#back side 2020 blouse designs

[avintagekiss24]

WE LOVED WITH A LOVE THAT WAS MORE THAN LOVE || STEVE ROGERS

pairing: Steve Rogers x black!reader ; minor pairings: peter parker x michelle “mj” jones, andy barber x black!reader, sam wilson x black!reader, ransom drysdale x black!reader, bucky barnes x black!reader || word count: 19,080 || warnings: smut, sex, gang bang/multiple sex partners m/m/m/m/m/f, vaginal fingering, oral sex (male and female receiving), biting, marking, anal sex, hand job, nipple play, cult-like gathering, mentions of voodoo, voodoo lore, cult rituals

authors note: it’s here! took me forever. i wanted to post this much earlier, but the election week threw me off my schedule so this got pushed because i had another deadline to meet for another challenge. this is for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​​ once upon a midnight dreary challenge! i chose “believe nothing you hear, and only one half that you see”, an invitation to a stranger’s party, and a cultish gathering for my prompts. again, i got a little help from my girl @tropicalcap​​ in helping me piece together a few plot points.

just a quick note :: steve never goes into the ice and the government doesn’t give him the serum... his transformation is achieved in a different manner. therefore, bucky’s transformation is also a little different than canon.

manip of peter & mj by sidewalk manips (i think they’re on instagram... not sure, i found it on google) // divider by @whimsicalrogers​

MONDAY

The ornate envelope in your hand is heavy. It’s decorated with thin, gold leaf, hand drawn designs, almost resembling the intricate henna leaves. Your name is scrolled across the front in big, black Old English calligraphy— hand written as well; you can just tell. You flip it over in your hand, the weight of it making a soft thud when it rests against the heel of your palm. A red wax seal is pressed against the flap and the back of the envelope, two initials carved deep— S.G.R.

Flipping the envelope back over in your hand, you press your lips together in a hard line. Junk mail is getting really fancy now-a-days. You blink at the front, reading and then rereading your name. A tinge of something— you’re not sure what, pulls at your stomach, making it constrict as your breath deepens harder than before. You even stop walking. You just stare at the envelope, drawing your bottom lip in between your teeth as you blink down at it.

It’s just unsettling. The weight of it, the attention to the little details of the writing and the designs. It’s anything but junk mail, but the tiny shards of anxiety that are prickling up against your skin don’t want you to think too much into it.

You shove it to the back of the pile of mail in your hand and continue flipping through it as you walk down the hallway towards your apartment, your purse bouncing against your hip as you move. Once inside, you throw the mail down first, then your keys, before you turn on your heel and move towards your bedroom, already tugging out of your blouse.

-

The TV is nothing more than background noise at this point. You’re curled up on your couch, a bowl of popcorn in your lap and a glass of red wine in your left hand as your eyes flit across the screen of your iPad. You scroll slowly with your right index finger, gobbling up a Stucky fic on ao3. Your eyes widen at the written words before you, your mouth dropping open as your heart starts to beat just a little harder— you’d die if anyone at work ever found out that you spend your free time reading about Bucky Barnes getting his back blown out by Captain America— but nobody told them to be so attractive. It’s their fault, really.

There’s a heavy knock at the door, but you don’t budge. You just push back against the pillows and keep your eyes on the illuminated screen as the door opens, “Take your shoes off.” A heavy sigh greets your ears seconds later, drawing a smile onto your lips as you throw your eyes quickly towards your little sister, “House rule.”

She rolls her eyes hard and toes at her sneakers— making sure to kick them up against the wall so the thuds rumble through the apartment— you know, for added drama. She pulls her bag over her head and drops it to the floor before padding across the carpet and plopping down next to you.

“You readin’ the one I sent you?” she asks, grabbing the popcorn out of your lap, “Can we order a pizza?”

“Yes and yes.” You answer absentmindedly as your eyes nearly pop out of your skull at the smut on your screen, “MJ!”

She laughs, scrunching up her nose as she pops some popcorn into her mouth and nods slowly as she focuses on the tv, “I told you it was nasty.”

“You didn’t say it was this nasty, good God.”

The younger woman scoffs as she throws her loose, wavy hair over her shoulder, “But you steady readin’ it though.”

You cut your eyes towards her, “I didn’t say that I don’t like nasty, just that it’s nasty. I think I have a coupon up on the counter for Tony’s if you wanna order now.” MJ is up on her feet as soon as the words leave your mouth, “Get some bread sticks too.”

The rummaging MJ does in the kitchen blurs with the screams from the television as you start to read again, losing yourself quickly back in the BDSM world the author has so vividly painted. You leave a kudos and a quick comment before tossing your iPad to the side and lift your eyes to your sister again, blinking as you find her leaning up against the counter, the weird envelope in her hand.

“The fuck is this?” she asks, her lip snarled, eyes squinted as she turns it over in her hand, “Why’s it so heavy?”

“I don’t know,” you laugh a little, “I got it in the mail today. It gives me the creeps.”

MJ moves around the coffee table and falls next to you again, tossing the coupon at you before sliding her finger underneath the flap. You grab her wrist before she goes to open it, tutting softly, “Don’t. Just leave it.”

“Why?”

“Because! I’m gonna throw it out.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m opening it.”

“Come on MJ—”

She slides her finger underneath the flap before you can stop her again, breaking the wax seal in two. You huff as she pulls out the 5x7 piece of heavy cardstock, then tips the envelope to lodge whatever was weighing it down free. A brooch falls into her palm, both of you leaning up to inspect the intricate piece of jewelry. It’s floral in design— pearls, or what look like pearls, placed strategically between the little, diamond encrusted, platinum leaves. Three pearls are bunched in the middle—  the center of the flower, with three larger diamonds outlining them.

“Holy shit, is this real?” MJ asks, lifting it up and turning it over, “Holy fuckin’ shit.”

You shake your head, “It can’t be. There’s no way.”

“It looks real.”

“No,” you scoff, waving her off, “It’s costume.”

She shoves it into your palm, “Feel that thing! It’s heavy as fuck, that ain’t costume jewelry.”

You furrow your brow as you let it sit in your palm, feeling it. It looks old— really old, like something that would have been worn back in the 1800s. You flip it over, bringing it up to your face as you spot another set of the S.G.R. initials engraved in the back of one of the small leaves.

“Fuck.”

The word slips out of your mouth effortlessly as you eye the jewelry and lick your bottom lip. You glance over at MJ who stares back at you with wide, hazel eyes, her lips parted, “See? That shit is real.”

You point at the card in her hand, swallowing quickly before you clear your throat, “What does that say?”

She takes a breath as you push your side into hers, your eyes scanning the writing, “We request the honor of your presence this Friday, October 31st, 2020 at 1543 Asher Ln. 8pm. No extra guests. S.G.R.” she slides her eyes towards you, “You know somebody with those initials?”

You blink, racking your brain, “No. I don’t— I don’t think so, at least.”

“Well, he or she obviously knows you.”

You grab the invitation from her, reading it again before you turn it over, hoping to find something else scribbled on the back. You drop your hand to your lap when you don’t and zero your gaze in on the television as it starts to tunnel.

“Bro,” MJ laughs quickly, “This is some freaky deaky shit.”

You eye the white invitation once more, reading it over again and again— as if you’re missing something, “What, um,” you start absentmindedly, “What do you mean?”

“This is some Eyes Wide Shut shit, sis!”

You scoff again, rolling your eyes as your shoulders slump, “Stop it MJ.”

“Girl,” she laughs harder, clapping her hands and letting her head fall back against the couch, “You gonna go?”

“No!” you squeal at her audacity, tossing the invitation and brooch on the coffee table, “It’s obviously some kind of joke or something.”

“That is no joke! The brooch has got to be at least ten g’s, easy.”

“It’s not real. That shit’s not worth ten dollars.”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, prude.”

You feel anger flushing through your veins, your face heating up as you stand quickly and walk into the kitchen, “I’m not a prude, Mary Jane.”

“Oooh, my full name,” she mocks, “What are you gettin’ mad for?”

“I’m not mad, I told you that thing gave me the creeps. Everything is a joke to you.”

“I’m not jokin’! Somebody obviously went through a lot of trouble to send you that, I’m just callin’ it as I see it.”

You down the rest of the wine in your glass and quickly pour another, bringing it to your lips as you rub the back of your neck with your free hand, “It’s some kind of prank.” you exhale, taking another sip, “I’m throwing it away.”

MJ rolls her eyes again, grabbing your iPad before she props her feet up on the small, square table in front of her, “Sure, sure. Yeah, somebody sends a diamond encrusted brooch and a handwritten invitation just for funsies. Got’cha.”

You close your eyes and take another gulp of wine, using it to stop yourself from saying something that will more than likely dissolve your evening into a fight. You swallow slowly, pushing the smooth alcohol down your throat and letting it settle and warm in your belly.

“1543 Asher Ln. is a real house, just so you know. Pops right up on Zillow.”

You sigh loudly.

“And,” she starts, dragging out the end of the word, “It’s only fifteen minutes from here.”

“Are you gonna order the pizza or what?”

“You should go, I’m just sayin’.”

“I’m not gonna,” you stop yourself as you glare over at her, her eyes and posture taking that MJ tone as your voice gets sharp, “I’m not going to a strangers house. Okay? Drop it.”

“There’s no reason not to go.” You stare at her for a few seconds. You squint your eyes and let your mouth fall open as you scrunch your face, honestly in disbelief, “What?” she shrugs, “I literally met Peter last year at a party of someone who, to this day, I still don’t know. I can’t even remember how I ended up there.”

“MJ—”

“Don’t MJ me. It could be fun!” She smiles big as you sit next to her again, “You need to live a little. Get some dick, man.” You cut your eyes back over at her and lift your middle finger, “I mean it!” she laughs again, “There is nothing more fun than a Halloween party.”

You lean forward, reaching for the brooch. You roll it around in your palm, keeping your eyes on it as MJ babbles on. You eye the invitation as it lays on the table. The anxiety is back— constricting your stomach, making you itchy and jumbling your thoughts. It’s like it’s screaming at you— like something or someone is trying to get your attention.

You reach forward and slide the invitation to the edge of the table with your fingertips. You grab it swiftly and stand again, feeling MJ’s eyes on your back as you move into the kitchen. Shoving the invitation, the envelope, and the brooch in a drawer, you push the notion right out of your mind.

You’ve never entertained MJ’s crap before and you aren’t going to start now. Out of sight, out of mind.

TUESDAY

There’s a flower arrangement sitting on your desk the next morning. It’s lively— all of the flowers a different shade of pink. The stocks are a blush-pink, the roses spanning the pink spectrum. The spray roses are more purple than anything, but they bring the whole thing together.

There’s a small card leaning up against the glass vase, your name scribbled across the front. You pluck it up quickly and flip it over.

Hope to see you Friday— J.B.B.

Your purse falls off your shoulder and down your arm as your eyes go wide. You turn quickly, scanning the bullpen as people move about but you’re not exactly sure what or who you’re looking for. You drop your purse into the chair front of your desk and walk out to your assistant.

“Did you sign for these?” you ask, your voice slightly raised and agitated.

Nakia glances up at you slowly over the rims of her glasses, clearly picking up on your demeanor, “Uh, yeah? ‘Bout half an hour ago… everything okay?”

“What flower shop are they from?”

She shrugs, widening her eyes, “I don’t know, it came by delivery service.”

You tug at your suit jacket around your hip and let out a huff, “Don’t accept anymore, okay?”

You turn on your heel before she can answer and stomp back into your office, closing the door behind you. Heat ripples through you as you grab the handset of your phone and bring it to your ear, angrily dialing your sister’s number. You lean against your desk, arms crossed over your chest as it rings, eyes shifting around the room.

“Yo.”

“There are flowers sitting on my desk.”

You’re met with silence for a few seconds, “... okay?”

“There from someone else that I don’t know,” you huff, “The initials are J.B.B. this time.”

“Oh shit, I forgot about that. Okay, so two dudes wanna rail you at this party. That’s my kind of Friday night, sis.”

“Will you cut it out!” you hiss angrily, turning to face the windows behind you, “This is freaking me out!”

“Oh my god,” you hear her moving around, like sheets and pillows being rumpled until a muffled, groggy moan sounds, “Peter… wake up… wake the fuck up… what did you say about that weird party thing?”

You roll your eyes and tap your foot nervously as the two go back and forth. There’s shuffling again on her end, and then a heavy sigh, “I think it’s a masquerade party.”  Peter Parker finally says, his words slurred with sleep, “That’s where—”

“I know what a masquerade party is Peter, thank you.”

“Oh yeah, okay, sorry, so,” he starts, shuffling around again, “I heard for the past couple of years that somebody has been throwing a secret masquerade party at different places around town.”

“How did you hear that?”

“So, there’s this girl I had a class with last year, her name was uh, Liz. She said her older sister was invited to it. And then, there was this other girl, Shuri, she also said that her sister got invited one year too. I didn’t get the full scoop from Shuri though cuz she ended up transferring to Columbia, which, okay, yeah it’s a great school and all, but—”

“Peter,” you say, closing your eyes, “Focus please.”

“Right, sorry. So, yeah, it could be that party. Liz said her sister got the same brooch.”

The hair on the back of your neck stands up. You clear your throat as you shift, cutting your eyes back to the vase of roses sitting in the corner of your glass desk, “Did she go?” you ask trepidatiously, rubbing the back of your neck with your hand.

“Uh, yeah. She said it was pretty chill.”

“Pretty chill? The fuck does that mean?”

“Sorry, um, she said her sister said it was fun. Plenty of alcohol, plenty of food. But, because of the whole masquerade thing, she never found out who invited her.”

Put it on speaker, your sister's voice rings, then a sharp, sudden sound of skin on skin followed by a squeal from Peter, “Ow! Okay!”

“So,” you start, your fingers picking at the spiral telephone cord, “They didn’t say anything weird happened or anything? They’re both okay?”

“Liz said that her sister said she talked to some blonde guy for a while. He was asking her a bunch of like, weird, artsy questions but she thought it was all a part of the allure of the party so she just went with it. Other than that,” Peter trails off, and you can practically see him shrugging as if he’s right in front of you, “She said it was fun.”

“See? Everything is on the up and up.” MJ adds, “You should go.”

You don’t answer right away. You slide the small card towards the edge of your desk, picking it up again.

Hope to see you Friday— J.B.B.

“Peter, thank you, sorry for waking you up.” You say a few moments later, clearing your throat, “I’ll call you later MJ, okay?”

“Okie,” she purrs into the phone, “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Your answer is distracted— quiet and airy as you set the handset back into the base. You stare back at the flowers, chewing on the inside of your cheek as something starts to gnaw at you. Something deep. You set the small card back up against the vase and shake your mouse to wake up your computer, forcing yourself into your emails, the small sentiment running circles in your mind.

Hope to see you Friday— J.B.B.

WEDNESDAY

You’re barely home from work when there’s a knock at your door— in fact, you only have one shoe off when the thud sounds through your apartment. You sigh, slipping your pump back onto your foot before you stand from the bed and move to the door. Peering out of the peephole, you spot a FedEx driver, his hands full of packages.

“Hi,” you greet as you open the door, “Goodness, these are all for me?”

“As soon as you sign for them they are.” He laughs, handing you the small pen and handheld scanner.

You sign quickly as he places the boxes just inside your door, and wiggle your fingers as he makes his leave, hustling back down to his truck. You keep your eyes on the boxes as you close and lock the door— you didn’t order anything. You haven’t ordered anything in at least a week and when you do, it’s always from Amazon. All of these boxes are unmarked, except for the shipping label, that has no return address.

An envelope is taped to the side of the largest box and based on how your week has been going, you already half know what to expect. You rip it away from the box and slide your finger underneath the flap, pulling out another handwritten, five-by-seven card.

Hope it fits… A.S.B.

You shove the card back into the envelope and toss it aside before grabbing the large box, sitting it on the bar. With the help of your house key, you rip into the box, popping open the flaps once the tape is broken down the middle. You gasp as you pull out a black and gold ball gown, your mouth dropping open as your eyes go wide.

The corset top is strapless and intricately hand woven with small, black beads in a leafy design. A layer of gold tulle spills down an even longer layer of black tulle, all the way to the floor. The dress is thick— heavy, as you hold it up in your hands. You search for a tag, sewn in initials, something to try and place where this could have possibly come from, but find nothing, as if it’s one of a kind. You splay it out over the couch and move to the second box— your interest now suddenly piqued.

You pop open the second box to find a slightly smaller box inside. Tucking your fingers underneath the rim, you pull the top away and gasp again— this time bigger— and take a physical step back. You blink stupidly and you fumble around in your pants pocket, trying to find your phone. You slam your finger down on MJ’s name and bring it to your ear, lifting a gold Giuseppe heel up in the air.

“You need to get your ass over here, now.”

-

There’s total silence in the apartment as you, MJ, and Peter stare at the Giuseppe heels and a handful of jewelry. The most jaw-dropping being a thin rose gold chain adorned with ninety one (Peter counted), different shaped diamonds arranged to resemble the leaves of a vine. At the center, they all meet at a large— museum caliber— yellow diamond.

“So let me get this straight,” MJ starts, placing her hands on her hips, “Those are Giuseppe heels, and not just any Giuseppe heel, the Cruel Crystal Giuseppe heel, that they don’t even make anymore,” she emphasizes with her hands, “A necklace with a diamond that bigger than my goddamn fist, and a, hang on a second,” she closes her eyes, holding up her hands to add to the drama of it all, “A hand stitched ball gown?”

“Don’t forget the mask,” Peter breathes heavily, “That’s, I’m pretty sure that’s made outta pure crystal, so,”

You play with your bottom lip nervously, your left arm thrown over your stomach as you slowly turn your head towards your sister and her boyfriend, “Did your friend's sister get all of this shit too?”

The young, brown haired man scratches his head as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other before shrugging and expelling a breath out of his mouth, “I mean, I…” he shrugs again, completely at a loss, “I don’t know.”

“Maybe we can google the initials or something. Where’s your iPad?” MJ asks, turning on her heel and rushing into your bedroom.

“I tried that already,” you call, grabbing the shoes from the counter and slipping your feet into it, “Oh my god, they fit.” You whisper more to yourself than to anyone else in the room.

MJ rolls her eyes, “Well, what came up?”

“Steven Grant Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes,” you answer as you twirl around in a circle, completely enamored with your shoes, “So, nothing.”

Peter gasps and places his hands on his chest as his face fills with a quick fear, “Fuuuckkk, what if it’s them?”

You and MJ both scoff, “Don’t be stupid, Parker.” MJ says.

“It could be! You don’t know!”

“Ok, yes, Captain America and the Winter Soldier are behind this. Sure,” she cuts her eyes towards you, “He has such a crush on them. Did you try the third set of initials?”

You nod as you stare down at your feet, turning your right foot slightly, watching as the gold glints underneath the light, “Yeah, no luck there either. Just random ass dudes— look at how good these look on my feet, sissy.”

She waves you off as she sits on the coffee table, her face being lit up by the light of your iPad, “Okay, A.S.B., Andrew Stephen Barber, assistant district attorney— could be him… he’s cute at least.” she shrugs.

“I doubt it,” you let out a breath, “I should try on the dress, huh? I mean, you know, just to see.” MJ throws you a look while Peter glances between the two of you nervously, “What? I’m still not going, I just want to see how it looks.”

“Uh huh,” MJ squints her eyes, following you as you walk back into your bedroom, already pulling down the zipper on the back of your shirt, “Sure.”

THURSDAY

MJ💕 12:37pm

Lunch? I’m right around the corner from your building

You hear your phone chime, but you don’t tear your eyes away from your screen immediately. Voices come from the speaker on your phone as you type fervorously. You’re only really half listening— this meeting has nothing to do with you, but, you’re the account manager, so you have to at least try and seem interested while you work on another contract with a much more lucrative, expensive company.

The iPhone rattles again against your glass desk and you snap it up this time, your eyes scanning the message. Right on cue, your stomach rumbles.

You 12:40pm

Sure, sure. Chinese?

MJ💕 12:41pm

Yum.

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you open your SPARK messenger and tap on Nakia’s name. She knows you and MJ’s order like that back of her hand, and messages you back minutes later to confirm the food will be on it’s way within the hour. You return your attention to the large computer screen before you, pushing your glasses up your nose as you shift your vision to the second monitor slightly to your left.

There’s a small tap a few minutes later, followed by Nakia’s beautiful face peeking in as she mouth’s MJ before opening the door wider to let your lanky sister breeze into the room. You hold your fingers up to your lips as the chorus of voices still speak from your speaker, but keep your eyes on her as she pulls her bag over her shoulder and head and plops down in one of the plush seats in front of your desk.

She makes herself busy on her phone, no doubt texting Peter as you return to your emails and contract, losing twenty or thirty more minutes.

“Okay guys, I’ll talk to you next week right?” You ask, your fingers hovering over the speaker button, “Okay… alrightly, buh-bye.” you slam your finger down on the small, round button and widen your eyes as you let out an audible breath, “Sorry, sissy.”

MJ holds up her hand, her face still buried in her phone, “You’re an important lady, I get it.”

“I thought you had class today?”

“That’s the good thing about having a pregnant Professor,” she smiles, wiggling her eyebrows, “Morning sickness apparently lasts throughout the day.”

Another tap comes at the door before Nakia emerges again, this time her hands full of food, “Here we are ladies,” she smiles as she sits the bags on your desk, “This also just arrived for you too.”

Your face twists in confusion as she hands you something wrapped in plain brown paper. There’s a black ribbing wrapped around it, tied in a neat little bow in the center of the package. It’s light whatever it is. Your eyes drift slowly over to MJ, who sits up in her seat, peering at the package in your hands before she blinks up at you— a knowing look on her face.

“Thanks Nakia,” you smile, trying not to draw her attention to all of the air being sucked out of the room.

MJ’s phone rings just as Nakia exits the room. You hear her mumble a greeting, but your attention is quickly sucked back to your hands. Curiosity gets the best of you. You pull at the ribbon and toss it aside before curling your fingers around the edges to find where it’s taped together.

Just as your fingers find where the edges meet, Peter Parker’s voice fills the room, “Am I on speaker?”

“Yes!” MJ hisses, “Talk.”

“Ok, so, I was talking to Liz about the weirdo party her sister went to last year. She got the same packages throughout the week! Monday, she got the invite, Tuesday she got flowers, Wednesday she got a dress, shoes, and a masquerade mask, and Thursday she got—“

“A book of poems,” you breathe, the sound low and airy, “By Edgar Allan Poe.”

“Exa-Exactly.” Peter stutters.

It’s delicate, this book— the pages. You thumb through them gently, smelling the authenticity of it— the rarity. It’s been kept in pristine condition but it still looks old, the pages a dull brown; crisp and brittle to the touch. Your heart thumps against your chest as the hair on the back of your neck stands on end. Your throat constricts as you swallow hard, nerves filling your body.

“Which one is it?” Peter asks softly, the weight of this affecting him through the phone.

“Tamerlane and other poems.” You recite as you close the small book and run your fingers over the front cover.

MJ scrambles to her feet and scurries around you, her eyes plastered on your computer monitor as she starts to type.

Peter clears his throat, “Liz’s sister got a copy of Al Aaraaf. It was like, a first edition or something.”

“Fuck,” the obscenity falls from MJ’s lips with ease, but with a gentle discomfort, “This says there’s less than twelve copies of this in existence— twelve. I mean, how do you even get your hands on something like this?”

You can’t even speak. You just sit there, feeling the small book in your hands, staring blankly at the cover. Peter and MJ start to bicker back and forth as they try to make heads and tails of all of this. You aren’t taken by the book exactly, yeah, you're holding one of maybe twelve copies left in the entire world, but there’s something else gnawing at you in the pit of your stomach— something that’s been just at the tip of your subconscious all week long.

It’s like—

“Was Liz’s sister into Edgar Allan Poe?” You ask suddenly.

“Not at all,” Peter answers quickly, “She thought it was weird.”

“And the dress and the shoes? Did they um,” you blink up at MJ but avert your eyes just as quickly, “They didn’t fit, did they?”

There’s silence from Peter. You can almost see him, standing there in the middle of the college campus with a dumbfounded look on his face— his fingers threading through his hair, his mouth hanging open, eyes wide, “No,” he answers after a slow minute or two, “They were too small.” He goes quiet again before he says, “How did you know that?”

The feeling that’s been gnawing at you all week. You’ve felt like someone’s been looking for you. There’s been this… pull— somewhere deep inside of you— like someone is calling for you.

What scares you is that you want to answer.

“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting,” MJ recites slowly.

“Dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before,” you finish for her, “I used to read that to you when you were a kid.”

“He’s your favorite.”

“My absolute favorite,” you laugh nervously, “I wrote my thesis on Al Aaraaf when I was in school.” You fall back into your chair, “That dress fit me like a glove, MJ—  the shoes too.”

She shakes her head quickly, her eyes closed as she slowly comes to the realization that you are. She runs her thin fingers through her wavy hair before she rests her hands on her shoulders, squeezing to comfort herself, “Do you think it’s—”

You shrug, “It could be.”

MJ drops her eyes from yours.

“What’s happening?” Peter’s voice sounds again, “What— what do you mean? Who do you think it is?”

“I’m adopted,” you say slowly, a soft smile on your face as you keep your eyes on MJ, “I was two, maybe three when they took me from my mom. I was placed with our parents, MJ’s biological parents, really quickly— I don’t remember a whole lot, but I remember someone reading Edgar Allan Poe to me, specifically Tamerlane.”

“Fuck,” Peter breathes, “You think it’s her? Your mom?”

You glance towards the floor, a small card catching your eye. You pick it up gingerly and turn it over, your eyes scanning over the handwritten note.

For passionate love is still divine

I lov’d her as an angel might

With ray of the all living light

Which blazes upon Edis’ shrine

See you tomorrow, love — H.R.D.

You drag your eyes back up to MJ’s as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, “It’s definitely someone that knows her.”

FRIDAY

You don’t go into work.

Peter and MJ have been at your apartment all day, helping you piece this crazy story all together. Liz’s sister, Shuri’s sister— they were all you. Same age, all of you born within days of each other. All born at the same hospital. All adopted around the same age.

Someone is looking for you; and has been for years.

You and MJ are now on opposite sides about this party than you were at the beginning of the week. You want to go. You need to; especially if it’ll lead you to your mother. MJ voiced her newfound concerns, to the point where she shed a few tears— but, being the big sister you are, you brushed them away and explained it as best you could. You just need to know if she’s out there—  what these people, S.R.G., J.B.B., A.S.B., H.R.D. know about her.

So, she helps you get ready. She curls your hair and pins it up. She paints your nails and helps you into the dress before she leans against the door jam of the bathroom, watching you do your makeup— just like she used to when you were a teenager. Peter knocks on the bedroom door before he barely opens it and shoves his arm inside, an envelope hanging off his finger tips.

“Hey guys,” he says softly, “This just came.”

“You want me to read it?” MJ asks, tapping it against her fingers. When you nod, she tears the flap and slides out the card, “A chariot will await you at 7:30 sharp… but please take your time. S.T.W.”

“What time is it?”

She glances at her phone, “7:25.”

You let out a shaky breath. You lean into the mirror and dab at your lips, removing any excess lipstick before you push back again and drag your eyes down your reflection.

“You know,” you start, keeping your eyes on your painted nails, “I don’t remember my mom at all. Not her face, not her voice, but I remember a man— my dad, I guess.” You blink back towards your reflection, squinting your eyes as the gears turn in your head, “I just remember blonde hair and a deep voice reading those poems to me. I remember feeling safe when he held me.”

MJ drops her eyes and nods slowly as she rakes her fingernails up and down her forearm, “I get why you wanna go. I do.”

“I just need to make these fragments make sense, you know? I remember these other guys too— which,” you shrug, “Would make sense since mom said that my real mom lived in a commune, but,” your words drift off.

“Remember when you thought Steve Rogers was your dad?”

You laugh wholeheartedly, “I do! I just always felt like I knew him, I don’t know why.”

You still do— feel like you know him.

“So, yeah. I get it, I really do. It’s gotta be hard not knowing where you come from— thinking that every stranger you meet, or every person you see could possibly be someone you used to know.” MJ sighs as she meets your gaze through the mirror, “You look great. You always look great.”

“Thanks, sissy.” You bunch your dress in your hand and lift it gently as you step towards her, “I’ll be fine.”

She nods quickly, pursing her lips as she cuts her eyes away from yours, “I know that.”

You smile and tilt your head towards her gaze to grab her attention again, “I’m your big sister, you know. I can handle myself.”

“I know you can, I just—” she shrugs, “I don’t want you to forget me.”

“MJ,” you start, grabbing her elbow when her chin quivers, “This has nothing to do with you or mom or dad. I love you guys, you’re my family, that will never change. I promise you, okay?” you pull her into a tight hug, rubbing her back, “You will always be my sister— no one will ever take that away from us.”

“Guys,” Peter calls, “A red Audi just pulled up out front, like, an expensive one.”

“Your chariot awaits.” MJ laughs as she pulls away from you, wiping the wetness on her cheeks away.

You thread your fingers with hers and walk out into the living room where Peter smiles softly. You hug him too— he’s the best thing that could have ever happened to your sister.

“You guys are staying here for the night, right?” you ask, grabbing your clutch.

“We’re not leaving until you come back.” MJ answers.

“Okay. I’ll um, I’ll stay in touch throughout the night, okay?”

MJ nods, “We’ll stay by our phones.”

You head for the front door, opening it quickly before you step out into the hallway, “Don’t have sex in my bed,” you say suddenly, whipping back around to face the couple, “Please.”

“Oh my god,” Peter scoffs, rolling his eyes as a red tint flushes through his face, “We won’t.”

“Yeah, we’ll have sex on the couch.” Your shoulders slump as you squint at MJ, her laughter rolling off her tongue, “Just joking. Have fun, please text us.”

“I will. I love you.”

“I love you too. Be careful.”

You have to turn away from them abruptly or you’d never leave. Grasping your phone and the small clutch you borrowed from MJ, and your crystal mask in your hands, you head for the elevator. It’s a slow ride down to the main floor— silent too. Nothing but the sound of your racing thoughts bouncing back and forth in your mind. The metal box slows to a stop, a soft ding fills the air, and then the world slides back into view— a sleek, red Audi visible through the glass front doors.

A man steps out of the driver seat as you walk towards the door and push through, tightening your grip on your dress. He moves around the car, stopping just at the back door. You notice his eyes dip to your chest and you can’t help but follow his gaze. The flower shaped brooch catches the artificial light of the street lights and each little diamond starts to glint and gleam, even the pearls taking on a new shine.

The driver smiles softly, “The invitation you received was handwritten in an Old English font. The initials at the bottom?”

A test.

“Oh, um, S.G.R.”

“Those flowers you received on Tuesday were beautiful—  white carnations, right?”

You shake your head, “Pink roses.”

“I read a poem the other day, I can’t remember what it was called though. It went something like ‘know thou the secret of a spirit bow’d from its wild pride into shame’…”

“O! Yearning heart! I did inherit thy withering portion with the fame, the searing glory which hath shone amid the Jewels of my throne, Halo of Hell! And with a pain not hell shall make me fear again— o craving heart, for the lost flowers and sunshine of my summer hours,” you smile gently, “Tamerlane— the name of the poem.”

He opens the door and holds out his white, gloved hand to you.

-

1543 Asher Lane is lit up like Rockefeller Center during Christmas. Your mouth drops open as you pull up out front, every window glowing with a warm light. The front doors are thrown open with seemingly hundreds of people moving about inside. The driver opens your door and holds out his hand for you, prompting you to slide your palm into his. He keeps a firm grip on your fingers as you step out, and then helps you up the long front steps.

He only releases your hand when you reach the front door, bowing gently before he skips back down the stairs and towards the car. Your heart drums in your ears as you place your crystal, half face mask on your face and adjust it gently before you drop your hand to the necklace nestled in your cleavage. You play with the large yellow diamond as you step inside, your eyes going wide as the lively noise of a full blown party suddenly fills your ears.

An orchestra plays in the middle of the large, open foyer, the sounds bouncing off the walls and rising up into the tall ceiling. Twenty or thirty couples dance to the upbeat tune and you’d swear you’d just stepped into the 1800s. All the men that move about are dressed in black tuxedos, the only distinction between them all being their different masks. The women twirl in their Venetian ball gowns, their jewelry and intricate, flamboyant masks glinting underneath the light.

There’s double staircases winding up walls, leading up to the second floor, more people laughing and talking intimately on them. Waiters in white suits, black ties and white gloves move seamlessly about, slipping in between the bodies with plates of champagne and finger foods— each one bending forward politely and placing their free hand behind their back as party goers pluck the goodies off their silver serving plates.  

The floors are made of marble. A large, ornate chandelier hangs from the high ceiling, spilling a warm, almost golden light over everything and everyone.

“Champagne, ma’am?”

You snap your head towards the voice as it breaks you from your trance, “Thank you,” you smile as you take the thin champagne flute from his tray.

Just as quickly as he arrived, the waiter is gone again, leaving you to admire the scene before you. You take a sip of the bubbly liquid and pull out your phone, taking a quick picture and sending it to MJ with a short message. You’ve barely tucked it away when another voice sounds at your side.

“Would you care to dance?”

You turn towards the calm, deep voice, your lips parting as your eyes bounce between two crystal blue eyes. Blonde hair is swept back neatly, a strong, smooth chin and jawline visible underneath his silver, laser cut Venetian mask. He’s tall— towering almost, his chest and shoulders wide and broad. You’re taken by him almost immediately. You nod quickly, blinking a few times as he takes your champagne flute from you and hands it to a nearby server before he takes your hand and leads you into the middle of the floor.

You gasp as he sweeps you up in his arms, resting his large hand on the small of your back and pulls you into his hard body. You can’t help but stare up at him as he starts to twirl you around the floor, taking complete control of your steps. A laugh bubbles up from your chest as he spins you away from him, extending his long arm until just your fingertips are touching, and then pulls you back into his chest.

He’s a confident man— you can tell by the way he spins you around the dance floor. Even as the tempo of the music changes, from upbeat and fun, to slow and somewhat sad, he stays right in rhythm. You’ve always been a sucker for a man that can dance.

A slow smile creeps onto your face as your eyes bounce back and forth between his while the orchestra plays, “What is this song?” you ask suddenly, breaking the ice between the two of you.

“Sicilienne in E flat major, do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful.” You laugh a little, turning your head to watch the young cellist, “He’s so young, is he local?”

“He isn’t, no. That’s Sheku Kanneh-Mason of Britain, you may—”

You snap your head back towards him, “He played at the Royal Wedding! Oh my god!”

He chuckles as he gently tightens his hold around your waist, “The very one.”

You turn your head to watch the young man as he plays, completely in awe of his raw talent and bask in it, knowing you’ll never be in such company again, “My God, this is incredible. I have no idea what I’m doing here.” You laugh.

“Well, you were invited, yes?”

“Yeah but I—” you stop yourself, shaking your head gently before you smile again, “I had a crazy thought about this party. I thought someone from my past was trying to reach out to me.” He tilts his head a little, his eyes scanning your face. You laugh again, “Don’t mind me, I’m just imagining things apparently.”

“Someone from your past?” He nudges gently.

You’re not sure if it's the champagne you’ve been sipping all evening, or just because for some reason you feel like you’ve known this man your whole life, but you start to spill your guts, “I thought, God, this is going to sound stupid. I thought my mom, or someone who knew my mom was trying to reach out to me through this party, which sounds insane now that I think about it. I was adopted, so,” you shrug, “I dunno, I was kinda hoping that she’d be here or that someone could get me in touch with her. Sounds crazy, right?”

He spins you again, this time slow, his eyes dragging down your body. He pulls you back into him and you rest your hand on his chest as you watch the orchestra, a soft smile on your face, “You are young yet, my friend, but the time will arrive when you will learn to judge for yourself of what is going on in the world, without trusting to the gossip of others,” you recite, “Believe nothing you hear and only one half that you see.”

His steps hitch ever so lightly.

You turn back to face him, blinking up at him as another smile spreads on your lips, “I didn’t catch your name?”

He blinks at you, something new in his eyes— something like relief? You can’t tell. His lips part and he takes a breath, trying but failing to get his mouth to move, “I’m sorry,” he finally says, laughing gently as he shakes his head, “Um, I’m Steven— Steve. Um, Edgar Allan Poe?”

“Yeah, sorry,” you laugh, “He’s one of my favorite poets. That last line just kind of describes my thoughts over the past few days is all.”

“It’s strange for a young girl like yourself to be an Edgar Allan Poe aficionado.”

You shrug again, nodding, “I know. I just, I’ve always had an affinity for him, it’s one of the few memories of my father that I have. He used to read Poe’s poems to me as a child.”

He stops dancing abruptly, “May you excuse me? I’m sorry, I have to um, I have to go see someone very quickly. I’ll be right back.”

Before you can even answer, he brushes past you, dipping in and out of the people still filling the dance floor. You blink in confusion, watching as he jogs up the stairs and stops at the very top step, leaning into a dark haired man. They both turn in your direction after a few minutes, catching your eye before they turn back to one another, the dark haired man grabbing Steven’s arm in… surprise, maybe?

They break apart seconds later, Steven jogging back down the stairs, the dark haired man walking briskly along the long catwalk, stopping only to tap three other men on the back before they too follow quickly behind him and disappear. You grab another champagne glass from a waiter and take a gulp as heat flushes through you— nerves suddenly racking your body.

You keep your eyes on Steve as he pushes through the people again, making a line straight towards you. Tilting your head back, you finish off the rest of your glass as he approaches you again, “I’m sorry,” he smiles, “That was rude of me.”

“Oh, it’s, it’s no problem,” you laugh nervously, clearing your throat as you glance around the crowded room.

He holds out his hand to you, “Would you come with me? Please?”

You shake your head as fear strikes you, “Oh, you know, I actually have to get going, I—”

“I know your mother,” your eyes widen at his words, stopping you dead in your tracks, “And your father. Please, come with me.”

You aren’t crazy.

Someone is really trying to contact you.

You grab his hand and let him pull you through the crowd and towards the stairs. He steps aside and lets you lead, placing his hands on your waist as the two of you move up the long staircase. Once you reach the top, he grabs your hand again and pulls you along the catwalk until you disappear down the hallway. You pass by a series of doors before you stop at the last one, Steve stopping to knock.

The door pops open seconds later and Steve steps aside again, dropping your hand to hold his out towards the door. You remove your mask and sweep your hair out of your face as your mouth falls open, your eyes wide as you stare at Steve.

“It’s okay,” he reassures, his voice soft and calm.

You take a step, and then another, your heart beating hard and fast, goosebumps popping up on your skin. You step into the room but stop dead in your tracks as the air is sucked right out of your body. Four men sit at a long, antique, baroque style table. Their hands are placed flat on the dark marble top, heads bowed. The room is dark except for the flickering candles that sit in their ornate holders in the middle of the table, the light accentuating the mens’ black and gold scaramouche masks.

Fear rolls through you in waves, your breaths shaky and heavy as it falls from your lips. The door clicks behind you and you feel a hand on the small of your back again, another one on your elbow, “It’s alright darling,” he whispers in your ear, “I’ll help you to your seat, okay?”

“Steve,” your voice trembling, “I don’t, I don’t understand, I—”

“It’s alright, I promise you. We are not going to hurt you. That goes against everything we stand for. Come.”

You blink wildly at the men at the table as Steve pushes you past them slowly. They don’t flinch— no one makes a move to glance up at you or even breathe harder than what they already are. You were so busy staring at the men occupying four of the five chairs at the table, that you didn’t even notice the hand carved chair sitting against the wall at the back of the room.

The frame is golden, the upholstery teal in color and covered with floral embroidery, the back designed with a diamond tuft. It sits up a little higher than the table— propped up on a small, hand built stage with three steps leading up to it. Steve helps you up the small steps, keeping your hand in his until you’re seated.

As soon as you're settled, the four seated men pull a candle from the center of the table and place it right in front of them. The golden flames dance at the tips of the long, white candles, casting shadows over the dark walls.

“You may begin.”

You snap your head towards Steve as he speaks, your mouth hanging open, your eyes wide, breath shaky. The dark haired man that Steve first spoke to stands, his chair scuffing against the floor as he pushes away from the table. He grasps the candle holder in both hands as he approaches you slowly, his eyes cast down towards the floor.

Your breath quickens as he nears you. You squeeze Steve’s hand as you push back into the chair, starting to draw your feet up as he kneels before you, “Wait, wait, wait, wait! What are you—”

“It’s okay, darling.” Steve purrs, his thumb sweeping over the back of your hands, “It’s okay. He’s not going to hurt you. Just relax.”

A hot tear streaks down your cheek as your whimper, your chin trembling as you push a hard, focused breath out of your mouth. The man in front of you mumbles something— in French you think, but you aren’t sure— before he reaches into his pocket. Your breath hitches in your throat as he starts to sprinkle rose petals at your feet, chanting as he does.

You feel his fingers brush over your exposed toes before he lifts your right foot and slips off your gold shoe— tracing a cross with the tip of his finger on the top of your foot. He repeats his actions to the left and stands, keeping his head down as he makes a cross over his face and chest and then turns and returns to his seat.

The next man stands, a thick beard covering his chin, his candle in hand as he approaches you, never making eye contact. Instead of rose petals, he lays money at your feet— a single dollar bill— before he traces the cross into your skin while he speaks in French.

The third man is clean shaven, like Steve, but his hair dark— some falling over his mask and onto his forehead. He leaves a handful of herbs and one white egg at your feet before sweeping his fingertips over your toes and branding each foot with an imaginary cross.

The fourth man that kneels before you repeats everything to a T. He’s tall, his skin a deep, smooth walnut brown. He leaves behind a handful of wheat grain and what looks like raw sugarcane before he blesses your feet and rises again. He taps his forehead and chest before each shoulder and moves away, retaking his seat at the table.

Tears still trickle down your cheeks as you blink furiously— your stomach churning, your palms clammy. You snap your eyes towards Steve as he finally releases your hand and grabs a bowl from the small table tucked into the corner of the room. He steps in front of you and kneels, setting the hand painted bowl at your feet. He lifts your feet gently, placing them in the bowl with care, massaging your ankles and lower calves to calm you.

It works— your voice trembles as you push out a gentle hum, focusing on his hands on your skin. He starts to speak in French, his voice low and calm, much like most of the evening. He pulls a small flask out of his jacket pocket and pops the lid before he pours the unusually cool liquid over your feet. You flinch instinctively but focus again on his soft hands, kneading your feet as he washes them.

Steve pulls the white silk pocket square from his suit jacket and dabs at your feet, wiping away the moisture. He traces a cross on the tops of your feet before standing again and cups your face with his hands. You’re drawn into him— resting your forehead to his as he continues to chant, his lips so close they brush against yours as he speaks.

“Bless this missing child,” he whispers, the only part of his chant in english, “She is home at last.”

As soon as the words leave his lips, every burning candle is suddenly extinguished by some force now filling the room. You blink in the darkness, your breath quickening as you grab Steve’s forearms.

“Shhh, shhh, shhhh,” he coos, stroking your bottom lip with his thumbs, “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

The room is full— so full of energy; power. It whips around you, electrifying your skin and blood, rattling your bones. It’s foreign— anomalous— but yet feels so comforting and warm. Like love. Like you're surrounded by family. You loosen your grip on Steve’s forearms as the fear drains from your body, a voice— a soft whisper in your ears. A voice you’ve never heard before but have somehow heard your whole life. It’s a language you don’t understand, but yet you know exactly what it’s saying.

Your eyes pop open suddenly and the room is washed in a warm light as the candles are suddenly lit again. Steve smiles at you softly as your eyes, now full of wonder and a new sacred knowledge, bounce back and forth between his deep blues. There’s a new electricity between the two of you, something unspoken, but written in the stars all the same.

The blood in your veins rushes hard, the sound of your thumping heart beating in your ears as goosebumps pop up over your skin again. Your stomach tightens as the molten of your ardor starts to pool and spread through your body, blazing a quick path. Steve’s thumbs still sweep over your lips, underneath your eyes, over your nose as you hold loosely onto his wrists. You grab your bottom lip between your teeth and let your eyes fall to his mouth before you inhale sharply— soft and pink, his lips.

His large palms spread warmth through your face, his thumbs still circling— still pushing along your smooth skin. Blue eyes dart around your face, continually meeting your deep brown eyes before dipping to your expectant lips. He pushes closer— so close that his pillowy lips rest against yours, but he doesn’t rush it— doesn’t press any harder.

He leaves it all up to you.

The energy is back in the room, swirling, filling you up with the power and presence with each breath you take. You press your lips to his as the sweet sirens start to whisper to you again. A moan slips from your mouth and into Steve’s, where he gobbles it up, exchanging a deep, pleased groan of his own.  

His lips start to travel, moving down to your chin and jaw. He nuzzles into the soft, warm crook of your neck where he sucks lightly— his velvet tongue sneaking out and slipping along your skin. You push your chest into his as your back straightens, a gasp filling your lungs with the sweet air that surrounds you.

The emotion takes over in the heat of the moment— the fire of his lips and hands setting you a flame. Your leg hooks around his waist as you curl your fingers over his broad shoulders, digging your black painted nails into his shoulder blades. His teeth nip at your taut flesh and you lurch forward, your head tilting towards the ceiling as a choked moan strains in your throat.

You feel his deft fingertips on your naked calf, slipping along the length— over and around your knee, up your thigh— where he kneads and gropes, pulling heavier, louder sounds from you as his lips caress your flesh. A shiver rolls down your spine when his thick digits brush over your sticky panties. He doesn’t shy away, he sweeps the pads of his fingers over you again and again, finding a sweet little rhythm as he applies a gentle pressure.

Hips roll. Chests swell. Grips tighten as your head rolls back. Your mouth falls open as you drag in a breath, pushing it out with a husky groan. Your teeth grab your bottom lip again as you slide your hand around his wide back, hooking your arm around his neck. Humming, you open your eyes, blinking slowly back at four sets of hungry eyes trained on you and Steve. You inhale again, letting your lips part as you link eyes with each man at the table.

The men sit stark still— not moving a muscle as the flame from the candles light your bodies. Shadows dance across their masked faces as they watch in silence, but you can feel each and every one of them. Each energy is slightly different but acutely masculine, acutely tuned into you.

You don’t mind them watching. The scene salacious— vulgar.

Wrapped up in two large, muscly arms, you’re hoisted from the chair as Steve grabs your lips again with his own. He walks you to the table and sits you on the edge, right between two of the four men occupying it. The marble top is cool to the touch as he helps you up onto your feet, holding the tips of your fingers with his hand. He leads you into the center of the table, five heads all tilted up towards you as you stand there, the bottom of your dress dragging behind you as you move.

You feel like a princess with all of their eyes on you, hanging on to your every move, drinking in every inch of you. You twirl— a giggle falling from your lips before you sink down to your knees, peeking over your shoulder at the only brown eyed man in the room. You place your thin fingers over your lips, playing with them gently as you bat your eyes at him and sweep your hair over your shoulder— exposing the zipper of your dress.

He obliges without hesitation. Standing to his feet, he reaches for you— a warm hand on your bare shoulder, another grasping the zipper. You nuzzle your chin and cheek against his long fingers before brushing your lips over them quickly. His warm brown skin melts into yours as he pulls on your zipper, exposing more and more of your naked back as he goes.

The soft smile on your face grows wider as he centers his large palm in the middle of your back. Warm skin to warm skin. His eyes are ablaze— dark, blown pupils against a lighter brown iris— set dead on you as his lips part, showing off a distinctive gap in his teeth as his fingers whisk across your back and shoulder.

You turn to face him, still kneeling in the center of the table, and reach for his mask— pulling gently on the black tie until the bow falls away. He lets you remove it from him, a soft smile playing on his lips as you reveal the handsome face underneath.

“Samuel Thomas Wilson,” Steve offers softly.

Samuel tips his head towards you as you run the tips of your fingers along his softly bearded jaw, “S.T.W.” you say easy, recalling the last of your calling cards, “Hi Sam.”

You lean forward and place your lips on his— one gentle, chaste kiss before you break away from him with a soft smack.

You follow Steve with your eyes as he moves to the man seated next to Sam. Steve places his hand on his shoulder, “Andrew Stephen Barber.”

You bat your eyes at Andrew as he stands and takes your hand, bringing the backs of your fingers to his lips, “Andy.” He supplies as he removes his mask and sits it gently on the table.

“A.S.B., thank you for the dress.”

His presence is calm— gentle, matching the softness of his beard and dark hair. You press your free hand into the halter top of your dress to keep it from falling, but all the modesty you once had is evaporating quickly. You feel like you’ve known them all forever.

The next pair of blue eyes bring a forceful energy, one of entitlement and defiance. Before Steve can get his name out, he’s standing, his mask in his hand revealing his boyish, clean face, “Hugh Ransom Drysdale.” He winks at you suggestively, “Ransom.”

He wraps his long arm around your waist and pulls you close, crashing his lips to yours in a fury. You giggle against him before accepting his velvety tongue into your mouth, letting it sweep along your bottom lip and then slide along yours. Steve taps his shoulder and after a beat… or two, Ransom releases you from his grip, a smirk on his face, a twinkle in his eye.

You turn to the fourth man— the dark haired man that Steve initially spoke to on the stairs. He’s standing, with Steve behind him, the tips of his fingers resting on the edge of the long table. He’s the only one wearing gloves. His breathing is controlled, his eyes set on you as you inch towards him, sitting up on your knees in front of him.

You walk your fingers up his chest seductively, your teeth digging into your bottom lip as you smile at him, “You must be J.B.B.”

He tilts his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “I could be S.G.R.”

“While the guy named Steven stands behind you?” you squint playfully, reaching for his mask.

He grabs your wrist with his left hand, making you gasp. It’s a firm grip, but it excites something deep in you. You drop your hands into your lap, flattening them on your thighs as you take a deep breath and push it out of your nose. He glances over his shoulder at Steve, who nods just once before he turns back to face you and starts to pull at the fingers of his gloves. He removes the right hand first, tucking the black glove into his pocket before he starts on the left, pulling slowly— finger by finger.

Your mouth drops open as he pulls the nylon material away, your eyes going wide as he stretches out his digits, the candle light glinting off of the dark metal. The breath in your throat hitches as you watch him reach for his mask and untie it, pulling it away from his face to reveal a familiar one.

J.B.B.

James Buchanan Barnes.

So that means—

You blink towards Steve, whose mask is now off and sitting on the table. He rests his hand on Bucky’s shoulder as he exhales deeply, “James Buchanan Barnes,” he then points at himself, “Steven Grant Rogers.”

You blink rapidly— completely dumbfounded as the two super soldiers stand before you. Bucky takes your hand, brushing his lips over your fingers before he pops them into his mouth, sucking gently on your digits as he flicks his eyes back up to yours. Your stomach tightens. A hum accompanies the breath that vibrates through your chest as he drags his left hand up and down your arm.

Steve cups your cheek and turns your head towards him before he traces your jaw and chin with his index finger, “We’re gonna take care of you baby girl,” he whispers as he places his fingertips on your forehead and brushes them down your face, “We’ve searched for you for so long.”

You believe him— you don’t know what he’s talking about, but you believe every word.

You push in and kiss Bucky, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck and squeeze gently before you turn towards Steve, pulling him into another deep kiss, “Get this dress off of me.” You whisper.

Hands— so many hands, each pair distinctively different, are on your body within seconds, tugging and pulling at the heavy dress until you’re free of it. The only piece of clothing left on you is your thin thong as you lay back on the table, your hands over your bare breasts, covering them. You gaze up at the five men peering at you, their eyes wide and hungry.

Steve slips his hand down your sternum, the pads of his fingers sliding down your stomach to your hips, where he traces the thin band of your underwear— his touch making you raise your hips from the table. Sam drags his thumb along your chin and bottom lip before he pushes the tip just inside your all too eager mouth. You suck gently, running your tongue the length of his digit as Ransom pries your hands away from your breasts.

You moan softly, arching your back into Ransom’s hands as he starts to tweak your taut nipples, rolling them both between his fingers before he leans down and sucks your right breast into his mouth. Hands grab your thighs, kneading your flesh and pull them apart as Andy licks into your mouth, his tongue massaging the roof as he holds your chin.

The energy is back in the room— the power swirling as the men start to devour you. There’s tongues over your toes, hands on your tight nipples and abundant breasts, lips on your shoulders and neck. Fingernails scrape against your skin as they slink underneath the band of your panties, pulling them down your thighs and calves before they slide over your ankle and are discarded to the floor.

You feel the warm metal and flesh hand of Bucky around your ankles, drawing your legs up so they’re bent at the knee. He crawls onto the table, his heavy blue eyes drinking you in as he lets his metal fingers dance up and down the inside of your thigh. You start to shiver at his touch— your back arching away from the table as you gasp and hiss from the hands and mouths and tongues all over you.

Bucky sinks down— low, onto his belly— his eyes still trained on yours as he wraps his arms around your thighs. He starts to blow warm air against your sticky, hot sex, his eyes finally dipping away from yours and to your lower half as your hips jerk and whine. His metal fingers push through your folds gently, rubbing the sensitive nub at the center of you, then teasing your slit and opening.

Steve presses his balmy lips right in the valley of your breasts and peppers kisses along your jiggling flesh. The tip of his tongue circles your nipples before his teeth nip and bite. You gasp loud as a metal finger, and then a second push into your cunt— a thumb pressing against your clit. Your hips jut upward as you mewl, the sound quickly being covered up by Sam’s mouth as he kisses you hard.

Bucky blinks up at you as he withdrawals his fingers and waits— waits for you to make eye contact with him before he sucks them into his mouth, wiping them clean of your slick. He moans— heavy and hard as he closes his eyes, savoring your taste.

Your hips start to roll into his hand as he dips his fingers back into you, his breath washing over your quivering thighs. Ransom tickles your right knee, then skips his hand down the inside of your thigh, where he cups your sex around Bucky’s pushing fingers. Ransom starts to rub your clit, pressing firm circles into your wet flesh as Bucky curls his fingers to massage your muscles.

Andy sinks his teeth into your side before his tongue glances out over your stomach, circling your belly button before he sucks on your skin. He presses his hand into your lower stomach to add some pressure— Sam and Steve each taking a breast into their wet mouths, their tongues swishing and swirling.

You dig a hand into Steve’s hair and cup Sam’s head as they tease your nipples, a sharp yelp bursting through your lips as Sam bites down gently. Ransom spreads your folds with his index and middle fingers and suddenly, there’s a tongue— a warm, velvety tongue flattening against your clit. You push your head up to watch as Bucky sucks on your nub, his eyes searing into yours as he releases you with a smack, and then dives back in, the tip of his tongue flirting with your opening, his fingers still pumping.

Your head and hips roll as unrestrained groans rumble through your chest and fill the room, mingling with the deep moans and growls of the five men pleasing you. The sound of a zipper bounces off the walls— your hand then grabbed and pulled to your left. You gasp at the heavy warmth that fills your palm as your fingers wrap around Sam’s length. You roll your head towards him, biting your bottom lip as you watch your hand slide up and down his impressive girth.

You grab Steve’s hip with your free hand, digging your fingers into him as you lean up, beckoning him to come closer. You kiss him hard once he’s within distance, smacking your lips against his before you sound into his mouth as Ransom slaps your pussy, the gold band around his ring finger adding a heaviness to the strikes.

Bucky kisses up your thigh, sinking his teeth into your flesh every now and again until he reaches your ankle and foot. He thumbs at your black painted nails before he pulls your toes into his mouth as he massages your calf, “These are cute, these toes.” He murmurs, a light chuckle vibrating through him.

A chorus of zips start to sound, one right after the other. Their jackets soon hit the floor, the crisp, white sleeves of their button downs are rolled up their forearms before they all descend on you again. You’re lifted from the table into Andy’s arms as Sam slides into the space you once occupied on the table, his pants riding low on his hips. Andy kisses you deeply before placing you back on your feet on the top of the table, keeping a hold of your hand as you traipse along Sam’s side.

You throw your leg over Sam’s body and sit slowly, wiggling your hips as you position yourself on his lower stomach. You reach back, dragging your fingers through the curly patch of hair covering his lower half, tickling his skin. You slip your fingers into his unzipped pants and pull him free, stroking and squeezing him slowly before you swipe your fingers over his wet tip.

Two strong hands grip your waist— Ransom— as you slip your hand down to Sam’s base and lift upward, guiding him towards your entrance. Ransom holds you steady as you sit down on Sam, your cunt swallowing every delicious inch of Sam’s cock until he’s completely disappeared. You lean forward, splaying your fingers out on his wide, thick chest as he grabs hold of your thighs. You pull up, hissing as his cock slides out of the tight grasp of your pussy and then sit back down, moaning as he fills you again.

Ransom slips his hand up your spine and wraps his fingers over your shoulder as you start a slow rhythm, up and down, up and down, up and down. Your hips roll as Sam starts to buck his hips up into you, each stroke a little harder, a little sharper than the one before it. There’s a chest to your back and then teeth nibbling at your earlobe as you lean back into the body and rest your head on a shoulder. Ransom’s mouth then covers yours as he wraps his arm around your waist, holding you tight as you ride Sam, your nails digging into his rich brown skin.

You gasp as a tongue teases your thick nipple, and then a hand closes over your left breast, squeezing and kneading gently. You slide your hand into Ransom’s hair as you watch Steve flick the tip of his tongue against your nipple before he sucks your breast into his mouth, moaning as his tongue swirls.

Andy slips his hand down your stomach and starts to work your clit, grabbing your chin with his free hand and tilting your head towards his. His head is tilted upwards, his eyes hooded as he peers down at you through his long, thick eye lashes. You whine as Sam’s pace quickens, fucking up into you hard as he grips your hips so tight you’re sure he’ll leave marks behind. Andy snarls his lip as he watches you struggle to keep your eyes open, as your hips falter, as you get louder and less restrained. He licks into your mouth before he lays a filthy kiss on you— demanding and sloppy.

Ransom squeezes your shoulder before he pushes you forward with his other hand, nearly crushing you against Sam’s chest. You shiver when you feel his cock slide through your ass cheeks, leaving a wetness behind. He pulls back and the backs of his fingers glance over your ass, deep hisses and a grunt coming from him as he strokes his cock— a drop of his cum dribbling onto your skin.

He suddenly pushes his fingers into your mouth— index, middle, and ring— wetting them with your saliva before he drags them back through your ass, the tips circling your hole. There’s a tangy taste left in your mouth, some of you, some of him, as he slaps his dick against your ass and then spreads you apart. Sam slows beneath you and then stops as he drags his large hands up and down your forearms, grabbing your hand and sucking your fingers into his warm mouth.

You slam your eyes closed, tensing as Ransom starts to push the head of his cock against your asshole. He places his hand against the center of your back, Bucky cups your face in his palms, sweeping his thumbs over your cheeks as he pecks your lips with his, singing gentle praise to help relax you.

“You can do it baby,” Bucky whispers, rubbing his nose against yours, smiling softly, “You can take him baby, I know you can. Can’t she Steve?”

Steve sinks his teeth into your shoulder, humming as he drags his red, swollen lips down your arm, “This pretty girl sure can,” he reassures, his voice smooth and low, “And it’s gonna feel so good, baby. You’re gonna feel so full, so stretched.”

You whimper loudly. You grab Bucky’s shoulder as Ransom’s dick finally breaks through your threshold. Ransom lets out a breath, the warm splashing over your back as he stills, a shuddering groan vibrating through his chest. Ransom squeezes your shoulder again, leaning forward to place sloppy kisses on your back, “More?”

Steve kisses your temple before he nuzzles into the side of your face, “You can do it sweet girl. You can take him all.”

Bucky kisses your lips again. Sam nibbles on the tips of your fingers as he nudges his hips into yours, burying deeper into you. You nod quickly— you do want more. More, more, more.

Ransom starts to push again, spreading your tight muscles as he forges, filling you right up. He doesn’t stop until he bottoms out— his stomach now pressing into your ass as he wraps his hand around the back of your neck.

“Such a good girl,” Bucky purrs as he reaches between you and Sam’s bodies, starting to play with your nub, “Such a sweet, pretty girl.”

Sam is the first to move, pressing up into you before he withdrawals slowly. Ransom counters his actions, pulling out when Sam pushes in, delving in when Sam drags out. It’s hypnotizing— the rhythm, the push and pull. Your mouth goes slack as Steve rolls your nipples in his hands, his tongue and teeth nipping and licking at your damp skin. You roll your hips, pushing back into Ransom as Sam fucks up into you as electricity flows through your veins.

“That’s it baby girl,” Bucky praises through impassioned kisses, his tongue slipping along your lips and the roof of your mouth, “Stuffed full, aren’t you sweetie?”

Your stomach tightens at the words, your heart beat pounding against your chest and in your ears as a tingle rushing up your spine. There’s a pull deep in your belly, a molten heat and the raw emotions spreading through you as your body tightens hard.  Your hips jerk as a sudden current strikes you— your cunt closing around Sam. He shudders and you feel it, feel it rumble through his chest as his own hips get desperate.

Ransom fucks your ass with fluid motions, his enormous hands and long fingers digging into the supple flesh of your waist. He grunts, hard and grainy as the warmth of your insides caress his cock. Ransom gets loud, Sam gets loud, you get whimpery— needy, almost to the point of tears as the waves roll harder and faster through you. Each stroke, each thrust, each plow of their hips driving you closer and closer to your demise.

A moan chokes in your throat as your orgasm blooms across your skin, but soon the sounds are pouring out of you. Loud, desperate, relieved as the waves finally crash. Bucky bites his bottom lip hard as his fingers slap against your jumping clit. Steve pinches your nipples as he rests his forehead against the side of your face, his hot breath sticking to your skin.

Sam drives his hips into yours once more and digs his thumbs into the creases of your thighs as his cock starts to spit, over and over again, spilling into you. Ransom fucks through it all, keeping a firm grip on your shoulder until he too comes undone in your ass. He pushes deep, deep, deep inside as he spurts, watching as your hole spasms around him.

Ransom pulls out of you as soon as he’s milked and you feel his cum bubble out of you, slipping down the inside of your thigh. You’re lifted off of Sam— brought to the edge of the table, on your hands and knees, your feet hanging over the end. A massive hand presses between your shoulder blades, forcing your chest and head down onto the cool surface as you try and catch your breath. You jump when a pair of warm lips connect where your ass ends and your thigh begins, a soft beard brushing against your skin.

Andy drags his finger up the inside of your thigh, collecting the cum that’s spilled from you and pushes two fingers into your hot cunt— your muscles still quaking, still constricting. He fingers you slowly, skimming his fingertips up and down your thigh as he pushes his digits, cramming Sam and Ransom’s cum deep.

You hum with each stroke, lunging forward softly, your nipples grazing over the marble table top as you move. You blink slowly as you lift your head, watching as Bucky climbs onto the table, spreading his legs as they slide around you. He slides his flesh hand into his pants and starts to stroke his cock— long, languid pulls as his metal fingers pull on his tight balls. You wrap your hands around his thighs, the excitement bubbling up in your chest once more as you watch him.

Andy replaces his fingers with his dick in one fell swoop. You mewl, your tits bouncing as he starts a brisk pace. The sound of his skin slapping against yours bouncing off the walls as Ransom, Sam, and Steve watch on, chests rising and falling hard as they tug their hands up and down their cocks at the sight.

You rock forward, your face inches from Bucky’s cock as he jerks himself, peering down his long body at you. Keeping your eyes on his, you push your tongue out from behind your teeth and lick at his shaft quickly before puckering your lips to kiss the thick vein running the length of him. You push your hands over his hips and up over his abs as your mouth slides over his wet, red mushroom tip.

Bucky moans deep, his back arching from the table as he pushes his hips up into your mouth, sending his cock right to the back of your throat. You pull upward as his hips sink back to the table, releasing him with a pop and smiling as his cock sways back and forth. You wrap your fingers around the base of his dick, wiggling him a little before you lower your mouth over his tip, sucking lightly as you swirl your tongue over his slit.

Your plump lips go slack around Bucky as Andy presses into a spot— sending a jolt right to your heart. Andy lets his hands roam along your back and sides as he fucks you, gripping and squeezing, groping and kneading your thick, soft flesh. He’ll push deep, and then just stay there for a few seconds, savoring the warmth, the tightness of your slick muscles before he wiggles his hips and withdrawals from you, just to plunge back in.

You release Bucky quickly to swallow the piquant spunk left on your tongue before you cram him back into your mouth. You suck on his cock head as you pump him up and down, twisting and turning your hand as you go. A muffled moan seeps from your mouth, vibrating around Bucky’s cock as you slam your eyes closed, feeling Andy’s strokes in your stomach.

The tingles are back— the pull in your belly. Your pussy tightens as the electricity within you starts to bounce around, synapses firing. Andy feels it, Bucky too, their hips pushing harder and faster. Your nails scratch at Bucky’s skin, squeezing uncontrollably as your heart beats in your ears, heat flushing your face.

Andy fucks into you good, hard and deep, sending you right over the edge once more. Your release spreads through you, warming every inch of flesh, every pore, every follicle. Andy thumbs your clit as he continues to pump his hips, fucking your right through your orgasm until your contracting muscles and slick coax his climax. Bucky erupts at nearly the same time— long, hot ribbons of his cum shooting from him, splattering on his stomach and dribbling down his cock.

There’s movement out of the corner of your eye, Steve standing from one of the chairs to grab your chin, pushing your head and face up towards him. He kisses you hard— sloppy, sucking on your bottom lip before he tongues the roof of your mouth. He pulls away, cupping your face in his hands gently as he rubs his thumbs along your cheeks, a soft smile on his lips, eyes full of affection.

“Such a good girl.” he whispers.

He pulls you into another kiss, but this time it’s softer— sweeter. Slower.

Andy pulls out of you, his hands still sweeping over your back and ass and thighs. He presses another kiss right into the creases of each cheek before he falls into a chair next to Sam. Bucky slides off of the table and sits next to Ransom, resting his head on the back of the chair and lets his mouth go slack as he lets out a breath.

Steve crawls onto the table as the four other men drag their chairs to the edges of the table, sitting up straighter once they get situated. Steve grabs your lips with his, a soft hum wavering in his throat. He separates from you but doesn’t go far— resting his forehead on yours as he nuzzles into you, rubbing the tip of his nose along the bridge of yours. He starts to guide you back, his hand behind your head, as he lays you down flat on the table, your knees drawn up, your feet flat against the cool surface.

You sweep your hands up and down your thighs in anticipation as you watch him unbutton his shirt slowly, his blue eyes wandering the length of your body as his fingers move. You push up onto your elbows, tilting your head as you blink at him when he pulls the material away from his buff torso.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you dip your eyes to his broad chest, his skin tanned and tight. There are faint scars littered along his skin— a few tiger stripes on his biceps and sides. His stomach is firm and flat, six perfect abs carved out, and the cutest belly button you think you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing. You sit up, placing your hand in the middle of his chest, right in the middle of those hard pecs and watch your hand move with each breath he takes. Your fingers fall, down his sternum, over those abs, and slightly into the dark blonde patch of hair that peeks out of his open pants.

You draw your bottom lip into your mouth and send your eyes up to his as your hand digs deeper— your dainty fingers wrapping around his hard, hot cock. His chest tightens at your touch. You inch your body closer to his, throwing your legs open and around either side of his body as you start to pump him slowly. You draw your hand up his shaft, sweeping your palm over his sensitive, weeping tip before you push back down, squeezing him gently— feeling him.

His breathing gets deeper, his chest and stomach constricting, his lips parting and quivering ever so lightly as you massage him. All five pairs of eyes are on you— unwavering, barely blinking as they consume you and only you. The power swells in your chest. You feel like a goddamn queen. Captivating. Strong.

You pull him free of his dark slacks and have to take a breath at the sight of him. He’s gorgeous. Thick and long, his tip shiny and wet and red— eager— his dick jumping every now and again as cum dribbles out of his slit. You sweep the pads of your fingers over the tip again, collecting the warm, cloudy spunk and push it down his shaft, along the thick vein that runs down him, wetting every inch of him.

He pulls you into his lap in one swift move, like you’re absolutely weightless. His cock settles against your pussy and clit, resting against your stomach as he wraps his arm around your back and waist. You instantly start to roll your hips, sliding your skin along his dick— coping a feel— letting it radiate through you.

The current in the room picks up. The flames of the candles start to flicker as if there’s a strong breeze that threatens to extinguish them. You push up with the help of Steve’s strength, your mouth hanging open as you guide him towards your entrance. You push his flesh through your folds, teasing yourself a little before you align him with you, starting to sink your hips down.

You dig your fingertips into his shoulders, let your head fall back as he opens you up inch by inch. A growl scratches at the back of your throat when you feel his hot lips on your neck, peppering kisses, tongue lapping, teeth nipping as you take him. The candles flicker hard as Steve bottoms out in you— hip to hip; flesh to flesh.

Throwing an arm around his neck, you really start to move, pulling up on that towering dick before sinking back down on it. Your tits bounce as your hips roll, a delicious burn starting to spread through your thighs. Steve’s hips fuck into yours, meeting you halfway as you crash down. There’s hands on you again— on your shoulders and arms, on your thighs, wrapping around your ankles— Andy, Ransom, Sam, and Bucky— grabbing, kneading, gripping, groping.

The electricity in the room bounces off the walls, energizing you, drawing you into Steve more and more with each passing second. The wind even kicks up outside, slamming against the sprawling house, shaking the lush trees. The warm moonlight cascades into the room and over your bodies as you fuck Steve unmercifully on top of the old table. You gasp and moan and pant— the sounds bitten off, choked, and heavy as your pussy constricts around him.

He appeases each whim of your hips, driving into you deep and hard, taking control when your hips jerk and shudder. He encourages you— they all do— sweet, tiny whispers, filthy, low declamations. Their voices rattle your brain and your bones as the candle light trembles again.

You’re slamming into each other, Steve bottoming out with each thrust. Your stomach is tight, your body warm and prickly, your clit stinging as another orgasm looms in the distance. Steve’s hips are rolling and pushing, his fingernails scratching your skin as he rakes them down your naked back. There’s teeth on your shoulders and neck, lips over your nipples, fingers prodding against your clit until you come undone, shouting and pleading to every God you know.

A sudden burst of warmth explodes inside of you— Steve’s strangled groans growing loud as he comes. Your face breaks with passion, tears threatening to spill as ungodly, high-pitched sounds spill from your lips. You’re all shrouded in darkness. The candle light whipped away, suddenly extinguished by the invisible forces in the room.

The candles relight again out of nowhere as you collapse against Steve as your body finally gives out after the thorough fuck session. You’re heavy and limp, air rushing out of your mouth, sticking to his damp, humid skin. You can’t even keep your eyes open. You hum intermittently as their hands brush over your skin before they pull you away from him, laying you back down on the table.

Their voices ring out, all in sink, chanting again in French. Sam sprinkles your body with the flask, from your head to your toes— Steve traces a cross on your chest. They all flatten your hands on you as their chorus finishes, and you hear the soft voices again. They’re warm and happy, the feminine voices, as the love— the familial undercurrent— fills the room again.

You’re lifted into arms, pressed against a chest before one of their discarded jackets is thrown over your shoulders. Your head is foggy, thoughts slow as someone carries you out of the room. You feel their protection, the fierce safeguard of you as suddenly you’re the center of attention. It feels as if hundreds of eyes are on you— because there are as they walk you right through the center of the party.

“Our missing child is home.” Steve announces, smiling softly down on you, sweeping his large hand over your forehead, “The family is complete once more.”

An exuberant applause erupts.

You’re moving again, slowly the eyes on you disappearing as the fivesome moves you through the house. A door clicks, the sound of the bottom of it sweeping across the carpet filling your ears. A warmth surrounds you as you’re laid down onto a bed, a large, full comforter covering your naked body. You squirm, your head rolling against the pillow as you murmur and whimper.

“Shh shh shh, little one,” Sam purrs, stroking your face with his thick fingers, “You’re safe.”

“We’re all here sweet girl. Just rest.” Andy says calmly, brushing his lips over the backs of your fingers.

Naked bodies surround you— cram you right in the middle of them. Arms and legs are thrown over you, fingers thread with yours, lips and beards glance over your skin as they whisper and blether. You roll into a body, you’re not even sure who’s, and you hold onto them tight, letting the sleep seep in, letting it pull you away into the deep.

SATURDAY

There’s an intrusive light burning into your face. You shift, rolling your head away from it before rolling your entire body over onto your side. You stretch your arms out and sigh slowly, wanting nothing more than to melt back into the soft, deep slumber that had been disturbed— but your brain has other plans. It slowly starts to awaken, the fog lifting, memories and visions of the night before playing before your eyes. Hands on your skin, lips locked on yours, eyes following your every move.

You spring upwards.

Your eyes pop open as you inhale sharply. You snap your head to the right and then the left before you scan the room, finding it completely empty. You turn back towards the windows, squinting and blinking as the sun belts into the room, the light spilling over the floor and bed. Voices float towards you— warm, male laughter— before it dies away again and all you hear are the random chirps of birds and the soft swish of the breeze against the trees and house.

That’s when the soreness seeps in. You roll your shoulders as you recognize the subtle pain, roll your neck before stretching your arms above your head. There’s laughter again, the clatter of pans and dishes and you blink at the closed bedroom door. Questions start to populate and swarm, pushing away the rest of the sleepy fog in your mind.

You throw your legs over the side of the bed and stand, but throw your hands back on the mattress as you stumble, having to steady yourself. Your legs are jelly. A hum vibrates in your chest and throat as you take a step after a few sobering seconds. The muscles of your sex scream at you— achy and tight— used. It’s sharp but also dull, nagging and deep— the soreness. It feels good. Feels right.

Spotting an egg shaped floor length mirror leaning up against the far wall, you pad towards it, squinting and hissing as pangs of the delicious pain prickle along your skin and muscles. You peer at your body, twisting and turning. You’re marked beyond belief— suck marks on your neck and shoulders, red raised welts on your sides and thighs, deep bruises and teeth marks scattered along your body like a map.

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

You spot a small bench in front of the bed, a pink satin tank top and matching shorts tossed over it. You slip the tank top over your arms to cover your bare torso and pull the shorts up your legs, your ample behind poking out of the bottom of them. You start for the door and move into a long hallway, following the laughter and voices emanating from deep in the house.

This is a really big house. It takes a while, well, you’re nosey so you peek into each room you pass and stop to eye the paintings on the wall, but you finally find the source of all the noise. You turn into the vast kitchen, finding five men placed throughout it. Sam is over the stove, cracking eggs and flipping potatoes and fresh vegetables. Andy sits at the bar, his nose buried in the Saturday paper as he sips on a black coffee. Bucky and Steve sit at the table, talking hushly over some old papers, and Ransom leans against the fridge, thumbing through his phone.

Bucky’s the first to notice you. He greets you with a wide, bright smile, his eyes crinkling at the sides, his nose scrunching, “Good morning beautiful.”

The rest of the men all blink at you and a warmth flushes through your face as you play with your fingers. Before you can respond, Ransom sweeps you off your feet and into his arms, kissing you hard and deep before he sits you back down and swats your behind, “Mornin’ doll.”

“Don’t be so rough with her,” Andy chides the slightly younger man. He grabs your wrist, bringing the back of your hand to his lips, “Sleep well, baby?”

“I did, thank you.” You smile, nervous but flattered by the attention.

“Hope you’re hungry sweetie,” Sam says, leaning into you to peck your lips as you move towards him.

“I’m starving.”

“I bet. You slept hard last night.” He winks, nudging you with his shoulder, “Ransom, plates.”

“I’m not the help, Wilson.”

“Well you are to-fuckin-day. Get the plates, trust fund baby.”

You laugh as you move towards the table, getting swept up into another breathless kiss by Bucky before Steve pulls you into his lap, brushing his nose over the back of your shoulder. Ransom and Sam hand out the plates one by one, taking drink orders and handing them out before they take their seats at the long table. You stay in Steve’s lap as you eat, listening as they all chat and cut up a little, teasing the youngest of them, Ransom, and listening intently as Andy talks about his latest case.

“I bet baby girl over here has some questions, hmm?” Bucky says after a while, cutting into his sausage and popping a small piece into his mouth.

You nod as you chew and swallow, before your eyes go wide, “Oh shit! My sister MJ! I bet she’s—”

Ransom slides your phone towards you, “I texted her for you last night and again this morning. Convinced her not to call the cops— she’s a feisty one.”

“Oh God, thank you.” You sigh, glancing over the texts.

“You can call her if you’d like. We can step out.” Steve offers, peering at you over your shoulder.

“No, no. She seems to be pacified for the moment. I’ll call her in a little while. So,” you lead in, “How, um, what is all of this? How do you guys know me, or my mom, to be more specific?”

Steve wraps his arm around your waist, holding you to him before he takes a breath, “This is going to sound really strange and it’s a really long story.”

“I got time,” you laugh, “It’s the only reason I came last night. Didn’t expect to get fucked by five dudes, but, you know,” you giggle, “Shit happens.”

“Steve and I,” Bucky starts, “We knew your great-grandmother, Marie-Angelie Paris Laveau of New Orleans. Steve was… sickly.” You nod quickly, having read everything there is to know about the great Steve Rogers, “I had heard that there was this new religion, down south. A woman that claimed to be a healer and Steve was my best friend, so, we decided to check it out in the early forties— wanted to see if she could help him.”

“When we finally got to Louisiana and tracked Marie-Angelie down, it was nothing that Bucky and I had ever seen before.” Steve chuckles, “Your great-grandmother was a beautiful woman, had thousands of followers, just like her mother, and her mother before her.”

“Followers?” You ask, furrowing your brow.

Bucky shifts his eyes to Steve before they land back on you, “You’re a direct descendant of Marie Laveau, the voodoo queen of the French quarter.”

Your eyes widen at the words.

“The elder Marie was a very powerful woman, passed down her knowledge and her gift to her daughters who kept her spirit and her craft alive. Marie-Angelie took one look at Steve and knew she could help. So,” Bucky takes a breath, holding it in his chest for a second before he pushes it out, “We made our offerings, appeased the spirits and we had Steve stay with her for the night.”

“She prayed over me all night. Chanted, offered the spirits many gifts, had me drink this potion that she’d made,” Steve says slowly, “I’m not too sure what happened. I just remember waking up and looking like this. It came with conditions of course, one of which she told us about, the other she didn’t.”

“What were they?” you breathe, engrossed in the story.

“The condition we knew about was that Bucky and I had to join the society.” You raise your eyebrows, prompting Steve to smile, “The elder Marie, your great-great-great-great grandmother entered into a pact with Sam’s great-great-great-great grandfather.”

“He was a farmer,” Sam says after he takes a sip of his coffee, taking over the story, “My great-great-great-great granddaddy went to Marie for a little advice and to have her pray for his crops. He was flat broke, about to lose the farm, Louisiana was going through a terrible drought— he offered Marie the last dollar he had in his pocket. His crop came in more bountiful than ever, in fact, it was the only farm that yielded that season. Made him a millionaire overnight. So, in exchange for her prayers, he offered her and her offspring protection. As long as there's a Laveau bloodline, the Wilson’s will watch over them.”

Silence falls over the room as you blink back at Sam, unable to speak. Bucky leans forward, placing his flesh hand over yours and rubs gently as concern fills his blue eyes, “You okay, honey?”

You nod, closing your eyes as you swallow, “Yeah, I, um, so… okay, so Sam, Steve and you are bound to protect me? Because of this society that was formed?”

“Us too,” Andy adds, “My great-great-great-great grandfather, Reginald Barber was a politician, went to Marie for some help around the same time as Sam’s granddad did, and when she fulfilled his request, he also joined.”

“My grandad is a writer, he too ended up joining the society in the early sixties with your grandmother when his first novel blew up.” Ransom says, “Harland Thrombey.”

“Harland Thrombey, the mystery writer, right? I thought he had a daughter?”

“That’s my mom. When I was born, I took her place in the order.”

You lift your eyebrows, nodding your head, “Wow.” you laugh a little, “So, what exactly do you guys do for me?”

“We just keep you safe. Watch over you, try to fulfill all of your… needs.” Sam answers with a smirk on his face and a glint in his eye, “Keep the bloodline going, if need be.”

You squint suddenly as the wheels and gears in your brain turn, “Wait so, this is passed down? From generation to generation?”

“Yes.” Andy answers simply.

“So, that means that all of your fathers, had sex with my mother? Am I.. oh my god,” your hands fly to your face, “Am I related to you one you?”

“No, oh my god!” Ransom recoils, his face screwed up in disgust, “The fuck do you think we are, weirdos? No.”

Steve laughs, rubbing your stomach with his large hand, “Your father is James Rhodes. He’s part of the congregation, the followers of your grandmothers. He was chosen for your mother, just like your partner will be chosen for you.”

You blink, your mind empty, “Chosen?”

“It will be someone either in the society— one of us— or someone in the congregation.” Steve nods, “Either way, your partner will be someone who will understand our debt to you and your family. If your partner is indeed someone in the society, that person is then removed, so there’s no impropriety, and someone in the congregation will take his place to keep the society full. Once you’re paired with whoever, we all then have a duty to reproduce so our children can take care of yours— again, with women in the congregation who understand our duty, and so on and so forth.”

You fall back against Steve’s chest, slumping a little at all of the information, “It’s a lot,” Sam reassures, “I know, I’m sorry.”

Insane is what it is, you think, rubbing your forehead with your manicured fingers. Somehow though, it all just kind of makes sense, “You said there was another condition? After you and Bucky went to Louisiana? What was it?”

“Me.” Bucky smiles, leaning back into his seat as his eyes fall into his lap.

You glance back at Steve, “I don’t understand.”

“In order for me to achieve this,” Steve motions towards his body, “Something had to be sacrificed, “The spirits chose Bucky. Some years later, after we joined the army—”

You gasp, covering your mouth again, “When he fell from the train.” You finish for him.

Steve just nods, “I put two and two together after a while. I went back to Marie and told her I was done— I wanted out and I didn’t care what happened to me for it. So I ended up just kind of floating through life. Threw myself into my work and saving the world. I didn’t know at the time that some of my blood had gotten into the hands of the Germans during the war. They studied it— noticed that my enzymes were nearly indestructible. They created the super soldier serum to replicate my strength and healing abilities.”

“Hydra, is what they were called. They found me and started experimenting.” A sad smile covers Bucky’s face. You lean forward, cupping his cheek in your hand and rub your thumb just under his eye. His smile turns upward as he nuzzles into your warm palm, “I’m alright.”

“I got wind of Bucky in the eighties, he had assassinated this researcher, they actually got a picture of him. I had to bring him home,” Steve shrugs, “But he was tricky— elusive. I tracked him for a few years but I couldn’t ever get close, and I knew I only had one option at that point.” Steve rests his lips against your shoulder, brushing them back and forth slowly against your warm skin, “I tracked down your grandmother and your mom for help.”

You feel him smile against you and you turn, throwing your arms around his neck as he continues his story, “You were barely walking when I met you the first time. You were so cute, so little. Even though I was still pissed, you stole my heart as soon as I saw you. You were the only innocence in this craziness.”

A tear slips down your cheek. He wipes it away with his fingers, smiling softly at you as you’re overcome with emotion, “Did you used to read to me?” you ask with a shaky voice, the early, fragmented memories you have of a blonde, blue eyed man suddenly making sense.

“Tamerlane by Edgar Allan Poe was your favorite.” he smiles, “That’s how I knew it was you last night. Poe was your favorite, even back then.”

You hug him tightly and feel hands on your back and shoulders, a pair of lips on the top of your head and the side of your face as Andy, Bucky, Ransom, and Sam crowd around you, “We brought you home now.” Sam voices gently, “We’ll take care of you baby. From now until the end of days.”

You let them soothe you. Let them stroke your hair and whisper their sweet nothings. Let them kiss your skin and wipe away the tears as the sun cutting into the room through the windows washes you in warmth. You lean back after what seems like forever, sniffling gently as Steve brushes those fingers underneath your eyes, “I want to meet my mom.”

“Of course. We’ll take you to her whenever you’re ready. She was supposed to be here but, she couldn’t deal with the heartbreak again if it wasn’t you. She’s been looking for you for so long— they both have.”

You exhale deeply, closing your eyes as you rest your head against Steve’s chest, nuzzling into him, “Why was I taken?”

“Somebody sent a tip to the police that your mother was living in a commune—” you feel him tense, his tone going harsh, “Just a nosey ass woman who didn’t have anything better to do with her time. Made up some shit about drug trafficking coming out of the house. It was raided while I was in Europe— they took you, put you up for adoption. I should have been there. I should have protected you.”

“You're protecting me now. That’s all that matters.” You whisper, “But,” your voice drops away as you open your eyes, blinking slowly.

Ransom’s massive hand runs up and down your back, “What is it, honey?”

“My sister. My mom and my dad— the people that raised me. I love them.”

“We are not going to take you away from them,” Bucky answers quickly, “They’re a part of you. We understand that.”

“Can’t wait to meet that sister of yours,” Ransom adds, “She seems fun.”

You laugh through the fresh wave of tears that have wetted your face, “She is fun. She has a boyfriend named Peter, he loves you two,” you smile, gesturing towards Steve and Bucky, “He’s gonna shit his pants.”

You close your eyes again, your head starting to pound from all of the information that’s been placed at your feet. Your stomach churns and you shiver, causing Steve to tighten his grip, “Let’s lay you down, huh? That was a lot to take in.”

They all follow you and Steve back into the bedroom where you first woke up that morning. You’re stripped naked again, crowded in the middle of their hulky bodies. They let you cry. They let you talk aimlessly. They let you get angry, and then sad, and then content as you work through your sordid history. One by one, their lips are on yours again. Hands dig into your sides and grip your thighs. Languid thrusts, hot breaths, short whimpers, and long cries fill the room as they make love to you over and over.

Your bones are liquid. Your body, your cunt stretched and used— so sore you’re not even sure your limbs are connected anymore. You come, time and time again, from their mouths, their fingers, their wet, hard cocks. You take it all— two of them stuffing you full while a third occupies your mouth, the other two not-so-patiently waiting for their turn at you.

Sleep tugs at you from every angle after a while and you fade in and out as the day drags on. Women come to you in your dreams— the women of your family. They whisper to you, the great secrets of your long lineage. They smile and lay their hands on you, filling you with their spirits, their love.

You’re suddenly at a large body of water—  Bayou St. John. A woman perches by the bank, her hand swishing back and forth in the cool water. You traipse towards her through the tall grass, your feet sinking into the wet ground. You kneel next to her as she sings a native song. She’s wrapped in a red, white, and blue shawl, her eyes sparkling as she turns towards you. She cups your face, running her hand down your cheek and jaw before she reaches into the water and pulls out a large, multicolored fish.

You spring forward, gasping hard and deep as you wake from the vivid dream. You cover your face with your hands as a chill runs down your spine, your forehead covered in a cold sweat. Without thinking, you splay your hand over your stomach as your heart stills. There’s movement behind you— Steve slinks his hand around your middle, settling his hand over your much smaller one.

You peek over your shoulder and he’s staring at you, his lips parted slightly, his blue eyes wide and full of knowing. His words from earlier coming back to you. Your partner will be chosen for you. It will be someone either in the society— one of us— or someone in the congregation. You lay back down, curling into him, tracing his nose and jaw, his chin and eyes with your fingers as he blinks back at you.

“Did you see her too?” You breathe. Great-great-great-great grandmother Marie Laveau.

He nods, “I’ll take care of you,” he whispers as Sam, Andy, Ransom, and Bucky all sprawl out around the two of you, “I promise.”

You nod, smiling slowly, “I know.”

You mean it. You know he will— that they all will.

[thefroggod]

Falling down the rabbit hole (of fangirl fanaticism)

Just gonna say this, I'm luke warm about the romantic relationship between Jean-Luc and Laris, I just want Laris (or even just an Orla Brady character) to be alive and, preferably, in the next season at all.

I'm hoping that more will be made with Laris' character, else I'm gonna be real mad. Don't use a female character to set up the protagonist's whole character development plot and then only have her in 3 scenes to set it up and a few scenes after all the heavy lifting is done to then write her off.

As such, I have tried to find any morsel of proof that says Laris will be staying, or getting her own happy ending. Expanded below.

So I have been going back through some of the photos that have been released, especially for season 2 promotional articles.

So to begin with, I do agree that one of these sets of photos are probably from a deleted scene. As I can see quite easily that there may have been an additional scene in the first episode to help demonstrate the new status quo between Jean-Luc and Laris, a 'look how cute/domestic and comfortable they are around each other, they seem to really bring something to each others lives' before Laris reveals that she wants to make this into something more.

Now the first episode of season 2 was already pretty long, so I can understand why this might have been cut. My issue is there seems to be even more photos of the 2 of them at the chateau with different (very similar, but different) clothing on, and yet, what Picard is wearing is in fact the clothes we saw him in for his very first scene of the season.

So episode 1 of season 2, Picard's first scene with him in the vineyard eating grapes.

Here he is wearing a cap, thin grey jumper and light jacket with a pin.

The next scene he is in, looking at wine bottles and Laris.

Broad brimmed hat (though an easy change) but the jumper is a heavy cable knit, and the jacket looks heavier too, but also has a dark colour patch over the shoulders.

Laris in this scene is wearing an olive cardigan with a yellow blouse, that is shown to be especially long in the promo shot.

These are the outfits they are wearing (with the jackets/cardigan off) for the drinking wine by the fire scene.

These all line up with the images of Laris stomping grapes and Picard helping her with them (my suspected deleted scene from episode 1)

Just a link add for the rest of the photos if people are interested.

But continuing on in that twitter thread are these photos.

Where Picard is back to wearing his thin jumper and jacket. while Laris is also wearing the same jumper as episode one, the shirt she has on underneath is almost certainly not the yellow one, as even with the long scarf I'm sure we'd see a bit of that ridiculously long yellow blouse poking out at the bottom. Also from the side shot, Laris is wearing a brown top of some kind, but these are definitely season 2, as Laris' hair was nowhere near that long in season 1.

What I find even weirder is that whilst looking for these photos on google image search I found some others from articles about the first season, with Picard in almost exactly the same look.

I've added this link to prove that the image is from season 1, that article is from Jan 2020.

So the theory going round that Picard will get the chance to do over the day in the first episode again is looking more likely to me, as I can't figure out why they would have shot 2 scenes that were both removed from episode 1, especially as they are both in unique locations, so footage can't easily be slotted into other scenes. Though I do suspect some of the shots of Picard looking at tgraphic designer Laris, are actually from the grape stomping scene.

On a side note, we've seen that record player before.

When Q snaps Picard and himself out of the chateau courtyard.

Basically my hope is that the scene between Picard and Laris under the vines is a scene coming up in episode 10, as we had better get some closure on the Laris front, for herself at least.

Personally I'd kinda find it funny if this scene was Picard giving Laris the vineyard and chateau as a, you're the closest person currently to family that I have who would actually be able to run/live/possibly enjoy being in the vineyard (ie. all his work collegues have lives, whereas 10 year refugee Laris doesn't have another home) or they are going on a new adventure together (deciding to give it a go romantically).

Also I'm bereft that they took away this Laris look from us.

Thank you for reading my rant, I'm fully prepared to be disappointed, if only I could write good fanfic.

[harryssunflowerkiwi]

‘KIWI’ Part 1.

Pairing: Harry Styles x Female Reader

Synopsis: You’re a famous designer. You meet Harry at a party and he is obsessed, but you’re not going to give in so easily.

Word Count: 3.7K

Warnings: Not much for this part! Some sexual undertones.

A/N: hello loves! This is my first fanfic ever and I’m writing it on my phone so please bare with me. If there are any grammar or spelling mistakes I apologize, I will do my best! There will also likely be smut in the next part! And please keep in mind that this is PURE FICTION and is in no way an accurate depiction of Harry Styles! It’s just for entertainment purposes only :) So without further disclaimers, let’s get into part one of a multipart series called ‘KIWI’ very loosely based on Harry’s song. I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think and be kind xox

🥝Outfits mentioned in this part 🥝

——————————————————————————-

SEPTEMBER 3rd 2020~

You woke up to the sound of ‘dreams’ by Fleetwood Mac blaring from your phone that sat on the glass night stand beside your bed indicating that it was indeed already 6:30AM and therefor the time for you to leave your oh-so comfortable bed. The sun was shining ever so slightly through the crack between the black silk curtains that hung over the large window directly across from your bed, stinging your barely awake eyes. With a bit of hesitation you rolled over to turn off the alarm and swung your bare feet over the side of the bed letting them touch the cold hardwood floor of your bedroom. You made your way to the on suit to pee and brush your teeth. As the icy mint of your toothpaste hit your tounge you looked in the large mirror above the sink, you look tired. Of course you look tired, you’ve been getting three hours of sleep every night for the past month. Your hair is disheveled, no doubt from whoever you had kicked out of your apartment the night before after yet another hookup. You didn’t regret it, of course, you never do. He was a nice guy. Well, he was a decent lay at the very least. And he seemed to enjoy himself too so there’s no harm.

Just as you finished washing your face you heard your phone go off again. “Of course” you thought as you slowly made your way back into your bedroom where you had lazily threw your phone back on your bed before going to bathroom. You picked it up and squinted your eyes slightly to make out the name of the person calling. ‘JEFF AZOFF’. You sighed lightly and pressed answer.

“Jeff It’s not even 7” you said in a somewhat faux dramatic tone.

“oh stop y/n I know you’ve been awake for a bit” he replied and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“What do you want” you sat back down on your bed and placed your left hand under your chin.

“I’m throwing a party at our place tonight and there’s no party without you”. You thought for a minute, knowing you couldn’t actually say no to a party, especially one being thrown by one of your best friends and his fiancé.

After about 30 seconds of silence you signed dramatically and said “You’re absolutely right, I’ll be there at 10 but next time tell me ahead of time. You are aware I have a business to run”.

Most of the morning was spent working through some designs, yelling at people for doing their jobs incorrectly, finalizing some details for London fashion week, and drinking copious amounts of coffee. You stood up from your “desk” (which was really just your kitchen island) with a stretch and looked down at your phone that was sitting on the counter, it was 8:43PM. Deciding that you should probably start getting ready for Jeff’s party, you walked back through your bedroom and into your walk-in closet to pick an outfit. “Alexa play get ready playlist” you yelled through your apartment and shortly after ‘girls in the hood’ started playing through out your apartment at full volume. Fully aware that Jeff’s spontaneous parties are generally pretty casual, after about 10 minutes you landed on your favourite pair of black Levi’s, a baby t that says “nobody’s pussycat”, a pair of black Gucci boots and grabbed your new fuzzy yellow and blue jumper in case you got cold (and also to throw over your shoulders for a bit of colour). Walking back into your bathroom you decided to do your makeup, since you had been working from home today and hadn’t put any on yet. You ended up doing some simple makeup, to not clash with the bright colors on your jumper and let your hair fall in loose curls. By the time you were fully ready it was just past 9:30, which was perfect because Jeff’s place was about a 20 minute drive from your apartment. You put your boots on, grabbed your yellow tinted Gucci glasses, your phone and keys and headed out.

Harry had gotten a very similar from Jeff as you, but it had come the day before. He was excited for the party, it’s been awhile since he’s been out anywhere but the studio. He’s been working on his new album tirelessly. Writing songs this time round was becoming increasingly more difficult, he’s felt dry of inspiration which is partially what he’s hoping a party will help with. Being around some new people and some of his closest friends. Jeff told him he was inviting some of his mates that Harry was yet to meet, which hopefully meant new experience outside the realm of ex girlfriends and band mates. He told Jeff he wouldn’t make it till around 11PM considering he’d be in the studio until 9 and he’d need time to make it home to change and shower before heading over and London traffic was an absolute nightmare, especially on Friday’s. Once he was done at the studio it was half nine, he sighed heavily as he left the lofty studio feeling the heavy weight of the pressure to write new material.

Once Harry arrived to his flat he immediately dropped his keys into the white and blue ceramic bowl he keeps by the door and swiftly kicked off his worn out vans. He was tired, but determined to make some worthy memories if not only for the sake of his future albums. Hell, maybe even just to blow off some steam. He needed that, badly. After making his way up the long spiral shaped stained oak stairs he walked briskly into the bathroom right across from his bedroom. He took his phone out of the back pocket of the light brown sweats he was wearing and glanced at the time 10:03PM. He let out another light sigh before hopping into the large black tiled shower. After a very quick shower filled with worried thoughts of where his career will go if he can’t write music, he hurried himself into his walk in closet with just a blush pink towel wrapped loosely around his hips and his phone in his left hand. Since he was already running slightly behind schedule and Jeff didn’t mention this party being anything but a casual gathering, he grabbed a pair of light blue YSL trousers and a simple white button down blouse to pair with his oh so worn down white vans, simply not having time to fuss about picking a new pair of shoes to match.

By the time Harry arrived at Jeff and Glenne’s flat it was five minutes to eleven. When he pulled up there were already around 10 cars parked around the house, some of which he recognized of course. He made his way up to the large front door after thanking his driver and knocked loudly, his various rings making a light clinking noise against the wood. About thirty seconds later the heavy door swung open to reveal Glenne who smiled widely when she saw him. “H!” She shrieked and pulled him in for a quick hug as she pulled him into the warm house.

“How’re ya Glenne” he smiled back enthusiastically as they entered.

“Good, good!, come let’s find Jeff and get you a drink” she said over the somewhat loud music that ran throughout the house. As Glenne guided him through the farmiliar house he took a moment to observe the people around him as they passed, seeing plenty of people that he knew well, a few he had met on a few occasions similar to this one, and some whom he’s never met. All together there were around 20 people, from what he could tell in passing.

Once they made it through each room of the well decorated house and into the bar area near the kitchen and dining area, he immediately saw Jeff leaning against the wall directly across from the doorway to the area. He was talking to a couple he recognized as Cathrine and Fred, two of their mutual friends, both worked in the music industry (Catherine being a well established sound engineer and Fred being one of the best producers in London). As they approached Jeff looked up and smiled excitedly at Harry and quickly pulled him in for a warm embrace. “Good t’ see you” Harry said as he smiled against his shoulder.

“Good to see you too H, glad you came. Nice to see you outside of that studio” Jeff replied with a small chuckle as they pulled away.

You had been at the party a total of fifty minutes and managed to down 3 vodka martinis and a glass of champagne without hesitation. You have always been able to hold your liquor, even though you didn’t usually drink more than twice a week. Not that much, you thought. Currently you were sitting on one of the two bright red sofas that sat Jeff and Glenne’s living room. You sat back against the velvet upholstery and had your left leg swung over yours and Glenne’s mutual friend Kassandra (or kassie as you called her).

You felt good, great even. It had been over 9 months since you had last seen any of these people. You had been living back and forth between New York City and London basically your whole adult life and just got back to London three days ago after being away for the most of the year. You were overjoyed to be back. You and Kassie were the only ones sitting on the couch to the right of the room, with a few others scattered throughout the living room. Some were standing and giggling by the fireplace, sipping on something strong you assumed based on how loudly they were conversing. There was a slightly less intoxicated couple sitting on the couch opposite of Kassie and yourself. You knew them well enough, although last time you saw them they were nothing more that friends and now they are very clearly together romantically. You didn’t mind though, not at all. You didn’t mind the noise, the increasingly drunker strangers and friends that passed through, you didn’t even mind the already almost-blackout strangers who thought they knew you and engulfed you in a rather tight hug. You felt relaxed and at home, as you always did when around Jeff and Glenne.

After about fifteen minutes of Jeff chatting Harry’s ear off about how excited he and Glenne were to be getting married, Glenne grabbed Harry’s arm. “Oh my god! H, I haven’t even introduced you to everyone yet have I?” She asked enthusiastically.

“I don’t believe you ‘ave” he replied with a small chuckle as he ran his free hand through his rapidly growing curls.

Before he knew it Glenne was guiding him through the house introducing him to a few people he hadn’t met yet. As they made their way into the living room he saw two girls sipping on what looked like martinis sitting on one of the couches. The two women were partially intertwined. One of them stood out though, almost like she controlled the room without even speaking. Harry stared at her, barely listening to Glenne talking beside him. She was incredibly beautiful, he thought. Her eyes and hands were effortlessly working together to capture everyone’s attention without even speaking. She wore a confidence he hadn’t seen before, even with his vast experience with super models and other celebrities alike. She looked like a royal, even in casual attire. He stood there, in the doorway completely stunned and rather confused as to why on earth he had never met her before.

“Earth to H?” Glenne said as she overdramatically waved her left hand in front of his face.

“Oh, um.. sorry, what were ya sayin’?” He replied as he quickly moved his gaze away from the stunning girl and back to his friend.

“Nevermind, cmon I need to indroduce you to Y/N and Kassie.” She mumbled quickly as she pulled him by his hand towards the very girl he was gawking at just moments before.

In the middle of Kassie making a dad joke in classic Kassie form, you spot Glenne walking over to where you are sitting rather excitedly with someone you immediately recognize as Harry Styles. Of course you knew who he was, and that Jeff was his manager and friend but you never had the chance to actually meet him. With both your schedules being as intense and unpredictable as they were it just never happened. You were a fan of his music, he is a very talented man but you definitely didn’t consider yourself a “stan”.

As they approached, Glenne turned to Harry and said “H, this is kassie!” As she pointed at her.

“Kassie works for Universal. Kassie this is Harry” she continued.

“S’ nice to meet you, Kassie” Harry said with a polite smile as he bent over to shake her hand lightly.

“And this” Glenne started as she turned her attention onto you. “Is one of my best friends, y/n! She’s the designer for KIWI” she finished with a smirk and a quick pat on your knee.

“Designer and founder actually love” You said as you glanced at Harry.

You extended your right arm out for him to shake and said “lovely to meet you, Harry. I’m y/n”. He seemed nervous which made you smirk a little. You thought it was cute.

As you placed your much smaller hand in his large ring clad one he responded with “S’ lovely to meet you too y/n. Big fan of your work”. His hand was a little sweaty but very strong and the shake itself was demanding which you liked.

Harry didn’t like how nervous he was talking to you, he’s not usually so anxious to speak to beautiful women. But, something about your incredibly strong eye contact and the way you said his name made his knees want to give out. He hadn’t lied when he said he is a fan of yours, he genuinely is. He loves your designs. Your ability to create pieces he’d never seen before, pieces completely out of the norm yet so easily fashionable was astounding to him. He had even worn some of your designs on tour and for a few interviews.

You took a sip of the martini that you held delicately in your right hand with a small hum in appreciation for his compliment. “M’ a fan of yours also, fine line is great” you reply as you glance down at your glass to find it empty. Harry takes a moment to revel in the fact that you enjoyed his latest work, before seeing your empty glass.

“Let me get ya’ a drink” he blurted out, not wanting the conversation to end.

“Mm I’ll come with” you agreed with a smile. Harry grabbed your hand again to help you up off the couch and away from Kassie who was now giggling with Glenne about something.

Harry keeps your hand in his as he guides you towards the bar. Once the two of you approach the bar he reaches for the glass in your hand and asks “what would ye like?”. You move your glance away from his and over to the large bar.

“I think we should do shots” you say with a big smile that makes Harry’s heart beat just a bit quicker.

“Shots it is then, love” he says with a small chuckle as he puts your dirty glass down and grabs two clear glass shot glasses.

“What liquor are we thinkin’?” He asked as he looks over the options.

“Oooh tequila for sure” you say confidently as you point at the bottle of expensive tequila.

“Mmm great choice” he praises as he grabs the bottle and proceeds to pour you each a shot.

“Cheers” you smirk as you grab your shot glass and clink it against the one in his hand. You make eye contact again as you down the shots in sync. As you lower your now empty shot glasses you realize how close you are to him, only about a foot and a half. Being this close to him makes you realize how handsome he is, his eyes are incredibly green and his shoulders are perfectly wide. His chocolate coloured curls sat harmoniously atop his head, one piece falling in front of his face seemingly by accident but it looked as it is meant to be there.

As Harry brought his shot glass away from his mouth and felt the strong burning sensation of the tequila making its way down his throat he stared at you. You’re eyes ostensibly checking him out, or atleast that’s what he convinced himself you were doing. In fact the combination of the warmth he felt in his stomach from the strong liquor and the minimal proximity between you and him was making him feel slightly dizzy. You truly were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He wanted to know everything about you, where you were born, your passions, your worst fears, what makes you wet, what makes you angry, who you care about. Literally anything and everything you were willing to tell him he was more than happy to hear about.

“How’d you know Jeff and Glenne?” Harry finally asked. You smiled as you thought about how you met them.

“Jeff and I have been friends since collage, and I met G about a year after we graduated. I indroduced them actually” you explained as your smile grew at the fond memories.

“Jeff manages you right?” you asked as you turned back to the bar and started making yourself another gin martini. Harry nodded as he watched you

“yeah e’ does, but we’re great mates too. A’ve been since before he started managing meh” he said as he turned towards you a bit more

“s’ crazy we a’vent met before this” he continued as you finished making your drink.

“It is, a shame really” you smirked. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to powder room” you took another sip of your drink as you began to walk away.

Harry watched you walk away, shamelessly staring at your bum and god was it nice. He was stunned to be quite frank. He wasn’t completely sure what it was about you (other than the obvious of course) that made him so enamoured by you but he couldn’t help it. He ran his hands over his face and let out a huff. Looking around and taking in his surroundings properly for the first time since he laid eyes on you, he noticed less people were there. He decided he’d find Jeff so he could more subtly wait for you to return.

When you come out of the bathroom you look around and notice there are seemingly only a few people left at the party. You grab your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans to check the time, the screen illuminates and shows 1:37AM. You let out a small huff, put your phone back in your pocket and decide to go find Jeff. You walk down the hall from the bathroom and into the living room to find Jeff and Glenne sitting on the couch you were sat at earlier. Beside them was Kassie and sat on the couch directly adjacent from them was Harry and a man you’d never met before.

“Hi loves” you say as you strut over to sit next to the man you’d never met. “Don’t believe we’ve met, I’m y/n” you say confidently with a smile and extend your hand for him to shake, which he does.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Mitch. I’m Harry’s guitarist” he says with a slightly awkward smile.

“Oh lovely” you nod. “Y/n is the designer for KIWI, Mitch” Harry says as he tilts his head forward a bit to look at you over where Mitch is sitting in between the two of you. You giggle slightly at the sudden interruption.

“Oh! That’s sick. We all love your work” Mitch says with an even bigger smile as he looks at you again.

“Thank you” you reply as you smile back at him just as enthusiastically.

“H is pretty much obsessed really, pretty sure he bought out most of your fall collection” Mitch gushes as he nudges his head towards Harry slightly. Harry gives Mitch a bit of a menacing look as he feels his cheeks heat up.

“Mmm obsessed is he?” You smirk as you move your glance back to Harry and take a long sip of your drink.

“Anybody who isn’t would be ‘ave to be blind, love” Harry said as his lips turned up into a smile, showing off his infamous dimples.

Just as you were about to reply to Harry’s bold compliment you heard Kassie let out a loud yawn from across the other couch. You turned your attention towards her as she said “think I’m gonna head out guys, it’s getting late”. She got up and Jeff and Glenne did as well. Kassie gave Jeff a hug.

“Think I’ll be going also, I haven’t watered my cactus since yesterday” you giggled as you walked over to hug Glenne and say your goodbyes. As soon as you let go of your embrace you noticed Harry was stood directly beside you.

“I’ll walk you t’ the door” Harry insisted and you nodded, following him to the front door.

“Love you Jeff! Love you G!” You yelled behind you.

Once stood in the entry way with Harry he said “really was lovely t’ meet ya”. You smiled and gave him a short hug.

“was lovely to meet you too Harry, thanks for havin a shot with me”. You went to grab the door handle to leave but Harry stopped you by grabbing your wrist lightly.

“Do ya think I could get ya numba’?” He asked as your gaze met his yet again.

You hummed in faux thought “now where’s the fun in that, love” you replied with a smirk as you turned back around, releasing your wrist from his grasp, opened the door and left.

[underachievers-please-try-harder]

Interview // Clairo

For The Guardian. Read online. 

Exuding all the effusive pride of a new parent, Claire Cottrill is showing me photos of Joanie, her rescue dog and the muse for her forthcoming album, Sling. “She’s actually really bossy,” the Massachusetts-raised artist better known as Clairo chuckles over Zoom, holding her phone close to the laptop screen so I can see the Instagram post more clearly. “But she’s so funny. We have such a special bond.”

According to a DNA test, the sandy-furred pup is mostly chow chow and great pyrenees, with a little bit of boxer and lab in the mix, which accounts for the fact she has tripled in size in the six-and-a-bit months since her adoption. “She was a little wolf baby; a peanut!” the 22-year-old singer-songwriter exclaims, mooning nostalgically over one particular image depicting the then seven-week-old puppy peeking out of some bushes.

Dog ownership might have become quite the ultimate lockdown cliche, but for Cottrill committing to a pet represented a rare opportunity to lay down some roots. Certainly, pre-pandemic she hadn’t had much chance to pursue a life of quiet domesticity; not since the autumn of 2018 at least, when the lo-fi bedroom pop of Pretty Girl went viral, just weeks after she started college in Syracuse.

Its winningly DIY video racked up more than 1.5m YouTube views pretty much overnight (it now stands at almost 75m), and Cottrill was heralded as a vital new voice, and part of a wave of creatively autonomous, emotionally articulate Gen Z artists, alongside the likes of Billie Eilish and Rex Orange County.

Cottrill’s rapid rise – not to mention her signing with the Fader label and Chance the Rapper’s management team – was not without controversy. A small but vocal subset on Reddit circulated the rumour that Cottrill was an “industry plant”, a conclusion they arrived at following their discovery that her father Geoff was previously chief marketing officer at Converse and co-founder of its affiliated recording studio Rubber Tracks. She has recently addressed the allegations directly, telling Rolling Stone, “I definitely am not blind to the fact that things have been easier for me.”

Largely though, Cottrill has sought to prove her detractors wrong through the quality of her compositions. First came Diary 001, an esoteric, six-track set mining skeletal hip-hop and the wipe-clean grooves of PC Music-inspired pop. That was followed in August 2019 by Immunity, the full-length debut she co-produced with ex-Vampire Weekend man Rostam Batmanglij. More revelatory than Diary 001, it detailed a suicide attempt (Alewife) and her struggles with juvenile rheumatoid arthritis (I Wouldn’t Ask You) with striking candour. Sonically, it paired tender, electronics-tinged introspection with swooning guitar-pop. Sofia, which now boasts 280m streams on Spotify, catapulted Cottrill into another league of fame entirely, leading to collaborations with Charli XCX, Mura Masa and Arlo Parks, plus arena tours in support of Khalid and Tame Impala.

Cottrill was busy with the latter when Covid hit the US. On hearing the news, she headed straight to Atlanta, Georgia, to see out lockdown with family, a period of isolation originally scheduled to last a fortnight but which went on for eight months.

Just how intense was it spending the best part of a year holed up with her parents? “It was awesome,” she insists, now back at the Brooklyn apartment she shares with fellow musicians and former college pals Claud and Josh Mehling. “My older sister came home as well. And I found it interesting that no matter how much you’ve progressed as an adult in your own life, the family roles revert back to exactly how it was as a kid.”

First and foremost, enforced confinement provided the opportunity for Cottrill to deepen her relationship with her mother.

“The conversations I had with my mom about motherhood, and the things she sacrificed for us, are really important to me,” she says. “Also, it’s like you don’t actually know who your mother is before she’s Mom, before she’s Wife, because there isn’t a huge documentation of who she was as an individual. And I realised that I might be in the period of my life now where I’m in my individual phase: before I am Mom, before I am Wife, or whatever I end up being. It was a bit scary to recognise that I could eventually have a family, and then this whole identity that I’ve had on my own for a long time can, in some ways, disappear.”

These existential ideas form the basis of Cottrill’s much-anticipated second album. Recorded in the autumn of 2020 at Allaire Studios – situated on a mountain top in upstate New York – Sling finds Jack Antonoff co-producing. Perhaps more significantly, the record also features backing vocals from Lorde – on Reaper as well as the lead single Blouse – an alliance that led to Cottrill returning the favour on the New Zealander’s latest, Solar Power.

“I met Lorde [when I was] on FaceTime with Jack,” she says of the link-up. “He was like: ‘Hey, I’m with a friend, can we say hi?’, and it was Lorde. And I freaked out, of course, but she’s the nicest person ever.

“We talked a lot about how cool it was in the Laurel Canyon era, where people would secretly do background vocals on each other’s music – like Joni Mitchell with Carole King – rather than as a way to benefit the business side of things. Back then it was just like: ‘I love your voice: will you lend your talent to my song?’ So that’s what I asked her, and I was just lucky enough that she wanted me on hers as well.”

The legacy of Laurel Canyon looms over Sling, which swaps the sparse electronic flourishes of Immunity for lush, acoustic folk, often embellished with swooning vocal harmonies, delicate strings and the warm swell of brass. Reference points for the record included Hejira-era Mitchell, the Carpenters and Harry Nilsson, alongside less obvious touchpoints, such as cult jazz musician Blossom Dearie. Most influential, perhaps, was Innocence & Despair by the Langley Schools Music Project, which features a choir of 1970s school kids covering hits of the day, and has since been hailed as a significant piece of outsider art.

“To me, that record merged my two worlds for Sling,” Cottrill explains. “I wanted that warm 70s feeling, but also I was thinking so much about kids, and especially the clumsy, sweet kid that Joanie embodies.”

There is a darker side to the record too, as Cottrill grapples with the reality of life navigating an industry that she memorably describes – on Bambi – as “a universe designed against my own beliefs”. On Blouse she describes her experiences being sexualised by record execs, while on Management she parodies the industry’s fascination with youth in lines like “She’s only 22”.

“[The attitude is] ‘There’s a lot more that we can squeeze out of her before she’s done.’ Because I think that what this industry does a lot is drain young women of everything until they’re not youthful any more.”

For Cottrill, as much as Sling is an album, it is a document of her endeavours to reassess what it is she wants from life. And adopting Joanie was only the first step: in two weeks’ time she plans to move into the house she recently purchased, in a tiny Massachusetts town in close proximity to both the Berkshire and Catskill mountains.

“It’s so awful that it took something like lockdown happening for me to reevaluate how I wanted to move forward. But it’s now about putting my mental health first, because I deserve to have nice things that I do care about. [Things] outside of music, like a house and a dog.”

As we say goodbye, I get another glimpse of Joanie, who has been snoozing throughout the interview. Sprawled on the floor at the end of Cottrill’s bed, blissfully unaware of her significance in our conversations, it’s a pretty fitting encapsulation of the pace of life that Cottrill has finally embraced.

[miraculousmarifan]

Felinette Month 2020 - Day 22: Tattoo Artist

Happy @felinettenovember! It may almost be the end of November but I’m slowly catching up! Hopefully this longer story full of Felix being awkward makes up for the delay!

Around 3200 words of Felix and Marinette awkwardly trying to flirt. Spoiler, Nino was in fact trying to subtly set them up before then. Also mentions of Gabriel salt but not enough to really tag.

Also, there is one swear word in the entire thing but it was too perfect a spot not to include. Enjoy!

Felix hated going to crowded bars. He couldn't believe he had let his coworker, Nino, talk him into coming to this bar while he DJ’d on the side. Felix didn’t mind spending time with Nino at the tattoo parlor, the two had interesting conversations and Nino was pretty relaxed but it didn’t mean they had become good enough friends for Felix to put up with this. The reek of body odor near the dance floor deterred him and he wondered why he felt like he needed to come to this show. He hadn’t come any other time Nino had invited him. 

Felix wondered if he was overdressed. Most people wore jeans. Here and there he saw a nice blouse or even a dress but many women looked like their primary objective was to entice a date into taking them home, in Felix’s opinion. He saw one or two men wearing button down shirts but most wore flannels or plain t-shirts. His white button down, dark gray vest, and black pants might’ve been a little dressy for the venue.

There was still a little bit of room to sneak in by the bar, near a dark-haired woman on one of the few barstools. He excused himself as he tried to position himself at the bar without bumping anyone. He couldn’t help but wonder if this bar was normally crowded like this or if this was Nino’s influence. It might be a sign that he’s actually a really good DJ.

“I’m sorry. Were you saving this spot for someone?” Felix turned slightly towards the woman, while waiting for the bartender to finish making other customers’ drinks. “I just tried to get into the only opening at the bar I could see.”

“It’s fine! I’m meeting someone and she isn’t here yet. It’s nice to see it so crowded!” the dark-haired woman exclaimed with a smile, glancing up from her phone and placing a hand on the top of her drink glass while talking with him. He felt himself smile back. She wore a pink shirt, casual but stylish, with jeans and black heeled boots. She definitely had good taste, managing to look put together for a night out, while still being casual and comfortable.

“I’m glad I didn’t inconvenience you right now. It’s definitely crowded. Do you come here often? I mean, do you know if it’s normally like this? This is my first time here,” Felix fumbled out. He internally smacked his head. It wasn’t like he never saw pretty girls and he hadn’t even had a drink yet. Why was he forgetting how to speak properly with her sparkling eyes on him? He used to work with models for crying out loud. He felt like the words coming out were too direct. It was like he was a creep hitting on her at the bar and he just wanted to make some small talk! He felt the tension in him relax slightly as she lightly laughed.

“It sometimes gets busy but today is a little more than usual. My friend is the DJ and he tends to draw in more people. I think his girlfriend put something on her blog though, since this is a special show. It may have brought more people than usual. What brings you here, since you clearly aren’t a usual?” she mockingly asked him, after her casual remarks. She had brought her drink closer to her body, hand still on the top, as though she was thinking about getting up and leaving that spot soon.

“I actually came for a coworker… friend… that said he was going to be the DJ tonight. Nino?” Felix replied, wondering if Nino was actually a mutual friend. He hoped so, if only for the chance to chat with her longer tonight.

“Oh! You’re from the tattoo parlor?” she exclaimed, jerking up so her back was straight. Her face flushed lightly and her eyebrows were raised slightly.

“Yes… I take it Nino is your DJ friend. I’m Felix,” he stuck his hand out in introduction with a slight tilt of his head.

“Marinette,” she smiled and shook his hand. The bartender chose this opportunity to come over, apologize for the wait, and take his drink order. Felix asked Marinette if she needed a refill and offered to buy it. She downed the last of her drink and pushed it forward, repeating what she wanted. He gladly covered it, leaving a bill big enough to pay for the drinks with a generous tip. He figured with it being this busy, few customers would leave tips after having to wait and it would be appreciated. He turned slightly, looking over his shoulder to check for an open table with three or four chairs.

“I’m thinking about moving to that table--” Felix gestured to an empty table left of the dance floor, close to the DJ booth with three chairs by it, “-- so the bar has a little more open space. Would you like to join me there while you wait for your friend?”

Marinette smiled at him and nodded, pulling the strap of her small bag over her shoulder and sliding off the chair. He picked up her drink and started to weave through the crowd, walking as quickly as possible towards the table. He reached it a few steps before her, setting the drinks down and then gesturing for her to take the seat with the best view of the entrance. He quickly explained that he wanted her to be able to spot her friend right away.

“So you work with Nino at the tattoo parlor?” Marinette asked again, as though there was more behind the question.

“Yes. I also do tattoos, though I personally think Nino’s are more creative. I typically do by appointment, though I have helped out with walk-ins when we get a group of them. I find that they typically prefer his sketches though, so I don’t typically make my own designs,” Felix gave her more detail than normal, in case he could answer her unspoken question this way.

“I guess I’m just a little surprised. You don’t really look like the type to work there. Do you have any tattoos?” she sheepishly shrugged, kind of explaining the tone behind her previous question. He grinned mischievously and shrugged back at her.

“I actually don’t have any tattoos and didn’t get into this career field because I loved it. It’s a bit of a joke at work but I started there to spite my father. I had steady hands and trained for quite a while before starting working on clients but…” Felix had a bit of a laugh in his voice as he explained this career choice. Marinette studied him a little more closely before leaning forward to respond.

“Not to pry but were you a model when you were younger?” she whispered almost conspiratorially, with a narrowed eye and the tilt of her head. Her hair fell forward with the motion and his hand lifted to push it back behind her ear before he had a chance to think. As he realized what he had done, he flushed and looked away, pulling his hand back swiftly and gripping it in his lap. He completely missed her blushing and putting a hand up to her ear.

“I was actually… not that most people realize it now. I actually changed my last name to my mother’s maiden name when I came of age so people don’t make the connection when they do happen to hear it,” Felix replied and met her intense stare, quietly answering her searching gaze with his own. He wondered if she had really figured him out so quickly. He knew his longer-term coworkers knew about his previous work history but was he just delusional that others didn’t make the connection?

“I’m glad you found a way to fuck with Gabriel Agreste. After reading an article about the standards he held for his models when you suddenly disappeared from the fashion world, I decided I never wanted to treat people like that. I even decided that I didn’t want to take an internship there, even if it would help my career to learn from him. It’s good to know you’re doing well,” Marinette looked away, blushing more as she took a gulp from her glass, gripping it tighter than really necessary. He felt the need to study her closer. Most people didn’t notice or read the article he had helped with, especially when the only publication that would go up against Gabriel was a small independent fashion magazine. This girl must’ve been really invested in fashion to have noticed an article like that.

“So you must be working in fashion?” Felix rested his head on a hand, soaking up her expression. He was startled from his reverie by a hand on his shoulder.

“She’s the best designer of our generation! She’s going to have her name across every headline soon! She is going to blow Gabriel Agreste out of the water… Isn’t that right Mar?” a woman with brown and red hair declared firmly near Felix’s ear, before turning and confirming with Marinette with a grin.

“Alya! You made it! Why didn’t you message me when you got here?” Marinette grinned back, still blushing lightly. 

“Girl I did! Don’t you check your phone? I’m glad you guys chose a table that was easy to spot! Who’s your friend?” Alya lightly bumped their shoulders, before taking the last chair at the table and waggling her eyebrows.

“I’m Felix, and you must be Marinette’s friend,” he jumped in right away, extending a hand and smiling slightly at their interaction.

“Alya. Are you the Felix that works with Nino?” Alya grinned a bit bigger, the mischievous look seeming to grow. He nodded and looked around.

“I am. Do you guys know when he’s planning on being here?” he asked. He figured Nino was supposed to start soon, so he should be there.

“So Felix, you look a little dressed up today. Any specific reason? Like maybe you had a date?” Alya rested her head on her hands, staring across the table at him with slightly narrowed eyes.

“This is how I normally dress… These are my casual clothes…” he stuttered out in confusion. Luckily he didn’t need to stutter too long, as Nino arrived at their table and greeted his girlfriend with a kiss.

“Hey guys! Felix, man! You made it! I’m so glad you made it! Have you all met already?” Nino patted Felix’s shoulder before looking between the three of them. Alya turned and smiled at the two.

“We’ve been getting to know him. You didn’t tell me you had invited your work friend tonight,” Alya raised her eyebrows at Nino and placed a hand on his arm. He looked at her confused, and leaned over to talk with her in a low tone. The two leaned over as Marinette and Felix sat awkwardly, trying not to watch the pair. Finally the two seemed to reach an understanding and noticed their friends' discomfort.��

Nino proceeded to make a little bit of small talk, telling a short story or two about his and Felix’s experiences at the parlor, before he let them know he needed to head up to the booth to start.

With the music blasting, Alya attempted to convince Marinette to come out on the floor and dance with her. She promised to join her once her feet had rested up from her work day. Alya accepted the promise with a declaration that she'd be held to it. Felix felt a small amount of relief at being forgotten here. He was an awkward dancer at best, only really managing to acceptably slow dance for formal events, and this dance floor didn’t appear suitable for that style.

"I actually am kind of interested in getting a tattoo… I have some sketches of what I'm thinking, if you wouldn't mind looking it over…" Marinette pulled a small notepad out of her purse and opened it to a specific page before looking up at him.

"Sure. Are you thinking of making an appointment with Nino or somewhere else?" He gestured towards the notepad to indicate that he'd like to take a look. She slid it over to him and he looked at the line art she had put together for this design. It had some degree of floral swirling but also what appeared to be a small ladybug, a symbol of luck. It was simple but lovely. He looked up at her and leaned closer to point out elements as he spoke, "I imagine you're going to want to fill in the ladybug with red?"

A nod of confirmation. 

"What about these areas? You could have it filled in, make the lines a specific color, or even just put another layer of color on one side of the black so it has more vibrancy. I'm sure this part would look great with a vibrant green and this could be any color you want." Marinette’s eyes got wide with the possibilities. She stated she didn't want it filled in at this point, then started asking about the pros and cons of doing specific line colors versus the layered lines. They discussed what would probably work best for where on her body and what areas are more likely to be painful. Finally she came to a decision, writing down on the paper with her sketch what she wanted.

“So do you have openings for an appointment any time soon?” Marinette asked almost hesitantly. Felix blinked at her a few times before opening his mouth to speak.

“You want me to do it?” he mumbled incredulously, his brain still catching up after discussing the design from a neutral stance up to this point.

“Unless you think I’d be better off going somewhere else, yeah… I kind of thought that’s why you were so open to discussing it…” she replied quietly, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. Her logic made sense. Normally he wouldn’t consult on someone else’s work, but he was caught up in the idea of being able to help the beautiful woman in front of him.

“I could! I just didn’t expect it… would you mind either coming over to the parlor so I can make a copy of this and practice it or you could send me it via email? I normally have my appointments do that when we set up the appointment and design. Then I can give a more accurate time estimate.” he answered enthusiastically, hoping she wouldn’t feel embarrassed by his slow thinking. It was a Friday night after all. He had every reason not to focus well.

“I could give you my number so we can figure out when to make a copy there,” she smiled at him, relief seeming to color her voice. He nodded in agreement, pulling out his phone and bringing up the new contact form, then sliding it over to her. She typed in her name, number, and email address quickly, then returned his phone. He smiled at it, sent a message to her with his name, then returned the phone to his pocket.

“I’m glad we’ll be able to see each other again for this,” the words slipped from his mouth when he watched the lights from the dance floor bounce across her face. She blushed slightly and nodded in response before asking him to dance. He hesitated before leaning forward to answer.

“I will if you ask me to, but I must warn you that I am a terrible dancer. You may end up regretting bringing me there, if it doesn’t make you laugh first,” he whispered near her ear, surprised that even this close to the dance floor his nose registered the sweet smell of her hair, vanilla. Before pulling back, he asked her again, “Are you sure you want me to join you and your friend on the dance floor?”

Her laugh twinkled out before she stood, leaning close to him to reply. “You haven’t seen my dancing yet! It’s not likely you can be worse than me!”

Her hand wrapped around his closest one and gently tugged it so he would get up and follow. The two made their way towards where Alya was dancing. She made a small laughing comment about how long it took the two to join in on the fun. During their second song on the floor, with Felix and Marinette awkwardly swaying and waving their arms near the beat but slightly off, Alya started to laugh.

“I never thought I would see the day that Marinette would find her perfect dance partner! You two dance the exact same! Was this planned?” Her exclamation caused the pair to look at each other, then join in laughing. Marinette exclaimed that they hadn’t planned it and looked a little embarrassed at the “perfect dance partner” comment. The next song was slower, definitely one that suggested partnering up. Alya gave Marinette a light nudge towards Felix and an eye waggle on her way back to the table for a “refreshment break.”

“Would you like to dance? I know we don’t really know each other and neither of us is much for dancing…” Felix awkwardly put a hand to his neck, eyes on her boots. She stepped forward and set a single hand on his shoulder. He brought his arms up, sweeping up her free hand in one of his, then hesitantly started moving. Surprisingly the two managed to stay on beat for more of this song. They were silent through the first chorus, just trying to get into a rhythm together.

“So are you the coworker Nino was trying to set me up with?” Marinette broke the silence, a blush covering her cheeks and eyes cast over his shoulder, rather than at his face.

“I’m not sure. It’s a pretty small parlor and Nino never mentioned setting me up on a date but I’m pretty sure I’m the only single guy there at the moment…” Felix felt a little flustered at the idea. He was sure if Nino had suggested it, he would have rejected on the basis of disliking blind dates. There was too much potential for hurt feelings and uncomfortable meals for his taste. He would’ve hated to find out he missed out on meeting an interesting woman like Marinette due to his own bias though. “Maybe that’s why he kept inviting me to his gigs though. He’s been asking me to come for months and I only got around to it tonight.”

“That’s possible…” Marinette sounded disappointed and Felix felt his stomach drop. He hadn’t meant to say the wrong thing, just state facts as far as he could tell.

“I’m really glad I made it tonight. If I had expected to meet you, I would have come much sooner!” he blurted out quickly, not fully certain if that would help or hurt his case. She blushed more than before and stared at him in surprise.

“I’m glad you came too,” she replied after a long pause. Felix felt relief wash through him.

“Does that mean I can call you sometime? Other than for the tattoo, that is…” he enthusiastically inquired, gazing earnestly at her. The song ended and he hesitated to release her hand, waiting for her answer.

“I think I’d like that.”

[lesbianlotties]

the only touchstone of truth

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: I Care A Lot (2020) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fran/Marla Grayson Characters: Marla Grayson, Fran (I Care A Lot) Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Origin Story, Canon Backstory, First Meetings, First Kiss, First Dates, Getting Together, Morally Ambiguous Character, Illegal Activities, Eventual Smut, Flirting, Partners in Crime, crime wives

Chapter 2:

There was something different about Marla that day. She wasn’t bored, she wasn’t idly waiting. She was waiting, true, but only because that was part of her plan. Standing behind her counter, her shop more or less back in shape, she wore a different blouse, higher heels, and a smile that sharpened, even more, when somebody came in. Marla sent a quick nod to Curtis, who had instructions on what to do. He pulled out his phone and walked away toward the storage room of the place.

“Marla,” the man greeted her with a perfectly polite and respectful tone that already started to crumble on his second sentence, “I wonder, what on Earth are you trying to do?”

“Mr. Nelson, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Marla replied, “It’s a pleasure to have you visit us.” What an honor to have you millionaire, corporate, chain store, ugly ass step on my broken dreams physically this time.

“You cleaned up the store,” he sighed, looking around as if to take a hold of his emotions.

This promptly reminded the blonde of the couple of hours she spent with Curtis destroying her own shop and then putting it back together again. In the upcoming years, Marla would learn just how far she was capable of playing dirty, and many would accuse her of being unscrupulous, among worse adjectives, but nobody would ever dare call her lazy, that was for sure. With or without morals, Marla was an extremely hardworking woman, and she wasn’t afraid of getting her hands dirty, for better or for worse. A practical habit that she cultivated during her days of playing fair, and kept, for some reason. Most likely because idleness simply went against her nature, and she had promised herself not to rest until she achieved her goals. 

“We did, yes. Lots of hard work,” the blonde nodded, “such a shame what happened.”

“Such a shame,” the man echoed the sentiment, speaking on autopilot, but when he focused his eyes on Marla again he was all ice. “You’re accusing us of doing it,” he said.

Purposefully, Marla gave him a deep shrug and another shark-like smile. “I believe it’s the police who marked your company as suspects,” she replied in a mockingly innocent tone.

“We didn’t do it. And the accusation is bad publicity for our business. Drop the lawsuit,” he ordered, his voice starting to shake just slightly. When Marla only shook her head slowly, he scoffed. “You’re nothing, Marla Gray,” he seethed, “Your little business is over. Why would we try to boycott you out of all people? You’re not even competition. Drop the lawsuit.”

“Grayson.”

“What?” he was still laughing with a combination of awkwardness and annoyance.

“My name is Marla Grayson,” she stated using the full power of the commanding nature that she knew she had, “and I will fight for this shop until the end.”

He scoffed again, clearly losing his patience. The man walked to the door of the store and back to the counter once, twice, until he calmed down and not quite looking Marla in the eyes, he offered, “Twenty thousand dollars, and you’ll drop the lawsuit.”

“No,” Marla denied it immediately and before she could fully think about how offensive the offer was, he continued.

“Fifty thousand, Marla,” he said, his face red and his voice trembling. It was a pretty number that put Marla at a crossroads between the attempt to feel offended and the impulse to just ask for more. Either way, that number would not do. She only tilted her head and her expression said it all. “A hundred thousand dollars, dammit! Final offer!”

At this point, Marla made it a point to pick up her vape pen and look as bored as possible. “Please get out of my store, Mr. Nelson. I’ll see you in court,” she concluded.

He shook his head, he was breathing heavily and wildly waved a finger in her direction. “No! This is not over,” he protested, “How dare you say no to me?! I’ll make you regret it, you know?” He made a pause and after seeing that his threat did nothing to disturb her, and in fact, she only exhaled the smoke in a terribly irritating way, he slammed his hands on the counter right in front of her, “Dammit just take the money!”

“I will not,” Marla fumed back at him, barely letting show a hint of her patience running out.

“And you better stop screaming.”

Both Marla and her unwanted guest hastily looked toward the door of the shop. There was Fran, casually leaning against the doorway, not so casually showing off her plaque. At first, the man didn’t even move from his place. But Fran let out a quick whistle and said, “This aggressive visit will not look on your case, Mr. Nelson.”

Finally, the big store owner groaned loudly and without even sparing either woman a word, he stormed away from the place for good.

This quick turn of events left Marla and Fran alone in the shop. Marla stayed behind the counter that she managed to handle like an equivalent to a throne, and Fran took a couple of effortless steps forward until she stood in the middle of the place, directing a small and easy smile at the other woman.

“I must say,” Fran started to say, “I didn’t expect to receive this ‘Marla needs help, come over right now’ text from a number, I assume, that isn’t yours.” She waved her phone once for emphasis.

“Personally, I don’t usually give my number to strangers,” Marla replied, earning herself a chuckle from Fran, who looked away for a second, but when their eyes met again, Marla was sincere as she said, “Thank you for coming, by the way.”

Fran nodded, accepting her gratitude without making a big deal of it. This gave Marla an opportunity to study her again. Fran looked similar to what she did that night showing up to the shop after the staged attack. A ponytail holding on for dear life to wild hair that just begged to be freed, a more or less regular detective’s outfit that most likely wasn’t designed with the purpose of fitting Fran’s curves so scandalously well on every single right place. And then there was the way she simply stood in the middle of the store with immeasurable confidence. Nothing to hide behind, nothing to lean into, just her in an open space without any issue with Marla’s eyes glued to her. She wasn’t standing there like she owned the place, not exactly. It looked like she couldn’t care less about ownership, but her world consisted of only her, and she didn’t care enough about any authority to give them the power of deciding if she belonged or if she was out of place. Fran carried herself as if the rest of the world’s ideas of right or wrong were mere suggestions. Nothing sounded more appealing to Marla.

“You weren’t exactly in trouble though,” Fran contemplated, reluctantly breaking the silence, “you looked like you had it handled.”

“But you did scare him off,” Marla grinned.

“And you didn’t take the money.”

“Do I look like someone that would have taken the money?”

Fran laughed, because they both knew the answer to that question very well. She walked forward until she could lean her arms on the infamous counter, not quite in front of Marla, just a little to the side. “Maybe you should have,” she finally mused, “this might be bigger than you, gorgeous.”

This development in their interactions came with considerable consequences for Marla, who had underestimated the effect it would have on her to have Fran again standing so close to her. She wouldn’t back down though, she wouldn’t lose her higher ground, but she couldn’t deny the fact that Fran shook her to her core in a magnitude previously unknown to Marla. She couldn’t come up with a reasonable answer until it was obviously too late, so she stayed silent, picked up her pen, and after taking a drag she left it on the counter. This seemed to spark Fran’s attention, who had previously been content to just study Marla’s face from up close and during the daylight.

“So, are you going to offer me one of these,” the brunette wondered, lightly tapping with her fingertip the tip of the pen standing between them, “or a coffee… a drink… should you at least walk me to my car?”

“I will… walk you to your car,” Marla decided, after a quick and not exactly pleasant assessment of the situation. There was nothing she’d love more than to take Fran’s hand and either lead her out of that damned store or guide her to the other side of the locked door of her office. But there were already smoke signals in the air between them that she couldn’t ignore. This could be dangerous, this was possibly great, this was certainly bigger than either of them was accustomed to. Marla was stunned by the undeniable fact that she wasn’t sure how to handle Fran, and equally as unsettled but no less excited about the fact that she had no idea how Fran would handle her. She had no doubt they could handle each other, but until she felt completely confident in a perfect plan of action, she would have to see for how long and how much she could feed this ferocious and inexplicable fire that was burning between them.

As they approached Fran’s vehicle, Marla made two statements. “I will not take the money,” she said, followed by, “and that’s not a car.”

Fran winked, “My mistake.” She leaned back on the motorcycle and focused her attention on the blonde in front of her.

“I’m taking that asshole to court,” Marla managed to say, despite that unexpected and entirely alluring image of Fran standing just like that. She should have known that even the safest option among all that the brunette had offered would still come with a trick to test Marla’s hesitant boundaries.

“For something you did?”

“I’ll have to close either way,” Marla rolled her eyes, “He took me out of business. I have to take something from him. Something big.”

Fran tilted her head. “Do you have experience in court?” she wondered.

“I’m confident I can manage,” Marla smiled.

“Of course,” the other woman chuckled. “Though,” she added, “if only you had… an acquaintance, who happened to be knowledgeable in the shady alleyways of court and would be willing to give you a hand.”

Fran was barely done with her word when suddenly Marla was almost on top of her. Marla had moved quickly and swiftly, standing impossibly close to Fran, somehow not touching, but if any of them were to so much as breathe a little harder than usual their bodies would meet in all the right places. Which was maybe the reason Fran was suddenly holding her breath. Marla had placed both hands on the bike, on either side of Fran’s hips, trapping her in place, while holding her face just inches away from the other woman.

“What do you want,” Marla slowly asked, “Fran?”

“Why do you assume I want something?”

Being softly hit with Fran’s breath on her cheek was an unexpected consequence of Marla’s plan, but she held her ground. Very deliberately, one of her hands moved slowly and confidently to one of the back pockets of Fran’s pants. The brunette, to her credit, her only reaction was a noticeable clench of her jaw, but she stood still while Marla pulled out her phone and mercifully stepped away to let both of them breathe a little easier.

“Unlock it, I’ll save my number,” Marla held out Fran’s own phone for her and proceeded to follow through with her words. 

Fran got her heart rate almost back to normal as she watched Marla quickly tap the screen, and deciding the only right thing to possibly say at that moment was to answer Marla’s question, she said, “Give me a percentage of the money you’ll make with the lawsuit. So I can finally quit the police.”

Beyond pleased with that answer, Marla bit her lip for a moment then returned the phone. “And here I thought you were just trying to have dinner with me,” she said to Fran right before walking away from her, but not before looking back just in time to catch the other woman staring, and adding a final smile she threw over her shoulder, “See you soon, Fran.”

[az3422]

VIRTUAL YOUTUBER WIKI

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VIRTUAL YOUTUBER WIKI

Shirogane Noel



BASIC DETAILS

ORIGINAL NAME

白銀ノエル

NICKNAME(S)

Danchou (Party Leader)

Noe-Chan (3rd gen members)

DEBUT DATE

2019/08/08

CHARACTER DESIGNER

Illustration: Watao

Modelling: rariemonn[1]

AFFILIATION

hololive

MEDIA

CHANNEL

Noel Ch. 白銀ノエル

SOCIAL MEDIA

Twitter

bilibili

OFFICIAL WEBSITE

hololive.tv (English)

hololive.tv (Japanese)

PERSONAL DETAILS

GENDER

Female

AGE

18 (+ ２〇 months) years old

BIRTHDAY

24 November

HEIGHT

158 cm

WEIGHT

50.7 kg

ZODIAC SIGN

Sagittarius

EMOJI

⚔️

LESS 

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This is a Japanese name; the family name is Shirogane.

Associated pages

Noel (You are here)

Gallery

Discography

Platinum Collection Build Your Own Bundle. Choose up to 7 games

BUY NOW FROM FANATICAL

Shirogane Noel (白銀ノエル) is a female Japanese Virtual YouTuber associated with hololive, debuting as part of its third generation of VTubers under the name of "hololive Fantasy" (ホロライブファンタジー) alongside Usada Pekora, Uruha Rushia, Shiranui Flare and Houshou Marine.

Introduction Video



Noel's introduction. 【 白銀ノエル初配信】はじめまっする！白銀ノエルですッ！【ホロライブ 新人Vtuber】

Personality

Noel is a clumsy but mostly wholesome knight, with a more girlish voice than her appearance would suggest (though she can pull out a mature older sister voice if the occasion calls for it). Her character archetype is best described as having more muscle than brains; she often streams video games, but is rarely seen actually doing well in them.

Noel's thirst for Shiranui Flare is arguably matched only by Natsuiro Matsuri's thirst for girls in general. She gets jealous if Flare so much as interacts with someone else, and since Flare is somewhat of a chick magnet, this happens very often.

Profile

"Hey muscle! Shirogane Noel's here!"

While she is easy-going, she has a dangerous side where she attempts to solve all her problems with muscle power. As much as this fluffy, meatheaded knight hungers for power, she came to the world of VTubers where all the stronk people are, for training.[2]

History

Background

Her Twitter account was opened on 22 July 2019 while her YouTube channel was created on 26 July. She debuted with her introduction stream on 8 August.[3]

On 14 November, she announced on her Twitter account the debut date of her 3D model,[4] which later debuted during a stream on 17 November,[5] being the first of her generation to get a 3D model.

2020

On 1 January, her YouTube channel got demonetized, she stated on Twitter that this was caused because of her ASMR videos,[6] just like Haato, Choco, Aki and Mel.

On 2 January, she got a kimono as her New Year's oufit, being her second 2D costume overall.[7]

On 24 January along with the other hololive girls up to the third generation, she debuted her 3D idol outfit at hololive's 1st fes. Nonstop Story.[8]

On 31 January, she announced in her Twitter account the remonetization of her channel.[9]

On 16 October, hololive's Twitter account announced that Noel, Houshou Marine, Murasaki Shion and Yuzuki Choco would get new 2D costumes.[10]

On 21 October, Noel debuted her third 2D costume during a stream, a huge contrast compared to her knight outfit, she wears modern casual clothes, she wears black choker with a blue snowflake, a white blouse, with a brown squares skirt, black socks and brown shoes, she also debuted a new air style and as an option she can wear glasses.[11] In addition to this she also got her 2D model updated, with improvements to her facial expressions.[12]

On 5 December, she reached 700,000 subscribers, the 12th member of hololive to do so. On the same day, Nekomata Okayu reached that same threshold.

2021

On 21 January, she reached 800,000 subscribers on her YouTube channel, during an endurance singing stream.[13]

On 6 March, Noel reached 900,000 subscribers on her YouTube channel, during an endurance singing stream.[14]

On 12 April, Noel reached 1,000,000 subscribers on her YouTube channel, during an endurance singing stream, making her the 12th member of hololive to reach that milestone and the 9th member of hololive JP to do so. This makes her the fourth member of hololive Fantasy to reach that milestone as well.

On 31 May, Noel announced on Twitter what in the moment appeared to be a new 2D costume to celebrate World Milk Day.[15]

On 1 June, celebrating the date mentioned before, instead of getting a new outfit, Noel got new accesories for her casual costume, including cow's horns, ears and tail alongside a new set of clothes with a cow pattern and a cowbell.[16]

Discography

Main page: Shirogane Noel/Discography

Kirameki Rider☆▲as hololive IDOL PROJECT    Release Date24 February 2020Track List

"Kirameki Rider☆"

"Kirameki Rider☆" (instrumental)

External linksDigital Release • YouTube

DAILY DIARY▲as hololive IDOL PROJECT    Release Date21 January 2021Track List

"DAILY DIARY" (でいり〜だいあり〜！)

"DAILY DIARY" (instrumental)

External linksDigital Release • Music Video

Events

On 28 January 2020, it was announced on Dengekionline that she would made an appearance in the game Neptunia Virtual Stars as one of the VTuber guest characters alongside Tokino Sora, Roboco, Sakura Miko, Shirakami Fubuki, Minato Aqua, Yuzuki Choco, Inugami Korone and Houshou Marine.[17]

Fans

Her fanbase is officially called "Order of Shirogane" while in Japanese they are called "Shirogane kishi-dan"「白銀騎士団」.

Trivia

Her kanji, Shiro-gane「白銀」, means "white" and "money" individually and generally alludes to silver when put together.

On several occasions when pressed to specify her bust size, Noel has claimed that she is a K-cup. She has also jokingly stated that this stands for "Knight-cup". According to other members of hololive, her avatar's bust size is an accurate depiction of her true size.

She has a large appetite, indicating on several occasions that she enjoys extremely large serving portions when they are available. Fans have commented that this increased caloric intake makes sense considering Noel's height, athletic abilities, and impressive bust size.

Dissatisfied with her own singing ability, she works with a voice coach in hopes of improving her musical talents. According to Noel, her coach is particularly harsh and difficult to impress. However, after hearing Ookami Mio singing during the Toyosu PIT live-event, her voice coach remarked at how talented Mio was, much to Noel's dismay.

She has seen Kamen Rider Den-O back in her grade school days.[18][19]

During one stream, she mentions that during her school years, she was nicknamed "The Running T*ddy Cow", in reference to her large, absolute bust. As such, she is typically depicted around cow imagery and anything to do with milk, and on occasion baby bottles due to breasts maternal role in feeding. The fact that she has Shiro「白」in her name only strengthens this milky depiction.

She is the seventeenth hololive member to join the official Hololive Subreddit as a moderator.

On February 2021, she and Flare got custom made platinum rings.

External Links

Media

Noel Ch. 白銀ノエル - YouTube channel

Shirogane Noel's corporate profile on hololive.tv (EN)

Shirogane Noel's corporate profile on hololive.tv (JP)

@shiroganenoel - Twitter account

白银诺艾尔Official - bilibili channel

@shiroganenoel - Marshmallow account

Twitter hashtags

白銀ノエル - General

#ノエルーム - Stream talk

#白銀聖騎士団 - Fans

#ノエラート - Fan art

Further readings

白銀ノエル - Nicovideo Encyclopedia

白銀ノエル - Pixiv Encyclopedia

白銀ノエル - Japanese Wikipedia

白銀ノエル - unofficial hololive Seesaawiki

白银诺艾尔 - Moegirl Encyclopedia

Shirogane Noel - Hololive Fan Wiki



Solo Debutants

(hololive 0th Gen)

Tokino Sora (🐻) A-chan and Ankimo ·  Roboco (🤖) ·  Sakura Miko (🌸) ·  Hoshimachi Suisei (☄️) ·  AZKi (⚒️)

[rokutouxei]

the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | T | [ ao3 link in bio ]

The challenge seemed pretty simple: to try to befriend the university bookshop’s most sour employee, Theo van Gogh. As a literature major with a boatload of book recommendations on her back, it ought to be a simple task indeed. But as she uncovers what lies between Theo’s pages, the more she finds it harder to become closer to him without having to put the feeling directly into words. What can she learn from Theo about what it means to stay—and how can she teach Theo about what it means to let go? | written for ikevamp big bang 2020!

[ masterpost for all chapters ]

CHAPTER 19 OF 22

-Sweetness of the dagger in the heart, up to the hilt Like a remorse. I'm not sure of dying.

- "Midnight Elegy", Léopold Sédar Senghor

--

interlude i

 --

It tastes a little more bitter than she thought it would be.

And she knows it’s not because of the leaving itself, but something else, that one thing she hadn’t dared address due to her overlapping fears. But time does not stop for anyone, so she is, instead, here. Standing in front of an open, semi-filled suitcase.

Going away for a year means packing enough clothes to last her through all the seasons, things she can style and re-style over and over efficiently. So she’s bringing her favorite clothes: a maroon turtleneck, her favorite plaid plants, the white blouse she wears all the time in the summer, her coat…

Her hands ghost over the fabric of the folded yellow dress she’s about to pack in but—

Something about yellow doesn’t sit right with her anymore.

Whatever. She doesn’t have to put it in yet. Or ever. Besides, it’s not like she’ll be done packing today, there are still some clothes in the laundry she ought to bring with her, and stuff she brought for repairs, and—

She’s just not ready to go quite yet.

So when Dazai invites her to join him and Arthur on a road trip, she says yes without thinking.

It’s a good deal, anyway—she only has to split the costs of gas and food, and Dazai and Arthur are shouldering the rest of the costs. (Where they got the money, she doesn’t know.) They said it’s their little treat, to wish her good luck with her trip abroad. They’re going south to a little-known beach destination. But it’s not just the three of them; Isaac’s not on campus right now—due to a conference or a seminar of some sort—but he promised he would follow them to the area once it was over.

They were set to stay for three nights. Arthur and Dazai promise that while they’ll be staying in the same hotel, they’ll get a suite that assures that both she and Isaac have entirely different rooms from theirs. She makes a face at them that makes them laugh, but soon enough, they’ve piled into Dazai’s rented car and are on their way three hours from campus.

It’s two weeks before she’s leaving for her exchange program and time feels slow.

They get there late in the afternoon, the sun just about to set; just in time to relax a little before the dinner buffet opens. At the latter end of the trip, Dazai had begun to sing praises non-stop about the food. Arthur also kept mentioning the view. Which would be exciting, if they weren’t being so handsy with each other that it was hard to figure out if they were talking about the resort or each other. The suite they had gotten with three rooms and a shared living space was rather beautiful, with a balcony that led right into the beachside.

Arthur and Dazai stumble backward onto their shared room with their mouths locked onto each other, and she exits the door at the back to look out the view.

She’s moving to a town by the seaside in fourteen days, and she’s lived in the city for so long it’s hard to imagine what it would be like to live in a place like this for longer than a vacation. The sharehouse she’d managed to get for herself was only a train ride or two to the beach, as well, so this kind of view, with the endless sea, the deep orange-red of the setting sun—is soon to become common.

It fills her with delight and—

Also fear.

But there’s not much time to think about it because soon, it’s time for dinner, and Dazai’s put on an Aloha shirt with a questionable design and—oh dear, Arthur has too. The linen blouse she’s got on has nothing in comparison to the loudness her friends are wearing, and somehow it’s just right.

Dazai is correct in saying that the food is good, and they stuff themselves to bursting with all the seafood and vegetables they can muster. She hadn’t imagined there would be this many kinds of edible seaweed, and how delicious they can be with the right mix of a salad. Then, there’s even a little song and dance presentation by a local cultural group—the kind that invited the audience to join in. Of course, Arthur and Dazai join in. She takes all the videos and photos she is physically able to, two phones in her hands and a camera on the table.

For a good portion of the three hours they spend half-eating, half-talking at the cafeteria, she forgets all that she is worried about.

Like it’s getting taken away by the sea.

The next morning, the three of them join a little tour group to go snorkeling at a nearby island. She admits to not being the most proficient swimmer—and also to a little fear of the open ocean—so Dazai and Arthur take turns to hold her hand and be by her side. They point at beautifully colored corals and swarms of fishes dashing in between their legs. The sea is not that scary when someone you know will not leave you is by your side. That no matter how far you go from the shore, you are still anchored down. At some point, Arthur gets stung by a jellyfish he’d missed to evade, and whines about it on the boat all the way back—Dazai promises to kiss it better. She pretends to be seasick. It’s all in good fun.

She doesn’t catch Dazai looking carefully at every expression she makes.

One group of tourists also in the same resort come knocking at their door around lunchtime, once they’ve gotten back. The group asks them if they’d like to join them in a little grill party because they’ve ordered too much food. Arthur offers to bring soda and alcohol in exchange, and so for a good portion of the afternoon, they’re sitting by the beachside under the shade of umbrellas munching on some grilled seafood and meat. It’s a large group that both Dazai and Arthur socialize with easily, while she guards their little spot. A young woman with dark black hair and stunning brown eyes tries to seek her company, but she politely declines, and she shuffles off back to the crowd with a little disappointment.

She’d rather be with someone else. But it’s all for the better that he isn’t with them, anyway. She knows that.

Isaac arrives later that day, the shadow of a storm in his eyes, just shortly after they’ve eaten their dinner. With one look, it becomes obvious to the three of them that Isaac will be severely overdressed. He looks great in it, sure, but a neatly-pressed button-down shirt paired with slacks and matching dress shoes aren’t exactly what you wear to the beach.

(“Of course that’s what he has, Arthur, he came from a conference.”

“Conference schmonference. What kind of man doesn’t have at least one pair of shorts and a T-shirt when he’s on a trip.”

“It is not professional, and I will not be wearing my sleepwear to the beach, Arthur.”

“Now, now, boys,” Dazai says, but she knows by the tone of his voice that he’s not up to any good, either. “I’m sure we’ll be able to work something out for our dear Isaac here.”)

The four of them end up watching a movie that night—Enola Holmes, her insistence—and maybe they watched another one, but she was asleep by the tail end of the first one to have even noticed. It is Isaac who carries her to bed. He’s only been here for a few hours at that point, but—sometimes she gets so deep into her head that she doesn’t notice how obviously it shows; in the bags under her eyes, in the way she holds herself upright—or not at all. And her friends are her friends for a reason.

The next day, they get into action.

She’s just gotten out of bed when Arthur comes back into the suite with a handful of flyers, saying that there’s going to be a surfing instructor down the beach. After some bayside breakfast—room service, because they can; she is so suspicious of Arthur right now, how many of the hotel staff had he seduced to get all this lavish treatment?—and a bit of rest, the four of them make the trek to the instructor’s place, nearby where the seaside shops are.

She and Arthur elbow each other all the way to the seaside, carrying their rented boards whispering to each other about how the instructor is “admittedly-actually-not-that-bad-and-maybe-if-I-were-a-little-less-sober-pretty-attractive.” Dazai and Isaac hang out by the beachside, having bought a pair of the most delicious in-season mango shakes they have ever had, lying on some reclining chairs.

Surfing, as it seems, is not as easy as it looks like, and the grace that comes with riding over waves taller than you is one that is learned by falling over and over again. It doesn’t take long for her to get soaked, sinking into the water with each unbalanced stance, the sea overpowering her. But she comes up laughing anyway. It is nice to feel small when the world is daunting. Arthur is there for every wave that crests. He watches her break the surface, grinning as she gasps for air with the stupidest “I fucked up again!” acceptance smile filling her face.

After the hour and a half they spent with the trainer who was a little too patient with her to be entirely uninterested, not giving up on her even when all hope seemed lost (she got to do it at least twice; that counts, doesn’t it?), she and Arthur head to where Dazai and Isaac are. They only turn for a split second to grin at each other, their cheeks pink from sunburn, when they both hear the unmistakable sound of Isaac yelling “DAZAI!” with as much shock and disappointment he can muster before—

Well, before the sound of the crashing waves get to him.

She sees it in slow-motion, Isaac heading face-first into the ocean.

And then there is only a smug-looking Dazai—who has the audacity to say, “Oh no, are you okay, Ai-chan?”—before throwing the spare (now, apparently, rather purposefully-brought) towel onto Isaac’s dripping form. And it’s silly because they know, they saw, but they pretend they didn’t, she and Arthur rushing in to ask, “What happened?”, trying to not reveal the snicker rising up their throats.

Dazai’s version goes like this: Isaac had taken a misstep, because he wasn’t paying attention, and had tripped over Dazai’s foot, which caused Dazai to jolt and accidentally push Isaac into the just-cresting wave.

Isaac’s version goes like this: Dazai pushed him into the water.

And that’s how the four of them end up heading to the seaside shops nearby, Dazai “apologizing” by giving Isaac an Aloha shirt that greatly matches all of that which he had brought with him on the trip. (He gets her one too as an added excuse that it’s a “group souvenir.”)

When Isaac frowns at himself in the mirror, donning the green shirt adorned with pines and waves, bright yellows and browns and oranges—she comes up to him and says, “thank you for joining us,” which in Isaac speak already means all she wants him to know.

The way Isaac sighs is full of friendship.

They find a small shack nearby later to have some late lunch: local delicacies of chicken and shrimp. Dazai hums a song excitedly as he prepares to scarf down on his food, and the lovely owner of the small place points them to a nearby karaoke parlor—which was, coincidentally, empty of customers.

Isaac is just about to say “please don’t” when the three agree to go spend some time there before taking the walk back to the resort.

Dazai and Arthur sing love songs to each other so fervently it’s hard to figure out if they’re being serious or are just good actors. She belts out all her favorite songs until her throat feels hoarse. They even got Isaac to sing, much to his chagrin. The owners of the parlor were thoroughly amused. It is only five too many songs later, the sun about an hour from setting, when they begin to walk home.

The beachside here allows visitors to take shells they would like to pick up, but ask they only pick a reasonable amount of—well, one each person. So she’s walking with her head down, Dazai next to her, looking for her most precious single shell to take back with her to the university.

Arthur and Isaac are walking ahead of them, meters out of earshot. As she gets up from inspecting another shell on the beach—not quite what she wants yet—Dazai turns to her with a serious look on his face.

“How’s your head?”

She could pretend to not know what he meant about it—and, she had actually hit her head on a beam earlier, but only lightly—but there is no escaping when Dazai puts on that tone of his voice.

Instead, she answers, “Is this what this is all about?”

Dazai shrugs. “And if it is?”

“Then I love you,” she adds, to which Dazai grins. He pats her gently on top of the head before she crouches back down onto the sand, brushing away to reveal a white shell streaked with purple.

Dazai looks away from her and up to the wide horizon; the sun reflecting its orange light onto the water. “I really think you ought to talk to him about it.”

“I don’t know if I should,” she admits, clutching the shell in between her fingers, observing its shape. “I mean at this point, what else is there to say?”

“Do you not want to tell him about this?”

“No,” she says, rather surely. Even if she doesn’t know which this she is referring to.

Dazai remains quiet for only a moment. Just enough for her to take another look at the shell in her hand and put it back down onto the sand. She wants to take it with her but it doesn’t feel right, not this one. It feels like it belongs to the sea. She stands up and begins to walk once more. Dazai follows a step behind her.

“Isn’t it unfair that you want him to reach out to you but you’re not willing to do the opposite?”

“I—”

When Dazai calls out her name, she knows he is serious. He rarely calls out her name—and when they first met, it was because they kept forgetting each other’s names. Now, when the syllables of it fall out of Dazai’s mouth, she knows he is serious. Her heart feels tight, like it has curled instinctively into itself as a response.

She looks up at Dazai with a face like she’s pleading, begging, asking him to make it better.

And Dazai asks:

“Are you more scared of the uncertainty? Or the rejection?”

--

The four of them wake up early the following morning to catch the sunrise on their last day at the resort. It’s not much—the sun is on the wrong side—but there’s something about coffee (Arthur’s blend; a recipe he wouldn’t dare tell anyone) in the early morning while watching the sky turn blue. They share that quiet, companionable silence that’s nothing but comfort.

She’s a hundred percent sure that she’s going to miss this.

They stay only long enough to have breakfast and finish packing up before they all pile into the car and make the drive home. Arthur’s got full control of the AUX cord (“Boyfriend rights!” “You are not his boyfriend though?” “Basically-boyfriend rights!”) and they get to listen to him belt every single lyric out in the small, enclosed space. They arrive at the campus a bit past noon, and they have one last lunch together before they go their separate ways. Dazai drives them back to their places. And when he lifts her little duffel bag out of the trunk and handed it to her, he makes sure to give her a look.

The kind that said, “you know what you have to do; so stop being afraid of it.”

The truth is, she thinks, as she’s climbing up the stairs, she’s not that scared of doing it at all. She’s scared that it won’t mean the same to him as it does to her. That it will all hang in the balance and it will be worth more to her than it will be to him, and then they will be separated just like that.

So what is it? Is she scared that he will deny her? Or is she scared that she doesn’t know how he’ll react?

Theo is a great friend. Theo has always been a great friend. Sure, he’s been a little rough on the edges, and sure, maybe he was mean to her in the beginning, but—all those insightful conversations, all the time he didn’t hesitate in lending to her when she wanted company, wanted a friend… Theo has been nothing but good to her. Sure, they’ve had fights, and maybe they don’t agree in all the things, literary or otherwise, and maybe there were things she knows he can improve on but—

He has been good.

And she knows if she lets him, he will continue to be good to her.

She just doesn’t know if he wants to do it any longer.

Once she gets to her room she sorts her laundry into the proper baskets, and brings them downstairs to the coin laundry machines to run them. She spots the little hardbound e.e. cummings book on her counter and ignores it. She drops the clothes onto the machine and pours detergent, closes the lid, and lets it spin. When she gets back upstairs, she closes the door with a gentle click. Heads to her bedroom to take a nap while the machine runs and—

Finds the yellow dress she’d left behind while she was packing for the trip, the one she didn’t have the heart to wear. The one she didn’t want to.

But what does she have to lose now? When there are only days, only hours? And the words that are left unsaid only keep growing?

She checks the time on the clock on her wall. Thinks about what Dazai has told her. What the four days away from the only city she’s ever known has told her.

She takes another look at the yellow dress.

Thinks of him.

Thinks of the rooftop waiting for them.

[pastelcowgirl]

I’m Back.

Hey, so I’ve been gone awhile, and as I’m sure many of you can agree with, 2020 was tough. I know many people enjoyed my cottagecore outfit I made, and a few wanted to know about patterns. I said yes there would be, and then kind of disappeared. I am in school full time and work as well, so any kind of personal projects had to be put to the side. 

With the tools currently available to me, it has been extremely difficult trying to change physical patterns to a digital format, and then grading those patterns for various sizes. Since I don’t have any licenses for commercial pattern making software, I have been trying to make do with free/cheap alternatives. At the end of the day, there won’t be patterns for the things I post any time soon. While it is a goal of mine to learn how to do it properly, it definitely is better learned from a teacher than trying to teach yourself.  

I’m sorry to anyone who got their hopes up, and saying you’d have a finished product, I really am. I love that people admired my work enough to want it for themselves, and I want my designs to be more accessible for those who are interested. Maybe I’m making this a bigger deal than it needs to be, but I wanted to give an update on this. 

If you want to use my design, then by all means go for it! I want my designs to be free to use for anyone, but I wouldn’t mind a shoutout :). I found a couple patterns that are similar to the ones I made to help anyone still interested get started:

A similar blouse:

McCall's 7838 Pattern TOP BLOUSE puffy statement sleeves M7838 14-22 

A great free tutorial for making linen overalls. I actually purchased my linen from this store, and highly recommend it. They offer other free patterns as well:

https://blog.fabrics-store.com/2015/05/11/linen-working-overalls/

[darnedchild]

Take Off Your Bra - SAW 2020 Day 3

Day 3 – Locked in a room/Trapped in a small space/ect

Take Off Your Bra

“This is ridiculous. I can’t believe this is actually happening to me.”  Molly felt like smacking her forehead against the closest wall.  No, actually, she felt like smacking Sherlock’s forehead against the wall.  If anyone deserved to have some sense knocked into them in a painful manner, it was him.

“It’s not my fault,” Sherlock quietly replied.

“I didn’t say it was.” Molly held her tongue for all of three seconds before she broke.  “Although, it really is.”

She couldn’t see him in the pitch-black darkness, but she could hear the indignation in his hissed, “It is not.”

Molly scoffed.  “It wasn’t my idea to sneak into your suspect’s office building in the middle of the night.”

“I couldn’t very well do it in the middle of the day, could I?” Sherlock snapped back.

“I definitely did not ask to be dragged along on your little breaking and entering endeavor,” Molly continued, picking up steam.

“I told you, I needed someone with medical expertise to look at those files; and John is spending the week at his sister’s.”

“I most certainly did not shove myself into a stifling supply cupboard with a trick latch and a bloody stuck door!”  She might have been tempted to stomp her foot if there had been more room.

He drew in a deep breath and made an audible effort to try to defuse the situation.   “I understand that you are upset-“

“Do you?  Do you really?” Molly bit out.  “Because I’m not certain that you do.”

“Trust me, I am absolutely positive that you are upset right now.  You have made that abundantly clear.”

She huffed, then decided there was no point to continuing to argue.  It wouldn’t get them out of the cupboard any faster.  Also, she really hated it when they were cross with each other.

They stood in silence for a few minutes.  Long enough for Molly to have calmed down completely and started to consider different ways to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Take off your bra.”

There was no way he’d said what she’d thought he’d just said.  “Excuse me?”

“Your bra.  Your breasts are more pronounced than usual, indicating the presence of a brassiere designed to maximize cleavage with the assistance of an underwire support system.  Therefore, I need your bra.”

It was just as ridiculous the second time.

“I think you’d be better off with some duct tape if you really want cleavage that bad.  My undergarments are never going to fit you.”

“Hilarious.”  His tone made it obvious he thought it was anything but.

“I thought so.”  Molly could imagine the way he must have been rolling his eyes at that moment, and it made her grin.

“I want the wire.  I may be able to pick use it to open the door from this side.”

As much as she wanted to tell him ‘no’, the thought of getting out of the cupboard was more than she could resist.  “Turn around.”

“Why?  It’s nearly pitch black in here.”  

Molly crossed her arms and stubbornly refused to move.

She heard him grumble something unintelligible under his breath, but he did shuffle around so his back was toward her.  “Fine. I’ve turned round.  Now, can we proceed?”

It took a fair bit of scrambling in the small space to maneuver the undergarment off, but she eventually held it out and wiggled it around until Sherlock took it from her hands. Molly winced as she heard the lacy material rip as he non-too-gently took it apart.  

Sherlock knelt, forcing Molly to press her back to the wall of the cupboard to give him room.  A bead of sweat trickled down her temple.  The light from his phone came on, bright enough to practically blind her; and he handed the phone to her.  “Aim it here.”

She watched him work for a few short moments before her mind began to wander.  “Why were you noticing my breasts?”

The hand holding the improvised lockpick slipped and the wire scratched against the wood around the lock.  “Pardon?”

“It’s not the sort of things friends do, is it?”

He flexed his fingers and went back to work on the lock.

“I don’t pay attention to how perky my friend Meena’s breasts are on any given day.  Unless she asks me to,” she quickly corrected herself. “Sometimes you just want someone to tell you that your breasts look fabulous in that blouse, you know?”

Sherlock continued ignoring her.

“Or maybe you don’t know,” Molly conceded.  “Still, I don’t wander around looking at my guy friends’ crotches, trying to figure out if they look larger than they did the day before.  What is the male equivalent to a push-up bra, anyway?  I suppose it could be a sock?”  She gasped.  “I wonder if anyone I know does it?”

His shoulders tensed and rose up toward his ears as if he were trying to make himself smaller.

She could only interpret that one way.  “No! Oh my God, are you kidding me? Someone does?”

Sherlock pressed his forehead against the door.  “Do we really need to talk about this right now?”

“Yes.  Who has been shoving socks down their drawers?  Is it Mike in radiology?” she mused.  “He seems the type.”

He growled her name in a low warning.  She bit her lip and let the subject drop.  For the moment.

Another thirty seconds passed in silence before she spoke again.  “So… my breasts.”

“Fine!”  Sherlock pushed himself to his feet.  His glare was underlit by the light of the phone that she was still clutching in her hands.  “Yes, I look at your breasts.  I know what they normally look like in the purely functional monstrosities you wear to work.  I know what they look like when you’ve got them trussed up in a fancy bit of lacy like the one I just destroyed.”  His voice began to rise to a dangerous level considering they were still hiding in his suspect’s office and trying to avoid being caught.  “And I especially take note when you lounge around your house in your pajamas without a bra at all!”

Neither one of them dared to move for a long moment.  Molly actually held her breath.  Sherlock looked utterly mortified by his confession.

Eventually, Molly reached out with her free hand and placed it against his chest, over his rapidly beating heart.  “There, that wasn’t so difficult to admit, was it?”

“What?”  Sherlock blinked several times in quick succession. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m a woman, Sherlock.  I know when a guy is checking me out.”  She smiled as if she were about to share a secret.  “You aren’t as subtle as you think.”

Molly pressed his phone into his hand.  “You know, if you can get us out of here, I may be willing to let you see what my breasts look like fresh out of the shower.  For comparison purposes.  If you’re interested.”

He reached behind himself and pushed the flat of his hand against the door.  With only a small hint of protest, the door popped open.  “I meant to tell you the lockpick worked, but I got distracted.”

She stepped out of the cupboard, relieved to be able to spread her arms and stretch again.  “Did you need to look for anything else?”

Sherlock gave the office a cursory look, then shook his head.  “I’ve got everything I need.”

“Are you sure?” Molly asked.

He grasped her hand and pulled her into his arms.  “Very.” His lips brushed against hers in a feather light kiss.  “Shower?”

“That can definitely be arranged.”

[journeydb]

March 5 2020 Marrakech

Today was a very fun, educational, and exciting day!  Right after breakfast we were transported to Jardin Majorelle to experience the gardens and tour the museums within the walls.  Since I had been there before with Bruce, Linda, and Binx, I was familiar with it, but I found some things I had missed before.

While waiting to be able to enter the museum we decided to do a fashion shoot with Caitlin, who is an interior designer, model, and actress.

Then others got involved, and, of course, we needed to capture that incredible hat of Natasha’s!  She and Ruth made “mother and daughter” poses which were quite fetching.

The first time I was here I didn’t get to see the short film about Yves St. Laurent’s life so I was delighted to watch it this time.  I hadn’t realized that YSL’s design house changed hands when he died, after part of it was transferred to a foundation, which maintains the gardens and museums in perpetuity.

Yves and his partner and soul mate, Pierre Berge, were very fond of Morocco, and especially Marrakech, and they both found tremendous inspiration here,

Some of Yves’ other muses included the actress Catherine DeNeuve, and she modeled many of his creations.

We weren’t able to photograph the display of mannequins wearing many of Yves’ most popular designs but I found a few photos of them online.  One side of the museum contains the exhibit of Moroccan-inspired designs, including evening wear, and the other contains the Berber museum.  The Berbers are the indigenous people of Morocco, most of the tribes live in the Atlas mountains, and they have influenced cuisine, design, and language here over the centuries.

After touring the museum I wandered around the gardens again, taking in all the natural beauty and breathing in the scents of the desert and this botanical wonderland.

Yellow and blue are the theme colors here and the displays that were created by the gardeners were phenomenal.  Being a gardener myself, I took inspiration from them that I hope to recreate at home.

Another small museum contains many of the hundreds of posters YSL designed, including his series of annual “Love” posters, which became very popular “pop” art.  There were probably quite a few college dorm rooms over the decades with these whimsical images on their walls.  If I had known about YSL when I was in college, I would have surely put one up.

My crutch was hidden on the side for these photos and I’m getting along pretty well without it so I think tomorrow I’m going to try to leave it behind when we go to the spa outside of town.  I’ve put some creams with arnica I bought in one of the souks on it and the swelling has gone down a lot, as well as the pain, so I think it’s healing.

I love bamboo!  It grows prodigiously anywhere; I even planted some in Martha’s Garden at our church in Colorado. Because of its combined strength and quality of being light-weight, bamboo is one of the most used building materials, particularly in areas of the world where it is found in abundance. Historically and today, is an important resource to build bridges, houses, scaffolding, floors, roofs and other structures. Bamboo’s incredible growth rate is more than show stopping.  It also translates to some serious carbon sequestration benefits. When properly managed and intensively harvested, bamboo can sequester up to nearly two tons of CO2 per clump per year. This translates into a CO2 drawdown curve that’s ten times faster than that of woody trees. That's HUGE!  It also filters water, is used for food, because it’s full of vitamins and minerals, and for medicine because of its anti-microbial, anti-aging, anti-oxidant, and other properties.  It’s WONDROUS!

Jardin Majorelle is in the European Quarter of Marrakech.  When we went to lunch at Plus 61 I wasn’t surprised that the ambiance was more European than Moroccan.  We separated into two groups and I was at the table with the vegetarians, except for Ruth, which made it easier for us to share dishes, which we did with relish!  The food was fusion Moroccan with a Mediterranean influence.

After lunch we went to the design house, LRNCE, which I found to be a bit overpriced and which underwhelmed me.  I found some beautifully decorated pots which I liked a lot but otherwise I wasn’t too impressed.  The others tried on some clothing and seemed to like what they saw, but I was soon ready to move on to our next experience.

Coucou Chamelle, a take-off on Coco Chanel, was my favorite boutique so far during this trip.  I loved the  quote from the real Coco Chanel in the entryway, which was “Prenez mes idees, j’ai d’autres”.  Translated this means “Take my ideas, I have others”.

The shop, which was quite large and housed in a former factory, was chock full of furnishings, ceramic pots, dinnerware, jewelry, clothing, knick-knacks, baskets, and more.  I found the offerings creative, whimsical, and, some quite thought-provoking.  If I was able to carry more home, would have bought quite a few items but I settled on a flowing blouse with a Moroccan flair, in cyan, my new favorite color, and some jewelry to give as gifts.

Marraki Life, a factory in the Menara part of the city, was a revelation because we were able to watch the workers spin yarn, then, weave cloth on looms, and then sew it into beautiful, colorful, very expensive clothing.

Melissa is a friend of Jan’s from Boulder who wasn’t able to join the tour until today.  We’re very glad she’s here and excited about getting to know her better.

I think we were all beginning to experience a bit of sensory overload and ready to go back to the riad for some tea and rest before beginning our next exercise in creativity.

[toddperrys]

Two Minutes Til Midnight

This is so self-indulgent you have no idea, but I hope someone enjoys it maybe??? Anyhow, Happy New Years and I hope you all have a wonderful 2020!!!

In the final minutes of the decade, Anna spontaneously decides to confess her love for her childhood best friend and, more recently, college crush, Kristoff. However, it soon takes an unexpected turn.

Read it on AO3 here

Anna hunched her shoulders and pushed through the crowd gathered around the TV in the den. She reached Kristoff, who, thanks to his enormous frame, had no trouble looking over the partygoers to see the flashing images of Times Square as the camera panned from the crush of people to the glittering ball hovering above their heads. 

“Hey,” Anna said. 

Kristoff flinched, nearly spilling the wine in his hand. “Anna,” he said, relieved. “You surprised me.” He gave an easy smile and she felt her cheeks warm. 

She and Kristoff had been inseparable since childhood when he moved in across the street and the two became fast friends. Things began to change when they started college the previous fall. Suddenly, Anna took notice of the warm brown of his eyes, the way his hair turned to gold in the afternoon light, the timbre of his voice, the strength in his biceps…

She shook her head. The rise and fall of conversation filled her ears and her eyes returned to Kristoff. “Sorry about that,” she said, wiping her palms against her jeans. 

“Just a few minutes until twenty twenty,” he said. He raised his glass, “Here’s to the new decade together, just one of many.”

Anna touched her cup to his. The soft clink of their glasses reverberated in her ears as she took a sip. The wine’s sickly sweet taste coated her throat, momentarily muddying her senses and softening the scraping of silverware against ceramic and the cackling of makeup-covered women in clattering acrylic nails. Her gaze wandered to Kristoff, who somehow managed to stand out against the blurred backdrop of the party in crisp lines and a riot of gold, brown, burgundy, and gray. He seemed to draw her in, as if an invisible hook had lodged itself in her heart and was urging her forward. Before she could stop herself, the words came out in a tumble.

“KristoffcanItalktoyouforamoment?”

He blinked, “Sorry?”

Anna hesitated. She could make something up, say she was just muttering to herself, but something inside her pushed her on. Too late to back out now, it whispered. 

“Kristoff, can I talk to you for a moment?” she finally managed. “Alone?”

“Yeah, whatever you need,” Kristoff said. 

Anna steeled herself and lead him out of the living room and through the quiet darkness of the house until they reached a pair of french doors leading to a balcony. She pushed them open, the freezing night air nipping at her exposed face and fingers. Frost coated the lawn below and crept over the balcony’s railing. Several rough hewn flower pots stood near the threshold, empty save for a few withered corpses of plants fallen victim to the bitter winter. They stepped outside and Anna closed the doors behind them. 

“Are you gay, too?” Kristoff asked. 

Anna snorted, “I’m not coming out, Elsa already did that.”

He chuckled and stepped forward, resting his arms on the railing and lifting his eyes to the night sky where a single star struggled to peek through the thick layer of fog. His breath came out in icy clouds in time with the rise and fall of his chest. The night hugged the curve of his nose and cut of his jaw. Beautiful, Anna thought. 

“So, if you aren’t coming out then what is it you want to tell me?” Kristoff asked, turning to Anna. 

Anna swallowed hard, “You know, we’ve been friends for a long time.”

“A long time is an understatement,” Kristoff said. “You were quite possibly the first real friend I’d ever had.”

Anna was suddenly grateful for the darkness hiding her blush, “Oh, come on, you’re a charming guy, I’m sure you had other people before me.”

“Not a lot of people saw much in me. To them, I was just the poor orphaned boy who lived with his grandparents and his shy cousin, Sven. No one reached out until you.” Kristoff said. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “You’re more amazing than you’ll ever know.” 

Anna shrugged, “I don’t know about that, Elsa’s always been the special one. She’s the one who left people in awe with her voice, who got into Juilliard and built herself a name and a fortune using nothing but her own talent and grit.”

“Amazing doesn’t always come in big, showy packages you know,” Kristoff answered. “Sometimes it just comes in someone who just stands by your side no matter what. You’ve done that for me all our lives.”

“That’s just what you’re supposed to do,” Anna said. 

Kristoff laughed, “And that’s what makes you so special. You don’t even realize that your kindness is a rarity, that you’re a treasure.” 

His gaze scanned her face and she suddenly felt bare. Her jeans were wrinkled from being shoved in the corner of her room the previous night. Her makeup was smeared, revealing an angry red pimple on her chin. The cashmere sweater she thought looked dazzling in the mirror at home suddenly seemed to pale in comparison to the designer cocktail dresses and silk blouses the guests inside wore. He’s seeing me for what I am, she thought, averting her gaze. A sidekick, a sad imitation of Elsa, someone to be pitied. 

“I think I love you,” Kristoff said softly, his voice nearly swallowed by a gust of mid-Winter wind.

Anna slowly raised her eyes to his. There was a faint ringing in her ears, warmth rising in her chest. “W-what?” 

Kristoff paused. His face went distant as the gravity of what he’d said hit him. Anna recognized the look from mere minutes before, when her mouth betrayed her and brought Kristoff out here to tell him the very same thing. 

His adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped and faced her. “I said I love you.” 

Blood roared in her ears and the world suddenly came into screaming focus. The scent of Kristoff’s cologne, evergreen and mint with a hint of mulberry, tantalized her nose. The cold suddenly turned brutal, stinging and burning her skin as it fought against the warm caress of her clothes. She could hear the party inside as the guests’ voices joined in a chorus, counting down the final moments of the year, “five...four…” It all paled next to Kristoff--handsome, brave, selfless Kristoff, with his powerful shoulders and bottomless laugh. Kristoff, the one who loved her.

The chorus rose into a roar behind her, “Three...two...”

“I love you, too,” she said. The wind hummed in her ear. The bare trees shivered and knocked against each other in anticipation. 

“One.”

Kristoff pushed forward, taking Anna’s hands in his and pulling her close. His movements were charged with excitement, his eyes dancing with a wild look barely contained by his own good nature. “May I kiss you?”

Anna squeezed his fingers, “You may.”

“Happy New Year!”

His lips found hers, and all at once the cold was chased away, her insecurities melted into nothing, and the world felt safe. The whooping from inside disappeared and the icy landscape dissolved. Her heart pounded and her head spun and she couldn’t tell if the kiss or the alcohol was to blame.

They pulled apart as the noise died down, leaving them surrounded by the newborn January silence. Kristoff leaned forward to touch his forehead to Anna’s.

“You’re so special,” he murmured. “So special.”

Anna caressed his cheek, his stubble scratching against her fingertips. “You are too,” she said. 

She could feel the lone star watching them from above and hear the underbrush whispering as a breeze rustled its bare branches. The world felt reborn, cleansed of its flaws and cast in a silver lining. 

Here’s to the first kiss, she thought, peeking out into the black. And the next, and the next, and the next.

[fallsofnoir]

Just the Shop Boy (Adrinette - Life Swap AU)

AO3 

Adrinette April 2020 - Day 17 Life Swap @adrinetteapril​

ML Writer’s Weekly Challenge - Week 2 Life Swap AU @miraculouswriterschallengesevent​

Special thanks to my beta @jammies122​! She is awesome and did an absolutely amazing job. 

< previous | Support Me on Ko-fi 

The first day she stepped into his father’s shop he was sleeping in the stock room. Well nearly sleeping. He had of course been startled awake at the sound of the bell being rung and rushed to throw his employee branded shirt over his old pokemon t-shirt from when he was a teenager.

He bumbled his way through an apology and ran the girl’s items through the till. She was far more polite than he’d seen customers be before when he messed up. And that was it.

Then she came back the next day and bought a blouse. Not that he minded. Repeat customers were always good for business and this time her friend bought something too. Plus she was cute and that definitely helped.

He had managed to get a pretty blush to appear on her face by the third time she visited. She claimed she was back because of the quality of the clothing. But her friend, who he could swear was the major's daughter in overly large sunglasses, gave her a far too loud pep talk on “how to ask out the cute shop boy” before she’d walked over here.

“My name’s actually Adrien but I’ll take ‘cute shop boy’ if it’s from you,” he couldn’t help but add a wink.

“Oh, I’m going to kill Chloé,” she mumbled as she placed a jacket from the rack on the counter. Chloé, so it was the major’s daughter. Which meant this girl was probably either very rich or very famous. Adrien couldn’t work out why she was bothering visiting this boutique when, less than two streets away, was the high-end side of the fashion district. Even if she was rich, she was blushing over a simple shop boy like him and he wasn’t going to let that chance go.

On the fourth occasion, he grinned at her and told her that the blue, in the bracelet she’d picked out, matched her eyes. She smiled back and he was positive it was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. He was pretty sure he looked completely love-struck at that point. Not that she was much better and Chloe coughed pointedly when she noticed that they were both just smiling stupidly at each other.

The fifth time passed by rather quickly or slowly depending on how you looked at it. She turned up just after he’d come off his lunch break and, without even looking for too long at the clothes, chose at least five items off the racks.

“I know you are just the shop boy-“

“Cute shop boy,” he’d interrupted. She glared at the interruption although the corner of her lip lifted and redness appeared on her cheeks.

“But these clothes are amazingly crafted, can you pass my thanks onto the designer? You probably don’t even know them but if you do, I mean the tags tell me they’re made in Paris so you might do. Just pass that on thanks. I’m going to buy all these now, I’ll find some use for them.”

It took him a second to process everything she’d just said but he was pretty sure she was buying the clothes so he began to run them through the till. He noticed her eyes were flickering between him and the shop door and her fingers were twitching.

His brain caught up and realised he had to actually respond to the praise she was giving the clothes. “I’m glad you like them, I’ll pass it on to him. ”

She jumped as though she hadn’t expected him to reply to her, “Really? You will?” Her smile then practically lit up the little shop.

He grinned back and handed her her bag of items. “Sure, and who am I going to say is thanking him?”

“Oh, Marinette,” she said like it had never occurred to her to introduce herself and stuck her hand out for him to shake. The blue bracelet she’d purchased the last time hanging from her wrist. “My name is Marinette.”

Marinette. It suited her. Like the brilliant blue sea in her eyes.

There was a crowd passing the shop as they shook hands and he could feel her tense. Her brilliant blue eyes showed panic.

“Hey, um, can I ask an odd request?” her body moved into a slight crouch behind one of the clothes racks. Her head was turned facing the crowd outside.

“Go for it,” he said. A quick glance at the crowd told him it was reporters. He’d forgotten that she was either rich or famous.

“Can I hide in the back? Please, those nosy reporters have been following me all day, I thought I’d lost them in the last shop but it seems like they’ve tracked me.”

Adrien’s dad was going to shout at him for it later, but he let her because he knew his mum would be able to talk his dad down. He was pretty glad he did too. The reporters stuck around outside for a good solid hour until one of them actually bothered to step into the shop and ask if he’d seen her. His acting was top-notch, of course, and soon they were all leaving.

She, however, stayed in the staff room. He’d knocked on the door when there were no customers in the shop and told her she could come out. She didn’t answer. He opened the door and paused in the doorway.

She was so cute. There on the sofa, he always took his naps on, was Marinette. Her face smushed into the cushions. He couldn’t wake her, he should, but he couldn’t. Not when she was sleeping so soundly, she probably needed it, and by the looks of it hadn’t been meaning to sleep either.

He slowly closed the door to the staff room and got back to work. The couch wasn’t the comfiest place to sleep and Adrien made a promise to himself to bring a couple of blankets from home, and maybe a proper pillow.

It barely felt like she was there for 5 minutes before she left the room,  despite the clock reminding him that it was nearly time to close up the shop for the night. She didn’t look at him as she stumbled out. Her head stayed bowed and her hands were clutching the shopping bag with her purchases from earlier.

“Thank you,” she began. “I, uh, really needed the rest. So thank you for putting up with my snoring. Why did I just say that? I mean, for watching me, not in a creepy stalker way , for watching OUT for me. Yeah, I’ll just, I’ll go.” He knew he was grinning when her eyes met his. A blush lit up her checks, so cute, and she looked away. “I’ll see you soon, I guess.”

And then she was waving at him and rushing out of the shop. He called out her name but she didn’t turn around and he didn’t hear more than a muffled squeak out of her.

Then he was alone in the shop. He caught himself grinning stupidly in one of the shop mirrors and let out a laugh at how quickly Marinette had managed to make him feel like a teenager again. He couldn’t wait to see her again.

Except she didn’t come back, not the next day, or the one after that. She hadn’t been into the boutique for weeks and he felt stupid for not asking for her number the last time. He’d even been out and specifically bought blankets for the sofa. His dad, thankfully, hadn’t noticed them. He was pretty certain that he’d scared her away somehow.

Maybe he should ask Natalie if she would keep a lookout for her on her shifts. He didn’t mind visiting the shop on his days off, but she pretty much banned him from disturbing her when it was her shift. He sighed as he began to close the shop up for the night. He just needed to be patient. She said she’d be back and he had to trust that she would.

He was grabbing his backpack from the staff room when he heard it, the sound of something hitting glass. He swivelled around and ran back into the shop. Marinette was standing there outside the shop, rubbing a hand to her head and the closer he got the more he could see a makeup imprint in the glass. Had she just run into the doors? The embarrassed look on her face told him all he needed to know.

Fishing his keys out of his pocket, he unlocked the door and stepped outside.  

“Hey,” he said. She looked pretty out of breath so he turned and locked the door behind him whilst he waited for her to catch her breath. “In a rush to see me?”

“No, well, I-well, okay, so yes but, and there’s a but, only because I came here too late yesterday and you’d already closed up,” she admitted in one long rush. She took a couple of gulps of air before she continued. “I’m sorry I haven't been back sooner, my, uh, manager filled my schedule because I may or may not have skipped out on an interview that afternoon I stayed here.”

Oh, she’d been caught. He let out a laugh, “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that.” Her eyes widened and he stuttered to correct himself. “I mean -not that- not that you got in trouble, just that it wasn’t you know me that you were avoiding.” He grinned sheepishly and scratched the back of his neck, it felt warm out today.

“I wasn’t! I really wanted to come back! I meant to bring you something to say thank you, but I thought I’d miss you again if I wasted time going to the shop,” she blurted out, her own hand coming up to mimic him in scratching her neck.

“I wanted you to come back too,” he admitted. A smile lit up her face at that but it didn’t last long. What replaced it was a downpour of rain from the skies. It hit the two of them in big fat droplets, quickly soaking them both as they stood there in shock.

Okay so maybe it wasn’t warm out, they were going to be chilled to the bone if they didn't get inside quickly. He grabbed his keys again and fumbled to get the door unlocked. For those brief few seconds, he could feel Marinette pressing closer to his back to try to get some shelter from the shop’s overhang. And then he was grabbing her hand and pulling her into the shop and back through to the staff room.

He flicked the lights on and went over to the cupboards to find a towel they could use to dry their hair. He found one and brought it over to Marinette. Drying her hair for her may have been a step too far so he just handed it to her and went back to the cupboards where he dug out their supply of coffee.

“Ah my mother is going to kill me for ruining this dress!” Marinette groaned as she patted herself dry. The dress looked designer and rain clearly was not good for the fabric.

“I’d offer to take you to a cafe, but I think instant coffee will have to do unless you fancy getting soaked again and annoying your mother even more,” he said. They didn’t have anything fancy, just simple coffee. She didn’t seem to mind though if the way her eyes lit up when he mentioned it was anything to go by.

“I’ve never had an instant coffee before. I’d much rather try something new instead of risking my mother's wrath.”

“Well then, you’re in for a treat,” he began as he carried her coffee over to her. She was sat bundled on the sofa with one of the blankets he’d bought wrapped around her whole being. She looked so soft and cuddly, he couldn’t stop the warm feeling that rose in his chest and probably flushed his cheeks. Cute. She was just cute. “This coffee is the weaker, bitter cousin of normal coffee. You’ve just gotta love it.”

He had to laugh at the grimace that appeared on her face as she tasted it. “Do you want some sugar in it?” He liked his just black but Natalie kept sugar around here somewhere. Sure enough, the cupboard had a small bag of sugar. After he’d added it, he sat back down next to her and they fell into a comfortable silence as the coffee warmed them up.

After she’d finished her coffee Marinette turned so that she was facing him on the sofa. “So, Adrien, correct me if I’m wrong but why are you working in this boutique? You don’t seem like the fashion type.” She pointed to his t-shirt. He looked down to see that he’d worn one of his Zelda shirts, he didn’t see anything wrong with it.

“What’s wrong with this shirt? It’s a classic,” he questioned.

“A classic yes, but it does not go with those navy trousers,” she said in clear disapproval.

“I wear my shirt over it when I'm working. And my uh dad is the owner of the shop,” he admitted. It's not like anyone saw the shirt when he was in the shop. Unless his shift was over. ”I’ve worked here since before I was probably supposed to. I didn’t get much say in that at the time though.”

She nodded, ”That’s a mood.”

“Oh yeah, what’s your story then?” He was pretty sure that she was someone famous, she had a manager, but he didn’t recognise her from among the fashion circles.

“I’m just a humble fashion lover, I dream of the day I could own a shop like this but my parents would never let me,” she sighed, her hands started to fiddle with the edges of the blankets. “Can I tell you something crazy?”

He scanned her face but she wasn’t looking at him. “Go for it.”

“My parents want me to own one of their bakeries, it’s literally being handed to me on a silver platter. A secure future where I can work without worry and an assistant to help me with everything. Except I don’t want it. I don’t want to be baking for the rest of my life just because my parents tell me I have to, I want to throw it all away and do something I want, something I love, for once.”

He didn’t know why she was trusting all this to a random guy but he couldn’t help but agree with her. Not about the secure future bit, this shop was anything but secure, but being thrown into a future they had no control over.

“I’d run away with you if you wanted me to,” he replied.

“Don’t get my hopes up like that, or I might just think you’re being serious.”

He wasn’t being serious, not really, but maybe it felt nice to think that he could. That they could. She was smiling but it was a sad sort of smile, and he wanted to take it away more than anything.

“So maybe running away is a bit too much, but how would you feel about going out for dinner? On Friday?” He regretted letting her go the last time without making plans to see her, he wasn’t going to do it again.

Her pretty smile was back, the one that reached her eyes and made them shine. “Friday sounds perfect.”

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 19 of 83 : World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 19 of 83

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2020

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may   reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information   remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Chapter 5: Strangers at the Gathering

The night before the Gathering was due to begin officially, two strange, large ships came up and hove to, about a half mile off from the anchorage.  They had arrived during the dark of the moons, and none had noted their coming.  With the dawn, none could miss the strangers.  

One was a monster by any definition.  All visible parts of the ship were jet-black.  It was pretty long, but several ships in the Naral fleet were longer.  What made it so big was that it had two three hundred foot hulls, with rakish shearwater bows.  The hulls were spanned from bows to sterns by a large flat expanse, perhaps two or three decks thick.  It was hard to tell at this distance.  There was a raised navigation bridge about forty feet back from the bows.  For masts it had three pairs of poles that were fastened together at the tops by spacious platforms and possibly a hundred feet tall.  They formed ‘A’ frames that spanned the ship from side to side.  There were no visible spars and the rigging, though present, seemed sparse.

Its companion was about two hundred and eighty feet long, also with twin hulls, but there, any similarity stopped.  Its hulls were unequal in size, the smaller one being fully eighty feet shorter.  Both hulls were narrow, almost knife like, and it had three masts, off the center-line of the craft, closer to the larger hull.  They seemed far too short.

Small boats were sailing in from the big ships.  They were twin hulled as well.

“Those ships are weird, and those little boats are weirder, too.  Never seen anything like ‘em,” said a sailor to anybody.  

Juris, the Longin’s Master Boat-builder, replied, “Catamarans they’re called.  They’ve been played with from time to time.  Fast aren’t they?  Never heard of making one as a ship, before, let alone two.”

By this time, the two boats were tying up at the floats.  Master Juris noted, without saying anything, that they were tied up with quick release knots.  Each crew formed a shield around one person from their boat.  

From the unequal hulled ship this person was a man of medium height, apparently the Captain.  He wore his black hair complexly braided. He had a loose shirt, tied at the waist by tails made for the purpose and snug trousers tucked into wide topped soft boots.  His crew wore variations on the theme.

From the larger ship, the individual was a woman whose red-brown hair was worn tied back in a fall.  She wore a loose shirt, similar to the other man’s but with a belt of large polished black overlapping scales, each decorated with an inlaid medallion of polished shell. Supported by the belt were a  flattish kit and a large but empty knife scabbard at her left hip and a long empty scabbard of strange design at her right.  Her loose pants bloused down and tucked into the tops of snug, calf high boots made of glittering green Lesser Sea Dragon hide.  A document case of tanned Strong Skin leather under her left arm, the lady simply reached up to one of the bollards the climbing net was secured to and pulled herself up to deck level with her right arm.  None of her crew seemed to notice her feat as they swarmed up the net.

The woman spoke to the gawkers in an accent full of lilting overtones, “Where do we find the ones in authority here?  We wish to present our credentials.”  Some of the people tore their eyes away from the visitor’s outlandish garb and pointed out the Council Pavilion.

Kurin, who was among the curious watchers, turned to Master Juris and said in surprise, “She must be as strong as Cat was.  Did you see how she just reached up to the raft rim and pulled herself up one handed until she could sit on the edge?”

“Yes,” he replied.  “She had that package of documents in her left hand. It was like she never even gave it a second thought.”

Roper said, “I noticed that all of the others used both hands to get up onto the raft.”  He paused and added untactfully, “I thought that Captains were supposed to be picked for brains.”

“Maybe she was,” Kurin shot back.  “Not everyone who’s strong is stupid.”

“You’re right,” replied Roper, abashed.  “Cat was strong and smart.”

Their men standing guard outside, the two Captains, for such they were, went inside the Council Pavilion.  Captain Sarfin of the Dorton, was seated at a writing table working on the agenda of the Council.  He was the leader of the Council again this Gathering.  He looked up and smiled.

“If you come in peace, then welcome to the Spring Gathering of the Naral fleet.”

Relief flooded the features of the two.  The woman spoke first again.  “I am Captain Sula Corin Dark Dragon, Commander of the Winternight ship Dark Dragon, come from and representing the Corlis fleet.  We do seek permission to conduct some business, but mainly, we are seeking information.”  She handed her document package to Sarfin, who examined it with interest, and made notes in his ledger.  

“I Captain Huld Barsan Soaring Bird of the Barant fleet am,” said the man, speaking clearly but with odd construction.  “Also information seeking I am.  Opportunity to trade welcome is.”

Catpain Sarfin noted, “I see that your one set of documents is for both ships.  That is unusual.”

Sula smiled easily and said, “The Barant fleet is unusual, and the Honored Huld is even more so.  The Barant fleet does not set much store on written credentials.  The existence of a ship is license enough.  From the day that we met, we have been what the Barant fleet call ‘Dragon Bonded.’  Mutual obligations have made our lives inseparable, save by fate.  Because of our Dragon Bond, the Corlis fleet issued those credentials.”

“Very sensible,” laughed Sarfin.  “Sometime, when I am not so busy, I would like to hear your tale.  For now, I will have the Anchorage Master assign your ships to berths close by each other.  Permission to trade goes with that.  There is a fee of five hundred glue blocks or fifty Strong Skins, or an equal value in other trade goods.  Also, you must sign the Gathering’s Log Book.”  He proffered a book, opened to a page, and a feather pen.  Sula took the pen and examined it, then handed it back.

She produced a writing case from her sash-belt and took out a  fine tipped brush and a pen made of springy bone.  She inked  the brush first and wrote a neat vertical line of strange characters.  Then she dipped her pen into the case’s ink well and began writing, neatly, without any blot.

She filled in her ship’s, name, principal officers and nature of her business.  At the top of the next page, Huld applied two stamps from his writing kit, selected a brush and signed his ship’s name after one stamp and his own name after the other in unusual characters that Captain Sarfin recognized as written Barant.  He put back the brush and took a pen like Sula’s to fill out the rest of the information in Common.

“If there should be a problem in making payment,” said Sarfin, examining the entries with interest, “I am sure that I can get the Council to reduce or waive the fee.  After all, you have come half-way around the world to be here.”

Sula smiled, “I think that there will be no problem with payment.  The Dark Dragon is a dedicated Predator Hunter.  We take Wing Ray, Strong Skin, Moon Flats, Lesser Dragons and Hags.  We also take all of the usual fish.”

“I help may need.  Cargo luxury is, nor valued yet.”

“Honored One, I shall cover it for you, until the market values your goods,” said Sula pressing her hands together and making a small bow.

“That is settled, then,” said Sarfin.  “Now, what information is it that has brought you both so far?”

“We are trying to find the truth of rumors that there was a Great Sea Dragon — Some say Iren and some Mecat — that stayed with a ship of a fleet.  So far, all that we have found are rumors.  Truly, we are about to give up.  We have traveled half around Sea with nothing to show for the trip but some exotic trade goods.”

Grinning broadly, Sarfin said, “Oh, the Dragons are real enough.  I saw them myself.  However, your best information will come from the crew of the Longin, particularly, their Purser, Alor, their Captain Mord, and especially the young girl Kurin, who keeps a toy booth in the market portion of the rafts.”

Sula and Huld looked at each other in delight.  

“We have found them!”

“Here Dragon knowledge!” their voices crossed each other.

Huld added thoughtfully, “Meditate I must on this event when to the Soaring Bird return I.”

“Yes,” Sula added matter-of-factly. “Will you request that one of your Captains carry word to the Corlis fleet when you do?”  With a curious small bow to her, Huld replied, “Done it shall be.”

Returning her attention to Captain Sarfin, Sula asked, “Does your custom or law allow my crew to carry their personal sidearms?  We normally carry both a large combat knife and a small ax.”  She indicated her empty scabbards.  “I will guarantee that any of my crew who come the Gathering hooded will not be armed.  That will limit their response to any attempt at baring their faces to unarmed combat.”

Captain Sarfin regarded Sula carefully and said, “Why would they fight over something like that?”

As Captain Sula, showing the first trace of nervousness that Captain Sarfin had seen in her, replied, “Winternight regards such an assault as worse than rape.  If the hooded Winternighters are armed, the odds are good that they will kill the assailant before they have time to think.  To be honest, I am not fully comfortable without my hood and I adopted onto the Dark Dragon at the start of the first Boren Current War.”

Captain Sarfin thought carefully and replied, “It is legal for your people to be armed because such an issue has never come up before.  Let your crew know that our law and custom will require a non-lethal and preferably non-injurious response.”

Sula smiled again and bobbed her head.  “I can do that.  It is the same in our host, the Corlis fleet.”

The far away rattle of a tocsin drum and the exotic, never before heard in the Naral fleet, calls of a bugle or trumpet caused everyone on the rafts or on shipboard to drop what they were doing and watch. Eight large pulling boats came out from between the bows of each ship and picked up cables dropped from bollards at the prows.  The big strangers began to move slowly toward their berths on the north side of the anchorage.  The drum and horn fell silent except for occasional tiny course corrections.

A spectator on the raft, close to Master Juris said, “They’re so slow that I could have walked that distance, up and down the deck, by now.”

“I’m sure that you could have,” Master Juris smiled.  “But pulling two thousand tons might slow you down just a mite.  That’s some fine piloting that you’re seeing.  They aren’t letting the load get away from them.  The real test will come in just a bit, when they pull up to the anchorage floats.”

Kurin joined them.  “Sorry that I’m late, but I knew the ships had to be slow and I had some toy customers.”

“What did you sell?” asked the spectator idly.

“One of my loom kits and a rope winder,” said Kurin.

Master Juris turned from watching the ships at that last.  “You mean that those things that you made at the suggestion of the fleet’s Craft Council last Gathering are already selling?  They’re expensive.”

“They are,” she said, putting her head in her hands in mock frustration. “The Masters are coming to see if I’ve made what they asked me to, back last Gathering.  The way they look the toys over is driving me as crazy as a mating paddle duck.  They can’t seem to put anything back the way it was.  The only consolation is that they return with other people and get them to buy.”

Just then drum and horn sounded, and all else was put aside to see what the strangers would do next.  It was unorthodox.  The pulling boats, that could now be seen to have a dozen oars each, darted back, between the hulls of each of the two monsters, under the massive decks that bridged them.  You could see the lines draw tight as the boats applied all the power at their command to stop the ships.  They slowed gradually and stopped — — — exactly at the floats.  One boat came out from under each ship, and attached its cable to the float.  A second, light line was cast down from above and tied to the end of the cable.  Each boat disappeared back between the hulls of the mother ship and did not emerge.

“Neatly done,” said Master Juris, ruffling Kurin’s hair.  “These folk are good seamen, whatever else they may be.”

Kurin and Master Juris were not the only ones to watch the strangers come to moorage.

“Luve, Somet’ing’s bot’ering ye.  Ye keep lookin’ at t’ose twa new ships,” Tanlin said softly to Barad.  Two of the Grandalor’s deck-hands were following her attentively.

“Aye,” said Barad urgently, knowing that they would be overheard.  “You have been reading in my bookshelf to familiarize yourself with our way of writing.  Think.  What ships do they remind you of?  They always worked as a pair.”

Tanlin bit a knuckle lightly as she concentrated.  “ — But t’e Boren Current Wars were ‘alf t’e world away an Gat'erin’s agone! — Still, t’ose masts are unique.  T’ay ‘as t’ be t’e Dark Dragon an’ t’e Soaring Bird!  Yer books say t’at t’ey ‘ave sunk more t’an t’irty ships in t’ose wars.  W’at are t’ey doin’ ‘ere, Oi wonder?”

TO BE CONTINUED

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[professorpski]

Threads, July 2020

The summer issue of Threads, a fine sewing magazine, is out and the first project that will catch your eye is the remaking of kimono into summer sun dresses. June Colburn explains that a kimono can yield some 4 yards of beautiful printed fabric, but it has been sliced up. So she opts for a strappy sundress with a front opening and pleats in order to cope with the slices. If you love these beautiful fabrics, but  prefer something with sleeves, you should probably think in terms of making a blouse rather than a dress.

Andrea Schewe writes of two approaches to zippers in sheer garments either make them a design highlight as on the cover, or camouflage them as in the blue dress. But there is a third option that would work for both of these examples:  move the zipper to the side seam, and use a simple keyhole button closure at the top of back neckline if necessary. I find such zippers so much easier to use. Gilbert Muniz explains shisha embroidery, a tradition from Southeast Asia, with those little mirrored bits. All of these articles offer clear sketches or close-up photography explaining the techniques. This is true of the Up Close article by Judith Neukam on the Italian wool double-knit dress from 1969 explaining how to use appliques on this particular kind of fabric. As you can see, it’s a dramatic, color graphic so common in the era. The belt is appliqued too, a trompe l’oeil meant to full the eye, as in fashion as minor comedy; an expression of the youthful giddiness of the mode of the era.

There are also articles on sewing plus-size garments, on the stiletto tool, on linen knits, plus all the usual columns with advice, new products, pattern reviews etc. I always consider Threads the most entertainment and instruction per ounce in my mailbox. You can find it at your local bookstore or newsstand, or online here:  https://www.threadsmagazine.com/

[chilling-seavey]

Anything But Mine (d.s.) - Chapter Twenty-Three

A/N: A chapter just in time for Daniel’s birthday! 🥰 Maybe I’ll post two to celebrate? 🤔

T/W: brief mention of abortion

Tuesday, July 28th, 2020

“Well it’s good to see you have some company this time around.”

Florence smiled at the doctor from her place on the white clinic bed. Her blouse was pushed up past her swollen stomach, the clear gel spread messily over her skin. Emilio stood on her other side, a gentle hand on Florence’s arm.

“So, thirty-five weeks, we got a solid heartbeat here.” The doctor stated, dragging the wand across the gel, the rapid rhythmic beating echoing gently through the room. Florence watched the screen with wide eyes, seeing the almost fully formed baby there.

“I think it has my nose.” Emilio whispered to her. She smacked his chest playfully.

“You didn’t want to find out the sex after all?” the doctor asked.

“I don’t know. I’m still on the fence.” Florence chuckled.

“No harm in that.” The doctor shrugged. She took a few notes on her paper as she checked the baby’s movement, breathing, muscle tone, and amount of amniotic fluid. The hour went by quickly and smoothly, filled with suggestions for the next month by the doctor in preparation for the birth. Florence held onto a few pamphlets she was handed as they left, Emilio leading her to the car as she flipped through them.

“Oh my God.” Florence sighed as Emilio helped her into the passenger side of his black BMW.

“What?” Emilio asked.

Florence shoved an open pamphlet in his face, a list of post-partum creams and routines listed in bold font. “I forgot my vagina turns into a post-apocalyptic world after birth.” She stated plainly.

“Ew, did not need that visual.” Emilio shuttered and gently pushed the pamphlet away from his face. He closed the passenger side door and let himself into the other side.

“And you bleed for like…six weeks straight.” Florence added as he reversed out of the parking spot.

“Way too much information.” Emilio shuttered. “Again, did not need to know that.”

Florence shrugged, looking back at the pamphlet in her hand.

The previous seven months had gone by fast and a lot had changed as well. Emilio and Grayson soon fell into a civil and friendly relationship, realizing they were both sort of stuck under the certain situation. Tensions had since eased and Florence felt more comfortable around both young men since everything had settled into a unique reality. She was still extremely nervous, however, as she was carrying around the silent burden of who was the father of her unborn child. It was a sticky spot to be in and the guilt she had was heavier than the twenty-five pounds she put on by the start of her third trimester.

Florence’s apartment was arguably the one consistent thing in her life. Although expecting her second child, she could not afford to upgrade to a three bedroom and was therefore stuck with the place she had. Callum was still sending a consistent amount each month for her rent which helped greatly.

Emilio parked in the underground garage beneath the apartment building and the two took the elevator to the familiar 25th floor. Grayson had already arrived earlier that morning, gladly offering his assistance in putting together the crib in the master bedroom. That’s right where Florence and Emilio found him, quiet music playing through a Bluetooth speaker as he sat on the floor surrounded by tools. Clementine sat nearby, a small plastic bowl of cut up strawberries set in front of her as she watched Grayson work.

“We’re back!” Emilio called, falling onto the neatly made bed on his stomach, glancing over Grayson’s work.

“How was it?” Grayson asked, looking up from the floor, pushing his messy hair back from his face. “Everything still okay?”

“Everything is perfect.” Florence nodded, setting her hands on his shoulders. “This looks great, Gray.”

“We’ve been working hard, haven’t we, Clem?” Grayson looked over to the eighteen-month-old who nodded excitedly.

“I knew I shouldn’t have gotten rid of the old one.” Florence sighed, sitting on the end of her bed.

“New is fun.” Emilio shrugged.

“I agree.” Grayson nodded, pressing the screwdriver into the last beam and turning it clockwise. Clementine crawled over to him, her small hands pressing onto his light blue pants with white stripes as she got herself to her feet. She reached for the screwdriver as Grayson pulled it back.

“All done!” he told her, tickling her sides.

“Please.” Clementine whined, reaching for the bright orange handle that he held behind his back.

“Grownups only, remember, Clemmy?” Grayson said, starting to pack up his tools.

“The nap was okay?” Florence asked as she picked up her daughter from climbing over Grayson.

“Yep. She slept a good hour. I got her up at 2.” He said, also getting up from the floor. “We’ve been having fun. She’s been a big help. I think she’s going to take after me with her building skills.”

Grayson tickled the toddler’s side and she giggled loudly, slinging her arms around her mother’s neck.

“We should get ready to head out.” Florence said as the group headed into the living room. “I’m going to throw on a dress.”

Clementine was passed over to Emilio and Grayson set his tool box on the kitchen island before unzipping his bag that was on the stool. He took out a new shirt and slacks and the two separated to different rooms to change in preparation for their plans for that night.

Once dressed and touched up, Florence came back into the living area where Emilio had Clementine situated on the floor with a puzzle. Puzzles were Clementine’s new favourite toy.

Florence set her purse on the island and shuffled through it, “So-“

“I got dinner at 5, bath at 5:30, and bedtime at 6 if you aren’t back.” Emilio finished without even looking up.

“And there’s-“

“Left over spaghetti in the box in the fridge and I should warm it up but make sure its not burning.” Emilio sent a small smirk in Florence’s direction.

“Yeah.” Florence sighed. “What would I do without either of you?”

“God only knows.” Grayson tisked playfully as he emerged from the bathroom dressed in a black t-shirt tucked into olive green slacks and finished with his usual designer belt. He set a hand on Florence’s shoulder, his other ruffling through his mess of brown waves.

“We’ll be back as soon as we can.” Florence said.

“Don’t rush.” Emilio assured her. “We are going to be just fine.”

“Like every time.” Grayson added.

“Tell mama that we’re fine.” Emilio whispered to Clementine.

“Fine, mama.” Clementine whispered through a grin, leaning into Emilio’s side.

“Now let’s get a move on. Daniel didn’t take it well the last time you were late for a meal with him, remember?” Grayson shook his keys in the air, ushering Florence towards the door.

“Wait! I can’t forget my pamphlets.” Florence grabbed the small stack from the table and rushed after him.

“Good luck.” Emilio said more to Grayson than anyone. The other boy rolled his eyes teasingly before closing the door behind himself and Florence.

~~

It was approaching 4pm as they arrived at the restaurant, Grayson’s light blue Porsche earning many glances from on lookers as he handed the valet his keys and helped Florence into the building. The casual restaurant was bustling as the hostess led the pair to their table. Daniel was already there, sat next to a brunette girl on one side of the booth. The girl was named Cayleigh and she was Daniel’s new girlfriend. 

They had been dating only a couple months, meeting near the end of the school year on an app that Florence didn’t care to know the name of. Cayleigh was a nice girl and Daniel seemed to really like her but there was something about the whole situation that just made Florence annoyed. She was not looking forward to sitting through an entire dinner with them and having to deal with Cayleigh’s overly chipper personality.

When Grayson and Florence got to the table, the friends greeted each other happily, Florence plastering on her best fake smile that she had perfected over the years of attending boring functions and dinners with her parents and brothers.

Cayleigh was quick to start with an excited, “How was your appointment today, Florence? I haven’t seen you in so long! You look like you’re ready to pop!”

Grayson shifted awkwardly at the slightly controversial statement and Florence gritted her teeth through her offence, replying with a simple, “It went well.”

While she was pregnant with Clementine, Florence’s body was going through massive changes for the first time, meaning she was barely showing well into her fifth month. Now, with a second child, Florence was shocked to see the difference in how easily her body stretched, the massive weight gain and large, round belly being a sensitive topic to the still young girl. Of course, having Cayleigh of all people point it out so bluntly made Florence’s cheeks flush with anger more than embarrassment. She covered it with a long drink from her water glass and hid her pamphlets deep in her purse.

“How have you two been?” Grayson asked, trying to turn the subject away from Florence as she was clearly already on edge and dinner hadn’t even begun.

“We’ve been fine.” Daniel said. “I’ve managed to pick up a few gigs around the city this summer.”

“And I’ve been working as a sports camp counsellor. It’s so fun.” Cayleigh boasted. “The kids are so crazy but literally relentless. Plus they all love me, so it’s good.”

“I wish we could see each other more but things have been busy.” Daniel said quietly, offering Florence a gentle smile from across the table. She could barely force one in return, her eyes focussed on the minimal space between the two love-birds across from her, Cayleigh’s hand rubbing against Daniel’s thigh. Florence drank more water.

Dinner progressed slowly, lighthearted chatter filling the space between the group of four as they ate. It had been a while since Florence and Daniel had a moment to talk once summer started, although their relationship was never quite the same after their little hiatus in the fall. She knew he was always there for her but things were simply different. Plus, Cayleigh coming into the picture put even more of a strain on their already weak relationship. At least from Florence’s point of view.

But Daniel adored Cayleigh and that was clear. They were almost never apart and whenever they were seen together they were always touching. It was like they couldn’t keep their hands or eyes off of each other. Daniel would stare at her when she spoke, seeming to absorb the way her lips moved and how her brown eyes would squeeze closed when she laughed. Florence hated that she noticed that.

She was glad Grayson was there, though. Even in their simply platonic standing, Grayson’s presence always made Florence feel calm. He told the group a story of how he had been getting into building in his spare time that summer. Grayson always spoke loudly, especially when he was excited about something and a few customers at other tables glanced their way as he continued his story of his recently constructed coffee table. Florence leaned into him, her hand falling to his leg. He shifted a little, almost in a movement to get Florence off of him but he didn’t miss a beat with his story. Florence frowned but turned quietly back to her meal.

Florence pushed the remining food around her plate with her fork before breaking the conversation with a gentle, “I have to pee.”

Grayson stopped his story and quickly got up from the table, letting her slide out of the booth ungracefully.

“I’ll join you!” Cayleigh said, getting up from the table as well.

Florence sent a small glare in Grayson’s direction but he merely smiled in response as he sat back down in his spot. The girls walked slowly across the dining room to the washroom and Cayleigh held open the door for them. Florence thanked her quietly before getting herself into a stall, having to wiggle her swollen stomach through the small door opening.

“Isn’t Daniel amazing?” Cayleigh spoke from the stall next to her.

Florence, now shielded by four walls, rolled her eyes, “He is.”

“He’s literally so sexy. I have no clue how you haven’t snatched him yet, girl.” Cayleigh’s voice echoed through the empty bathroom.

Florence’s eyes widened at her statement and she ran a hand over her face. The whole dinner was tiring her out. Cayleigh was tiring her out.

“We are only best friends and that’s all we’ll ever be.”

“So I don’t have to worry about you stealing him from me?” Cayleigh teased with a laugh although Florence could tell there was a hint of seriousness in her tone.

“No.” Florence could hear Grayson in her mind telling her to be nice. She then asked a question she could have cared less about, “How are you two doing?”

“So good!” Cayleigh’s groan made Florence physically cringe. “Although we haven’t slept together yet. I’ve been trying!”

Florence gaped at the stall door at the girl’s bluntness.

Cayleigh flushed and Florence heard her approach the sink as she continued, “I mean I don’t know why he won’t. Sleep with me that is. He’s a literal man, shouldn’t they want sex all the time?”

Florence exhaled deeply, wishing she could have just gone to the bathroom alone, but she got herself out to the sink as well, starting to wash her hands. She caught Cayleigh’s expectant gaze in the mirror.

Clearly wanting an answer, Florence complied, “Daniel is not much of a physical person. He shows love in different ways. Don’t take it personally if he’s not jumping in bed after three minutes.”

“I guess.” Cayleigh shrugged, pulling a tube of lipstick from her purse and applied a generous amount of pink to her pursed lips. She fluffed up her light brown hair and made a face in the mirror that reminded Florence of early pubescent girls. Florence glanced at herself in the mirror, stood next to such a unique character. Florence’s knee length blue floral dress was pulled tight around her belly, and her blonde hair hung loosely over her shoulders. She couldn’t help but compare herself to the happy, wild, free-living twenty-year-old girl beside her; the girl who’s biggest worry in life was why her celibate boyfriend didn’t want to sleep with her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Cayleigh speaking through the mirror, “Okay but honestly though, have you seen Daniel’s fingers? Like, holy shit, can he put them to use yet?”

Florence forced a small laugh to hide her disgust, turning for the door so Grayson could keep her from screaming.

Much to her relief, dinner concluded not long after that, and with a quick one-armed hug from Daniel, Florence was back in the passenger seat of Grayson’s car. The exhausted sigh that she let out once the doors were closed made Grayson chuckle.

“That was awful.” Florence shifted in her seat, rubbing her hand over her belly.

“It wasn’t awful.” Grayson shrugged, pulling the car out of the parking lot.

“You didn’t hear what I heard in that bathroom trip.” Florence held her hands up. “I think I am traumatized.”

Grayson’s laugh filled the car and, like it always did, it made Florence crack a smile. She let her two hands intertwine on her lap, her gaze drifting out the window as the city lights zipped by.

“Well while you girls were bonding in the bathroom, Daniel and I had a nice chat.” Grayson spoke after a moment.

“That’s nice.” Florence said, not turning her attention from the window.

Grayson glanced at her before turning back to the road, “He asked how you were doing. Have you not been talking?”

“No.” Florence shrugged, nervously playing with the hem of her dress. “It hasn’t been the same. Not since Cayleigh is around. She takes all his time.”

“He says he misses you. That you haven’t been calling as much.” Grayson spoke gently.

“Because I don’t want to call him just to hear all the new details on his girlfriend and her new fucking lip gloss she bought.” Florence said sharper than intended.

“Why don’t you like Cayleigh?” he asked. “She’s nice.”

Florence held onto her two hands like it would save her life, “She’s taking him from me.”

“What do you mean?”

“We were starting to be better again and she took him away. Now we don’t talk anymore. I miss how things used to be, Gray.” Florence sniffled. “When I was pregnant with Clementine and there was no Matt and no drama and it was just Dani and me. And I was happy.”

Bright lights flooded the car as they pulled into the parking garage, Grayson’s soft sigh at her recently consistent tense emotions barely audible. He pulled into the parking space and put the car in park before turning to face her. The hormonal girl let out a soft sob into her hand.

“Are you not happy?” he asked quietly.

Florence took a trembling breath and shook her head slowly, almost ashamed at the admittance of it. “I keep hurting you. And that doesn’t make me happy. I’m stressed, Gray. So stressed. And I-I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself when this baby is born and one of you is going to get hurt. I can’t do this! I just want to go back in time and change so much! Change my choices and my actions and everything! Fuck! I wish none of this happened! I just want this baby gone!”

The panicked inhale that followed her sentence made her choke on her tears, her free hand tightly grabbing a fistful of her hair as almost to punish herself for admitting such a thing out loud.

Grayson simply watched her cry, staring at her expressionlessly. His silence made her heart ache in her chest and she tried to smother her ridiculous sobs into her hand. Grayson ran a hand through his hair, his gaze falling to his lap with a sigh.

“I-I should go.” Florence hiccupped, reaching for the door.

“No.” Grayson said quickly, reaching for her wrist to keep her from leaving. “I just…this is a lot. And I don’t know what to think or what to do. It’s hard on me too. On both of us.”

“I should have gotten a fucking abortion when I had the chance.” Florence grumbled angrily at herself.

“Don’t you dare say that.” Grayson replied sharply. “I’m allowed to still be hurt, you’re allowed to be upset, but you cannot say things like that. That is not how you better yourself and that is not how you solve this situation.”

Florence took a shaking breath and wiped her eyes with her the back of her hand as she turned away from him slightly.

“Everything is going to be okay.” Grayson whispered, but he sounded more like he was convincing himself rather than her.

Florence wanted to believe him, she really did; but even his gentle words of assurance didn’t spark comfort in the girl. She was stuck in her own mind, spiralling to where she felt she was unable to be saved. But she let herself stare at the wall of the parking garage, missing what life was like before everything changed.