feminist icon who chose to honor Meghan as a ‘Woman of Vision’ at Tuesday night’s Ms. Foundation Gala, must be thinking now.

After all, the car ‘chase’ debacle soon stole all the thunder from her event, which I was lucky enough to witness first-hand.

Now, it was hardly the red carpet one might expect. Hardly the pomp and circumstance of, say, a coronation.

Yet Meghan forged ahead as she always does, as if this were her crowning moment, sheathed in gold as if to symbolize a crown.

Or an Oscar statuette.

Same difference, really, if your only goal is fame. That’s our Meghan, none too subtle as ever, literally going for the gold as Harry and Doria took their positions three steps behind.

Harry may be a prince of the blood, but never forget — Meghan is The Star. Her Norma Desmond-ing is among the great spectacles of our modern age.

And this image, our renegade duchess without a palace-worthy advance team to prevent such cheap optics as the Hertz hiccup, set the tone for the evening: Fatuous, irrelevant, high on its own self-regard, all sense of purpose lost. Gloria Steinem, once the face of women’s rights, reduced to star-f***ery. It was a bizarre night.

Upon entering the Zeigfeld Ballroom, guests were asked whether they were ‘VIP’ — seems even feminist movements have their echelons — and turfed to the lobby.

My $1,500 entry-level ticket got me a hard seat with a front-row view of coat check.

After ten minutes, circumstances having changed inexplicably, the riff-raff were allowed up to the second floor.

Here were two open bars serving top-shelf liquor and the shock of post-pandemic dress code slovenliness. One unkempt guest was wearing sparkly Birkenstock sandals and a black stretchy minidress under a pink puffer jacket.

These were the VIPs?

The only recognizable person I saw was Peloton instructor Ally Love, and that’s saying something. Where were the stars? Where were the notables of the movement? The Malalas? The Fondas? The Beyoncés?

Perhaps no one was meant to outshine Meghan. Only one feminist icon was going to enter via rental car office!

Down in the ballroom, the plated salads on our banquet tables were ready waiting for us – dry, unsightly, stringy greens that resembled nothing so much as regurgitated hairballs. Notably, not one person I spoke to nor one speaker or honoree mentioned Meghan.

Not one said how exciting it was to have her there. Not one expressed the slightest curiosity at what she’d have to say.

If anything, as the night dragged on and the event slipped an hour behind schedule – a sudden break announced so we could finally have dinner – the crowd bristled.

It says something when a table of size-6 women tear into their heavily glazed steak and buttery mashed potatoes with abandon.

Yes, the night was pure Meghan Markle: A manufactured build-up of anticipation, a highly dramatic entrance afforded no other actual activist — Meghan climbed on stage to the Alicia Keys she-ro anthem ‘Girl on Fire’ — and then... a whole lot of nothing.

Verbiage and word salad that were content-free, except when speaking on her favorite subject: herself.

Here, in real time, we observed Meghan’s inability to read a room. She thanked the ‘other honorees’ without naming them.

‘Congratulations,’ she said, ‘and frankly, well deserved.’

It was all so smug and supercilious, this glorified podcaster telling these boots-on-the-ground activists — no matter what one thinks of their politics — that they had, in fact, earned their place on the same stage as the great Meghan Markle. That ‘frankly’ was so typical. It was meant to redound to Meghan’s benefit, as the lone wolf daring to speak the unspeakable.

There was the cringe-inducing humblebrag, calling her new friend Gloria ‘Glo’.

It brought to mind the forced intimacy of meeting Kate Middleton barefoot and insisting that the pair share lip gloss.

It's 'Glo' to Meghan, but Meghan is 'Duchess' to us.

‘We all bear witness,’ Meghan continued of her fellow honorees, ‘to you standing in elegance and the power of your strength.’

Huh?

This crowd was not convinced. This crowd was checking their watches. There were trains to catch, children to kiss goodnight. Alas, we were stuck with the vapidity of La Markle.

Her speech didn’t even deliver fresh content! She repeated the story, as told on her podcast, of poor little Meghan coming home from school to her TV dinner, cat collars and copies of Ms. Magazine strewn about courtesy of her mother — even though it’s well-documented that her father primarily raised her.

‘Having these pages in our home,’ she went on, ‘. . . signaled to me that there was so much more than the dolled-up covers and those images that you would see on the grocery store covers. It signaled to me that substance mattered.’

Says the former D-list actress and former briefcase game-show girl who used her looks to get ahead. Who has posed for those very same magazine covers.This warmed-over speech, less heated than our steaks, was Meghan’s greatest hits:

‘Change is just one action away.’

‘You can be the visionary of your own life.’

‘Daily acts of service, in kindness, in advocacy, in grace and in fairness.’

‘The imprints that were forged in my mind — I can now connect the dots in a much better way to understand how I became a young feminist and evolved into a grown activist.’

A feminist who, let us not forget, has publicly demonized her famous sister-in-law — ‘Waity Katie’ to Oprah and an audience of millions.

Kate made me cry! WAAAGH!

In truth, Meghan's a self-identified 'grown activist' who has done nothing. The pontification, her sing-song-y cadence as she luxuriated in her own praise, was as insufferable as it was revealing.

‘Ms.’ she said, ‘was formative in [my] cocooning. It piqued my curiosity, and it became the chrysalis for the woman that I would become and that I am today.’

Right: The woman who vilified the institution headed-up by Queen Elizabeth II in her final years. The woman who heavily alleged institutional racism until her husband finally backed away from that terrible smear.

A woman with no substance and no accomplishments as a feminist. A woman who is still trying to one-up the royals, even from a car-park adjacent ballroom with no red carpet. Meghan is the personification of Ms. as an organization that has lost its way.

Indeed, most of the night was spent advocating not for women but for trans rights and Critical Race Theory.

‘Abortion is racist,’ we were told.

Beware the ‘the white supremacist patriarchal system.’

Yes, even the Ms. Foundation – established for biological women out of a deep, and enduring, necessity – has been subsumed by men who identify as women.

How fitting then that the night was overshadowed by a grasping phony whose empty platitudes on stage failed to make headlines, whose spokesperson told a wild story of a high-stakes car chase.

Pity Meghan, but recognize her strength. Admire her, but never laugh at her. And never, ever question her veracity.

Worldwide Privacy Tour Part 2, it seems, is well underway.

[possumsinpeoplesuits]

At long last, my Our Lady of the Passion cosplay is ready for cons!

Based on this picture from Pinterest (google is finding fuck all elsewhere, but if someone knows the source I'll add it.)

The tank top is from Lockedtombmemes' Redbubble store.

The jacket is here, though I've painted the back with some fabric paint. I used the non-heat treating kind and just sort of sketched out the letters with a dark pencil to make sure the placement wasn't too awful.

The dog tags I'm not quite satisfied with because I put too little information on them, and an updated one is still waiting in the mail (I wanted to put the Wing and Cell on it, and had to reread some chapters to verify) There's loads of places to get them, but I used these.

The machetes I don't have many pictures of (I don't have a full length mirror to show them properly strapped to the legs.), but I went a little overbudget to the point it would probably have been cheaper to buy real machetes (but not as welcomed at conventions!) Still, they were from here, in case anyone wants some big ol' 27 inch props instead of the dinky ones from Spirit Halloween.

Gloves were these ones, and they fit my big ol' butch hands just fine. Nothing special there.

For my TACTICAL BLOOD OF EDEN FANNY PACK (which I already wear all the time, but changed colors to match the costume anyways) is this.

The boots are fairly ubiquitous and seem to come from various online sellers, sometimes in men's sizes, sometimes in women's, but this store has them up to a women's size 12, which I needed because I'm lorge.

Now, the mask I'm most proud of! I don't have any experience making costume bits, but I found this one meant for airsoft, which has TWO FUCKING FANS?!?! hidden in the filters to cool my face in the sweltering 80 degree Texas winters.

But! You'll notice the goggles aren't tinted, so I had to figure out how to do them myself to hide my glasses, for REASONS, but this little kit was pretty simple. There's a gluey side, so you just spray the goggles with some water, then slap them down and spend like... a fucking hour or two squeezing out the air bubbles, but aside from a single wrinkle, I think they turned out great! The red also provides some good contrast.

Now, the pants were pretty simple. These come with knee pads, and the black camo looks really nice with the gray coat and black shirt. It did take two attempts to get some that fit (One seller had the XL listed as having a 44 inch waist, equivalent to a women's 18, but labeled elsewhere with the true size of 36 inches, the bastards.), but where I got silly was the straps.

I got this tactical belt, which seems to have tipped the number of tactical things I can search for before search engines decide you're a bootlicker, and intended to use a single bike strap on each leg to hold the other end, which, well... two problems.

The blades were now being bent by my massive fucking quads because I've been doing a shitload of exercise to get fit, because apparently all I needed to get into the gym five times a week was wanting to look like my specialist book blorbo.

I couldn't bend my fucking hips.

So! I ended up ordering a total of SIX STRAPS for my legs, pairing two up high to fit the wider part of my leg, and a single one down near the knee. The upper ones I later looped through the belt to hold them up, which also doubles for making the trousers into a fucking cod piece, which, hey, some people like that. The lower ones were led up by the knee pad, so I had a somewhat stable set of six straps and one belt, which is dangerously close to becoming a Nomura-era Final Fantasy character, but hey, I gave myself carpal tunnel marathoning all the Kingdom Hearts games last year, so that's not a problem.

All in all, it probably cost me... well, more money than it should have, but it's all pretty quality stuff that I'm sure will be very toasty if we ever happen to have another winter down south.

Also, last note... boots of any kind are so much more comfortable with insoles. They don't have to be expensive, but your feet and knees will thank you at conventions when they have a good cushion under your heels.

That's about all I've learned putting this together! I'm 5'9 and around 250 pounds, give or take, so most of this is men's garments, which means the pockets are DEEP AS FUCK. Perfect for collecting small rocks.

Just something to keep in mind.

(See y'all at the conventions. I promise my Yorkshire accent will be less goofy by then, but I can't promise I'll be as nasally as the audiobook.)

[abbygrabska]

Shakespeare Code

The Doctor turns a wheeled control while Martha holds onto the console to remain steady. I am sitting in one of the chairs watching them.

“But how do you travel in time? What makes it go?”

“Oh, let’s take the fun and mystery out of everything. Martha, you don’t wanna know. It just does. Hold on tight!” He practically climbs onto the console.

Martha is knocked to the floor and the Doctor falls off the console.

I laugh at both of them, standing up and grabbing the Doctor’s coat and Martha’s jacket.

“Blimey! Don’t you have to pass a test to fly this thing?”

I nod, handing the Doctor his coat, “Yeah, he failed it. Now, make the most of it.” I hand Martha her jacket.

“I promised you one trip and one trip only. Outside this door…” The Doctor stops at the door and faces us, “Brave new world.”


“Where are we?” She asks.

“Take a look.” He opens the door, “After you.”

Martha walks outside.

We follow her.

“Oh, you are kidding me. You are so kidding me. Oh, my God! We did it. We traveled in time. Where are we? No, sorry. I gotta get used to this whole new language. When are we?”

I glance up and pull her back, narrowly avoiding the contents of a bucket that a man throws out of a first-floor window.

“Mind the loo!”

“Somewhere before the invention of the toilet. Sorry about that.” He apologizes.


“I’ve seen worse. I’ve worked the late night shift at A&E.”

The Doctor starts to walk off.

“But are we safe? I mean, can we move around and stuff?”


I tilt my head at her, “Of course we can. Why do you ask?”

“It’s like in the films. You step on a butterfly; you change the future of the human race.” She explains.

“Well, tell you what then, don’t step on any butterflies. What have butterflies ever done to you?”

We continue walking.

“What if, I dunno, what if I kill my grandfather?”


“It’d be a bit hard to do that, judging by the clothing, I’d say we’re right before the 1600s, and we’re in London too.” I gesture around us.

The Doctor furrows her brow, “How do you know that?”

“My sister, she’s contemplating getting a degree in archival through fashion.”

“Hang on, I’m not gonna get carted off as a slave, am I?”

“Why would they do that?” The Doctor asks.

I make a face.

“Not exactly white, in case you haven’t noticed.” She points out.

“I’m not even human. Just walk about like you own the place. Works for me.” He shrugs.

I narrow my eyes at him, “We’re gonna talk about that later.” I turn to Martha, “Just stay close. And if someone gives you trouble just shout for me and I’ll knock ‘em out.”

“Elizabethan England, not so different from your time. Look over there.” He points to a man shoveling manure, “They’ve got recycling.” He motions to a pair of men by a water barrel, “Water cooler moment.” We walk past a man packing about the end of the world, “Global warming. Oh, yes, and… entertainment! Popular entertainment for the masses. If I’m right, we’re just down the river by Southwark right next to…” The Doctor takes our hands and we run around the corner, “Oh, yes, the Globe Theatre. Brand new. Just opened. Though, strictly speaking, it’s not a globe; it’s a tetra-decagon, 14 sides, containing the man himself.”

“Whoa, you don’t mean… is Shakespeare in there?”


“Oh, yes.” He holds his arms out to us, “Miss Grabska, Miss Jones, will you accompany me to the theatre?”


Martha and I share a look before linking arms with him. “We will.”


“When you get home, you can tell everyone you’ve seen Shakespeare.”


“Then I could get sectioned!” She jests.

After the play, everyone applauds as the actors onstage take their bows.

“That’s amazing! Just amazing. It’s worth putting up with the smell. And those are men dressed as women, yeah?”


I laugh, “London never changes.”


“Where’s Shakespeare? I wanna see Shakespeare.” She starts to chant with her fist in the air, “Author! Author!”

We both look at her.

“Do people shout that? Do they shout ‘author’?”


A man standing near us picks up the chant and it soon spreads.


The Doctor looks around, “Well… they do now.”

My eyes light up with mischief, the Doctor notices, “What are you thinking about?”


“We should bring a beach ball next time we do this.” I grin.

Martha snorts out a laugh, “Oh, that’s brilliant.”


Shakespeare comes out and takes an exaggerated bow and blows kisses. The audience goes wild and cheers even louder.

“He’s a bit different from his portraits.” She says.

“Genius. He’s a genius, the genius. The most human Human that’s ever been. Now we’re gonna hear him speak. Always, he chooses the best words. New, beautiful, brilliant words.”


“Shut your big fat mouths!” Shakespeare shouts.

The audience laughs.

The Doctor speaks, disappointed, “Oh, well.”

“You should never meet your heroes.”

“You have excellent taste! I’ll give you that.” Shakespeare points to a man in the audience, “Oh, that’s a wig!”

“I know what you’re all saying, ‘Loves Labour’s Lost’ That’s a funny ending, isn’t it? It just stops! Will the boys get the girls? Well, don’t get your hose in a tangle, you’ll find out soon. Yeah, yeah. All in good time. You don’t rush a genius.” Shakespeare bows, before he jerks upright, “When? Tomorrow night.”

The audience cheers, “The premiere of my brand new play. A sequel, no less, and I call it ‘Loves Labour’s Won’!”

The audience applauds loudly.

We walk out of the theatre with the rest of the crowd.

“I’m not an expert, but I’ve never heard of ‘Loves Labour’s Won’.” Martha points out.

“Exactly, the lost play. It doesn’t exist, only in rumors. It’s mentioned in lists of his plays but never ever turned up, no one knows why.”

“Have you got a mini-disk or something?” Martha asks, “We could tape it. We can flog it. Sell it when we get home and make a mint.”

I give her a look, “No.”

“Right, ‘cause that would be bad.” She nods, “Well, how come it disappeared in the first place?”


“Well, I was just gonna give you a quick little trip in the Tardis but I suppose we could stay a bit longer.”

We walk into the Elephant Inn and up the stairs.

“Hello!” The Doctor knocks on the open door, “Excuse me! I’m not interrupting, am I? Mr. Shakespeare, isn’t it?”

Shakespeare starts rattling, “Oh no, no, no, no. Who let you in? No autographs. No, you can’t have yourself sketched with me. And please don’t ask me where I get my ideas from. Thanks for the interest. Now be a good boy and shove…” He seems to notice Martha and I standing behind the Doctor, “Hey, nonny nonny. Sit right down here next to me.”

My eyes widen and I share a glance with Martha.

Shakespeare addresses the two men, “You two get sewing on them costumes. Off you go.”

The barmaid motions for the men to leave, “Come on, lads. I think our William’s found his new muses.”

“Sweet ladies.” Martha sits at the table, “Such unusual clothes. So… fitted.” He glances at me, specifically my legs, “And short too. Come sit.”

I give the Doctor an annoyed look as I sit at the table.

The Doctor holds psychic paper out to Shakespeare, “I’m Sir Doctor of Tardis, this is Dame Abigail of Tardis and this is our companion, Miss Martha Jones.”

“Interesting, that bit of paper. It’s blank.”

The Doctor looks at him impressed, “Oh, that’s… very clever. That proves it. Absolute genius.”

Martha peers at the paper, “No, it says so right there. Sir Doctor, Dame Abigail, Martha Jones. It says so.”

“And I say it’s blank.” Shakespeare says.

The Doctor scratches the back of his head, “Psychic paper. Um, long story. Oh, I hate starting from scratch.” He puts the psychic paper away.

“Psychic. Never heard that before and words are my trade. Who are you exactly? More’s the point, who is your delicious blackamoor lady?”

My eyes widen and I stare at him.

“What did you say?” Martha asks.

“Oops. Isn’t that a word we use nowadays? An Ethiop girl? A swarth? A Queen of Afric…”

I look at Martha, “I’m gonna have a conniption.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”


“It’s political correctness gone mad. Martha’s from a far-off land. Freedonia.”

“Excuse me!” A man enters the room, “Hold hard a moment. This is abominable behavior. A new play with no warning? I demand to see a script, Mr. Shakespeare. As Master of Revels, every new script must be registered at my office and examined by me before it can be performed.”


“Tomorrow morning, first thing. I’ll send it ‘round.” Shakespeare says.
“I don’t work to your schedule, you work to mine. The script, now!”

“I can’t.”


“Then tomorrow’s performance is canceled. I’m returning to my office for a banning order. If it’s the last thing I do, ‘Love’s Labour’s Won’ will never be played.” The man leaves.

“Well, then… mystery solved. That’s ‘Love’s Labour’s Won’ over and done with. Thought it might be something more, you know… more mysterious.” Martha seems disappointed.

There’s screaming from outside.

“You just had to fucking say that.”

We rush out to the street where the Master of Revels is spitting up water.

“What’s wrong with him? Leave it to me. I’m a Doctor.” The Doctor goes to his side.

“So am I, near enough.” Martha joins him.

The man falls to the ground, the Doctor stands and runs to look down the street.

Martha bends over him, listening for a heartbeat, “Gotta get the heart going. C’mon, can you hear me? You’re gonna be alright.” She prepares to start mouth-to-mouth as the Doctor returns and water gushes from the man’s mouth, “What the hell is that?”

“I’ve never seen a death like it. His lungs are full of water, he drowned, and then… I dunno, like a blow to the heart, an invisible blow.” The Doctor stands and addresses the barmaid, “Good mistress, this poor fellow has died from a sudden imbalance of the humors. A natural if unfortunate demise. Call a constable and have him taken away.”

She nods, “Yes, sir.”

A young woman walks up, “I’ll do it, ma’am.”

The Doctor crouches down beside the body.

“And why are you telling them that?” Martha asks.

“This lot have got one foot still in the Dark Ages. If I tell them the truth, they’ll panic and think it was witchcraft.” He answers.

“Okay, what was it then?”


“Witchcraft.” I tell her.

“I got you a room, Sir Doctor. You, Dame Abigail, and Miss Jones are just across the landing.” The barmaid leaves.

“Poor Lynley. So many strange events. Not least of all, this land of Freedonia where a woman can be a doctor?” Shakespeare ponders.

“Where a woman can do what she likes.” Martha corrects.

“And you, Sir Doctor. How can a man so young have eyes so old?”

“I do a lot of reading.”

“A trite reply. Yeah, that’s what I’d do.” Shakespeare looks to me, “And you, you look at this man like he hung the moon and stars in the sky.”

Martha raises an eyebrow at me.

“He might as well have.” I answer vaguely before exiting the room. Martha follows me out.

Martha is examining the room when the Doctor enters, “Not exactly five-star, is it?”

I shrug, “We’ve seen worse.”

“I haven’t even got a toothbrush.” Martha comments.

“Ooh.” The Doctor pats his pockets and pulls out a packaged toothbrush, “Contains Venusian spearmint.”

“So, who’s going where? I mean, there’s only one bed.”

He squints for a moment, “We’ll manage. C’mon.” He flops onto the bed, holding his arms out to me.

I roll my eyes with a smile, going to the bed and laying down on top of him.

“So, magic and stuff. That’s a surprise. It’s a little bit ‘Harry Potter’.”

I wince, “I wouldn’t know I refuse to read those books ever since I found out what she did in 2020.”

She looks confused, “What did she do?”

“She said anyone who reads or likes the Harry Potter stuff supports her transphobic views.” I answer plainly.

Her eyes widen, “Eesh. So is that stuff real? Like, witches, black magic, and all that?”

“No.” I tell her.

“Looks like witchcraft but it isn’t. Can’t be. Are you gonna stand there all night?” The Doctor asks.

Martha lays on the bed next to us, “Sorry, there’s not much room. Us three here, same bed. Tongues will wag.”

Alarm bells go off in my head, ‘She’s flirting with both of us? Ooh.’

“There’s such a thing as psychic energy but a human couldn’t channel it like that. Not without a generator the size of Taunton and I think we’d have spotted that.” He turns his head to face Martha, “No. There’s something I’m missing, Martha. Something really close, staring me right in the face and I can’t see it.” He turns his head back, “Still, can’t be helped. You’re a novice, never mind. I’ll take you back home tomorrow.”

Martha looks miffed, “Great.” She turns her back to us and blows out the candle.

I wake up to a scream.

We burst into Shakespeare’s room and Martha and the Doctor examine Dolly’s body.

I run to the window and see the silhouette of a witch on a broom flying in the sky.

“Her heart gave out, she died of fright.”


“Doctor?” I call for him.

He joins me at the window, “What did you see?”

“A witch.”

We all sit at Shakespeare’s desk.

“Oh, sweet Dolly Bailey. She sat out three bouts of plague in this place. We all ran like rats. But what could have scared her so? She had such enormous spirit.” Shakespeare ponders.

“‘Rage, rage against the dying of the light.’” The Doctor quotes.

“I might use that.”

“You can’t. It’s someone else’s.” I tell Shakespeare.

“But the thing is, Lynley drowned on dry land, Dolly died of fright and they were both connected to you.” Martha points out.

“You’re accusing me?”

“No.” I shake my head, “But I saw a witch, big as you like, flying, cackling away.”

“Peter Streete spoke of witches.” He admits.

“Who’s Peter Streete?” Martha asks.

“Our builder. He sketched the plans to the Globe.”

“The architect. Hold on. The architect! The architect!” The Doctor slams his fist on the table, “The Globe! Come on!” He rushes off.

The Doctor is in the pit while the rest of us are onstage.

“The columns there, right? 14 sides. I’ve always wondered but I never asked… tell me, Will, why 14 sides?”

“It was the shape Peter Streete thought best, that’s all. Said it carried the sound well.” Shakespeare explains.

“Why does that ring a bell? 14…”

“There are 14 lines in a sonnet.”

“So there is. Good point. Words and shapes follow the same design.” The Doctor paces, “14 lines, 14 sides, 14 facets… Oh, my head. Tetradecagon… think, think, think! Words, letters, numbers, lines!”

“This is just a theatre.”

“Oh, but a theatre’s magic, isn’t it? You should know. Stand on this stage, say the right words with the right emphasis at the right time… Oh, you can make men weep, or cry with joy, change them. You can change people’s minds with just words in this place. And if you exaggerate that…”

“It’s like your police box. Small wooden box with all that power inside.” Martha suggests.

“Oh. Oh, Martha Jones, I like you. Tell you what, though. Peter Streete would know. Can I talk to him?”

“You won’t get an answer. A month after finishing this place… lost his mind.” “What happened?” I ask.

“Started raving about witches, hearing voices, babbling. His mind was addled.” Shakespeare tells us.

“Where is he now?” The Doctor asks.

“Bedlam.”

My face pales, “The madhouse?”

Shakespeare nods.

“Okay, well, I'd rather not go back to a mental hospital, even if it is for a visit.” I admit.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” The Doctor says, “Come on.” He walks out. I reluctantly follow him.

“So, tell me of Freedonia, where women can be doctors, writers, actors.”

“The country’s ruled by a woman.” I answer. “Ah, she’s royal. That’s God’s business. Though you two are a royal beauty.” Shakespeare glances between me and Martha.

I see the Doctor step slower.

“Whoa, Nelly! I know for a fact you’ve got a wife in the country.” Martha points out.

“But Martha, this is Town.” He smirks.

The Doctor turns and comes towards me, grabbing my hand and pulling me along, “Come on. We can all have a good flirt later.” “Is that a promise, Doctor?”

The Doctor and I share a grin.

“Oh, 57 academics just punched the air. Now move!”

Screams and moans echo through the halls as we are led through Bedlam.

“Does my lord, Doctor, wish some entertainment while he waits? I’d whip these madmen. They’ll put on a good show for ya. Bandog and Bedlam!” The jailer asks.

“No, I don’t!”

“Wait here, my lords, while I make him decent for the ladies.” The jailer walks away.

“So this is what you call a hospital, yeah? Where the patients are whipped to entertain the gentry? And you put your friend in here?” Martha asks.

“Oh, and it’s all so different in Freedonia.”

“Do you honestly think this place is any good?” I ask.

“I’ve been mad. I’ve lost my mind. Fear of this place set me right again. It serves it’s purpose.”

“Mad in what way?”

“You lost your son.” The Doctor realizes.

“My only boy. The Black Death took him. I wasn’t even there.”

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” Martha apologizes.

“It made me question everything. The futility of this fleeting existence. To be or not to be… oh, that’s quite good.”

“You should write that down.” The Doctor suggests.

“Hm, maybe not. A bit pretentious?” The jailer calls out to us, “This way, m’lord!”

We walk down the hall to Peter Streete’s cell.

The jailer unlocks the door, “They can be dangerous, m’lord. Don’t know their own strength.”

“I think it helps if you don’t whip them!” I seeth, “Now get out!” The jailer leaves and I approach Peter slowly, “Peter? Peter Streete?”

“He’s the same as he was. You’ll get nothing out of him.”

I set my hand on his shoulder gently, “Peter?”

His head jerks up and he looks up at me with wild, glassy eyes, seeming like he wants to speak.

The Doctor places his fingertips along Peter’s face, “Peter, I’m the Doctor. Go into the past, one year ago. Let your mind go back, back to when everything was fine and shining. Everything that happened in this year since happened to somebody else. It was just a story. A winter’s tale. Let go. Listen. That’s it, just let go.” He lies Peter down on his cot, “Tell me the story, Peter. Tell me about the witches.”

“Witches spoke to Peter. In the night, they whispered. Got Peter to build the Globe to their design. Their design! The 14 walls, always 14. When the work was done.” He laughs, “They sapped poor Peter’s wits.”

“Where did Peter see the witches? Where in the city?” I crouch beside Peter, “Peter, tell us. You’ve got to tell us, where were they?”

“All Hallows Street.”

A witch appears beside us, “Too many words.” I go to stand beside Martha, “What the hell?”

“Just one touch of the heart.” She lays her hand on Peter’s chest.

“No!” Peter dies.

“Witch! I’m seeing a witch!”

“Who would be next, hmm? Just one touch. Oh, oh, I’ll stop your frantic hearts. Poor, fragile mortals.”

Martha shouts at the door, “Let us out! Let us out!” “Not gonna work. The whole building’s shouting that.” “Who will die first, hmm?”

“Well, if you’re looking for volunteers.” The Doctor walks towards the witch.

I stare at him, “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Doctor, can you stop her?” Shakespeare asks.

“No mortal has power over me.”

“Oh, but there’s a power in words. If I can find the right one, if I can just know you…”

“None on Earth has knowledge of us.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m here. Now think, think, think… humanoid female, uses shapes and words to channel energy… ah, 14! That’s it! 14! The 14 stars of the Rexel planetary configuration! Creature, I name you Carrionite.”

The witch wails and disappears.

“What did you do?”

“I named her. The power of a name. That’s old magic.”

“But there’s no such thing as magic.” “Well, it’s just a different sort of science. You lot, you chose mathematics. Given the right string of numbers, the right equation, you can split the atom. Carrionites use words instead.” The Doctor explains.

“Use them for what?” “The end of the world.”

“The Carrionites disappeared way back at the dawn of the universe. Nobody was sure if they were real or legend.” “I’m going for real.” Shakespeare says.

“But what do they want?” Marths asks.

“A new empire on Earth. A world of bones and blood and witchcraft.”

“But how.” “I’m looking at the man with the words.” “Me? But I’ve done nothing.” “Hold on. What were you doing last night, when that Carrionite was in the room?” I ask.

“Finishing the play.” “WHat happens on the last page?”

“The boys get the girls. They have a bit of a dance. It’s all as funny and thought provoking as usual, except those last few lines. Funny thing is… i don’t actually remember writing them.” Shakespeare admits.

“That’s it. They used you. They gave you the final words. Like a spell, like a code. ‘Love’s Labours Won’, it’s a weapon! The right combination of words, spoken at the right place with the shape of the Globe as an energy converter! The play’s the thing! And yes, you can have that!”

Back in the Inn, the Doctor is looking at the map. “All Hallows Street. There it is. Martha, we’ll track them down. Will, Abby, get to the Globe. Whatever you do, stop that play!”

“I’ll do it.” Shakespeare shakes the Doctor’s hand, “All these years I’ve been the cleverest man around. Next to you, I know nothing.” “Oh, don’t complain.”

“I’m not. It’s marvelous. Good luck, Doctor.” “Good luck, Shakespeare.” They head for the door, “Once more unto the breach!”

“I like that. Wait a minute… that’s one of mine.” I shout at him, “Just go!”

Shakespeare and I burst through the door onstage.

“Stop the play! I’m sorry ladies and gentlemen, but stop. This performance must end immediately! I’m sorry. You’ll get a refund.” The audience boos, “But this play must not be performed!”

Shakespeare falls unconscious on the stage. I groan, motioning for the actors to carry him off stage. 

The Doctor and Martha run in.

“Stop the play! I think that was it. Yeah, I said, ‘Stop the play!’”

“I hit my head.”

“Yeah, don’t rub it, you’ll go bald.” The Doctor hears the screams from out front, “I think that’s my cue!”

We run on stage.

“The Doctor! He lives! Then watch this world become a blasted heath! They come! They come!”

The remaining Carrionites freed from the crystal fly around the globe.

I grab Shakespeares' arm, “Come on, Will! History needs you!”

“But what can I do?” He asks.

“Reverse it!”

“How am I supposed to do that?” “The shape of the Globe gives words power, but you’re the wordsmith, the one true genius. The only man clever enough to do it!” The Doctor tells him.

“But what words? I have none ready. The Carrionite phrases, they need such precision!”

“Trust yourself. When you’re locked away in your room, the words just come, don’t they? Like magic. Words of the right sound, the right shape, the right rhythm, words that last forever! That’s what you do, Will! You choose the perfect words. Do it. Improvise!” I tell him.

He walks downstage, “Close up this den of hateful, dire decay! Decomposition of your witches’ plot! You thrive my brains, consider me your toy. My doting Doctor tells me I am not!” “No! Words of power!”

“Foul Carrionite spectres, cease your show! Between the points…” Shakespeare looks to the Doctor.

“7-6-1-3-9-0!”

Shakespeare repeats, “7-6-1-3-9-0! And banished like a brass farthing, I say to thee…” He looks to us, “You are not worthy of carving!”

The Carrionites scream.

“The deep darkness! They are consumed! Ahhh!”

The wraith-like Carrionites get sucked up into the cloud, tornado fashion, as do all copies of the play.

“‘Love’s Labours Won’. There it goes.”

The cloud dissipates and the audience sighs in relief before applauding.

The Doctor ducks out as the actors take their bows.

“They think it was all special effects.” I smile.

“Your effect is special indeed.” Shakespeare flirts.

Martha and I share a look.

“Not your best line.” Martha says.

We take a bow.

The next morning, Martha, Shakespeare and I sit on the edge of the stage.

“And I say, a heart for a hart and a dear for a deer.” “I don’t get it.” Martha shakes her head.

“Really? Made sense to me.” I say.

“Explain it?” “Heart as in the organ and hart as in a male deer. Makes more sense when you read it. Doesn’t make it funny though.” I shrug.

“Then give me a joke from Freedonia.”

“Ok, Shakespeare walks into a pub and the landlord says, ‘Oi, mate, you’re bard.’”

“It’s brilliant! Doesn’t make sense, mind you, but never mind that.” He wraps his hand around Martha’s waist, “Come here.”

“I’ve only just met you.” “The Doctor might never kiss you. Why not entertain a man who will?”

I look at Martha, her face shows embarrassment.

“He might not kiss her but I might.” I smirk.

Both their heads snap in my direction.

Before they can say anything the Doctor emerges from backstage wearing a ruff collar and carrying an animal skull.

“Good props store back there! Im not sure about this though.” He looks at the skull, “Reminds me of a Sycorax.” “Sycorax. Nice word. I’ll have that off you as well.” “I should be on 10%. How’s your head?”

“Still aching.” “Here, I got you this.” The Doctor removes the collar and puts it on Shakespeare’s neck, “Neck brace. Wear that for a few days ‘til it's better, although you might wanna keep it. It suits you.” “What about the play?” I ask.

“Gone. I looked all over, every single copy of ‘Love’s Labours’ Won’ went up in the sky.” “My lost masterpiece.” Shakespeare laments. “You could write it up again.” Martha suggests.

“Yeah, better not, Will. There’s still power in those words. Maybe it should best stay forgotten.” “Oh, but i’ve got new ideas. Perhaps it’s time I write about fathers and sons. In memory of my boy, my precious Hamnet.” “Hamnet?” Martha asks.

I shake my head at her, discouraging her from making another comment.

“Anyway, time we were off. I’ve got a nice attic in the tardis where this lot,” The Doctor holds up the crystal, “can scream for all eternity and I’ve gotta take Martha back to Freedonia.”

“You mean travel on through time and space.” Shakespeare corrects. “You what?” 

“You’re from another world like the Carrionites and Martha and Abby are from the future. It’s not hard to work out.” “That’s… incredible. You are incredible.” “We’re alike in many ways, Doctor. Martha, let me say goodbye to you in a new verse. A sonnet for my Dark Lady. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate…” One of the actors calls out, “Will! Will! You’ll never believe it! She’s here! She’s turned up!”

“We’re the talk of the town. She heard about last night! She wants us to perform it again.”

“Who?”

“Her Majesty! She’s here!”

There’s fanfare as Elizabeth I enters.

“Queen Elizabeth I!” The Doctor speaks excitedly.

She glares at him, “Doctor!” “What?”

Her glare turns to me, “Abby!”

“Huh?”

“My sworn enemies!”

“What the fuck?” “Off with their heads!”

“Oop!” I hop off the stage and grab the Doctor’s hand, “That’s our cue! See you, Will! And thanks!”

We run off.

“Stop that pernicious Doctor and the harlot Abby!”

We run through the streets to the Tardis.

“Stop in the name of the Queen!”

“What have you two done to upset her?!” “How should I know? Haven’t even met her yet. That‘s time travel for you! Still can’t wait to find out.” He unlocks the Tardis and Martha and I run in, “That’s something to look forward to. Oh!”

I hear something hit the door as he ducks inside.

[campgender]

from “Muscles of the Mind” by Dorothy Allison, published in Trash (1988, reprinted 2002)

image description under the cut. content warning: anti-Romani racism (g slur) at the top of the 2nd image (first full page), ableist c slur at the top of the 4th image (third full page)

At the concert last week, I kept walking back to Cass and the little bottle of Jack Daniel’s she had in her coat pocket. “Have a drink, darling. It’ll open your eyes,” she’d say, her pupils hidden behind half-closed lids. I shook my head no and gave her a quick lick on the neck that made her cheeks flash pink and her eyes open wide. All the women near us, most of them Cass’s friends from work or the pool hall, had their own bottles. I tried to get Cass to keep her little bottle down in the shadows. The crowd kept pushing past, their eyes hooded with too much dope and skin sour with cigarettes—women in party clothes: loose trousers, velvet vests, hats, high-heeled boots, glittering necklaces, and elaborate hoops dangling from their ears. Most of them looked like they belonged to the same gypsy troupe, their tribe indicated by the slogan-bearing buttons pinned to their collars and jackets. I saw Anna go by with her new girlfriend, Gayle, and then three of the women from the house—Judy, Paula, and Lenore. But none of them seemed to have seen us, and they all quickly disappeared into the audience. I felt Cass slip her hands around my waist and turned my face into the shelter of her neck.

“Where do they all come from?” I was only half serious. There were more women in the audience than I’d seen at any demonstration up at the capitol building.

“Oh, these only come out for the music,” Cass laughed. “Just like me.”

“You know, culture, women’s culture.” Cass’s friend Billy leaned over us, her hand sliding past my butt on its way to the bottle in Cass’s pocket. “An’t you heard about women’s culture?” I looked down at the black ink tattoos standing out all over her forearms. Billy was wearing her usual uniform—jeans so old and worn they looked like gray sky over the ocean at dawn, and a denim vest buttoned up tight to flatten her breasts. Her arms were bare, and every time she stretched her hand out, I could see white flash under her armpit from skin that was never exposed to the sun.

“You mean to tell me we an’t here to listen to rock and roll?” Cass slapped Billy’s shoulder and giggled. It had taken two weeks of teasing and arguing before Cass had agreed to come to this event, and she’d insisted on getting Billy and her girlfriend Roxanne to come, too. “Got to have somebody to talk to,” she’d insisted.

Billy had thought the whole notion a hoot. “They don’t know how to dress,” she kept saying, “but some of these chicks an’t bad-looking.”

Roxanne just kept biting the lipstick off her lips and kicking her heels against the wall behind us. “I don’t see nothing here anybody’d want to take home with ’em.” She lit a cigarette and gave me a look of pure malevolence. I wondered if she had seen Billy’s hand on my ass. I leaned back into Cass’s embrace and tried to look happily innocent of any interest in Roxanne’s woman. That wasn’t too hard. Cass was just about the sexiest woman in the crowd, big and rough-looking in her worn denim jacket with her black hair cut close around her ears, but with soft brown eyes and a quick smile. She was a good-natured woman who liked me more than she was sure she wanted to. More important, she didn’t seem to feel the need to push her girlfriends around that Billy did. I loved having a woman in my life who prowled like a big old tiger, yet cuddled me close like a kitten licking mama’s ears. Billy talked about Roxanne as if the woman was a not quite bright child, and clearly had decided I had to have some special hidden sexual talent if Cass was so ready to put up with my sass. Part of what kept me seeing Cass was her casual acceptance of my temper and habits, and her grinning dismissal of Billy’s half-serious flirting with me. Cass was also nearly as tall as Billy and had told me frankly that they had become friends only after everybody they knew kept pushing them to fight each other.

“We was supposed to do the fight of the week or something, and let everybody know who was butcher than who, you know. But providing that kind of free entertainment just an’t my style. Billy and I put them all through some changes when we took up with each other, I’ll tell you.”

Two women I had met at the Women’s Center wiggled past us. One of them looked me in the eye and then up over my head into Cass’s face. I could feel Cass’s grin in the way her hands wiggled on me. The woman looked away quickly.

“Did you hear about Angie?” her friend asked.

“Yeah, I heard.” The woman pushed away from us hurriedly. “Don’t talk about her here.”

“Did you see her face?” Roxanne spoke with her cigarette held between her teeth. “That woman needs to reconsider going without makeup.”

I felt the heat come up in my face and didn’t know for a moment if I was angry or ashamed. I watched the expressions on the faces of the women who filed past us, then felt the skin at the back of my neck pull tight. We could have been animals in a cage from the way they looked at us. I kept going from indignant anger to shame with no pause between. The anger felt healthy but wouldn’t stay with me, while the shame was continuous and crippling. I wanted to be proud of Cass’s hands on my hips, to glare back coldly at the women who frowned at her. I was proud of her, but my pride wasn’t holding any better than my anger. I wished I didn’t care what anybody thought, but I did. Beside me Roxanne kept getting her mirror out and pulling a few curls forward down over her eyes. Her hands were shaking, her makeup streaking on her neck where sweat was trailing down. For a moment, she looked like my little sister looking up at me, wanting my help but unable to ask. I could have cried. Instead, I took deep breaths trying to calm myself and finally just gave it up and took a couple of pulls from Cass’s bottle.

Cass hugged me again, her eyes watching me closely. “We can always leave.” She didn’t look as if the idea bothered her at all.

“The music hasn’t even started.” I drank again, concentrating on feeling angry rather than self-conscious or ashamed. The last of the audience was milling past us while a piano chord sounded from the front of the hall. A little group of men and women passed us, the women defiant in silky skirts and the men holding the women close to them. One of the women stared at Billy and giggled when Billy grinned at her. The man with her looked nervous and impatient, but the woman didn’t seem to want to head for her seat. Like a pigeon transfixed by a snake, she was pinned to the far wall by Billy’s green-eyed stare. I almost laughed out loud.

“I don’t care who they sleep with,” I whispered to Cass, “I just wish they wouldn’t tell so many lies about it.”

“Mean bitch,” Cass quipped, not meaning it at all.

Roxanne looked over at me strangely, her face working as if she were making up her mind about something. She looked up at Billy, who was still watching the woman against the far wall. “Hell,” Roxanne said, “these days I can’t tell who’s lying and who is just passing time.”

“Passing time,” I repeated. I ignored Cass’s offer of another drink. Instead I turned and put my arm around Roxanne’s shoulders, watching with her as the audience settled down and Cass and Billy whispered behind us. I watched the way the women moved, the muscles that stood out in their necks, the way their eyes went from dark to light in the changing light. My teeth clenched, but I just held on to Roxanne, and kept my hip pressed close to Cass’s long legs.

[siennablaze219]

@daily-writing-challenge - May 2024 - Day 7 - Captivate

A little late but drawing the dress took a little while.

NSFW

@vixannya (Thank you for the setting)

A Walk on the Wild Side

Zubrette Goldensorrow smiled up, up, up at her date, and partner, she was pretty but he was breathtaking. His bronze hued skin looked like a metallic tan with the near charcoal scales studded across him, black hair and blue eyes were such a unique combination. In his hair he wore decorations in silver and blue. He was about a foot and half taller than her with shoulders wide enough that when he stood behind her no one would even know she was there from the back. His color combination had started to bleed into her style choices, her artistic style flared to life when she got to be on his arm without being matchy-matchy.

Tonight she was in a sheath dress that was ombré from deep blue, violets and green lightning to peacock, teal, sapphire, and amethyst down to an icy blue, mint, and lilac all were gemstone shards that looked like stained glass. Zubrette she highlighted the partner’s height differences by choosing silver, lace up, flat sandals, she could have worn heels, but she felt better able to react in the flats and she actually enjoyed her diminutive size and how people often misjudged her because of it. Her peachy blonde hair still had its side braids but the rest was pulled back in a riot of waves, nothing fancy in comparison to her dress.

Yet as stunning her dress was, Zhathras was *fancy* dressed in an outfit that matched his masculine sense of style; she had helped him put it together with a tailor friend of her uncle. His long coat was ivory with a darker cream shimmer patterned into it, the wide lapels had silver filigree details on them, the piping along it matched the silver and there were rows of seven metal buttons on each side. Beneath that was a flat ivory vest that buttoned to a point in the center of his chest, black lapels on it disappeared beneath the jacket then came back into a high collar just below the standing line of jacket’s. A charcoal shirt with a slight vee laid against his skin and at the neck he wore a blue pendant, designed by Zubrette, that matched his eyes. The leather pants were simple compared to all the layers he wore on his upper body, they were the same charcoal as the shirt, and broke at just the right line over black shoes. He was just mouth watering.

Wrinkling up her nose cutely at Zhathras, “Welcome to your first appearance in the upper echelon of society, my love. People are just going to melt when they see you. I will be the most overlooked woman in an exquisite dress in the place.” The paladin had no hint of hurt feelings in her tone, she knew she was a dynamic personality and no one would really overlook her, ever. “Ori should be here, I am guessing lost in the art,” Zubs smiled, and held his arm, not in need of the support, or possessiveness, but she loved touching him.

Luckily enough for her, he returned that love because she was lost in him so often, his hand laid over hers. “It will be impossible for me to look at the art, you are too beautiful.” He paused for a moment, “I am fairly sure a group of women over there are talking about us.”

“Oh?” The paladin didn’t turn to look at the women, his hearing was better than hers so she just took it at face value. “Are they saying how they wish to take my love and lavish him with passion and praise that they feel he deserves?”

He grinned at her, “Well they are impressed with me and wondering what a woman from your house did to entice me. What do they mean by your house? Does the type of house you live in designate who should be attracted to you?”

Zubs laughed, these things didn’t bother her the way it would her mother, which is why she didn’t care what they said. “In a way, to them at least. Remember when I explained about nobles, when we talked about my mother’s expectations of me? Some people believe that who your parents are, or how much money you have, makes you more worthy.”

“Since I have no money and no parents, why would they consider me too good for you?” He asked, looking as confused as he sounded.

Leaning in she rubbed her cheek against his upper arm, “You are outside the purview of their rules since you are not Sin’dorei or Quel’dorei. If you were to date one of them they might want you to care more about such things.”

His eyes flared and bronze veins flared in them, “They judge you as lesser?” Zhathras’ shoulders began to roll back as his spine straightened, ready to defend her against their words.

Zubs turned and placed herself in front of him and cupped her hand on his cheek. “My love, what they think of me doesn’t matter to me, hasn’t in a very long time.”

“But your mother cares, yes?” He never forgot much and she had told him more than once about the troubles between them and why she sent money home but never went to see her parents as long as he had known her.

“Overly much, just like those women, but I love you and would never go home again if it was a real problem.” She tipped her head up, Zubrette had never lied to him concerning these things.

Zhathras leaned down and kissed her slowly, not caring who might see them, she was his and it was better that he used that rise in emotion by worshiping her in a deep kiss than trying to go fight women that didn’t matter to her. When the kiss ended his eyes were a clear blue once more, the rush of emotion drained into their connection.

Ori cleared her throat, “Fel cousin, is there an attractive man summoning portal you know about?”

“I think that I have the most attractive man available, or unavailable, so I have no need for such a portal. Zhathras this wicked woman is my dear cousin, Orialeyne,” Zubrette turned back to face her cousin. “Come now, I am certain you have art to teach us about.”

As they began moving around the gallery together Ori and Zubrette chatted animatedly while Zhathras smiled down at them, well he smiled much more at Zubrette, but he was biased. The dilettante pointed out paintings she had purchased and then they stopped before the one she was still thinking about. Twice it looked like some of the women that had been talking about the couple earlier might approach but the little paladin would turn and offer up a wicked, ‘I will make you cry’ smile and they would walk off. She hadn't survived as the only daughter of a disgraced House at different social functions without learning to make bullies back down quickly.

After they all went to the location of the afterparty together, Ori grinned at the couple, “I was going to leave you two, but if you are looking for a th…”

Zubs did not let her finish, she stood on her tip toes and kissed her cousin’s cheek, “Nope, I get to experience the debauchery with my partner all by myself. Tell your parents I said hello.” She did not quite push her cousin away, but it was close.

“Debauchery, hmmm?” Zhathras asked while giving Ori an absent wave, she had been nice and he had been polite all night but the desire to have Zubrette to himself once more was stronger in him than worrying about her family’s opinion of him, besides the final part of the trio of cousins already adored him.

Golden eyes looked up to meet blue, “Oh, didn’t I tell you about that? Well, the whole thing is not that kind of party, there will be food…”

“Good, you haven’t eaten all night. I was starting to worry.”

“I am not sure what all is planned but I have heard about these parties and they are always multifaceted and there is more than a hint of sexual energy there.”

He grinned, “Well then, we should go explore this sexual energy.” Zhathras did not pick her up and carry her in, but he walked quickly enough for her to have to pull on his arm slightly since his strides were much longer than hers and she was in a tight skirt.

Entering the space, Zubrette and Zhathras both stopped and stared in amazement at the tree of life. They had explored the isles together, but nothing there was as magical as this was. A brilliant smile curved her lips and she tucked her body against his in pleasure, it was nice to experience this with him.

For his part Zhath was stunned, he had never seen such a flagrant display of magic used for nothing but entertainment. The bronze had seen plenty of time shenanigans, he was even an oracle of a sort, but this was at a scale he would remember forever. Looking down at his lover he smiled as she looked at the tree, as splendid as it was she was more so to him.

Taking his hand Zubs began to pull him, “Let’s explore.” She was sure there was a map, or people that could explain where everything was, but that would be way too mundane a way to enjoy this party, so she just plowed forward with the same zeal as she had with the rest of her life. Zubrette was a Pandaren ground blossom that lit up a pathway wherever she would go.

Walking around the base of the tree just to get her bearings, Zubrette narrowed in on the archway where she saw people with food exiting. Being so animated, and fighting, or sparring, daily took a lot of replenishment for the little woman. Food was one of her favorite pastimes because of this, and Zhathras liked to make sure she was cared for, so he always guided her to a meal before it was needed. In making sure she had food they would always find common ground.

With so much to choose from they just headed to the buffet, getting a meal quickly was her priority because she had so much else to see. Once they each had plates full, and had scoped out the dessert table, the pair found an empty table to enjoy their meal and tumblers of bourbon they had acquired. Talking softly to one another no one else in the room, maybe at the entire party, mattered to them, she was excitedly chattering about the party and he was looking at her, seeing the fire within and was captivated by it as he always was.

The plates emptied quickly and they refilled their drinks before Zubrette was off again. Leaving the center archway she turned them and led them through another one. This area held the soothsayers, spa facilities and other services people might be interested in. She looked up at Zhath and smiled, “Should we pamper ourselves a little? A massage, or maybe speak to a fortune teller?”

“I can already tell your future,” he stated, which was true in more than one way, he had already warned her when her company absolutely needed her somewhere, and he knew her future was with him. “And we can visit the spa at home, or in that sexy little set of caves we found with the enterprising greens running it. If you really want a massage I can give you one later, when we are alone.”

Zubrette leaned over to rub her cheek against his arm, “Agreed on all your points.” It was then she noticed Ori speaking to a very handsome dark haired man who was massaging her feet and legs. “Well, at least she is not out here experiencing all of this alone.”

He turned his head and saw her cousin, “Somehow I doubt she has trouble with such things, she is very self assured. If my heart was not already bound to the most beautiful being who rivals the enchantment of this gathering, I might even notice how lovely she is.”

As he was acknowledging he noticed the beauty of her cousin by saying such a thing Zubrette just reached up and took a hold of his jacket lapel urging him down so she could kiss him.

They had just spent hours without indulging in even a single sensual moment meant heat flared through him at her demanding connection. Stepping into her he pushed her back until she was against a mirrored wall and devoured her offering. They did not engage in set roles in their relationship, it was a wonderful balance of back and forth. He was still learning about what he enjoyed and she was more than well versed in so many aspects of pleasure that often she led him into new things, but once he knew something he was more than happy to repeat the process with skill and enthusiasm. He was the one to break the kiss and he placed his lips just under her ear for a gentle touch and whispered, “I am glad you wore your hair loose because I want to bury my fingers into it and hold you while we drown in each other.”

Zubrette tipped her head for him to have access to the line of her neck, “Mmmm, I am certain we can find a quiet corner somewhere and maybe you can use that hold on my hair for other reasons.” The reply was said with a saucy air to it and she let go of his lapel to signal that the moment of the kiss had passed, when he would pull back she was wearing a very bratty smile on her face. “Come on my love, there is more to see.”

She was leaving the tunnel into the tree itself for last, instead she moved around it to the tunnel opposite the metaphysical and nurturing space. When she entered the area she decided to go down first, stepping into the undersea area she moved to the side and paused leaving room for others to pass. “Sun bless,” she said quietly, then took his hand and almost sprinted to the upper room. With a little bounce on her toes she led them back down stairs, then released his hand so she could turn in a circle with her chin tilted up so she could see the performers.

Zhathras once again took his time looking around but then his gaze landed back down on her face, she captivated him and no matter what might be around them in this place, nothing compared to her beauty in his eyes. Stepping up to her, he took her hand in his and tucked her in against his body then led her into a dance. She was a gorgeous dancer in a rave or nightclub setting, but he decided once when she was on campaign that he would learn the more romantic dances so he could lead her in moments like this. Working around the dance floor he moved gracefully and compensated for her short skirt to keep the movements easy for her. Weaving them around the entire dance floor, when they got near to the stairs he picked her up and kept the pattern of the dance as he carried her up to the ballroom above. At the top,of the stairs he sat her back on her feet without missing a step, he was a smooth one with strength and grace that he was happy to delight her with.

For her part she just moved with him, her trust completely in his hands. Tucked in against his body she smiled up at him, and stepped easily once she found the pattern. Just like with sword work, she moved with a refined flow, trained to match the direction of an opponent, meant that she could mirror her partner as she followed along. When he lifted her she laughed with delight, then offered another as she realized he was guiding them up the stairs without pausing their dance. Sliding down his body as he lowered her she stepped back just enough to let the weight of the gemstones on her dress to find its place on her thighs and not ride up.

One dance led to another and they would pass from one floor to another, not dancing on the stairs but that once. After a great deal of time enjoying those special rooms they grabbed drinks from the bar as well as water, which they both drank quickly after the dancing. “All that is left is through the tree itself, do we dare see what life itself holds for us?”

“I know my life ahead holds, love and beauty as I will have you with me.” When they first met he would say sweet things, but through the months he has refined his compliments to sear them into her memory. “But yes, let us step through the entrance and find what other delights this party holds.”

The paladin took his hand and tugged him along, Zhath giving enough resistance for her to truly have to try and move him as a joke. “If you don’t hurry up I will go find Ori and that man and join them”

Zhathras growled possessively at her, “I do not advise that course of action, Zubrette.”

His growl sent chills down her spine and she could not help the look of desire she shot at him as she turned her head to look at him, “then you better hurry up, my time lord.”

Through the tree, slipping through the roots and staring at the colors that coated the lower passage. Down they went and when they fully entered the room Zubrette knew she found what she had been looking for all night. The pulsing of the music and the acts on the stages were exactly her scene. Drawing him to a booth by where Dicenne was demonstrating his skill in shibari, Zubrette took a seat in Zhathras’ lap.

They had discussed rope play before, but never had indulged much, their passion was too fiery still to try and restrain it in any way. Settled in against his chest Zub’s began to undo the buttons on his vest, once that was done she ran her hands up over his shirt then helped him ease his jacket off. Leaning forward she spoke with a sultry look, “Roll up your sleeves.” This.. this sexy dominant male was part of a fantasy she had often, one that he definitely encouraged her in.

“Look at him, look at her, see the beauty of not just the restraint but her expression of ecstasy at just being bound and shown off for a crowd. The art of this is not always about the sex, but the tying of each knot releases a pressure within that triggers one to absolutely just give themselves over to the moment.”

He listened to her as he rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, he liked the look of wonder on her face as she spoke of the artistry and emotional release of being bound, clearly he had some research to do. “And you would like this? Being suspended as she is in a crowd of people?”

She looked back at him with a half dreamy expression on her face, “Maybe not in public, but yes, I would enjoy this kind of play.” Turning her body, she straddled his lap, not caring that her dress slid up just enough to expose the entire line of her muscled hamstrings and the fact that she was wearing nothing beneath the creation of fabric and blue hued gems. In this position it took very little to press into her knees to rise up and kiss him hungrily, the heat the night had built was a flame that had kindled into a bonfire while she had watched the woman submitting in the interwoven red ropes.

Zhathras responded eagerly, his large hands around to grab the globes of her ass, encouraging her to press against him and open her lips so that he could slide his tongue along hers in a more intimate dance than the ones they had shared above.

Remaining like that until the beat changed to a song Zubrette loved, she broke the kiss and bit his bottom lip gently. “I will be back.” The spitfire of a woman moved to the dance floor nearest their booth, confident enough to take up space and claim it as her own. She danced for him and for herself, rolling her head allowing her hair to fall like a cascade of liquid copper over her face, the motion bleeding down into her body as she rocked and undulated mimicking what they might be doing soon. The athletic form displaying herself in a picture of seduction just for him.

The Dracthyr had to adjust himself as the proof of his reaction to the kiss and now the dance made his leather pants press tightly over him. His blue eyes blazed with intensity, cold fire that was ready to blaze and entwine with the one his Sun blessed beauty embodied. A low rumble of approval ricocheted around his chest cavity and the desire to go and get her made him tighten his grip on the tumbler of bourbon. They had barely had anything to drink but his mind grew hazy, lust drunk, needing to claim her beauty.

As the song faded to another she strode forward purposefully, straddling his lap again, Zubrette leaned in to mock whisper as the music overruled any attempt to speak quietly. “When we are ready, my condo is not so far from here.”

“When we go to your condo you will have weak knees, I might just have to carry you.” His declaration true, he toyed and teased her, his hands ever busy as they kissed and sling along time together. Using a hint of his gift he slowed them so he could spend more time watching her shatter again and again, to the dull throb of the music slowed along with them. When she slumped, sweat sheened and shaky, he grinned wickedly and spoke lowly to her, “Come let us go and seek your condo so we can release the pent up anticipation you have created in me, sun in my sky.”

#siennablaze219