#breaking glass. gravitas

[dykesynthezoid]

Something about seeing all the weird little gay movies I watched as a teenager on tubi now is so disorienting… not to go all “kids don’t know how good they have it” but yeah kids really don’t know how good they have it

[mingi-s-dimples]

Crave me - yunho

pairing: bf!yunho x gf fem!reader

rating: 18+, bdsm

genre: romance, bdsm, filthy smut (mdni ty)

summary: The bratty attitude you had with him didn't last long.. as he leaves his patience at the table and destroys you.

WC: 3.5k

warnings: rough/strict dom!yunho, bratty sub fem!reader, bdsm, choking, neck kink, sucking, blowjob, making out, tying up, pet names (darling, babe, love, pretty boy, sweetie, sweetheart), degradation kink (slut, cumslut, whore), praise kink, slapping/spanking, both vaginal and anal, use of bdsm attire (cuffs, blindfold, rope), use of toys (vibrator), sense deprivation (blindfold), little bit of hand kink, punishing, edging, creampie, ruined orgasms, multiple rounds, deals (but Yunho feels cocky and he said fuck the deal), cum cum cum a lot of cummm, squirting, mentions of safe word but never used (reader is a brat), cum eating, big dick!yunho, overstim, backshots, unprotected (REMEMBER TO WRAP UP IRL !), completely consesual !, for sure forgot something.

Author's Note: SO ! When I first started writing this fic, several day ago, I didn't intend to make it this.. filthy. But.. my lovely bestie rated the roughness in the other 3 fics I have posted an average of 8.sth/10 and I took that as a CHALLENGE. Hope you like it, Lis, love you sweetie. Another small note: WHY AREN'T THERE MORE BDSM FICS OUT THERE HELLO? I'M A SUCKER FOR THEM !

Update, Lis: okay, even though i saw some paragraphs before this was published, i was still taken off guard by this. i’m taking back my words, roughness level 10/10, WHEN I TELL YOU I HAD TO TAKE A BREAK AND BREATHE. seriously i love this fic sm and bia you are so talented, you never fail to amaze me❤️❤️ please keep going with your work, i love youu<3 ( i’m still waiting for a demon joong fic 👹👹👹 ) - my answer: the demon joong fic is alr in my drafts, halfway done.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction & does not represent in any way the reality of the member.

The grand dining hall was a symphony of opulence and elegance, its high vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate plasterwork and crystal chandeliers casting a warm, golden glow over the scene. Rich tapestries hung from the walls, their deep hues of burgundy and gold complementing the polished mahogany of the round, small dining tables. As the guests settled into their seats, the gentle strains of a string quartet drifted through the air, mingling with the soft clinking of fine glasses and the murmur of animated conversation.

At one end of the table you were sitting at, the host, Park Seonghwa raised his glass in a toast, his voice resonant and filled with the gravitas of tradition. Across from him, Hongjoong's laughter rang out, light and melodious, adding a delicate counterpoint to the music. The aroma of roasted meats and rich sauces wafted from the platters being served, each dish a masterpiece of culinary art. Conversations flowed like the wine, moving from the latest societal gossip to philosophical musings, as the guests, dressed in their finest evening attire, engaged in a dance of words and wit.

In this setting, every detail was meticulously curated to create an atmosphere of refined luxury and cultural sophistication. Yet, beneath the surface of this carefully constructed elegance, the undercurrents of intrigue and hidden agendas were beginning to stir, promising that the evening's conviviality was only the prelude to a much deeper story.

You, a renowed and well known supermodel, were sitting right next to your husband, Jeong Yunho. He was the CEO of the agency you were modelling at.

The thing is... besides the lovey-dovey side you and Yunho always showed to the other guests and your friends, for example Seonghwa, Hongjoong and the others, the two of you had... another side to your relationship.

Your intimate relationship dynamic was quite.. the opposite of what you were showing. From light forehead kisses, hand holding and warm hugs and kisses... to cuffs, blindfolds and degradation. No one knew the real you when in private, and it made the whole thing way better.

*several minutes later*

"Ooookay, should I ask the chef to bring us some desserts? I think the dinner went really well!" Hongjoong said smiling, watching each of his guests contently. He then hovered his eyes over the whole venue, you could see the happiness flooding over him. It was the ending dinner for a really important business plan that came to a final success.

While the others were happily celebrating with the host, you and Yunho were giving each other some stares. One of the things you loved the most to do was to annoy your man. Why? Cause you knew he'd destroy you the same night. You were never allowed to do things on your own, without his permission. Things such as touching him in public, deny his own touching, dress how you'd like without his approval, because he was really jealous of needy and hungry eyes that always wanted you. Everyone had envy for him, because you were the most beautiful model in your country, the agency itself was the best one, too. But tonight.. you decided to do.. everything that annoyed him and drove him insane. You first started with a.. really nice outfit, you'd say. It was halfway see-through, high heels and silver, bold jewelry completing the look. You were wearing two pieces, a short but flowy black skirt and a white, almost translucent shirt, an elegant one. Your hair was straightened, flowing beautifully on your bare back, as the shirt you were wearing only covered your chest. A silver chain was connecting two pieces of fabric on your back, making you flinch with every slight touch, because of the sheer coldness.

"Darling.. did I ever approve of... this outfit?" Yunho whispered, one of his hands going on your thigh. You tried to deny his touch, moving his hand away, but he only dug his nails deeper into your leg. You flinched, looking at him in the eyes, with an almost innocent look.

"Oh babe... don't you like it? Damn.. I thought it looked really nice" you said sheepishly, smiling at him.

"I didn't say I don't like it but... didn't we agree that these types of visible outfits are... only for me to see, hm?" he whispered and approached your neck with his lips, slightly biting it.

"Babe.. there's people around us. What would they think of you, seeing you kissing me like that?" you said, trying to get a reaction out of him but to your surprise, he remained calm and content, biting you harder.

"Do I look like I give a fuck? You did it to yourself, love. This is the first strike of tonight.. be careful for the rest of the time. I don't feel like destroying your beautiful body when we get back in the room." Yunho said, going in for a soft kiss on your lips.

"We'll see about that, babe." you said and got up from your seat, searching with your eyes the champagne bar.

Someone came behind your back. Of course, it was Yunho, all touchy on your bare waist, as the shirt you were wearing was pretty.. short.

"Babe.. I almost forgot" he mumbled.

"What did I tell you about denying my hand, hm?" his hands hovering your back, one of them on your ass and one on the nape of your neck, slightly squeezing it. "Hm? what did I tell you, mind sharing me your reason?"

"You told me that I should... never move your hand away from myself.." you said turning around to face him. "But... what's entirely wrong with it.. pretty boy? Don't you like it when I tease you..?" you said and gave him a kiss, your hands traveling from his neck to his collarbones, then from his chest to his belt, tugging at it for a second.

"This is.." he whispered. "Strike two.. my love." One more and we're out of here.. remember the rule?" he squeezed your ass, looking right into your eyes, seeing how eager you were to fuck him right there.

Several minutes pass and you were back to your table, sitting next to each other. He effortlessly pulled your seat closer to his, making you gulp at his power and speed. Looking him in the eyes you started being all touchy with him. Started from his hands, feeling up his slender and long fingers, then to his biceps. You stayed like that for a long minute, with your head resting on his shoulder, then one of your hands went straight for his crotch, no warning.

"Yunho, everything good? Why did you flinch, is it too cold here?" Seonghwa asked, confused.

"Ah yes, everything is fine, don't worry about it" he said smiling, squeezing your thigh, his hand going to your pussy, rubbing circles through your panties from under your skirt.

 "Babe... that's strike three, if you ask me." he said and patted you on your thigh, to make you look at him. He then looked around for the exit doors and excused himself, taking your hand into his.

"Joong, we'll be back, I need to take care of something at the agency" Yunho said and then dragged you out.

And as the two of you got out the doors, there was a long empty hall, no one was there. He slammed you to the wall, one of his hands on your throat and one lifting you up. He was going towards the elevator.

"Nh- babe, where are we going? you said through the kisses.

"Just upstairs, I reserved a room for us right here. I didn't think we'd need it but... you wanted to be a little slut so it serves us good. Aren't you my little whore, hm? All down for me, I saw you eye fucking me when you were getting champagne. You wanted me to fuck you dumb tonight, mm? he said while going in the elevator.

"What did you want me to do babe, hm? Did you miss my slaps and my cuffs? You little slut, you'll see what will happen if you're being a brat with me again" and right as he said this, he held you close as he opened the door with the keycard. He closed it and he dropped you on your bed.

Some meters from the king sized bed there was a small bag, and you knew so well what there was... cuffs, blindfolds, ropes.. everything you could think of as a sub. And yes.. the relationship between you and your husband, in private, was a dom/sub one. You found out that you were both into bdsm a while ago, when Yunho didn't resist anymore and tried something new on you. You loved it and... it became a really often practice.

"Love, spread out, now." he said as he went back to get something from the bag.

You were still dressed and he was too. But you could feel yourself leaking right on the bed. You knew you left a wet spot on the dark sheets, something that turned your man on even more.

"Told you to spread the fuck out, you brat. When did you get so naughty, hm? Want me to put you in your place? he said as he spread your legs out, tying them to the bed frame. You still had your clothes on, but the skirt was lifted up and the blouse was all messed up. He ripped of your panties and threw them on the floor.

You tried to say something but didn't have time to react. He went back to the bag and took out some cuffs, then got on the bed, his crotch, still dressed, rubbing on your folds. You could feel his bulge getting bigger, his pants getting thighter as he went further to tie your hands to the headboard.

"For all of what you did tonight.. babe, you'll get punished, you know that, right? he said as he hovered his hand over your throat and collarbones. "Stay still, I'll tie a sheer blindfold to your eyes. I want you to still be able to distinguish how I destroy your little and pretty pussy." 

"Yuyu.. please. Fuck me." you pleaded, trying to look him in the eyes. Whenever he tied a blindfold on your eyes.. it turned you on so bad. You couldn't properly see what was happening nor what he was doing, preparing what to do to you.. but it was thrilling.

"Hmm... what should I start with.. pretty slut, mm? Should I just edge you until you can't take it anymore and cum out of overstimulation and exhaustion, should I make you cry and not let you cum the whole night? Should I.... fuck you and deny your orgasm how you denied my hand? Tell me, sweetheart. I need words, not muffled sounds." he confidently said, giving you a smirk and his right hand going right to your blouse, easily unbuttoning it and throwing it away on the floor.

He hastly gets rid of your bra, his groping entirely unhelpful. Large hands, slender fingers roaming your body, sliding over your nipples, pressing and nibbling at them, cupping your breasts and hoisting your legs up and around his waist. Him, still clothed, you.. only with your skirt on, if that's even important.

"Fuck, Yuyu —" you gasp when he sucks a dark bruise into the skin of your neck, while one of his hands went to his shirt. He slowly unbuttoned it, then went for his pants. He undid them halfway and pushed towards you, getting a soft moan out of your slowly rising chest, heavy breathing from all the manhandling he did on you. He was taking his time. He absolutely loved seeing you begging for his cock, squirming and moving against his crotch in wish of friction. But.. Yunho left all his patience at the door.

"Babe, how did you get me this mad, hm? Did you even think about the consequences, you little slut? If that's what you wanted.. I'll destroy you, sweetheart."

Two of his fingers trace your hole before sinking into you, curling to find the right spot. All you can do is arch your back, your moans and cries soon muffled by one of his hands, as he chokes you.

"Is this what you wanted? rile me up so I'd fuck you hard tonight? all you needed to do is ask, sweetie." Yunho said, curling his fingers right into your sweet spot, receiving some loud moans from you.

You could ask and he'd give you the moon if he could. But he was a completely different person in bed. There's something about him taking you like this, almost feral, that makes your toes curl.. could it be his fingers and how he curls them in you so good that he makes you shiver and cum, maybe squirt all over the place? would it be... his cock and how deep you feel it in you, scared that he might destroy your insides?

He fucks his fingers into you sloppily, scissoring you open with little to no care if it hurts or not. It was clear that he only had one goal in sight, and that being stretching you out just enough to be able to take his cock.

It only takes a few more strokes before he's satisfied, the blunt head of his dick prodding at your entrance, getting loud whimpers from you.

"Use the safe word if it's too much" he said and started pounding into you, making your hands rocket to the headboard, holding on for dear life. It's the only warning he gives you but.. it's enough to get an understanding on how pissed he was. He was holding so thight onto your thighs, them around his waist, that you knew you'd have bruises the next day.

"So fucking tiny" he grunts as he watches you struggle to adjust to his size "Such a whore for my cock, mhm? You take it so well... even if it destroys you. Be my cumslut, won't you? I'll edge you until you can't take it anymore."

"Y-yunho !" you shouted as he used a vibrator on your clit, arching your back at the sensation. The puffed bud he was stimulating made you feel like you'd already come, but something else happend. Your walls clenched on his cock, receiving a low grunt and as he slowed down his thrusts, he watched you contently at how you squirted all over him and the bed.

"Oh wow, already? Lucky this is the only thing I'm letting you do, you little slut" he said as he thrusted even deeper, harder, sloppier into you.

"Babe, n-no don't do th-that I might c-cum" you said as he was giving you another round of circles on your clit, feeling how overstimulated you were.

"Nope, I won't let you" he said as he stopped, pulling out of you, your hole clenching on nothing.

He started rubbing his length lazily, looking at you squirming right in front of him. You wanted to be fucked dumb, until you couldn't walk anymore. But that wasn't his plan for tonight.

"Let's make a deal. If you make me cum only with your mouth, no hands and no sucking. Just touching, licking and nibbling, I'll let you cum. Otherwise, you'll get slapped and fucked... not in your little aching pussy, but deep down in your cute and red ass, until you cry. What do you say, babe, a pretty good deal, I'd say?" he said as he uncuffed your hands, lifting you on your knees.

The thing is... you weren't quite.. on your knees. You were spread out, your aching hole rubbing on the wet and sloppy linen underneath you. You started humping it slowly, not knowing if you were allowed to, but he somehow didn't mind it. He knew you weren't able to cum only from humping on a cloth so he let you do your thing.

"Now.. be my little cumslut and get on licking." he said guiding your head to his dick, throbbing on your lips. You had your hands cuffed at your back, not being able to move them. You started kissing, nibling at the tip, getting some nice groans out of him. Then you started licking the slit, putting pressure with your tongue and licking his length all down to the base of it. The circles you always make on the tip get him from being silent to being louder, as the sloppy sounds of your tongue turns him on more.

"Yes, just like that, sweetie. A liiiittle bit more and you're getting me closer."

You started nibbling, almost like sucking on his tip.

"Yuh, mhm. Go on, make me cum, you little whore" he said as his breath started getting faster, heavier, your licks getting sloppier as he tried so hard not to cum but... you did the deal. He came all over your face, as you were not allowed to suck it.

"Good girl, such a good girl you are" he said as he wiped off his load from your face with one hand and with the other one opening your mouth, his thumb on your bottom lip. He let his cum drip onto your tongue, signaling you by raising his brows to swallow. You did as he wanted, soon sucking his fingers to get every drop of his load.

"Y'know babe.. I kinda changed my mind in between your little nibbles." he said as he turned you over, on your belly, one of his hands on the back of your throat. "You're gonna take me so well, I will make sure of it." he said as two of his fingers went in your other hole, no warnings. You moaned at the feeling of his fingers curling up inside you. The same as before, his goal was to make your hole be able to engulf his length, but this time his goal was to bottom down entirely.

"Thought you could just leave me like that?" he wraps a hand around your waist, the other one on your neck, "leave me high and dry without any repercussions? You're lucky I'll keep my promise and let you cum so... cum, you little slut." as he started pounding heavily and deeply into you.

The hand he had on your waist goes to your pussy, curling them inside you and rubbing your clit.

You shake your head at his words, the coil in your tummy tightening with every word he hisses into your ear, wetness dripping down his balls and coating them as he pounds into your ass.

Yunho could feel you clenching around his cock, knows you're close by the familiar rhythm and your muffled whines rising in pitch. He removes his thight hold on your neck, letting you turn your head around, gasping for air.

"'m so close, fuck, yunho, gonna cum —"

Your entire body tenses then slumps down against the mattress, only held up by his strong arm around your waist. Yunho fucks you through your orgasm, through the oversensitivity and the chants of your little whimpers and words.

"too much, 's too much, please, s-stop" but you never use your safe word. You whine and you cry until your limp body is pushed over the edge again, eyes rolling back while you cream his cock, the 2nd time in a short time.

"c-can't," you whimper weakly, "please cum, please — Yunho, please-"

You're begging him so sweetly, voice cracking and body at his mercy. Yunho's hips stutter and his load spills deep inside of you. Your knees buckle under his waist and you whine when the two of you stumble back, his arms wrapped around your chest, all touchy on your breasts.

"You're gonna take my cum all, you little whore. Remember what I said, being my cumslut? Now, take it" he said as he continued pounding into you, getting you over the edge. He didn't lie when he said he'd destroy you, your knees trembling as he closed the gap between the two of you. He then pulled out, pumping his length and his other hand going to your clit over your thigh, sending you shivers down your spine as you squirt once again for the night, now your body being only handled by the hand he used on you.

"What a good whore I have, mm" he mumbled as he came on your back, slowing down his pumps as he slowly puts you down on the mattress.

"See babe? What happens if you're a fucking brat?" he said as he undid the blindfold, looking at your teary eyes.

"What, by the look you have, you want more, you little slut? Is that right?" he said as he slapped your ass.

"Don't worry, I wasn't even close to being done tonight, turn around, I want you to see me fucking you this time."

[ratcatcher0325]

A Fraction of Justice (Chapter #35)

Chapter #35. SURPRISE!!!🎄 🎁 Merry Christmas! 🎁🎄 I couldn't leave us on that big of a cliffhanger! Not on Christmas! Anyway, here is a little holiday gift from me to you. I want to sincerely thank everyone in this community who takes the time to read this story. I am so grateful for each and every one of you! Where is Natalie taking Alexander? Is he going to love it or hate it? It's usually 50/50 with him.

Previous: Chapter #34

Next: Chapter #36

Word Count: 8,756 Read Time: Approx. 90 mins

CW: Physical intimacy. SO much physical intimacy.

Btw, DM me if you wanna be added to the tag list!

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A Fraction of Justice

Chapter #35: La Petite Aiguille

[Alexander’s POV]

Rows upon rows of bolts of fabric in every color, shade and pattern I could fathom, lined the walls. Custom racks accommodated spools of thread all arranged in the gradient of the rainbow, while tungsten sconces bathed the room in an orange, electric glow. The solid wood beams of the ceiling gave the room an old-fashioned gravitas, while the smell of polished wood and starched linen ignited my olfactory senses. 

Everything was immaculately organized, each thread having its place. 

There was a break in the floor-to-ceiling shelves on the left, where a maroon curtain separated us from whatever lay on the opposite side. 

On display on the tables in front of us and on the counters of the classical oak desk that served as the register, were mannequins sporting all kinds of clothing, from impressive gowns fit for a runway stage, to elaborate, themed costumes, to, yes, even beautifully crafted suits in every cut. 

But the best part? 

Every single article of clothing on display, from the dresses, to the outfits, the hats and shoes, were perfectly proportioned to my dimensions. This entire, wonderful place accommodated people like me. 

I stared, slack jawed, unable to believe this wasn’t some sort of very realistic dream, when I felt Natalie’s gaze on me, “What do you think? This is supposed to be the best place in all of Massachusetts…” She hummed softly, the fingers of her left hand stroking the outside of the pocket, about level with my chest. 

Unable to tear my eyes away, I swallowed, gripping the fabric to keep from showing her any pathetic emotions, “I—“ 

Before I had a chance to complete, or even begin, that thought, the sharp clink of metal rings sliding across a curtain rod hit my ears, as someone crossed the threshold. 

My heart jumped. Another human. What was this one going to be like? 

My hands itched for something to defend myself with. Whether she could feel my body stiffen, or just guessed by instinct, Natalie gently pressed her fingers over my heart, caressing my forearm with her thumb. I looked up to catch her gaze. Her eyes seemed calm, reassuring. I did my level best to relax. 

As the figure crossed behind the main desk, I endeavored to take in all of her details, reading her for any signs, positive or negative. 

Her hair was cut short, tight pin curls looping and twisting in a gravity defying mop of pure white. Her keen, bright eyes shone beyond the rim of her, golden reading glasses, perched low on her nose. Her vintage jewelry, including an elegant gold watch, sparkled in the light of the lamp beside her. Her outfit was clearly custom made, a beautiful matching vest and skirt in warm earth tones, with white dress sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her hands were lithe, yet possessed a certain air of intentionality with every move she made. She held a leather bound tome under her arm.

“Apologies for the wait, we’re at the peak of our holiday orders at the moment. How can I help you?” She locked eyes with Natalie, seemingly not noticing me quite yet. Her voice was soft and clear as a bell. She set down her book, cracking it open and scribbled something along its many columns and rows. Natalie stepped up to the counter as she spoke. I leaned forward, enjoying the swooping, artistic motions of her calligraphic script as she wrote in incredibly ornate cursive. 

“Oh, hello, there.” She’d stopped writing. I looked up to find her gaze, dulled with age but not without a keen spark, was fixed on me. 

I clenched my jaw as I hardly dared to breathe… I waited for the condescending comment to come next. She leaned down to address me again, “Sir? What can I do for you today?” A smile played about her lips, but it was far from anything like a sneer. It was warm, friendly. 

I breathed a sigh of relief. She was waiting for my reply. She was addressing me directly. I cleared my throat. “I, uh, I believe I’m here to purchase a suit.” I raised my voice to cover the distance, trying to sound like I did this sort of thing all the time. 

“More than just one. He’d like to be fitted today, please.” I whipped over my shoulder to look up at Natalie. Was she serious? When I met her eyes, she nodded and winked at me. 

“So you want the full custom package?” The woman looked at me, I looked to Natalie, Natalie nodded in the affirmative. The human across from us checked her wrist, nodding with an exact precision I couldn’t help but admire, “Perfect timing. I believe I can squeeze you in between our other standing consultations. Right this way.” She motioned for us to follow her into the curtained room. 

We entered the back area and were greeted by two tables with ornate lion’s paw legs. The one on the left was piled with fabric, neatly folded, with tools of the trade including rulers, pushpins, scissors and measuring tape. On the right, the surface of the table was bare, save a series of pristine white boxes, each sitting side by side, along its center. I wondered what those were. 

Instead, we curved toward the left. I supposed I’d just have to wait to find out more. 

We came to a stop in front of the table with its neatly organized tools. I was beginning to deeply appreciate the pristine organization of this place. It was far more comforting than Natalie’s rat’s nest approach to every inch of her living space, though I'd managed to train her out of her most egregious lifestyle habits. 

I was torn from my musing when fingers descended all around me, the pad of Natalie’s thumb resting over my chest while two fingers hooked under my arms as she applied light pressure.

I met her eyes to see her arched brow, as she sought permission to pick me up and set me down. With a curt nod from me, she lifted me up and out, placing me on my own two feet in the center of the table. As she fished for my crutch, the other woman approached the table, setting a clipboard and red ink pen down on the surface beside me. 

She adjusted her glasses as she pulled the chain to a lamp behind me, bathing my surroundings in a soft glow. I couldn’t help but notice the way my jaw involuntarily clenched and I held my breath as her arm loomed overhead. 

I realized with a sharp pang the indignity that was about to commence. 

Natalie was finally granting me the opportunity to dress like the gentleman I was, a wonderful thing indeed, but… no tailored suit, big or small, was possible without acquiring that gentleman’s measurements. 

I felt a twist in my stomach, as I pictured being pinched, grabbed, and puppeted about like a doll, as string was cinched too tightly around my arm or leg to quantify the size of limbs. This strange woman’s hands who I’d admired from a distance for their precision and poise, now intimidated me in the lamplight, seeming too aged, bony and frighteningly precise in their movements to be anything but painful when they seized me. 

The liver spots that dotted her arm, the thin and almost papery nature of her skin that displayed the blue veins snaking beneath and the pronounced knuckles on her arthritic, littlest fingers all reminded me of a particular set of hands I’d fought very hard to forget. 

“… Alexander?” The present circumstance came back into crystal clear focus at the sound of my name from Natalie’s lips. I blinked hard and looked up at where the sound had come from. Her finger and thumb held my crutch between them, as she bent at the waist to address me, her brow slightly furrowed with worry, she gently brushed my arm with the side of her curled fingers, nudging me back into reality, “… Here you go.” She offered me my walking aide, and I cleared my throat, taking it from her while staring at the floor. 

“Ah, is that your name? I don’t think we got properly introduced.” This time it was that voice that tinkled like a bell in my ears. I’d admit, it had a pleasant ring, despite my trepidations, “Hello, Alexander, I’m Marianne. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She offered a finger to shake. I admit, I was taken aback. Why was she so courteous? She was smiling at me. 

It put me on edge. 

When was she going to burst into laughter? Was it when I gave in to her invitation to shake, like equals, only for her to pull her hand away? Or would it be the moment I turned over my shoulder where she’d take the opportunity to snatch me up by the collar? I refused to believe this wasn’t an act. 

She was still offering her finger. 

I was taking too long, if I waited much more I’d be questioned. 

I took a few steps forward and stiffly shook the pad of her finger with my hand. Immediately retreating the few steps back when it was over. Good. No funny business. Not yet. I decided as long as she continued this charade of being polite, I’d do the same. An eye for an eye and all that. 

“Well, we’re delighted to have you here. And what’s your name, young lady?” Natalie introduced herself and shook hands with the older woman with a warmth I found reassuring. “Welcome to La Petite Aiguille.” I suppose she thought that name was terribly clever. How gouche. Of course, she probably assumed I couldn’t understand French, which would be a false assumption.

 I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, as she addressed us again, “May I interest either of you in any refreshments?” She had my attention, now, as she acquainted us with our options. I ordered herbal tea, Natalie chose coffee. The woman, Marianne, excused herself to prepare them both. 

After the clack of the woman’s shoes on the hardwood faded, Natalie leaned down, resting her chin on her forearm, setting down her free hand close to where I stood, “So? Whaddya think?” Her eyes gleamed. Always so excitable, wasn’t she? 

“It…” I felt heat rise in my face. I mustn’t come across like some giddy child let loose in a toy store, “It seems like a professional and respectable establishment.” 

Her face fell, she was clearly hoping for more enthusiasm from me, but I was far too embarrassed to show her just how excited I was. Before she could form a response, Marianne returned with a tray, including a steaming mug of coffee I could’ve taken a dip in if I so chose, as well as a teapot, mug and saucer balanced on an embossed tray, all sized to me. But that was not all. In hand, she also clutched a proportional end table and chair which she gingerly placed beside me. I served myself the tea as she continued.

“As you can see we specialize in custom clothing for those of nimbler proportions than our own.” Nimbler, eh? I quite liked that. “So what’re we getting outfitted for today? A holiday party? Gala? Wedding?” Me? At a human wedding? I nearly spit a mouthful of tea back into the cup. 

“No, nothing like that.” Natalie swooped in to save the conversation, “He just likes to be sharply dressed. Personally, I love lounging at home in sweats and a t-shirt but this one wants cufflinks and starched collars.” Her index finger brushed the toe of my shoe, “He’s suffered for way too long in casual clothes. Now that he’s more healed up, he deserves to dress to the nines every day if he wants to.” She winked at me. My heart knocked at my ribs. Stupid, impressionable, laughable idiot! Just drink your tea and stop with the flushed face already! I swallowed everything in the cup in one go. 

“A true mondain, I see. Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place. Let’s see what we can do.” What was this woman’s deal with sprinkling French into every other sentence? Was she trying to show off? She grabbed her pen and started to jot things down on the form before her. 

I poured myself another cup of tea, and directed my words to the ceramic vessel, “Vous pensez que vous êtes si intelligent, n'est-ce pas? Je peux aussi parler français, tu sais.” The woman, I supposed I could start thinking of her by her name, Marianne, never paused in her writing. The line came and went without her understanding. I pursed my lips and couldn’t help the smug smirk that crossed my face. It seemed she didn’t know the language nearly as well as she’d put on. I continued to revel in my superiority, until I heard the human to my right clearing her throat theatrically. 

I looked up to see Natalie’s eyebrows raised as she scowled at me disapprovingly. “Be nice!” She mouthed. I opened my hands and shrugged as if to say “What?”. She didn’t get a chance to retaliate, however, as Marianne raised her eyes from the page and addressed us. 

“Now, first thing’s first, we’ll need your measurements.” Damn. I came down from my temporary high and felt my heart in my throat again. 

Evidently I wasn’t as skilled at masking my feelings on the matter as I’d thought, because she reassured me while preparing her tools, “Not to worry, Alexander, there will be no rough treatment here. I’ll be as gentle with you as Natalie would.” I snuck a glance up at the woman she’d mentioned, only to find, much to my embarrassment, that she was already looking me over. 

We both instantly turned our attention back to our drinks.

Marianne carried on unperturbed. I was beginning to wonder if this woman was one of the least observant people on the planet, or if she was just exceedingly polite. She scribbled things on her paper, before organizing her rulers and measuring tapes before her. She addressed me as she prepped, “So, you’re fond of gentleman’s wear, hm? Not many young men care about keeping up appearances anymore. I’m glad you’re an exception to the rule. My Henri was fond of his pinstripes and pocket squares. A perfect pairing for a seamstress, you can imagine!” Her eyes sparkled with memories long past. 

“I… I’m sorry for your loss…”  Natalie’s voice was kind and genuine. 

“Oh, that’s alright, honey. We had many wonderful years together.” She turned to me, “I think he would’ve quite liked you, Alexander.” 

Me? I couldn’t imagine how much I and an older human man could possibly have in common, besides our manner of dress. And in any case, this woman had only just met me, how could she possibly make such a rapid assessment?

I nodded politely in agreement anyway, hoping to move past this rather somber moment and return to the exciting part of getting me into a beautiful suit. 

Of course, Natalie couldn’t help but ask follow up questions. Annoying, the way humans always politely placated each other with niceties and small talk, “Did he help you run this place?” 

Marianne cracked a smile, “Oh, yes! The whole thing was his idea. Down to the name. I was perfectly happy to stitch away on my little creations at home, but he encouraged me to share my skills with others. He was always the gregarious one…” you don’t seem to have any problem talking at length, as far as I can see. “… and much better at putting our clients at ease, though, I try my very best. I know the constant invasion of personal space can be unwelcome.” 

Finally someone acknowledges this well-known truth! 

“Now, Mr. Alexander, if you’ll take a few steps forward, I’ll get your height to start.”

The flattery of being addressed so formally was quickly counteracted by an unwelcome reality that the aforementioned invasion of personal space was about to begin. 

I looked about myself to set down the cup in my hand. The side table was just out of reach from where I stood. I shifted my weight, about to turn over my shoulder to cross closer to the surface when a finger brushed the length of my forearm, warm and soft. I stopped in my tracks and looked up. 

Natalie was offering to take the cup from me. Her lips curled into a soft smile as my gaze locked with hers, “Don’t worry, I won’t accidentally drop this one. I promise.” She winked. 

I couldn’t help but crack a smile, and shake my head before balancing the cup on the pad of her index finger. She pinched it between finger and thumb and carried it to its proper place for me. 

***** 

As Alexander stepped forward, away from the tiny furniture, the experienced hands of the craftswoman carefully slid a polished wooden ruler behind his back. I found myself balancing my chin over my crossed arms to get a closer look at what the measurement tool showed. 

He stood very still, his posture perfect, and his chest puffed. I could tell he was stretching his spine to stand as tall as he possibly could. As I squinted to discern the tiny lines that Alexander could easily trace with his fingers, I saw his exact height for the first time. 

Five and half inches, exactly. 

My heart melted. 

As the ruler was removed, I searched his face for signs of unease. I wouldn’t blame him for being nervous. He was already grumpy enough being handled by me, I knew having a stranger’s hands all over him wouldn’t exactly be a walk in the park. 

“You okay?” I mouthed, unable to resist brushing the toe of his shoe with a fingertip. He nodded, sucking in a sharp breath. I could see he was steeling himself. 

I trusted Marianne, she seemed extremely kind and respectful. Still, her fingers, though aged and thin, were each over half the length of his entire little body. 

She prepared a length of bright crimson thread, tying it off in a knot in one graceful pull. 

“First, I’ll ask you to let your arms rest at your sides…” he shuffled his weight, unsure what to do with the crutch in his hand. 

“You okay to stand without it for a few? I can hold it for you.” I offered. He nodded, clearly disinterested in needing any help, but having no choice. 

“…And then I’m going to measure the width of your shoulders, will you turn to face Natalie?” I liked that she walked him through every single step she was taking. I could see he was starting to relax a bit as he shuffled his feet to face me. Marianne used the bit of string to measure along his shoulder blades, from point to point. The scribble of her pen on paper and the hum of the heater somewhere behind us, were the only sounds in the room. 

Until…

Thunk, thunk, thunk. 

I think I jumped more than he did. Someone was knocking on what I assumed must’ve been the back door of the shop. 

Marianne had a different reaction, “Oh!” She dropped the thread and checked her watch, “They’re early! I apologize, someone is here to drop off a bulk order. You’ll have to excuse me. This is the trouble of running things all by myself!” She looked flustered and embarrassed for having to pause, “I should only be a minute!” 

She stepped through the curtain and after a few moments I could hear the sounds of a door opening and the low rumble of male voices mixing with hers. The activity faded into the background as I took in the little life before me. 

“You wanna sit down? Rest your leg?” 

“I’m fine, thank you.” I wasn’t convinced but it didn’t seem worth it to argue over. I found myself reaching for the bit of string that had served as his measuring tape. Threading it in and out from between my fingers. 

That’s when we heard Marianne’s voice cut through, far more flustered than we’d heard before, “No! No, this is all wrong. You have half of my satin and georgette mixed in with someone else’s bolts of polyester! How difficult is it to keep your orders straight?” I could hear the clack of her shoes on hardwood growing louder as she suddenly thrust aside the curtain, “I’m so sorry for this little hiccup. I’ll just be a bit longer… Oh—“  

Her eyes cast down to the crimson thread pinched between my finger and thumb. “Were you measuring him yourself?” 

Alexander and I both exchanged flustered glances before I tried my best to respond, “Well, I—“ 

I heard the low voices of men and the shuffling of heavy feet beyond the curtain. As Marianne checked over her shoulder, her eyes widened, “Be careful with that! You almost knocked it over!” Her head of curly white hair, popped back in to address us, “No, no. Please. Go ahead! It’ll save us time! You’ll have to excuse me!” She gestured at the thread between my fingers before dashing off, footsteps fading even as I could hear her shout in exasperation about some other mishap those workers were creating in her shop. 

And suddenly it was just he and I. 

He cleared his throat, pulling at his collar. 

“So…” I finally mumbled, breaking the silence. His blue eyes met mine when I spoke. My face felt warm. 

“So.” He shifted his weight, his face splashed with pink, while he craned his neck to stare up at me. 

“I guess, I’m gonna— I mean, if you’re okay with… me??”

He thrust his hands in his pockets, nodding his head, while his blonde bangs hung in his eyes, “Right, no. I mean. We must… Musn’t we? For the sake of-of the time. Like she said.” 

“Yeah. Totally. Uh. Okay. So…” I twirled the piece of thread around my finger, while I glanced at the sheet of paper, “It looks like I’m supposed to measure your chest next…” My hands inched toward him. I could feel my pulse in the tip of every finger, I had to concentrate to keep them steady. Alexander watched my encroaching hands like a hawk, his spine stiff, his lips taught.

“Wait!” He threw up his own little palm. I stopped, confused. His brow furrowed as he addressed me, “You’re practically towering over me, standing like that. Do you know how exhausting it is to practically break my neck just to be able to address you? Go find a chair.” I raised my brows, he rolled his eyes, “Please.” 

I pulled it up before the table and sat down, “There, better?” I was so much closer to eye level with him now, and yet, he still seemed so far away, standing in the shadow I cast. 

He won’t seem so far once I’m physically touching him. I felt a thrill rush through me at the thought. 

I took the knotted end and gently held it against his sternum. He rocked back on his heel from the pressure, nevertheless. His little heart was pounding against his ribs. I melted again. 

After a moment, “Ahem, Natalie?” I was frozen in place, just mesmerized by the thrumming of life beneath my fingers.

“Right, right! Sorry!” I shook my head. “Okay hold that for me, please…” his lithe little fingers took over for my gigantic one, as I wrapped the string around his chest and arms. I pinched the string where it met the knotted end and pulled it away from his body. Finally, I laid it flat to the tape measure before jotting down the number. We proceeded to do this with the length of his arms, the circumference of his tiny little wrists, even his neck, which I tried to be painstakingly delicate with. 

With his chin thrust in the air, I could feel him gazing up at me as he held the knot against the hollow of his throat. He opened his mouth to speak and I bit the inside of my lip, worried he might snap at me out of discomfort, but instead he spoke so softly it was almost too quiet to hear, “You’re not too bad at this, Ms. Marquez…” 

As he spoke, I could feel the tiny vibrations in his neck as I very delicately brought the string around. What a mesmerizing feeling. I swelled with pride, “Oh really? Approval from the Little Nightmare? Not a single criticism yet? It’s my lucky day. What’d I do to deserve this?”

“Don’t let it go to your head… it’s big enough as it is!” 

“Hey! Rude!” I released the string, pretending to be offended. To my delight, his little face broke out into that lovely crooked smile I adored so much. 

“You’re awfully pleased with yourself, aren’t ya?” 

“As I ought to be! It was a shining example of my cracking wit, and you ought to be more impressed.” 

“You ready for the next part, Mr. Chuckles?” 

“Oh! Come on!” He wrinkled his nose in disgust, “That was terrible. Was that the best you could come up with? I’ll take Xandy over that, any day!” 

“What’s that? I can call you Xandy now??” 

“No!!! No that’s not what I said! Don’t you dare– Hey! What’re you doing?!”

**********

As I spoke, her fingers and thumbs rushed up from behind and landed on either side of my waist. The warmth was intoxicating, her grip all encompassing, and intimate. My face flushed with color and heat. 

“Don’t look at me like that! It’s the next thing on the list!” She was defensive. I twisted and squirmed feeling the tension in the thread as it rested at the small of my back. 

She had to be playing coy with me! Couldn’t she see how flustered she was making me? It’d been hard enough to keep my composure when she rested her fingertip over my heart, or gently guided my arms where she wanted them, or leaned down so close while she regarded me with such care and gentleness that her fingertips left electrical pulses where they brushed against my skin. But now this? 

I was finding it hard to breathe. 

“You could at least warn a man before you trap him in your colossal grip! Have you learned nothing?” 

“I’m not– Look, we don’t have to do this. Especially if you’re gonna get all pissy about it.” She looked crestfallen. That soft warmth dissipated as suddenly as it had appeared when she pulled her hands away, the thread dragging limply along the table’s surface, pinched between her finger and thumb. 

No, no, no! This isn’t what I wanted at all. Couldn’t she see I was addicted to it now? That warmth, that soft touch? This was all her fault.  

“Wait!” I stepped forward, snatching up the opposite end of the thread before it snaked away from my reach. She looked at me with curiosity, waiting to see what I’d do next, “If you’re going to hold me by the waist, have the courtesy to let me participate.”  Her golden green irises dilated as her mouth parted slightly. I had her complete attention. 

A tremor ran down the nape of my neck to the curve of my lumbar as I pulled the string toward me. She let this tension in the thread move her hand forward with no resistance. My heart skipped a beat. She was letting me control her.

I guided her fingertips to the soft flesh just above my hipbone, where my obliques flared and rippled as I fought to keep my composure. I transferred the thread to my right hand and fed it behind my back, allowing the tension to hold my weight as I leaned back, feeding it around to my right side. I could count each and every quaking beat of my heart as I held the crimson thread in my fist, offering it to her. She slid the tip of her index along the inside of my forearm, making me suck in a sharp breath, before uncurling my fist and taking the string from me. 

“Now what?” she whispered, two pairs of a finger and thumb resting on either side of my body, waiting for my instruction. 

I’d never felt so big in all my life. 

I guided one set of fingers to rest on my navel.  Could she feel how my breath shook when she touched me? 

I grounded myself and brought the other side to meet, letting the string cross itself at the proper place. She pinched the spot with her thumbnail and slowly, gently, retreated to measure and write down her findings. 

“Okay, now hips,” She held the length of string in front of me, waiting to be guided once more. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from beaming. 

I performed the same little ritual with her, and this time her fingertips landed over a much more intimate part of myself. I flushed bright, hissing between clenched teeth, “Careful!”

I expected her to scoff at me, but the eyes that met my upward gaze were soft, “I’m only going where you put me. You’re in control.” 

I don’t know what came over me, but suddenly my legs buckled and gave way beneath me. She was quick to act, wrapping a finger around my hips and pinning me between finger and thumb. 

Dear god, what was she doing to me?!

Before I could take another breath, the clattering of human footsteps and the scrape of metal met my ears and made me jump. 

Marianne’s voice cut through our built up tension like a razorblade, as she seemed completely unaware of our situation, “Okay! So sorry about that, you two!” Natalie quickly let go, as I rushed to tidy myself and readjust my crooked clothing. The seamstress rounded the corner of the table and entered my periphery, glancing over the measurement sheet “Looks like you got the vast majority completed. That’s perfect, we’ve got a great place to start.” She clapped her hands with a sharp crack, a smile warming her aged features as she leaned down to address me, “Now, Mister Alexander. What’re we in the market for?” 

My head spun as I tried to engage my brain, lips and tongue again, “W-what am I—? Uh, um…” It was a truly foreign sensation for words to elude me. I shook my head trying to clear my mind, “A, uh, A classical cut is always best, single breasted, three piece, wool, tweed or cotton, with a notch lapel and double vent.” The words flowed with an easy familiarity, and I found it easier to breathe for the first time since she had left Natalie and I to our own devices. 

“You were right,” She addressed the woman before me, “He really knows his stuff!” Natalie nodded vigorously and smiled, as if to say “You have no idea”. 

“Ah— And no pinstripes. I hate pinstripes.” I added in haste. 

“Duly noted! I think I have quite a few pieces you’ll be interested in.” She gathered the paper with my measurements, Natalaie’s chicken scratch contrasting sharply with the older woman’s elegant script. As she crossed the room, opening a cabinet and searching for something, she spoke over her shoulder, “Please, feel free to come to this other table here…” She gestured to the table with those mysterious boxes on them. 

Natalie and I exchanged a glance, before she slid her palm beside me, hooking her thumb beneath my left arm. She gathered me in her hand, her other fingers supporting my weight before she lifted me off the table. 

She crossed with me to the opposite side, her free thumb gently stroking my cheek. It wasn’t all that long ago I would’ve recoiled at such a caress. Now I melted beneath it. 

What has gotten into me?? 

Soon, I was being lowered to my feet, before one of those mystery boxes. I could see now that the front was obscured by a curtain. 

“Go ahead,” Marianne had just placed a polished wooden case of some kind on the table just to my right, as she seemed to register my curiosity. I took a step forward, only to feel a warmth and pressure on my shoulder. I turned to see Natalie offering me my crutch, balanced on a fingertip. I acquiesced and took it, before thrusting the curtain aside. 

I’m not sure what I’d expected but it wasn’t this. 

Beyond the veil of the fabric, and just a small step up, was what I imagined a dressing room to look like. I’d never been in one myself, human-sized or otherwise, but it fit my expectations and then exceeded them. On the wall opposite me was a full length mirror, held in a gilded, golden frame. A beautiful Persian rug softened the faux wooden floor. There were hooks along the wall to hang clothing, as well as a vanity complete with a mirror and chair. Along the walls were framed prints of famous art pieces. I admit, the Lady with an Ermine was the only one I recognized. Everything felt… authentic. Real. Human. Is this what rooms looked like to them all the time? There was a wide variety of plants that looked… were they real? Not just plastic bastardizations of the typical human houseplant? 

I stepped into the ‘room’ and as I marveled, heard a breathy “Wow, fancy…”  from up high. I craned my neck to find that this room, for all its proportional realism, lacked a ceiling, and, therefore, Nat was easily able to peer down, her arms crossed, and smile at me from above. 

But there was one area in the corner, also sectioned off by a curtain, which, when I peered into it, I realized was actually fully enclosed, complete with an electric wall sconce to brighten the space. 

Oh. What a relief. I wouldn’t have to change in front of these two women. I never expected humans to think of these things. This was a nice surprise. 

“Is it suitable to your tastes?” Marianne appeared beyond the edge of the far wall, “My Henri designed every detail. We had such fun putting them together. Oh speaking of… try these on for size…” 

A wrinkled finger and thumb descended into the space, shattering the illusion that I was in anything other than a highly detailed doll house. Pinched between her digits, was a suit jacket, vest, and matching slacks, each hanging on their own seemingly custom wooden hangers. She carefully placed each of these on one of the wall hooks. Her hand disappeared and then returned with another set and another and another. 

I admit, I felt my heart race at just the sight of them. I’d missed the familiar fit of a suit so very much. My grip on the walking aide was becoming clammy as I absentmindedly bounced on the ball of my good foot in anticipation. 

She also laid down a folded under shirt on the vanity (the folds were crisp and tidy. Impressive for fingers that big) and several different collared shirts on the remaining hangers. 

“I’ll work on ties, belts and shoes while you start with these. How’s that sound?” I nodded in agreement, already making a beeline for the undershirt, a white collared dress shirt and the first vest and pair of slacks on the rack before she’d finished speaking. 

I was just about to disappear into the changing room when a finger on my shoulder stopped me. 

My mouth twisted into an instinctive grimace as Natalie halted me. What?? What did she want?? I was moments away from shedding this baggy loungewear for something sophisticated and elegant. What could possibly be so important that she needed to interrupt me at this very moment? 

I turned to face her, only to realize precisely what. Offered up between her fingers was that pair of tweezers. The same ones I’d used to help myself change since I’d blessedly escaped that god awful tie dye shirt. She’d brought them from home for me. 

“Just in case,” she winked at me. Oh. Now, I felt like an ass. 

I breathed out from my nostrils, releasing the tension in my shoulders, “Thank you.” I even briefly patted the side of her finger as a show of appreciation as I took the object from her. I figured she’d like that, what with her love of touching me all the time.

The sudden thought of her touch and heat and softness completely overwhelming me just moments ago on that other table top made my face flush with shame. 

I hurried inside the changing room, where, luckily, no one could see my changed complexion. 

********** 

I drummed my fingers on the table, just dying for him to throw that tiny curtain aside and reveal himself. Marianne flitted about the room, opening drawers, cabinets and boxes, finding just what she was looking for, all while peering over the rim of her glasses with the keen eye of a master at work. 

Soon she had a lineup of tiny accessories displayed on the vanity table for him to peruse. 

I caught her gaze and mouthed “Thank you”, she nodded warmly and winked, before catching something out of the corner of her eye and gesturing for me to look too. 

That little curtain fluttered with movement, and before I knew it, there emerged one tiny socked foot, then another, with a metal and rubber crutch complimenting their rise and fall. 

Then, my heart skipped.

Hello there, Alexander. 

He looked absolutely incredible, and he wasn’t even fully dressed yet. The slacks sported a flattering pleat down the length of his leg, settling perfectly about his waist. The vest fit beautifully, cinched slightly in the back, the white dress shirt contrasted nicely and the sleeves fit him just right. 

I immediately dropped my chin to the surface of the table to get a closer look. 

He emerged with his head ducked as he gracefully threaded the final button on the vest, the royal blue wool lacing through his lithe little fingers. 

Suddenly, two icy blue irises like crystals of frozen flame were trained on me and I had to bite my lip to keep from embarrassing myself. The blue of the suit made his eyes shine even more brightly than before. 

“It looks like a perfect fit. How does it feel?” He craned his neck to listen to the voice looming above him. He adjusted his shoulders, made sure the vest was perfectly centered, and he toyed with his shirt sleeves until they were just right, before he turned to the full length mirror. 

With my head balanced on my hand, I could just make out a sliver of my face reflected in the tiny mirror over his shoulder. 

Seeing his entire body against the backdrop of one small part of mine reminded me of that first day, when I’d forced him into that ugly little doll shirt and held him up to my bathroom vanity admiring our size difference. That truly felt like a lifetime ago.

Marianne passed him a silky rust colored tie, and I watched with flustered amazement how his fingers expertly worked the flimsy material into a pinprick of a complicated knot, even and perfect. I felt like I was glimpsing into a whole other world of his, a past I only faintly understood. 

With each infinitesimal adjustment of his collar, sweep of his hair, and threading of his tie beneath his vest, I felt myself staring slack jawed at this new version of the little man I thought I’d known so well. 

Now for the jacket. She handed it to him, and he spread the lapels to admire the inner lining (a gorgeous, patterned silk with flowers of purple and blue) when his eyes stopped at something sewn into the collar just as the nape of the neck. 

***** 

I stared at the inside of the jacket, almost in disbelief. 

Sewn with expert precision, were a handful of stitches that unmistakably spelled out “For My Henri”. 

I was flabbergasted. 

Marianne had said he was the love of her life, that they’d built this business together, that he’d encouraged her to use her talents to help others, and this man had been… like me? 

“I-I can’t possibly accept this…” I shook my head, thrusting the beautifully crafted garment away from my body and offering it back up to this kind hearted woman who peered down at me. 

She simply smiled, “Just try it on, at least.” 

She couldn’t be serious. But it would be nice just to try it on for size. She could use it as a reference. I was determined to refuse her offer if she brought it up again, but I saw no harm in at least donning the final piece of the suit, just to see it all together. 

I took a deep breath and easily twirled the garmet over my shoulder, sliding my arms along the silken lining and letting it fall around my body, gazing into the mirror once more. 

Oh, hello there, Alexander. It’s good to see you again, old friend. How I’ve missed you. 

It was beyond perfect. It was the most beautifully crafted suit I’d ever had the pleasure to wear. I looked wonderfully smart. My chest swelled as a small smirk creeped onto my features, threatening to boil over into a boyish grin if I wasn’t careful. 

I refocused the lenses of my eyes to take in Natalie’s gaze, dominating the landscape behind me. Her pupils were dilated, her expression dreamy. I turned to face her, leaving my crutch behind for now. 

I thrust a hand in a pocket, unbuttoning the jacket to show the vest underneath and spun on my heel, feeling altogether like a million bucks. 

“You look… incredible” She practically breathed. The way her eyes shone when she gazed at me… Why did my knees suddenly feel weak at hearing her sigh at me like that? Perhaps I needed my crutch after all. 

“She’s right, you know. It suits you. I suppose I can’t convince you to try on the rest of them can I?” The older woman issued me this challenge with a twinkle in her eye.

Natalie furrowed her brow and cocked her head. As if to say “What could possibly be the problem with that?” 

Of course. She didn’t understand what Marianne and I already did. 

I slid off the jacket and held up its stitching to her. She leaned in so close I could feel the heat of her exhale as she finally managed to squint enough to read the name sewn there.

“Oh, oh my god. So…your… he was…?” Natalie stuttered. 

Marianne nodded, a smile sparkling with decades of memory igniting in her eyes. Eventually, she busied herself with handing me the next suit, this one a beautiful gray, continuing to address Natalie, “He was the best thing to ever come into my life. We found each other when I spent a summer in Paris, a whole lifetime ago. I couldn’t bear to return home without him. Luckily, he agreed to travel halfway across the world to be by my side. It took us a while to come to terms with our feelings, believe me, most people couldn’t possibly understand… especially not in those days. I hope you two don’t let your fear get in the way.” 

My face burned and my mouth felt so dry, my voice cracked as I spoke, “Oh, no, we’re not… we-we—“

Suddenly Natalie’s louder voice tumbled atop mine, cutting me off, as she spoke through a strained smile, “Thank you.” 

I sensed that I’d committed some sort of social faux pas, though I couldn’t understand what. Natalie and I weren’t… that is to say we didn’t have that sort of dynamic. Despite this, I decided to bite my tongue out of a desire to spare Natalie any unnecessary embarrassment. Judging by her bright pink complexion, she was already suffering enough from my attempt to set the record straight. 

I put that interaction out of my mind, though, as I returned to the garments in my hands. I admit, I allowed myself the small pleasure of trying all four of Henri’s suits, each one as beautifully crafted as the last and still in such incredible condition for their age. 

I tried on various loafers, belts, ties and even, to my utter delight, tie clips and cufflinks! 

As a boy coming of age, I’d been repeatedly reprimanded after asking for cufflinks to match my larger counterpart, being told they’d be “much too small to be worth any effort to make them in the first place”. 

Once I’d enjoyed everything those suits had to offer, she asked me to describe what I’d like to have custom made, letting me touch various fabric swatches and color options to help me make my decisions. 

This was all a dream, right? Some sort of beautiful, wonderful dream that I never wanted to wake from? It had to be. Well, if it was all make believe, I supposed asking for what I really wanted wouldn’t hurt any. 

She took notes as Natalie watched on. Why was it every time I turned over my shoulder, she seemed to be looking at me? 

I sat in the chair, pulled beside the vanity, palming the perfectly proportionate cufflinks, and rolling them between finger and thumb. They were so detailed and well crafted I wondered if Henri had made them himself. 

What is wrong with me? These things aren’t mine to take. No matter how wonderful they were. 

I deposited the little metal pieces on the counter beside me, folding my hands in my lap, determined not to fidget anymore. 

As if reading my mind, Marianne travelled around to the side of the table to face me. 

“Well, you’ve been quite the model today.” I nodded in agreement, “I think we’ve put you through more than enough. Now, your custom orders will be shipped to you in approximately ten to twelve weeks. If you need any alterations at all, feel free to come back to the store.” 

What a lovely dream this was. 

She continued, gesturing to those beautiful suits hung along the dressing room the wall, “Which one was your favorite?”

“Oh, well… I couldn’t possibly— they’re all equally wonderful. You possess incredible skill…” 

“I want you to have them.” 

Both Natalie and I let out an incredulous exclamation, in sync with one another: 

“No, no you’re being far too kind—” 

“We couldn’t take them, they belong with you!” 

She shook her head smiling warmly first at Natalie, then to me, “He would’ve wanted them to go to a fine young gentleman who can appreciate every stitch, rather than gathering dust in some box. I’d be honored if you’d take them. Think of it as Christmas coming early!” 

I was completely taken aback, a rush of emotion making my chest swell and my throat tighten as my vision suddenly blurred, “I— I’m at a complete loss for words… T-thank you.” 

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Alexander. Thank you for coming to visit today.” She leaned down to offer me her finger to shake. With a trembling hand, and biting back tears, I shook her finger tip, squeezing it much harder than was called for, and yet I didn’t imagine it was enough to hurt her, “I’m delighted you like them so much. Why don’t you wear the blue one home? It was always my favorite. Now I’ll finish packing the rest and will wait for you to check out in the other room.” 

And suddenly, it was just the girl with the wild hair and warm eyes, and me. She caught my gaze, a smile playing on her lips “Surprise!” She chuckled. 

The swell of deep gratitude, delight, overwhelm and pure joy flooded through me once again and I was perilous to keep it at bay. I rushed forward, my leg aching from the effort, as I crashed into her hand, squeezing myself into the hollow of her palm, as I clutched the base of her thumb and wept, mumbling my thanks between tears of joy. 

“Oh, Alexander…” she breathed, gently enclosing her fingers around me, embracing me back. Her index finger on her free hand gently caressed my hair, neck and shoulders as I wiped the tears from my eyes. I couldn’t stop smiling, no matter how hard I tried. She held my chin with her fingertip, wiping tears with her thumb, “I’m so happy you’re happy. You deserve this. I’m sorry it took so long… but I’m so glad you finally got what you wanted.” She beamed at me. I bit back more tears. She arched her brow and jutted her chin in that mischievous way she always did, “Now pull yourself together and go be all dapper and shit.” She nudged my arm with her thumb. I couldn’t help but laugh along with her. 

Before long, I found myself perched on the countertop of Marianne’s desk in the front of the shop, dressed to the nines from head to foot. I wore the blue suit, of course, with brown leather shoes, and belt, a silken ochre tie with matching pocket square, cufflinks, and a tie clip. I stood tall as the women above me exchanged money for goods. 

I felt a lightness in my body and mind that I hadn’t felt in… well, had I ever felt it? I couldn’t be sure. I had to keep biting the inside of my cheek to stop from grinning ear to ear like some stupid little boy. I’d never been spoiled like this. I’d never been treated like this. I had no idea what to do with myself. 

As we were about to leave, Marianne turned to me, her lips curled into a smile. She gazed at me over the rim of her glasses, giving me a clear view of her keen eyes. “Alexander? N'ayez pas peur de lui dire ce que vous ressentez. Il est clair qu'elle t'aime de tout son cœur. Vous méritez le bonheur autant que nous tous.” 

******* 

I had no clue what she’d said to him, but whatever it was, he looked like he’d been shot through with an arrow, after hearing it. His little eyes went wide and his face burned bright red. 

“Hey…” I rubbed his little shoulder, and he seemed to snap out of it. I smiled apologetically at the woman on the other side of the desk, “Sorry, I think he’s just really excited and overwhelmed about everything that happened. Thank you again, for all you did for him.” As I spoke to her, I coaxed the little man into my hand, his movements suddenly sluggish and distracted.��

“It was truly such a wonderful thing to meet a pair like you. You give me hope for a better future. Thank you for coming in today. You’re always welcome back at any time.” 

“Thank you so much, Marianne!” I echoed her warmth. When Alexander stayed silent, I nudged him a little with my thumb and he seemed to come to. 

“Y-yes! Thank you. V-very much!”

What had gotten into him? Maybe the thrill of the whole thing had worn off and he was just exhausted. Because of his dogged determination to push himself to the limits all the time, it was easy to forget how much more effort it took someone of his size to just interact with people so much bigger than him. He was also standing and walking on his injured leg without his crutch for much longer than normal. I wondered if he was in pain and trying to fight through it. 

Whatever the case, I was looking forward to getting him home with me, and giving him a chance to relax. 

I took in the wonderful sight of him lounging in my palm, his head resting on the pad of my index finger, his calves and ankles hanging off the far edge of my palm, his little hands spread against my skin, keeping himself steady. He stared at his tiny leather shoes, and seemed disinterested in looking in my direction. How funny he was. I wondered what on earth was on his brilliant little mind. 

Strange little nightmare, let’s get you home.

___________________________________________

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Carousel┃H.HJ SMAU

Thirty-One - Wish you could stay.

warnings; smut (degrading names, fingering and thigh riding) and as always sprinkles of angst. playlist: lust for life by lana del rey

p.s pls ignore any spelling errors or grammar errors i'm a little delirious

w.c: 6k

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Time seemed to be your enemy, swearing to leave you suffering in a puddle of your own arousal. It moves agonizingly slow. Taunting you with a smirk of victory every time you looked at your phone only for it to stay the same.

“I just want us to go back to the way we used to be, you know?” Wooyoung speaks from next you, sitting side by side in one of his comfy cream colored couch. The almost empty bottle of wine on the table is the only evidence of time ever ticking by. You’re not insane just yet.

“I want that too,” you reply, not as genuine as you would like to be. Not because you didn’t want it but because your attention is stolen by another certain someone.

“But Yeosang is making it harder than I’d like.” You continue in a distant voice, eyes on the lit screen of your phone. Just 11 more minutes. Wooyoung huffs, head falling back on the couch, looking stressed enough to get a glimpse of your attention “I tried to talk some sense into him the other day. Hopefully that did something to his brain.”

“I hope so too.”

Wooyoung dawns the rest of his remaining wine, placing his empty glass right next to your full one. A comfortable silence fills the dark room and is immediately interrupting by the sound of a message coming from your phone. Your hand gravitas towards it right away.

I’m outside.

Two simple words have your heart skipping beats as if you’re on the verge of dying.

“Well, I better head home,” you announce, standing up from the couch and Wooyoung follows. Guiding you to the door with a yawn falling from his lips “Lover boy is already here?” You slap his chest with little to no impact behind it “He’s not my lover,” you defend weakly, a pink blush already coloring your cheeks.

“Uh huh,” he muses, leaning on the wall as he watches you put your shoes back on. You stay silent, letting yourself dwell over the word a little longer than what would your heart deem safe.

Lover. Could Hyunjin ever be your lover after everything you guys have been through?

“Take this it’s freezing outside.” Wooyoung voice pulls you out of your thoughts again, dangling in front of you like a hook you so desperately cling to. Just so you don’t give room for false hope to plant itself inside of you.

You look at the piece of clothing that’s being offered to you, a simple blue jacket that you have seen on Wooyoung multiple times. It reeks of his signature Dior cologne. Masculine and thick. Hyunjin’ texts from a couple of days ago swirls around in your mind, cosplays itself into temptations and dares you to take it.

Don’t you dare come out in his fucking clothes.

“Thank you.” You nod, taking the jacket from his hands and putting it on, it hangs loosely around your shoulders. Too big for you and Wooyoung grins at you.

If you were going to meet up with the devil might as well have him take you on a trip to hell.

“Take care Kitty,” his hand ruffles your hair, leaving your dark hair a mess atop of your head “you too puppy” you reply, a pinch to his cheek has him slapping your hand away with a groan.

Hyunjin is waiting outside, minho’s motorcycle that he seems to drive more than said owner is used again as leverage for him to lean on. His arms are crossed on his chest. His expression is stoic as if he himself has not been counting the minutes just to see you. As if he hadn’t come here 15 minutes early and waited for you like a kid. A twitch of his brows is the only given of annoyance he lets break free.

Hyunjin feels something akin to a monster he tried to keep locked break free inside of him. Perhaps he underestimated you, didn’t expect his angel to join in this game of push and pull you always seem to fall into. The monster feeds on the sight of you in a jacket that so clearly doesn’t belong to you, doesn’t fit you. It sinks its claw in his soul, spreading anger in his veins.

“Come here, pretty.” He taunts like the sweet devil he is, eyes narrowing as they flick to Wooyoung who’s watching you from behind. He’s being ridiculous, he realizes that. But this monster latched itself onto him like a parasite. And maybe he was a showoff, maybe he wanted to show Wooyoung how he takes back what belongs to him and that’s why he outstretched his palm out to you, offering his hand for you take.

He knows you will come to him; you always do. However, he does not expect you to run to him. He does not expect you to throw yourself at him like you’re offering, and he does not expect you to wrap your arms around his neck and hug him. The scent of wooyoung’s cologne chokes him, nausea builds quickly in the pit of his stomach. The monster tells him to rip it off you.

“Jinnie.” You breathe out in his neck, your voice is a sweet melody that manages to steal his breath every single time. He’s dizzied even when his hands fall naturally to your waist, even when he’s pulling you closer to him as if he wants to blend your bodies together. His mind is racing because you never initiated physical touch before this. All these past weeks he has been the one to touch you first, hands lingering everywhere on your body. Leaving the ghost of his fingers on your skin.

“Missed me?” he asks, voice thick with emotions and throat running dry. He needs to drink you in.

“I did,” you answer truthfully. Leaning back just enough to look up at him with a smile adorning your beautiful face. He keeps his expression cold, eyes fliting to the messy strands of your hair, another painful evidence of wandering hands that had touch you “mhm,” his fingers run through your hair, taming them back into place and you lean into his touch. Warmth spreads in your blood warning of the love threatening to poison you. You don’t listen and your nose nuzzles Hyunjin’s cheek. Behind you, Wooyoung walks back into his apartment complex with slumped shoulders.

The ride to your house is quiet, no room for words over the roaring engine of the motorcycle. You keep your palm sprawled on the right side of his chest, atop of his heart. It beats under your hand and as you’re hugging his back an overwhelmingly selfish need wash over you. You wish his heart wouldn’t beat this way for anyone aside from you. An enormous urge to steal his heart away, maybe hide it in a chest and bury it in a spot no one knows aside from you. It feels like the only way you’d ever find security.

The end was inevitable. Your time with Hyunjin was like a ticking clock casting a shadow over you, constantly reminding you of how you’re running out of time. How Hyunjin is only growing further away from you and all you could do is stand still and wait. Wait for him to someday look back at you and walk back to you. And even when he does the clock resets itself. It’s just another round of unavoidable pain for you, fuck ups that will only bury your feet deeper into this beach of sand you can’t leave. You welcome it, each time. You sacrifice your heart, pretending to be the strongest soldier of an army that only involves you. And Hyunjin will chew on your heart sweetly, sink his teeth into it until you’re bleeding and leaving you in disarray.

Just like when you’re eighteen you’ll let go of him first. He’ll cry but soon enough he’ll be walking away and just like that you go back to your place, standing alone on the beach of your memories and you wait. You wait for the clock to restart and another round of misery to unleash itself at you. But you’ll welcome it.

As if sensing your distress Hyunjin’s hand is on your thigh when you stop by a red light, Large and warm, his fingers sink into the plump flesh of your clad thigh. He looks back at you over his shoulder. The visor of his helmet deprives you of what kind of expression he’s making. He squeezes your thigh as if he knows as if he’s asking.

Are you okay?

You find yourself wishing you weren’t this mess of unspoken words, you wish weren’t this being of immense anxiety that never seems to settle down, never seems satisfied. If only you weren’t egocentric enough to constantly crave more from the boy in front of you. Your palm is on top of his, squeezing back.

I’m okay.

The street of your house is quiet and dimly lit by the countless streetlights cosplaying itself as a path, to them it’s heaven and to you it’s nothing but hell. You loiter by Hyunjin’s back, taking faux interest in the dying flowers at your front porch. Hyunjin watches you as if it’s his favorite hobby, as if he’s admiring his favorite piece of art and he isn’t in the middle of a space he doesn’t belong to. He is motionless, doesn’t say anything as if to punish you for all the little shit you pulled tonight.

Your top teeth sink into your bottom lip swallowing back a whimper of guilt that’s begging to escape. Lured by the ice in his eyes. Your fingers curl around his, your warmth overtakes him “You wanna come in?” you ask with a tilt of your head, he isn’t sure if the color in your cheeks is left there by the cold or if you’re blushing. Hyunjin pretends to think, tilts his head in a mirroring manner to yours and keeps his gaze locked on you. He stalls, eyes hooded as he watches you grow more anxious by the second. You’re fidgeting as if you’re slowly breaking, your nails start to dig into his palm leaving red marks behind. It’s so sweet, even your impatient anger is sweet.

“What about your parents?”

“They’re probably sleeping,” your stare flit across your large house, darkening windows are a comfort to your assumption “we have just to be quiet.”

Hyunjin tugs you forward with your hand, your chest collides with his and he’s so close, his lips are so close “yeah? You think you can do that?” your eyes flicker to his lips as if it’s where it was always supposed to be “can you be quiet?” he sarcastically asks, clearly not looking for an answer by the way, his lips curl into a smirk. The dampness of your underwear is only a reminder of the effect this man has on you.

“I can be quiet.” You whisper, your voice alone is enough to melt mountains of ice in his heart, but he keeps his demeanor the same. The mutual understanding of what those words exactly mean swim between you two. Tempting him to take you against the back of his motorcycle, fuck you in the open and not care if some old rich lady comes out of one those houses and calls the cops on him. Going to jail for fucking you sounds fitting. 

“Sure then,” he replies with a non-committal shrug. A vagueness he hopes to have you overthinking just so he could take place in your mind.

You take him by surprise once again when you intertwine your fingers with his and tug him towards the door with a smile that’s too pretty for the situation you are in. He finds himself breathless, wondering how you manage to do it. How are you both soft and alluring. How are you the cause of the fastening oscillation of his heart and the poisons treat of his darkening desires.

Hyunjin places himself on your bed comfortably, as if he belongs there. His palms are flat on the bed as he leans back. Eyes feral and heavy as you stand by the door awkwardly as if this isn’t your room. As if you’re an intruder. Hyunjin tilts his head, his legs spreading wide apart as if it’s calling for you.

“Come here, pretty.” He whispers an order in the quietness of your room. A mischievous glint sets his dark eyes alight as the blush spreading across your face deepens.

“Take that fucking jacket off.” He snarls when you take two steps towards him. A rush of heat blooms in your underwear at his tone, fiery and dominate. You nod, eyes wide in innocence that only fuels him further. You shrug the jacket off you in quick movements. Suddenly growing exceedingly hot. The fabric burns your skin as it falls on the floor right next to your feet.

Hyunjin looks somewhat satisfied at how fast you listen to him, with his silence you take permission to walk to him. You stand before him, looking down at him through your thick lashes. Emotions fighting against each other on which one gets to display itself on your face. Love is stronger than anything you’ve ever wished to feel. Despite the growing warmth of your body, the wetness collecting uncomfortably against the fabric of your underwear. Leaving clear evidence of your hunger for Hyunjin. Love still wins, climbs on top and spreads its tenderness on your face. Its softness in the flickers of color in your eyes.

Hyunjin sees it all, basks in your ever building devotion for him, his own obsession finds its way between the cracks of your innocence and nestles itself there, promises to imprint himself on your soul just so you won’t ever look at someone the way you’re looking at him right now.

“Sit.” His large hand envelopes the side of your hip, warm and possessive as it adds unnecessary heat to your already burning body. He tugs you with a guide towards his thigh and you follow, straddling it. Your arms find their way around his neck, as if they always have waited for this moment. Waited to take their claim on the blonde boy you always seemed to yearn for.

Hyunjin’s hand travels from your hips to your hair, leaving goosebumps to bloom behind, an arch in your back that has his eyes hooded. He brushes through the soft strands of your hair taking his sweet time as you start to squirm on his lap. The pressure of his thigh against your clothed sex is driving you insane. He finds it entertaining; you can tell.

“Ah! You cry out in both pain and surprise when his hand tugs at your hair, the stinging pain spreads through your skull leaving behind a delicious wave of arousal that settles in the pit of your stomach.

“You think this is funny?” he muses, no need to explain what he’s talking about because you know. You always know. Your mouth waters at the way his mouth hardness, a betrayal of the imitation indifference he likes to wear. You shake your head, as best as you can in the hold he has on your hair. He tugs harder and you mewl, looking at him with watering eyes.

“No?” he tuts, jutting his bottom lip in a mocking pout that is quickly replaced with a knife-like stare “talk.” You let out a shaky breath, hyper aware of his hands on you, in your hair. His thigh against your cunt. Your legs shake in aching need for him.

“I-it’s not funny.” You answer with a broken whimper when his fingers loosen their grip on your strands. Leaving your body completely to resume their original position on the bed. He watches in amusement as your hands scramble to hold onto him, your nails digging in his clothed shoulders. He wishes you could dig them in his bare skin.

“You’re pathetic, you know that right?” Hyunjin scoffs, addressing your poor attempts at making him jealous, misplaced hope to get a reaction out of him. You avoid his eyes, turning your face when the eye contact only seems to water your already growing humiliation.

He slightly bounces his leg earning a breathy gasp from your parted lips, so pretty it makes him dizzy. You lose your grip on sanity, the need for him overwhelms your senses and your hips start to move against his thigh, rolling into the rough fabric between you. The sensations are so dulled by your clothes, the pressure on your core is barely there, it tips you even further into insanity.

Hyunjin chuckles, humorless and cruel. Trying to be a villain he will never be “Acting like a bitch in heat. Grinding against my thigh while I’m still talking, are you that desperate?” you shake your head, can’t make sense of what exactly you’re denying at this point. Hyunjin hums absentmindedly, his fingers thumb at the button of your shirt “What did you and Wooyoung talk about all night?” he unbuttons the first one giving you room for your breathing to deepen. Your hips increase in speed, running after a release that seems to be slipping further and further away. You whine in frustration not registering a word that has come out of his mouth.

He bounces his leg again, sending wave of shock to your core, has your hips stuttering  with a soft moan. It’s cut off by his hand tapping lightly against your cheek. Not hard enough to hurt but enough to have you dripping. You open your eyes to look at his colder ones, tears of impatience cloud your vision. But not enough for them to spill.

“What?” You sputter, pink splashing across your face like spilled wine.

“What did you and Wooyoung talk about? Tell me.” He thumbs at your second button; the lace of your bra teases him with a chant to take you. Your hips halt their movement, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as to why he’s bringing this up now.

Hyunjin can’t help himself, can’t help the urge that nudges the monster inside of him any longer. Lurching forwards he buries his face in your chest, the scent of your bodywash engulfs him, washing over the disgusting cologne that had cling to your button up shirt. His hands are back on your hips, a bruising grip that guides you back and forth. Encouraging you to keep going.

“I’m being so nice, kitty. Letting you use me like this” he speaks against your skin; it vibrates through your whole being. His warm breath leaving shivers all over your body “the least you could do is answer me yeah?” he hums, placing an open mouth kissed right at the top of your breasts. Your hands tighten their grip on his shoulder, scrunching up the fabric of his grey jacket under your fingers.

“A-a lot.” You answer vaguely, stupidly hoping that it will end then. It doesn’t

“Like what?” He continues his trail of assaulting kisses up your neck, the sounds only add fuel to the fire inside of you. He sucks particularly hard at the side of your neck, and you turn your head with a mewl. Allowing him space, hoping for a mark to be left behind.

“W-we talked about- ah” he bites your earlobe with a grin, pulls it just to watch the way your eyes flutter shut prettily “about Yeosang.”

“What about him?” His tone is monotone, despite the trail of blossoming cherry blossoms he leaves on your neck. The loving touch of his hands as they climb up to your bra. Toying with the clasp. You can’t think straight you feel like everything shouldn’t feel this intense, this tortures.

“Hyunjin.” you plea.

“You’re not hiding stuff from me, are you?” he warns, his fingers expertly unclasping your bra.

“I’m not,” you whimper with a shake of your head, the cold overwhelms you, has your nipples hardening and you throw yourself forward, hugging him and burying your face in his neck. Hyunjin’s fingers dance across your back, unaware of the lie you just added to your darkening chest.

“Just said he’s sorry,” you mumble, your hips starting to grow tired. Your pussy pulses in arousal, begging for his touch.

With a hand around your hip, he flips you over, off his lap and instead your back meets the silk sheets of your bed. The scent of powder and jasmine spreads around you. Your dark hair is splayed out around you, in contrast to the white sheets. The moonlight illuminates your features. Makes the unshed tears in your sparkle like diamonds, stealing his breath away with their beauty. You’re a sight to behold, your white button up still hangs on you, and you look nothing like a human but more like an ethereal creature. An angel that has descended from heaven just for him.

Hyunjin halts his movements, hooking his leg over your body. His gaze trails over you, appreciative, and your own drinks him in. watching him with eager and big eyes. Dripping with nothing but vulnerability and adoration for him. He wonders if he’s growing addicted to your pristine vulnerability or just the existence of you, needing him.

His hand reaches for you, cupping your cheek and you, just like he had always imagined lean into his touch, turning your head to place a tender kiss to the palm of his hand. It has his heart swelling with affection in his chest. He is once again astounded by you, by the effect you have on him and by your ability to have his heart chanting your name over and over again like no other woman in this world exists. Or your ability to have his cock hard and heavy in the tight space of his boxers, like he could explode just at the sight of your hard nipples. He swipes his thumb underneath your nipple, teasing despite the dryness of his throat.

You arch your back into him. For him and Hyunjin is confused, doesn’t know if he should lean into his love or lust.

“Hyunjin please.” Your whimper, tone laced with need and desperation pulls him out of his trance. A calling to remind him that he doesn’t have to daydream about you anymore. Because the real thing is under him right now.

“Please what angel?” his tongue swipes against his bottom lip, adding misery to your already dreading torture.

“Please touch me.” Your eyes implore into his, a broken edge to your voice has satisfaction spreading its wings in his chest.

“Where do you want me to touch?” he teases with a quirk of his lips that makes you want to cry “show me,” your smaller hand circles his wrist, trailing his hand across your body. Over your chest and down your stomach leaving a burning sensation behind. He swallows when you stop his hand right at the top of your jeans. Eyes pleading for him.

“Good girl.” His voice is heavy, words almost slurring together like he could taste you in the air. Lips smacking together in a passing thought as he tugs at your jeans, it goes with ease along with your underwear.

A warmth envelope your chest at his words, spreading across your chest and hugging your heart. It’s quickly washed away by a deep embarrassment once you realize how quickly exposed you have suddenly become while Hyunjin still remains fully clothed. Despite the overflowing wetness between your legs, your need for him. You close your legs with a whimper.

Hyunjin’s hands are meticulous on your knees, ignoring your voices as he pulls them apart. His eyes are on your core, your pink cunt spread for him. Glistening and it’s perfect. Prettier than anything he ever imagined. You’re dripping on your sheets, already making a mess of yourself when he has barely touched you. It has his ego skyrocketing, licking his lips in overwhelming hunger.

You’re such a mess, his mess.

“you’re so wet angel,” you whine, embarrassed by the fact that he isn’t doing anything, that he just stills and stares you down. Drowning you in his cold torture. Your hands come to cover your face unable to keep eye contact. Despite his disapproval he doesn’t tell you to do otherwise. His cold finger trails over your drenched folds, collecting your wetness with the pad of his finger. Your body attempts to chase after him, clenching around nothing in anticipation. Hyunjin pushes your hips down, bringing his finger to his mouth and keeps his hooded eyes on you that is peeking at him through your hands.

He moans at your taste, eyes rolling back. It has your chest heaving; your hands fall from your face at the way he crumbles so easily for you “You taste so good baby.” His tone lowers into a whisper, igniting the fire building inside of you once again.

“Please jinnie,” you find yourself begging once again, not sure for what exactly. For him, for anything to settle you down. Your face crumbles pleadingly when he keeps staring at you like he’s not in a rush, like he has all night. And that was all what it took for your frustration to finally snap. Collecting itself into tears in your eyes and the spill slowly over your cheeks. You’re overwhelmed yet not feeling anything enough, it only fuels him further, sends him right into the lap of the monster that seems to feed off your tears.

“Shh it’s okay,” Hyunjin collects your tears with the pad of his fingers, tone conceding in comparison to the softness that lingers in his touch. His fingers trail down to your plush lips, prodding them open “suck.” His half-lidded eyes stare back down at you and you comply. Tongue swirling around his fingers.

Hyunjin feels his jeans grow tighter around him as if that was possible. The sight of your tear-streaked face with his fingers in your mouth almost has him coming right then. He wishes he had his phone right now, take a pretty picture of you and save it for later.

“Such a good slut for me, aren’t you?” he preens inside when you nod your head incessantly, moaning around his fingers as if they were a strawberry flavored lollipop. Spit drips down the side of your lips and Hyunjin leans down, licking it.

Pulling his drenched fingers from your tempting mouth, he trails them down to your pussy, his thumb pressing into your clit, unmoving.

“You want it?” he whispers right on top of your lips, inches away and kisses at a tear that manages to escape your eyes “I-I want it,” you whimper, your breath fanning over his face. He keeps his eyes on you, fliting across your feature when he finally, finally lets his finger slip inside of you. He growls lowly at how wet you are, at the way your hole swallows his finger hungrily. You moan loudly, head thrown back as your own fingers tangle themselves into his blonde locks.

“More.” You plead; your breathing deepens as your hips rock back against his fingers in desperation. He complies, slipping two more fingers. The stretch burns so good, has your mouth falling agape in a silent moan. Eyebrows knitted and lashes fluttering. He’s completely enamored by you. By your sounds, your reaction. His own breathing uneven, matching yours. He can’t look away, can’t dare to miss the sweat rolling down your forehead.

“Feels good?” his noses along your cheek, his fingers start moving faster and deeper inside of you. It turns your brain to mush, has you melting right into your sheets. Your tongue forgets its purpose and you’re unable to say anything back as if your words have been stolen away by him. You only nod with a mewl, you rock feverishly against his fingers, your orgasm building at the speed of light.

His gaze is dark upon you, watching you lose your sanity for him has him drowning in his own lust, cock heavy between his legs. It burns a hole on the right side of your face.

“You’re gonna come?” his voice more than a whisper yet it manages to tighten the knot forming in your tummy “please,” he doesn’t even need to tell you to beg, you just do it. Desperate for the release you’ve been waiting for.

“You think you deserve it?” you sob, more tears rolling down your pink cheeks, you’re so close so close to falling apart, you could taste it on your tongue “please I’m sorry” you pathetically mutter, grabbing at whatever words your brain throws at you in hope that it will redeem your mishaps, in hope that it will soften Hyunjin’s heart. He chuckles lowly, impressed by how pathetic you sound when he hasn’t even fucked you yet. He still decides to be merciful “come for me, princess.” His voice clear and deep.

You throw your head back, mouth completely open and your core tightens around his fingers. Pleasure washes over your entire body as you come with a loud whine. A sweet song he listens to religiously. He wishes to burn the sight of you coming into his brain, he needs to record it, wants to reply it over and over again. The need overwhelms him, his throat growing dry as he stares at you trying to catch your breath.

You stare back, the eye contact makes your face burn. Your fingers brush at hairs at the nape of his neck, your nose bumps into his chin “thank you.” You mumble sweetly, airy. He thumbs at the abandoned tears at the corner of your eyes. His lips gravitas towards your own and the lust swimming in you dissipates, replaced with a silent desperation for his kiss. You lean closer to him, hoping for him to close the distance, for him to end another misery of yours that only exists because of him.

He lingers, stares at you as if he’s searching for the truth behind the blatant lies you spill endlessly.

“Y/N?” both of you freeze, the bubble of arousal and overwhelming loving explodes abruptly around you. The sound of your mother has your eyes widening “Y-Yes mommy?” you call back, Hyunjin shakes his head at you in confusion and you shrug.

“What’s going on? I heard voices.” Your heart picks up speed in panic, you push Hyunjin off from on top of you and he goes with ease. Eyes comically wide in terror. You quickly discard the shirt on you to the floor, grabbing one of your robes and wrapping it around yourself.

“Wait for me.” You mouth to Hyunjin who only nods back, seeming to be in a daze. You unlock your door, walking out and closing it behind you to see your mom’s figure down the dark corridor “What are you doing?” She questions, hair ruffled and voice thick with sleep. You stare at her dumbfoundedly. Grateful for the dark as it helps you conceal the aftermath of your orgasm “Nothing.”

“Why are you awake? It’s 3 am” her tone is suspicious, eyes flickering to your closed bedroom door “I was asleep, but I had a nightmare that’s all.” Your lie is childlike, you realize and maybe if your mom wasn’t so sleepy she would have caught on but that along with the faux indifference in your tone seem enough to convince her. She nods at you and mumbles something about going back to sleep. You let out a breath of relief when she turns around and walks away.

“Sorry about that. She’s gone.” You say to Hyunjin once you’re in your room, closing your door behind you and locking it. His eyes flicker between your hand and your face, a smile on his face. So charming it has you falling in love all over again. You wonder how many times is it possible to fall for the same person.

He’s sitting by the edge of your bed, legs spread open like an earlier scene “it’s okay.” He assures you and you swallow back nothing. Throwing yourself into your bed, face down. you huff.

Hyunjin chuckles, it vibrates through the walls of your heart. Pulling at your heartstrings.

“Sorry we couldn’t… you know.” You trail off awkwardly, peeking at him with the corner of your eyes and he shakes his head dismissively “It’s okay. I’m not fond of fucking you when your parents are down the hall.” His hand is in your hair, brushing strands away from your face. He doesn’t want anything to block you from watching him. He wants to be able to watch you back, when you’re moaning and when you’re tired, falling into a rare kind of softness.

You try not to think about the fact that those same fingers were inside you not long ago, it has your thighs clenching together and you chastise yourself for your endless hunger.

“Why did you not want to hang out with us today? Was it because of Yeji?” You don’t expect him to speak and when he does you don’t expect it to be this. An ember of curiosity swims in his eyes. This is a forwardness in this Hyunjin that you’re not used to. You were used to the old Hyunjin, the avoidant Hyunjin. The one you used to have an endless game of mouse and cat with.

You’re almost bitter at the fact he changed and you haven’t.

“Partly.” You lie through your teeth, sitting back next to him and his body welcomes you. Molds itself to make space for you “why do you hate her? Did something that I’m unaware of happen between you?”

Hate. Such a strong word that you wish to plaster on every feeling coursing through your body. You wish for it to be this easy. But it isn’t and anything you feel is nowhere close to hate.

“I don’t hate her. She just makes me uncomfortable.” You pull another lie, opening up another chest to bury this one in. One isn’t enough anymore. The mountain of unspoken words only seems to grow bigger between you.

“Do you think you could try next time? For me?” he hums, a hand cradling your cheek in a sweet manner, like a sweet lover you will never get the chance to have. Your time with him will run out before then.

 “I want you guys to get along.” He adds and his tone is gentle, soft and more than anything hopeful. You blame him for your endless lies that seem to tumble out whenever you’re around him “Okay.” Hyunjin smiles and leans down to place a kiss to your cheek “Thank you, pretty.” You keep silent, leaning your head on his shoulder. Silence fills the room and Hyunjin fingers play with yours. You drown in your misery, guilt seeps into your blood and you wonder if being in love would ever be good enough of a defense against your malicious acts. When they finally catch up with you, what kind of betrayal would Hyunjin wear? when he finds out who you really are. When he unravels the ugliness, you hide.

How long do you have till then?

“I wish you could stay with me forever Hyunjin.” You don’t look up to see the softness that breaks into his features, the hopeful glint you had killed when you were eighteen is there again.

“Me too Angel.” He says back so easily.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Taglist: @annybah , @christopherisfoive , @realrintaro , @kkamismom12 , @nujeskz , @wolfietara , @luvvvash , @pnkcasket, @asiixc , @shyshyshytwice , @samhomo , @babrieeee , @nhyunn , @enzstr , @idontlikecoffeeortea , @feelikecinderella , @not-very-slay-of-you , @linocvp1d , @amarecerasus , @itgirlalisaa , @babrieeee , @arikazu , @hyundumpling , @skzhoes , @cupkiki , @avokralaim , @hyunenenenenennenenehs , @super-btstrash-posts , @mellhwang , @kaiyaba , @hyunjinloverrrr , @finnbbl , @rockyhedgehog , @heyhaez , @anjian03 , @jihanniee

(bold can't be tagged please remember to check your settings so i can tag you!)

[theogony]

just seal it with a kiss

a/n : the chapters are WRITTEN for a fucking change (sweats before looking at some other fics) but anyway!!! new longest kotlc fic. this was such a hard exercise between swinging between gravitas and stupidity but i think that is simply the duality of man!! also written for @keeper-big-bang-2024 i had so much fun (suffering) (joyful suffering) and shoutout to my AMAZING partners working with them was so fun i love you all sm @that-glasses-dog (specs i ADORE you but you know this already) who's work is here and @lmeiday (lucy it was the first time working tgt but i desperately hope this isn't the last you're so sweet ily <3) who's work is here <3 ok enough yap now for the first chapter~

Before he can spiral too hard, he glances up, squinting into the jagged rock pile a few metres away- And for the second time in two minutes, he has his breath taken away - this time by the most breathtaking man he's ever seen, muttering something from his horizontal position, pale skin flushed pink from the light chill, eyelids fluttering gently in the breeze.  Dimly, he realises something else- -that the man is completely fucking naked.

Or; Burned out artist Keefe Sencen runs away to a different beach, gets a husband, treats wounds, discovers mythical creatures are real and falls back in love with life. Not necessarily in that order.

As with all things that involve Keefe, it starts off pretty normally. Standing in the middle of an airport in god knows nowhere with a half empty suitcase, hair tousled by the breeze, getting yelled at by Sophie through his phone’s tinny speakers…

-What the fuck do you mean you just??? Upped?? And ran away?? With your paint brushes??? DO YOU EVEN KNOW HOW TO COOK ANYTHING???-

-Or maybe not exactly normal. Such is the life of an underpaid artist, he supposes. 

It takes him a few more minutes, between precariously clamping down on his phone as he pulls out a large map, only to drop it back in after realising it’s been covered by nasty yellow paint that he’ll have to check on later, and then hobbling his way forward after he nearly runs a suitcase wheel over his toe. 

It’s only then he realises he’s made a grave mistake, given the phone has gone deathly quiet in anticipation of a response. 

Keefe holds his breath. Waits for the whirring of the AC to somehow get stronger. Counts to three-

-and successfully anticipate the almost inhumane shriek and litany of curses that next come from his phone. 

“Did you not even bother to fucking pay attention, you fucking-”

Before he can attract too many weird stares (or get deported before he even sets foot outside the airport), he hurriedly hits mute and grabs the handle of his suitcase, dragging it to the nearest pleater seat which has probably seen better days, from the way exposed foam lines the edges of the seats. 

A metaphor for humanity. Or a metaphor for something disused?, he muses, before sighing and answering the phone. 

“I’ll be fine, yes I know how to cook, I’m staying in one of Dad’s old flats that he’s probably forgotten about judging from the fact that it’s keys and deeds were left in a box in the attic, and even if I’ve forgotten something there’s a convenience store close enough where I can buy anything.” 

A beat of silence, before Sophie sighs, tired. Keefe rubs his eyes absent-mindedly, before drawing his hands through the sloppily bunched up hair. I’m tired too, he thinks, the stray thought dissolving as soon as it comes. It’s not a competition, he reminds himself. But even his argument sounds half-hearted. 

“It’s just.. It’s so sudden. Couldn’t you, schedule it? Maybe, plan something and not just… up your art studio one month before your second ever exhibition and leave?” 

"I didn't want to plan," Keefe admits blandly. He shrugs, despite knowing Sophie cannot see him. His gaze shifts beyond towards the window, where a suitcase has dropped from one of the small luggage cars.  "I need a break."

"I understand," Sophie offers gently. "And I want you to take a break, I just - you didn't give me- hell, you didn’t give Bi, or Fitz any notice?"

Keefe privately thinks someone should have spotted the warning signs, but he does not say so. Mostly because he didn't see them till his fingers ached when he picked up a brush, till the only thing he felt when looking at a canvas was horror-

read the rest on ao3 here!

[capsensislagamoprh]

Five AM was born of all things evil, and Victor would curse its name every day for a week. Then he began to notice things. The smell of fresh baked things started at three am. It called out hopeful people working hard to feed the multitude something filling, refreshing. He noticed that the convenience store on the way to Lilia's made fresh coffee around four, though he got soundly told off for bringing a cup of 'poison to grace and focus' into her studio. He's chugged a few long droughts before she managed to get it from him. He noticed that the humans began to move around five am. The world began to rouse itself well before dawn, it was just that most people didn't notice it.

As the weather warmed, Victor found himself enjoying the sun rise. Soon he was up to greet it, a cup of tea in hand, watching, waiting for the alarms to go off. Grabbing the duffel, Victor began the trek to Lilia's with a light jog. The snow clinging to the ground fueled him, letting him slip along at just enough a boost to not mess with the human eye, cutting a large chuck off the time it would have taken otherwise.

The studio was small and simple from the outside. Unassuming. But inside it was all wood and glass, yellow lights and open space. Lilia put him thrugh his paces in classical technique, snapping her voice across the cool morning as she changes the stances, adjusted limbs, insisted on perfection. A small break, just enough to think you might be okay. Then variations.

"Assemblé! Balancé! NO! Step to the side with out the mirror!" Then there was a small break. It was never long enough to sooth his nerves. They forwent partnering, Victor would dance on ice alone. Though he did sometimes watch the others, on occasion standing in when the numbers were uneven. Character was where he shined, and a character he was.

The drama and gravitas was expressed thrugh every line, felt in every expression. His body bent in soft curved and arcs that were seldom seen in a danseur noble. His jumps were magnificent, his movements as if he were not subject to gravity. It was as he was completing a step sequence that Yakov showed himself. He watched, weighed, measured, and then nodded to Lilia.

"Come, Ice King," lady Baranovskay commanded. "We will introduce you to the ice."

Victor picked up his bag, amused. Introduce him to ice. I knew him intimately. Ice was part of him. Two hours later he could curse the ice. He'd never fallen on ice so much in his life. He'd never had to throw himself into the air not knowing the cold would catch him. The amount of bruises and agony was enough to scream.

How dare the ice not respond to him! Why was Yakov yelling at him! What was with the smirk Lilia was giving him? The sheer aggravation of it all! And then he realized there were others coming into the rink. They were mere children. And, he finally realized, so was he. A tall child, yes, but not much more than a teen. Oh. Well, that explained things.

He wasn't the same size. Everything was off because he was off. Standing next to Lilia he asked her, "How long until I am my own size again, or will that never return?"

Her smile was curtly benevolent, her eyes sparking with understanding. "It will take a few mortal years. In the mean time, you will be able to earn your balance and poise in the mortal eye. It will give us time to get your connections network in place."

"Years?" Ah, but what were years to they fey? And yet the very notion hung on him like leaded chain. For some reason mortal years seemed quite long in the material realm.

"Yes. Perhaps two. You will need a year to establish your self, and a year to undergo the exchange." Victor gave her a blank, slowly terrified look. "Yes. It will be quite unpleasant. You will survive."

That night he called Christoph, realizing how young he looked. He'd thought it was an aspect of his dream for him to always appear full of vigor and adore. It seemed the real made his dream... fit. And that meant he would grow older until he matched the dream. Oh, how Victor lamented. Then Christoph promised to take him on a tour of all the sexiest places in Paris if Victor could just hold out until they were legal adults.

Well, with temptation like that, Victor thought he might.

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10

[oflights]

wip snip 2.1

while i'm not technically writing this right now (i'm taking a much-needed Break this week, though expect to pick this up over the weekend), this is the fic i put on pause to write find a new place to be from. i was about 9k words into it and really do want to finish it, so i'm gearing up to start it again!

the plot of this is essentially that draco is going to lose his home (to his cousin, who he hates because he's the worst. honestly a good chunk of this fic is going to be made-up malfoys and having fun with draco in a big extended family) if he's not married with a kid born by a certain date...or if he's pregnant at the time of that date!!! he doesn't have time for option A so option B has to be what he goes with; he just needs to find a good sperm donor.

he and harry are friends and have a ~history and complicated Feelings about this alluded to here, naturally, but i don't think there's a mystery as to who the sperm donor is going to eventually be, right?

“For fuck’s sake,” Weasley says, throwing his face up towards the ceiling. “Will you just get on with it already?”

“You have no sense of gravitas or ceremony,” Draco says.

“And you treat every bit of gossip like it’s Earth-shattering, apocalyptic news!”

“Well maybe this is!” Draco counters, and before Weasley can wind up with another retort, or before Potter can force him to put a sock in it and leave off, he tosses out, “I’m having a baby!”

That does seem to land as if it’s shattered the Earth, Draco notes with some smugness. Greg inhales a chip too quickly and chokes, making Ginny pound his back while staring at Draco, wide-eyed. Weasley seems to be trying to violently suppress his own reaction, probably because it had been instinctively rude, but the result is his face turning a horrid purple color and his lips turning white as he presses them together. Blaise has done a better job of not reacting, sipping casually at his drink, but his eyes are unquestionably wider.

And Pansy and Potter both seem frozen with perfectly opposite expressions on their faces. Pansy seems delighted, gleeful with the best bit of gossip she’s presumedly heard in days. And Potter—Draco probably should have thought better of blurting that out in front of Potter, considering past circumstances, because Potter seems shell-shocked and a bit haunted, and it looks entirely too familiar.

It’s mostly for his benefit that Draco scrambles to clarify: “I mean—soon, I’m having a baby soon. Not quite yet but I’m planning for it now.” He prods at the device and keeps his gaze trained on it pointedly, not really wanting to see more reactions quite yet. He thinks Pansy is clutching at her heart. “With the help of this wonderful device.”

More stunned silence descends, and Draco isn’t as smug about it anymore.

Greg, Merlin bless him and keep him, is the one to break it, his voice a little strained from the choking. “How does that thing make a baby, then, if it’s for turkeys?”

“Well,” Draco starts gratefully, but Ginny interrupts.

“Hold off there, Draco. The how isn’t what concerns me. Why are you having a baby?” Ginny gestures at the trio of Pansy, Blaise and Weasley and adds, “I thought you were on my side! No brats necessary! We were going to be the fun, queer aunt and uncle together forever! What’s happened?”

“Oi, Gin, what am I?” Potter asks, momentarily distracted from his shock and trauma to protest being left out of something for what seems likely to be the first time in his life.

Ginny waves impatiently at him. “Oh, you’re just a DILF in waiting. But Draco—I thought we were on the same page. We’re supposed to have an alliance against these breeders!”

All three of said breeders protest loudly at that; Pansy brandishes the glass of wine again, now less full but no less of a threat to be thrown in someone’s face.

“I do value our alliance, Ginny,” Draco says, honestly meaning it. “However, I am getting to be a bit older, and as you must know, there are certain magical expectations placed on those of my line and heritage—”

“No!” Blaise suddenly gasps, forgetting to pretend to be bored by all of this for the moment. “Draco, this isn’t about the bloody house, is it?”

[invarietas]

from this phenomenal answer | @corditeheart

"I could choke you out if you want?"

Uttered out around a cigarette hung low on his lip as he returns from a corner store trip, the humour something edged just on the off chance said solution would be a course of action she'd be receptive to. Truthfully, the possibility that she would was likely still on the table, if what he knew of her still stood.

Back then, watching Michele was perhaps most accurately described as observing a massive stained-glass pane race down the highway on the back of a lorry; strapped securely enough motion was inhibited, yet loose enough one could still hear the semi-frequent scraping against the fiberglass top. The question being not if it would break, but when.

Concerning, but thrilling beyond what one should consider normal.

None of them could be considered 'normal'.

Malachi has lost count of the years that had passed between then and now- being shat out on the doorstep of an absolute monarchy hadn't been on his list of things to get done that day, and he may or may not have attempted to fry Titus the first time he'd met him.

From war to peace, jaggedly ripped and disoriented. He's had time to adjust.

She hasn't.

"...there's an Old Town District, if you miss that sort of thing. Archaic regent pride, or something like that."

For a man that got a position from said Monarch, he's remarkably flippant. Perhaps because for him, his motto rang half-empty.

For Hearth and Home.

"Or I could pick your brain about... everything that's happened on your end." Here, that flippancy weens off, as it always does when he opts for the gravitas a situation deserves. "You clearly remember me... so does that mean I've been declared?"

[yorkshirewerewolf]

Yorkshire Werewolf: My Comedy Heroes

Mike Yarwood RIP

Alas, another British Entertainer has exited stage left.

Comedy impressionist Mike Yarwood has died aged 82.

Mike, in my opinion, was Britain's first legit TV impressionist, working on stage and small screen in a career spanning many decades.

I myself grew up with "light entertainment" TV shows. They had the magic to unite the family, sitting together, watching the Google box and sharing the laughter.

Mike's uncanny ability to capture the mannerisms of the celebs he "took off" plus a generous use of catchphrases gave his early shows a certain gravitas, putting him in the same tier with Morecambe and Wise, Michael Crawford, and Stanley Baxter.

He would later try a more satirical take, targeting British politicians, and his impersonations of Harold Wilson, Ted Heath, and Denis Healy were legendary.

Yarwood was born in Manchester in 1941 and began his career as a stand-up comedian. He made his television debut in 1961 and quickly became a household name. The "Mike Yarwood Show" ran for 12 years, and his impersonations covered a wide range of figures, from politicians to pop stars trying to stay relevant and connect with a younger audience.

Yarwood was always spot-on, and with the help of his writers, he was able to capture the essence of his subjects with just a few well-chosen words and gestures. He was a truly gifted mimic, his ability to perfectly reproduce the facial mannerisms without using make-up was uncanny.

Sadly, Yarwood's popularity started to wane and by the early 1980s, his shows lacked the magic of his mimicry, but his use of split screen technology allowing him to appear as several characters at once was ground breaking. TV work dried up but he continued to perform on stage and in television specials. He was awarded an OBE in 1986 for his services to entertainment.

I had the privilege as a child of seeing him live in a summer show in Blackpool, England, in the early 80s.

He was sharing the bill with " Basil Brush", the TV puppet. My main recollection was my gran slept through most of the show, and at times I think I did. To be truthful, it wasn't his fault.

Comedy was evolving, becoming more edgy. Satirical comedy grew with "Not the Nine O'Clock News" and the puppet show "Spitting Image," which showcased the voice talent of young mimics. Alternative comedy slowly replaced sitcoms and double acts. Shows such as "The Comic Strip Presents," "The Young Ones," and "Black Adder" foreshadowed the end of light entertainment comedy.

Impressionist shows did eventually evolve, with "Dead Ringers," "The Alistair McGowan & Ronnie Ancona Show," and "Rory Bremner, Bird & Fortune" continuing the art.

Yarwood's death has surprised many people who thought erroneously he had already passed away. Which is a sad reflection on how we treat our yesterday heroes.

He retired from public life in the mid-2000s. He had personal demon's, maybe due to the pressure to stay relevant when TV bigwigs decide that you aren't funny or young enough anymore. He was a true original, respected by every decent mimic as "the gov'nor" and as it is traditional in the UK, the TV channels will show repeats of his shows, some classic moments, wheeling out "z list" celebs saying how much he meant to them, making various remarks about " how it was different back in the seventies" rather than repeating his back catalogue when he was around to enjoy it himself and find new fans! (Sigh! But if you haven't seen any of mike's TV output, there are a number of clips on YouTube, some do require trigger warnings due to dubious make up decisions, plus there are some DVD sets but they are very expensive and hard to come by)

My sympathy to his family and close friends. So shall we raise a glass in the memory of a true British comedy legend.

Until next time,

Seethee soon!

[rowansparrow]

By Any Other Name: Chapter Seven

Summary: You and Rex have a conversation on the rooftop.

Chapter Rating: Teen 

Warnings: Alcohol, some drunk-ness. Sad, so very sad.

Ships: Rex x Female!Reader, Fives x Female!Reader, Clone OC x Female!Reader, other ships tbd.

Tags: #ByAnyOtherName, #BAON

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: *insert that Always Sunny in Philadelphia Meme: “NEWSFLASH ASSHOLE, REX HAS BEEN IN LOVE WITH READER THE ENTIRE GODDAMN TIME* As always, bless @fat-zygerrian for being my beta reader!

Comment if you want to be tagged! Reblogs are SO appreciated!

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six

You were supposed to meet him that night.

You’d planned on going to 79’s instead of the rooftop as usual. Rose said the boys had missed you and wanted to play cards again. You’d gotten all dolled up and were about to head out when your comm beeped.

“Hey,” You grinned, shutting your apartment door behind you. “I was just heading out.”

“Yeah… about that,” Rose sounded embarrassed. “There’s been a change in plans. I won’t be able to make it. In fact, none of us will. We got – err – held up on base.”

“Really?” You asked, pausing as you started to head down to the main level of your building. “Okay… well can we meet after?”

“I’m not supposed to go off base but – yeah, yeah I’ll see what I can do. Keep your comm close.”

He hung up and you hesitated in the stairwell for a beat. Fuck it. Even if Rose couldn’t come along, you were still going to have a nice time tonight!

You had gotten more confident about going to 79’s ever since you and Rose had gotten close. You could recognize a few distinct faces now, just from people Rose had pointed out to you or introduced to you in passing. There was a notable absence of 501st blue, which at least confirmed Rose wasn’t just ditching you and had in fact gotten held up at the base with the rest of his battalion.

You approached the bar, settling in and glancing around to look for any familiar faces to keep you company while you waited for Rose. Further down the bar, you spotted Marshal Commander Cody and your breath hitched for just a moment. Rose had told you all about him – the most highly decorated clone soldier in the entire Republic Army. You would’ve been able to guess it even if Rose hadn’t told you about the curved scar on the side of his face. For the way Cody carried himself, even here, held an air of authority, of gravitas and poise.

He was talking to someone, the other person obscured by his own body. You ordered a drink, trying not to look as starstruck by the Commander as you felt.

“I’d try your luck with someone a little less ranked if I were you,” The bartender teased, catching you staring. “I’ve never once seen the Marshal Commander take up an offer to go home with somebody.”

“That’s – that isn’t my intention.” You blushed, taking the drink with a short huff. Still, you glanced at Cody again and watched him clap his hand on the shoulder of the man he’d been speaking with.

“Alright, see you around, Rex ‘ole boy. Stay out of trouble.”

Now that made you turn instantly. As Cody moved away, you were able to get a better look at the man he’d been talking to, and gods above, it was him. It was Captain Rex. Rose had told you so many stories about him that it felt strange finally seeing him in the flesh.

Rose had warned you about how much trouble you both could get in if anyone ever found out you were seeing each other. Your friendship was frowned upon enough as is, but now that it had become something more, Rose had given you the full dressing-down on what could happen to him if you were ever caught.

As such, you hadn’t ever met Rose’s superior officer, and since Rose wasn’t here…

You downed the rest of your drink quickly. There’s no reason the Captain would be suspicious of you. Besides, you wanted to meet him, get to know the man who was such a huge part of Rose’s life.

You wanted to meet his family.

“Hi.”

In truth, maybe your introduction could’ve been a little stronger. But as you sidled over to the Captain and leaned one hand on the bar, he gave you a small smile, nodding once.

“Ma’am.”

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Rex seemed surprised and looked you over carefully. He seemed to be waging a war with himself for a split second but eventually nodded.

“I don’t see why not.”

You grinned, settling into the seat beside him and waving the bartender over, tucking a hand under your chin. “What’s your name? I’m Y/N.”

“Rex.” He replied, offering his hand to shake. You repressed the urge to giggle. He was such a gentleman.

“What do you drink, Rex?”

He chuckled. “Whiskey.”

“Two of those, then.” You told the bartender. Rex’s eyebrow jumped up but you barely noticed.

“So. You must be a Captain, right? With all this fancy gear?” You said, motioning to his pauldron and kama.

“How d’you know I’m not just some ARC trooper who likes showing off?” Rex replied, smirking and leaning forward a bit.

“I’ve met an ARC trooper or two, and you don’t seem the type to boast.”

Rex chuckled again, taking his glass as the bartender returned. “You must get around, then.”

It wasn’t an insult and you didn’t take it as such. “Maybe I’m just good at making friends.”

Rex smiled and his eyes seemed to appraise you for a moment, taking all of you in, calculating. He took a swig.

“You here with any of those friends?” He asked.

“All alone, tonight.” You replied. “My friends got held up and you looked lonely. Thought I’d keep you company. It’s the least I can do for a soldier like you.”

Rex chuckled, low and sweet. “Most pretty girls don’t just find themselves in 79’s.” Rex drawled, setting his glass down again. “From what I can tell, they’re usually looking for trouble.”

He turned slightly to face you better. “Are you looking for trouble, mesh’la?”

Your heart skipped a beat. You knew that word, but didn’t know what it meant. Rose had called you that before.

“It looks like I already found it.” You replied.

Rex grinned. “Then I guess you better stay close so I can keep a proper eye on you.”

You chuckled, picking up your own drink and finally taking a sip. The whiskey burned your throat but it warmed you to the core. Rex looked impressed which was its own bonus.

“You never answered my question.” You said. “Are you a Captain?”

“I command the 501st attack battalion.” Rex said, a note of pride in his voice.

“Ah, then you must know Echo and Fives.” You prompted.

Rex seemed to age ten years at just the mention of their names. “I take it those are the ARC troopers you’ve met?” He asked. “My condolences.”

You giggled. “We played cards a few times. They’re nice but definitely a handful.”

“They’re all a handful.” Rex waved over the bartender to get another drink. “Every last one of them. That’s why none of them were allowed off base tonight.”

“Oh?” You grinned. “Do tell.”

Once he got going talking about his men, he couldn’t stop. Rex regaled you with the story of how earlier that afternoon he’d discovered his men were not only hiding a loth cat in the barracks, but it had given birth. They had managed to keep it a secret for weeks until the kittens started wreaking havoc. According to his men, Fives and Hardcase had been the ringleaders.

“That’s what they all say at least.” Rex amended. “’Course, Fives’ll take credit for just about anything. But Rose and Echo were suspiciously quiet the whole time. Kix was the only one with the good sense not to show his face in the barracks when I caught them. Still, I’ve got a feeling he encouraged the others to go along with it. Di’kuts, all of them.”

He shook his head but smiled as you laughed. “Anyway. They’re cleaning up the mess and finding natborns to rehome all the kits with. And when they finish with that, they’re supposed to take over the latrine shifts and canteen shifts for any other battalions.”

“Aw, seems a steep punishment for hiding loth cats.” You laughed.

“You didn’t see the state of the barracks.” Rex said, shaking his head slowly. “Apparently a bucket of paint got upended. They should all be scrubbing paw prints out of the durasteel right about now.”

You smiled fondly at Rex. Even as he retold the story, you could tell he was trying not to smile at the antics. It was clear he cared very deeply for his men, even if he had to be the tired parent of them all.

“Sounds like they wear you out.” You teased. “You deserve a break.”

“Are you offering me one?” Rex prompted.

You tilted your head to the side. “What do you mean?”

Rex smirked, and downed the rest of his drink. He took a deep breath, as though he was steeling himself to ask you something.

“Y/N!”

You recognized the voice and turned quickly as Rose hurried up to you. He had a small streak of blue paint across his cheek, but otherwise was beaming.

“Hey, you should’ve told me you’d be here. I went all the way to your apartment and had to backtrack -.”

He noticed the Captain a beat too late and you watched as all the color comically drained from his face. “Captain! Sir!” He snapped to attention. “I ah – I can explain…”

You glanced between Rose and Rex, your own heart pounding. Rose had all but given away the two of you were seeing each other. Rex looked at Rose before looking at you. He then turned to his glass, picking it up and making a big scene of looking it over.

“Sir…?” Rose asked nervously.

“Oh, I’m just inspecting my beverage.” Rex replied smoothly. “I must’ve been drugged you see, because surely I am not seeing my Lieutenant standing here, not when he is under strict orders to stay on base tonight.”

Rose cringed. “Yeah, sir, about that -.”

“It’s my fault.” You spoke up quickly, throwing together a lie. “Rose and I met yesterday, we’d been playing Sabacc with some of his brothers and he very kindly walked me home afterwards. I promised him drinks tonight to thank him and I wouldn’t take no for an answer.” You glanced to Rose. “He was just being a gentleman.”

Rex raised an eyebrow, glancing at Rose. “Funny.” He said. “Could’ve sworn I saw you in the weight room with Fives last night.”

“We… came here afterwards sir.” Rose lied, shifting a little closer to you, almost protective. “Ask him, he’ll say the same thing.”

“I’m sure he will.” Rex stood, picking his helmet up off the counter and knocked his knuckles lightly against the bar. “It was lovely to meet you, ma’am.” He said. “Rose?”

Your soldier stood at attention once again but Rex just put a hand on his shoulder.

“We have a briefing tomorrow morning. Oh-eight-hundred. Don’t be late.”

“Thank you, sir.” Rose was barely audible over the roar of the music in the bar. He looked like his knees would give out at any moment.

You could’ve sworn you saw Rex give Rose a little wink, but it must’ve been a trick of the light. He gave you one last nod before quietly departing.

Neither you nor Rose saw him glance back at you over his shoulder one last time before stepping out of the bar.

~

You’d lost track of how long you sat on the roof with Rex. Partially because he’d gone downstairs and returned with a bottle of your favorite whiskey and two glasses, pouring drinks for you both.

“For Rose,” Rex toasted, clinking your glasses together.

You smiled and for the first time that you could remember, Rose’s name didn’t make your heart ache. “For Rose.”

You both tossed the glasses back, that familiar burn searing your throat and chest before you shook yourself out, watching as Rex poured you both a second glass, entirely unfazed.

“He was very unsubtle about sneaking off base to go see you.” Rex told you, leaning back on one hand and closing his eyes as the breeze kissed his cheeks. “I’d give him a job and it would either be done in record time or it would’ve been passed off to somebody else. He once almost missed a debriefing because he’d spent the night with you. Skidded in right as I was about to start.” He chuckled. “I didn’t mind. He was happy. Gods know we soldiers deserve whatever happiness we can find.”

You hummed, smiling as you took another drink. “He talked about you all the time.” You said, leaning slightly against Rex’s side. “Idolized you, actually. He told me about the battles you’d been in together, how well you led your men.” You smiled to yourself, finishing your second drink and making your way towards a third. “He told me about that virus. Blue Shadow Virus, right?”

Rex hummed, getting himself another drink as well. “That was an ugly mission.”

“He said you were hovering a lot.” You teased. “Because he was always so sick when he was little. You were worried about him.”

“Brothers were dropping dead, left and right. Hells, even Commander Tano passed out at one point.” Rex recalled, shuddering to himself. “I thought we were all going to die.”

“He told me he wasn’t scared because you weren’t scared.” You smiled. “I guess you did a good job of hiding it.”

“He had way too many close calls.” Rex chuckled. “That virus almost took him out. We got rescued just in time. There was another time he was scouting with me and a few others on Saleucami -.”

“I remember that. You were shot.” You recalled and Rex chuckled.

“He really did tell you everything, didn’t he?”

“He was terrified. He told me he thought you were dead, the way you flew off the back of the speeder after getting hit..” You murmured.

“What he probably didn’t tell you is that shot just barely missed him.” Rex replied. “I’d been leading but he’d circled around me to get in front. He was goofing around with Hardcase. Bolt whizzed just an inch past his head and hit me instead. He had a blaster burn on the side of his helmet to prove it.”

You shuddered at the thought. “He didn’t tell me that part.”

“Probably also didn’t tell you that he got shot pretty good on Toydaria.” Rex replied. “Not once, but twice, once in the leg and another straight through the chest. Kix thought for sure he was a goner.”

You were familiar with those wounds. A frown pulled your lips. “He didn’t tell me. I had to find them myself.” You grumbled, still bitter. “He’d come back from the mission and told me he’d gotten hurt, but it was nothing serious.” You threw back your drink again. “Bantha shit, if I brushed against him, he winced. Finally made him show me.”

“I’m sure he got an earful after that.” Rex laughed.

“Oh, he did. And he wasn’t even that bothered that he’d nearly died, no, he was more concerned about the fact that his tattoos had been damaged by the shots. He was worried he wouldn’t be able to get new ink over the scars.” You rolled your eyes. “That man…”

“He was just trying not to worry you.” Rex smiled, taking another drink.

“I always worry.” You murmured, rubbing your thumb along the rim of your glass. “Always. About all of you. I always worried that one day Rose would come home and tell me something had happened to Fives, Echo, you… or any of the others.” You chuckled humorlessly, finishing your drink. “And then… one day you showed up at my door instead.”

A heavy silence fell between you. Rex took your empty glass, filling it up once again.

“It seems so silly.” You said. “That he should survive all of that and then just get shot and killed during a routine supply drop. I thought he was unbreakable.” You shook your head. “Guess I was wrong.”

Rex wouldn’t look you in the eye, instead focusing very intently on the glass in his hands.

“It was quick.” Rex said finally, still avoiding your eyes. “He didn’t feel anything. I promise.”

“I know.” You gave him a small, sad smile, squeezing his bicep gently. “And I guess I have that at least. At least… at least I know he didn’t suffer. He wasn’t alone or – or afraid.”

You smiled wistfully, looking out over the skyline.

“There’s a dress in my closet,” You began. “It’s nothing fancy, just a white sundress with lace around the hem and sleeves.”

Rex already seemed to know where this was going. He took a very long drink and followed your gaze out towards the skyline.

“We were going to leave together.” You said quietly. “Get married. Have a family. He had this whole, crazy plan.” You chuckled. “I’d told him I wanted to think about it. It was a big decision, he’d be on the run for the rest of his life, hiding from the Republic. And I’d be part of that.”

You glanced over at Rex. “He told me he was going to tell you. He said we could trust you. Did he ever…?”

Rex shook his head. “No. He never got the chance.”

You nodded, turning back towards the sky. “I was going to say yes.” You whispered. “I was going to go with him when he came back. We were going to run away together… It was all very romantic.” You shook your head, staring down at your glass. “And it was so stupid.”

Rex was quiet for several long moments until finally he rose to his feet, offering you his hand.

“C’mon.” he murmured. “I think that’s enough drinking for one night. Let’s get you home.”

You nodded, taking his hand and letting him pull you to your feet. You swayed. You didn’t realize how much you’d had to drink until you stumbled, falling slightly against his chest.

“The Rose Lounge owner can’t hold her liquor?” Rex teased. “Ironic.”

“Shuddup.” You mumbled, giving him a little shove. “I can walk.”

“Oh no you can’t, Tipsy. C’mere.” He crouched down slightly, and you slumped against his back. He picked you up with ease, bouncing you once to hike you higher up his back. He wrapped his arms around your legs, holding them snug against his torso while your hands wrapped around his shoulders.

“Don’t puke on me.” Rex warned, carrying you piggyback style towards the stairs.

“’M gonna fall off.” You muttered.

“No you won’t. Trust me.”

Your eyes were heavy, cheek pressed against the back of Rex’s neck and you remembered a time very long ago when another man had carried you on his back to this rooftop, and said the very same thing.

“I trust you, Rose.”

Rex was still. You hadn’t noticed your slip, your eyes already slipping closed.

“Okay.” His voice echoed. “I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you.

~

TAG LIST:  @fat-zygerrian @ladydiomede @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life @threevie @cheesemachine44 @bubblyacey @fivedicksinatrenchcoat @loverofclones @starwarsgarbage @hockeyjedi13 @crazygirlwithasword @dar-manda-rjct @gotomarvelgal @baba-fett @whore4rex

[fuckzachariah]

Kylie tasted like champagne. One arm slung around her, supporting her weight as she arced into him, his thoughts were sent back to their first kiss. His desperation, his breaking point after months of pretending he didn’t see that she already loved him. That she loved him a year before he would tell her that he loved her, too. And even then, even when it was thrilling and electric and he swallowed it whole, it was all because of Alex. The push had been to banish her from his dreams, and his enthusiasm was only that he found joy in kissing someone that wasn’t her. Among the commotion, Zach pulled away, and Kylie grabbed his chin to plant one final kiss on his stubbled cheek. A faint, pink lip print was left in her wake. They took their seats, and waiters began filtering into the hall in an orderly fashion carrying appetisers in their gloved hands. Zach’s attention flitted restlessly, biding his time before he went to Alex, needing the teeth of her jealousy to sink into wherever they found meatiest. He felt a little dizzy, wondering if his ploy had worked at all, or only driven home to her that they were absolutely separate. But Andrew called on him, and so he leaned in, resting his elbows on the table. His cuffs were rolled, revealing a lingering summer tan, an overcrowding of ink and one too many gold chains knocking on his wrists. At the mention of Alex, Zach allowed himself a brief, indulgent glance at her. It was over before she could have even clocked it.

“Zach is… mm, not his best self at these things. He’ll tell you himself,” Kylie chimed in, tipping her head back to finish the last of her champagne. Barely a moment passed before it was re-filled. “But this is a classy party – too classy to crowd a single guest without, you know. Seeming tacky.” She laughed. His tongue folded out to wet his bottom lip, and he promptly curled it away, savoring the leftover hint of champagne from Kylie’s kiss. He tilted his head, silent, keeping his eyes trained on Andrew almost out of obligation. If he looked at Alex now, he might splinter, the implication of her fiance’s words just too good. It was almost like a little gift. Oh, Andrew, you shouldn’t have. If Zach were a lesser man, he might’ve given Alex a soft kick under the table. He saw her shifting out of the corner of his eye, as though squeezing the subtext right out of her system. His smirk spread to an all-out smile, a million watts. He had so missed seeing her squirm. “Exactly, man,” Zach played along. “And I’d hate to miss out on the real fun.” His tone was loaded. Only then did his gaze slide to Alex, passing her his eyes in a slow, intentional way, lip kinking privately. He nodded, once. “Wouldn’t you?”

The appetisers came and went, and so did their entrees, and Zach had subtly swapped his glass for Kylie’s somewhere in-between. He was such a lightweight nowadays, it was like being a born again goddamn virgin. He felt the bubbles fizzing all the way down to his toes. Or, maybe, it was Alex sitting across from him, her gravitas and quiet importance, all doe eyes reflecting light, hair falling over her shoulder, sly glances and chest cresting as it battled against the corset of her dress with every intake of breath. He liked to make her breathe in, the sharper the better. Somehow, somewhere between entrees and dessert, Jennifer brought the conversation back around to Zach – namely, to his past. “So, in your speech – what, you don’t like gigs like this?” He glanced at her. “I used to have a real problem with boredom,” he explained with a laugh, light but honest. “I just found everything fucking boring. And infuriating. And to avoid it, I’d just get fucked up. But I also used to have a certain… crowd. Who came with me everywhere.”

He addressed the table, but his eyes locked on Alex’s, stomach turning over with memory. These secret, heavy glances, he'd make himself ill with her if he kept it up. “We’d sneak off and… entertain ourselves. It always made the slower functions a little more bearable.” Head cocked, he smiled at her, smooth like velvet. His voice dropped a little lower. “But I think I was just too immature then to appreciate the luxury of what I had.” His gaze, drooping with the weight of his own insinuation, fell to her fluttering ribs, the gleaming caramel skin stretched tight across them, waiting for that breath. The elevator, her hummingbird heartbeat under his palm. “Whereas now, I can just keep going. I can go for hours.”

Ale tilted her gaze upward, her cosmic brown eyes wide and luminous, reflecting the glimmer of every crystal chandelier within reach. Andrew stood tall beside her, his commanding presence amplified as he rose to his full height. The soft chime of his fork against the edge of his champagne flute silenced the room, the frothy liquid inside shimmering as it teetered near the brim. On cue, the crowd quieted, their attention drawn like moths to a flame. Alexandra’s heart quickened under the collective gaze, the weight of so many eyes bearing down on her. She shifted slightly, her vision sweeping the room. They were all smiling, but she was seasoned enough to discern the genuine from the saccharine. The warmth of true friends mingled uneasily with the plastic grins of opportunists and critics. She had anticipated this and the whispers that followed. Andrew Dupree was no ordinary man. He was a coveted prize, a name and presence that turned heads. In a city teeming with beddable centerfolds and self-absorbed socialites, her very existence here begged the question – what made Alexandra Burton special? But Alex knew the answer, even if her doubters did not. She had no need to tether herself to him. Her desire was pure, untainted by opportunism or greed. Her love for him was woven with admiration, drawn to his mesmeric allure and the inexplicable gravity he carried. She desired him not out of necessity but because everything about him.

He had a knack for dominating a room, effortlessly drawing people into his orbit with his irresistible star power. They gravitated toward him, eager to bask in his glow, as if proximity to him might make them relevant, important, even. He wore his magnetism like a second skin, fully aware of its effect on those around him. But with Alex, his allure cut deeper. He knew how to challenge her, not just with his words but with his presence, because they were equals. He never hesitated to feed her the hard truths she often resisted but desperately needed. Their dynamic crackled with tension, a heady mix of competition and understanding. And in the bedroom? Their connection was unparalleled, a realm where words fell away, and only raw, unfiltered passion remained. Alex had always been selective with her partners, or at least with the ones she could recall clearly. Yet none had ever come close to matching the intensity or fulfillment he brought her. Her fragmented memories still flickered with vivid moments of their time together, as they unearthed parts of each other that no one else had dared to explore. A warm blush crept across her cheeks as she felt a familiar pull within her, a reminder of their chemistry that was impossible to ignore. She pressed her thighs together, willing herself to suppress the unwelcome spark of arousal bubbling to the surface.

Unable to resist, her gaze flickered across the table. Her lower lip caught between her teeth as she stole a glance at him, the man who still managed to unravel her with the simplest look. Zach’s golden eyes were already locked on her, his expression unreadable but intense. Her timing couldn’t have been more perfect, or damning. Just as their gazes connected, Andrew’s voice rang out, his tone warm and inclusive as he praised Zach in his welcome address. It provided the perfect cover for her wayward glance, shielding her from suspicion. Yet, beneath the polished surface of the moment, her pulse quickened, betraying the turmoil she tried so desperately to hide. Zach’s grin was smug, the kind that suggested he was already plotting how to bend the fragile rules of their agreement. He would behave, he’d said, but clearly, his definition of “behave” was loose at best. Alexandra’s brows knitted together, her eyes narrowing as she tried to predict his next move. She didn’t have to wait long. Rising to his full height, Zach lifted his champagne flute, the gilded liquid catching the ballroom's shimmering light. His gaze locked on her, intense and deliberate.

He offered a thank you to her, though Alex doubted it had anything to do with genuine gratitude for her event planning or décor choices. No, this was about her. He was toying with her, relishing the opportunity to watch her squirm. But she refused to give him the satisfaction. Her lips curved into a faint, cool smirk as she tilted her head, meeting his gaze through feathery lashes, utterly unfazed. Andrew’s hand came to rest on her shoulder, his touch grounding her in the moment. She responded instinctively, her small fingers curling around his in a reassuring squeeze. Zach finally broke his stare, turning to Kylie. Alex’s curiosity flickered. Had the blonde caught even a hint of the tension laced in that exchange? It seemed not. Kylie gazed up at Zach, her bright smile radiating like a schoolgirl’s first crush. If she had noticed anything, Zach’s undeniable charm had already swept it away like the tide erasing footprints. He offered Kylie a similar thank you, though this one seemed more calculated than sincere. Kylie drank in the praise, her eyes shimmering as if Zach had just handed her a rare treasure. Alex shifted slightly in her seat, biting back the tangle of emotions rising in her chest. It was a small, twisted comfort. At least she wasn’t the only one falling victim to Zach’s games tonight.

Kylie joined Zach, springing to her five-foot-nothing frame and throwing herself at him with an enthusiasm that nearly knocked him off balance. She pressed a dramatic kiss to his lips, her tiny frame practically hanging off him. Alex’s eyes rolled so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. The sheer theatrics of the moment were almost too much. She fought to stifle a laugh, her lips curling into an amused simper as she gave a subtle shake of her head. Still, a familiar flicker of jealousy ignited within her. A tiny, unwelcome flame she couldn’t entirely extinguish. Was this his plan all along? To test her, to see if the cracks he’d once left in her heart had truly healed? If so, it was working. Her stomach churned as Andrew raised his glass higher, prompting a wave of applause and the ringing clink of countless champagne flutes. Ale joined in mechanically, lifting her own glass into the air and flexing into the crowd’s celebration. She took a sip, the sweetness of the champagne turning sour as it slid down her throat. Andrew cleared his throat, taking control of the room again. “I hope the Label family continues to grow,” he declared, his voice warm and commanding, “and that we keep doing what we love — making some damn good music. Enjoy, everyone!” He lowered his glass and sank back into his seat, his hand finding its place on Alex’s exposed thigh.

The gentle pat of his palm against her skin was comforting, even as his attention shifted to Zach. “Glad Ale could make this bearable for you,” he teased, his tone easy and familiar. “I know these events can be stuffy and boring. They’re kind of like weddings. You go through the motions for the more traditional folk. But once they’re off to bed, that’s when the real fun begins.” Alex glanced at Zach from the corner of her eye, her mouth becoming dry at Andrew’s words. The subtext, intentional or not, was sharp, and she could almost feel the weight of Zach’s smirk from across the table. This game was dangerous, the lines between past and present growing thinner with every passing moment.

[d3monslust]

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 - 𝐀.𝐃.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Only setting up traps for them , Andy didn't see any of this coming

𝐖𝐂 : 3,151

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: pregnancy, mentions of miscarriage & abusive relationships , cheating , manipulation , violence

𝐀/𝐍 : tumblr deleted the original and I thought for couple of minutes I haven’t backed it up to the point I had a panic attack :) also I worked really hard for this , any kind of interaction is appreciated!!

////////////////June 7th 2020\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Every story has a happy ending , where the villain gets defeated and the heroes win , but in eden , no one could recognize the corruption and the decent. Everyone hid their darkest and filthiest desires deep down inside them , in their abyss of their souls . Andy knew that , from first hand . He was still getting to know the place , the idle juveniles laying in the sandy beaches , the laughs of the middle aged men echoing through the thickness of the trees’ leaves . A literal paradise ... with no God .

Dolan had promised his wife to keep her safe, and eventually after his decadence , he was more fazed than anything . Their inseparable form could be made out from kilometers ago, their vivid and full of life auras leaving hints of sunshine from time to time . Winning the couple of the year and being stunned was not in their plans but the did not dodge it . Until Dolan started venturing at inexcusable bars , reciprocal pink lipstick decorating one side of his neck while he reclined next to his bond , mumbling about his ambiguous accomplishments. He had her to the point , Mariah felt overwhelmed. The weight of his nifty assets , the gravitas of his clumsy , yet anticipated acts made her scream and wince .

But Mariah David Dolan , did not intend on giving up so easily , only because her husband was demonstrating his incompetent self . Haphazardly, or not , the female found herself at Sherlock’s , who fasty evaluated and corrupted all of her nasty problems . Taken the right measurements, Mariah decided to treat themselves to a dinner , the brunette averting his gaze back from his laptop to his wife. “Did something happen ?” Mariah never cooked , even at special , “crowded” occasions , she wouldn’t lay a finger at the metallic kitchenware . “No . I just though about all the work you’re recently hooked with. A nice dinner with your wife would help you blow off some steam” smirking at the fit of the last words, she left Dolan alone, drowning in his intellectually safe thoughts.

The capriciousness of the vexing atmosphere made the couple exchange some absurd looks. With Andy being the always tired one, sexual intercourse was lost long ago . “Something you would like to say ?” “No .” She went for a debate , any sort of the key for relationships , communication. If that clink unraveled , there would be no sweet salvation for the married couple . “Well , I want to say something.” Andy whispered a silent “go on” as one of their housekeepers wiped off him some of the pasta’s sauce . “I’m pregnant .” the brunette almost choked at the hear , she couldn’t be . “What ?” voice so small , the trait of vulnerability showing .

The fraction made his stomach toss and turn with anticipation, his dreams for the unknown slowly falling apart . “I’m pregnant on the 3rd month .” eyes infested with fury , the blue like sea color dissipated. “And when were you planning on telling me , hm ? When the waters would broke ? Or when the bump would start to show ? Or when you couldn’t fucking miscarriage?” his excessive, painful words ventured to withhold her insurmountable fury . Unceremoniously, his unbeatable character almost took back his sharp words , the marvel Mariah always waited for could intervene their scold and corrupt his grudge . Albeit she had cried and prayed for that baby to come , her husband didn’t yearn it .

“Did you talk to the gynecologist? Can you ?” he stated chastely , reclining his tensed back to the chair . Who could envision Andy Dolan with a child ? The reluctance became vexing , the tension had to be dwindled if she wanted to keep that inexcusable -for him- child . “Yes . We ... discussed and he said that I cannot ... get rid of it .” her unconvincingly words passed from the one ear to the other . He abruptly threw his crystal glass at the respective wall , agitating the woman to run to clean the mess . The hot , ambiguous tears wetting her cheeks . “Cant you just love me ?” she mumbled , her fasty movements elicited a cut from the sharp glass . She hissed at the pain , she wanted to resemble the perfect , sincere , housewife Andy pleased . To conquer the theme , so as to stand next to him with all her lucid pride while clutching his right hand .

And the things became even worse , chaos consuming the island , darkness drowning the residents . But the worst was Andy’s behavior shift . The unintelligible man faltered and his intriguing about his serene family faded , woefully leaving only his malice and possession . Fighting with his own demons , his rigid and virile facade came and ended up resented . The 24-hour absence of the paternal figure made the child cope with egregious insults and quarrels . Curling up in her little bed , her hands covering the ears as not to listen his beloved parents . Was her the reason they fought every night ? And as the family withered , Andy prepared to hit with sweet and sour vengeance .

“Please ...” the woman begged , the tears blocking her already blurry vision . Fatigue in her system degenerating, she tried to refrain this , but Dolan’s wrath could not be avoided . “Please what , hm ? You had a fucking debt ! Look after that damned child . And I swear to god Mariah ^ if something had happened to my daughter!” he scolded . “Oh come on ! Stop acting like you care ! You never did ... you never cared about your family .” His intimidating methods would usually work , and if not he would try for the vicious skin-to-skin contact . Slapping her and looking her terribly weak silhouette, squirming and crying under him . She remained frigid , not wanting to get that answer , Mariah ran to the basement , advancing around the marble halls like a lost puppy . Andy rubbed his stressed temple , waiting for his own kind of wonder to come and take him from this type of hell . The paradise where demons are hidden .

Andy never wanted to become one of them. That vicious, hungry, creatures . Demons . The olds said that if somebody approached the North river he would see a little red creature . A graceful , gorgeous demon . That was bullshit , demons didn't exist , his friend Michael had told him , that poor man - he had taken the subject of claiming to be the Antichrist of the end times too thick . He ended up at an asylum - good man , sick brain . “What are you thinking ?” . God , or whoever , heard him sent him his guardian angel . The nifty woman was everything he wished for . A real living angel . And that chaste, naive flirt shifted into this; whatever that was.

“Nothing to be honest . But let’s not talk about me , hmmm ?” the girl nodded heartily . Y/N had found her person , the one she could trust and never receive betrayal , the one she could cry at and talk about her insurmountable problems . Their meeting was casual - one , two drinks exchanged , some additional winks and the saccharine act of sex to help Y/N realize her feelings. When she was with him , the blithe and sybarite feeling would bloom inside her , becoming as beautiful as a sanguine rose . She chuckled at his works , could describe him as selfless ? No . But to her ... yes . Her despondent self hid his abusive and possessive persona . For her eyes and only , Andy Dolan was a god , innocent and perfect . “I wanted to ask about ... the divorce ? When are you two signing it ?” he had to be astute and answer handily . But they answer was always the same “Oh sweetheart, don’t worry . Mariah is a bit pertinacious but I’ll persuade her , okay ?” and she would fall at the trap , again .

“You’re always answering the same !” maybe today she would revolt and fortunately leave the poisonous love of Andy’s . His eyes shone dangerously, he didn’t want to do this . “Y/N’s not like Mariah” he would remind himself , but the poor girl was sticking her nose almost everywhere . “Aren’t you pleased , hm ? I took you from that fucking clinic , I helped you withdraw and this is your thank you ? I’m disappointed in you , Y/N .” his esoteric character on sight again . His cogent and invidious words caused the sentient girl spill the salty water . The male disdaining to help or comfort . “You deserve this anyway .” she stumbled back , her apprehension increasing whilst seeing him standing up from the bed . That absurdity had to stop , but he had saved her and it was her time now .

As Andy returned home , and the futile try to persuade his wife about the divorce exhausted him , he found himself at his daughter’s room . Observing her sincere and innocent moves . “Daddy ?” “Yes , Baby ?” his far-fetched sweet talk made the two smile in sync . The blonde’s smile making daddy crack . “Can I tell you something?” Andy nodded , hoping the child wouldn’t have read any of his recreational messages . “Mommy told me the reason she doesn’t want you two to break up !” his eyes lit up at her appendix . Perhaps it was the money or the child but anyway - Andy had to know . “What’s that ?” patting his lap for the girl to sit , Hera made herself comfortable at the warmth of his legs . “She said that she won’t let you fool around with every individual who has two holess.” “She said what ?!?!” “Yes , yes but what did she mean when she said “every individual with two holes .” ?” “Not now , Hera .” he quickly placed the kid down , as she sulked at her daddy’s extraordinary behavior.

By the time Andy stated the predicament , Mariah had ruminated on her terms . She should have said this , fuck she really shouldn’t . Her dull and attention-seeking words pushed her husband’s last buttons . “Are you fucking braindead ? What was that you said to my daughter ?!” she knew where that debate would end up . Condescendingly , she wrapped her arms around his neck . Her touch-starved grating amusing his carnal urges . Not wanting to dwell on the situation , Andy let it happen . Her amorous posture , the well-med hair , how didn’t he feel it coming ? Her hands traveling at his shirt’s buttons while Andy’s fingers went for her top . Discarded clothing were soon decorating the floor of their kitchen . His greed for more would eat him up one day . And he waited - patiently and calmly for that day . Her tenuous dominance caused waking up his boredom. But his prurient mind , thought otherwise.

She licked his upper lip , Andy letting her tongue slip into his mouth . The sloppy kiss turning into something more passionate, more loving . “I’ve missed this .” she mumbled in between breaths , making a smirk plaster on Dolan’s face . “I’ve missed you .” he hushed her by kissing her , the loving , lingering kiss making butterflies fly in her stomach . “Andy ?” he groaned at the call , not wanting to eye roll , he approved the question and motivated to go on . “Do you love me ?” “Yes. Only you . And no one else . I know things are hard right now but I’ll make it up to you.”

Bare bodies tangled . Two bodies in one . His hips snapped viciously at hers , hand grabbing a harmful fist of hair . Abruptly pulling it back , making Mariah hiss at the sudden contact of pain . The persona she would only see , not even Y/N , the sadistic one . Her head touching his sweaty torso , the tears in her eyes strengthening his stamina . The coil in her stomach tightened and as the loved noticed it - his hands traveled between her puffy lips , toying with her little bud . “I’m .... im-” her muffled cries interrupting her . “I know baby . Cum , cum with me .” and the coil in her belly broke synchronized with his . The addicting feeling of euphoria engulfing them both . “You did so well .” his sugary words causing her pride to rise , awaking her love for him . Just like the old times . “I love you , Mariah .” she perched at his tight embrace , inhaling his intoxicating scent . “Mhm me too .” she had to savor the moment . Mariah didn’t know what could possibly find her tomorrow .

////////////////

And as Andy distanced himself from Y/N, he kept his promise and made up the tangle. At least everything that could be fixed . The insuperable bond they created was ineffable. The somnolent love , almost dead , rose back from the dead . His pernicious and arcane self opened at his therapist . The Dolans couldn’t be happier . Apathy no longer lived between them . No invidious implication wafting around the tensed atmosphere. Just some more scarce , anticipated details and Dolan would finally fall into blithely.

Andy planted the usual good morning kiss on his wife . Excusing himself for his aimless absence on lunch and venturing to the car . The fraction of 2 to months without seeing Y/N, made him tacit. Where was the power Dolan’s hold ? He couldn’t falter, not now. He would withhold and keep things conservative. His conscience screamed no , but he shut it off , not wanting to trust his instincts . Choosing the obliviousness.

Approaching her modern like house , the cars of topical police confused his comprehension. Incompetent to walk inside , albeit he promised not to care - a part which was got circumvented - some of his worry remained to Y/N . “Officer , is she okay ?” the concern in his eyes made the blue - dressed man doubt his accusation . “Sir , are you Mr.Dolan ?” the man let his white scribbling block down , paying full attention to the brunette . “In the flesh .” two more patrols approaching, no feeling of timidity in their eyes . His envision had to be mendacious . A prosaic one , more realistic. “Andy Dolan you are arrested for the murder of Y/N Y/L/N” his conception blurred, everything changing into automatic. His eyes caught the figure of his wife talking to another police man - she wouldn’t? Would she ?

Everything happened so quickly, the metal handcuffs were clutched onto his hand, the ignominious state making him sentient. He would go to prison and there was no denial in that . At least he would leave Eden .

/////////////// Now \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

He had learnt the news . Mariah was in all this . She had been informed about Andy’s illegal affair , not only with women but with drugs , too . On the one side, she had managed to plan her husband’s perfect suicide but the contradiction she received made her tentative. Therefore she visited the professionals . Sherlock’s beneficial - for both Mariah and him- and handily trap got Dolan arrested . They had planned everything, even the littlest detail . The plan was easy , yet complicated.

He would wake up at 7:15 a.m. as always . Head to the kitchen to make his morning coffee , catch up with Mariah who would accidentally leave the house . His phone would remind him about his last meeting with Y/N , where she would end up thing with him . Or what Mariah had decided to do for her . Y/N had left the island months ago when Mrs.Dolan appeared in her house and threatened to kill her and her soon-to-be-born child. As Andy would drive his way , Sherlock would leave his fingerprint everywhere , placing them carefully at the edges of the gun . Next step would be Y/N’s doppelgänger, nice and murdered next to the white rug .

-

The unbearable route of the dull prison . The thousand of men behind the metal bars , hungry for every kind of fight and sexual intercourse nettled his every atom . Compelling himself not to communicate with anyone , Andy , who had received a life imprisonment lost and the last bit of faith . There was no salvation for him , it never existed . “You have a letter .” the word taking him out of his dwelling thoughts. His family never sent him letters , not that they were coming . Drugs were forbidden, or that was the law applied . “Sender ?” “Unknown .” Andy wasn’t in the mood for playing games . This almost one years in prison erased all of his lenient future. Additionally, alleviating his last mendacious fantasies about life .

Taking the rigid piece of paper , the handwriting of a woman caught his attention . Refraining himself from toring it apart and throwing it to the trash can , he want for abstinence. Cutting the edges with a small knife which used to hide right down his pillow , the form a photo fall on the floor . Inhaling a piece of pure reluctance , Andy took the shiny piece of paper between his hands . The silhouettes of two girls laughing at each other quirked his eye brow . But her ineffable and disheveled beauty stopped his breath . A baby adjoining her side , made him caught the implication . The transparent eligibility to join this family causing him to incandescent. That was his child and his Y/N .

Last thing , eyes traveling at the bottom of the photo

- SHOT WITH NIKON 456 | 6/4/2021 | 7:56 p.m.

And they were alive .

////////////////////////////////////////

Tag list ; @ferndolan @brooklinn13 @lavenderahs @mllxngdonswife @kitty4860

If anyone wants to be removed or added just say it lol

[angelswatchingover]

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how, if Supernatural wanted a nostalgic call back in their series finale, instead of wiping out everything the boys had ever learned, they should have called back to what is generally considered the best episode of the entire series, Swan Song. And a brilliant way to do that would have been to have Jack be the narrator, paralleling Chuck in Swan Song. Ugh! I can just imagine it...

Jack’s voice over flashbacks montage-style: On May 15th 2008, Dean Winchester was dragged to hell after making a deal to save his brother’s life. On that day thousands of angels, the most powerful weapons in the universe, converged on hell all with a singular mission: to save the Righteous Man. Most didn’t know that the true nature of their quest was to start the Apocalypse that would change the world. Most didn’t make it out alive… For 40 years they fought, battling hoards of demons and even their Fallen brethren in the unfathomable depths of hell’s expanse. None of the angels knew which one of them would find and raise the man from the pit since this was a chapter that Chuck hadn’t thought to write carefully. By chance or fate or purely the passion of his will, the angel Castiel was the first to find Dean Winchester. By all accounts, he shouldn’t have been a special angel, just a grunt in a vast celestial army. But the moment he gripped Dean and raised him from perdition became the most important moment in the history of the universe. In that moment everything changed. That’s where this part of the story began. And here’s where it ends.

The episode continues on with Sam and Dean living post-Chuck life but Dean is still passing out drunk in mourning and struggling with the loss of Cas. Sam still does laundry and Dean still cuddles Miracle but it’s Sam who finds the Pie Festival in hopes of getting Dean out of his funk. At the festival, we get an emotional moment between Sam and Dean. Dean tells Sam that he can’t shake the guilt and they need to get Cas back. They decide that family doesn’t end with blood and they’ve got to do what they can to save him. Maybe Book of the Damned, maybe Rowena, maybe Jack. Who knows? You get the idea... they research.

Next Jack narration: Castiel, of course, was never supposed to be exceptional. Angels weren’t created with free will and he was no different, but there was always something special about him. He was the angel with the crack in his chassis but from that crack sprung a miracle… an angel who would chose free will and chose love.

Back to Sam and Dean. They prepare to save Cas. Dean prays to Jack who of course, is on board to help save his father. It was great to see Bobby in the finale and hear about heaven’s changes so maybe the spell requires a soul from heaven or something. Jack brings Bobby and he reveals that Jack is fixing heaven and that Bobby is now with Karen and he sees Mary and Ellen and Rufus and they are all happy. They plan the spell to save Cas. Also, Sam and Dean have a heart to heart about what’s next. They both want to keep saving people and hunting things, but maybe do it smarter and also have a life.

Another break to Jack narration: What does it mean for an angel to love? For Castiel, it meant questioning his faith and finding it again in his new family. It wasn’t always an easy journey, but he had two good teachers in the Winchesters. Sam taught him to always keep fighting, no matter the circumstances. And Dean taught him how to love with his whole heart and to be willing to do anything for that love. And sometimes, it was just to love life itself, in all of it’s simple pleasures. The flavors of a PB&J sandwich, movie marathons in the Dean cave, listening to Dean’s top 13 Zepp traxx, and late at night when its quiet in the bunker, deep talks with Dean over a glass of good whiskey. Love, it turns out, would be worth it all.

Back to our story – The ritual goes south, of course, and they get caught by the Empty. It isn’t going to let Castiel go and it’s going to kill Dean, but Cas rips out his grace so that he’s not an angel any more and the Empty has no claim on him. He and Dean are expelled back to Earth to hugs from Sam and Jack. Cas seems sad and worried about being a human, but Dean tells him he’s got a home with the Winchesters and tells Cas how much he is valued, not for his angel powers, but just for who he is (paralleling what Cas had told Jack). This eventually leads to an awkward ‘me to’ or ‘I love you too’ and a kiss.

Begin ending montage of Sam, Eileen, Dean, and Cas living life: on hunts, at the beach – toes in the sand, pregnant Eileen, a kid or two at what looks like a family picnic with our main four and the Wayward ladies and Garth etc., driving down a back road in the Impala, injuries and fights, in the bunker on the phone with hunters, aging together, you get the idea… a balanced life.  

Final cut to Jack narration: So, was it all worth it? The pain and the struggle and the losses? I think it was. Because at the end of the day what’s all of this about? It’s about the life we choose and the bonds that we make along the way. It’s about learning to love someone else and learning to love yourself. And above all, it’s about knowing that we fight for each other because we aren’t in this alone.

Fade to black.

One of the things I loved about Swan Song was that narration. It gave the whole episode a feeling of gravitas that 15x20 severely lacked. If Jack had narrated this as the new God the way Chuck had, it could have hit on SPN’s most important themes: love, always keep fighting, you are not alone, family don’t end with blood. Instead what we got was a hollow callback to times before all of those lessons learned and growth. Excuse me while I got punch a wall.

[kateknowsdramas]

What makes The Rebel Princess so special?

First, to the Anon who asked if I was going to watch and I said I wasn’t. I’m sorry. I was wrong. Mea culpa. After seeing @dangermousie​ post about it, I got intrigued enough to start it and, man, this show is a masterpiece. 

I don’t watch a lot of Chinese dramas because of two general reasons. First, the length. They are, for the most part, upwards of 60+ episodes and honestly, that’s a lot for me. Chinese dramas generally have an episode a night with a small break and when I’m watching a lot of KDramas (like now), keeping up with a show that long is difficult. Second, I like happy endings unless I really know what I’m getting into (*cough*TheWolf*cough*). If I’m going to invest 60 or more hours in a show, I want my OTP together and happy in the end.

But I thought, hey, I’ll give this a try and if I like it, I’ll just watch when I can. By episode 6, I was pretty solidly impressed and now at episode 14, I’m in hook line and sinker for this show and this OTP. 

Why? I’m so glad you asked even though you didn’t but I’m going to tell you anyway.

The OTP. These two. Boy howdy, y’all, I didn’t think I would have this couple on my top 5 OTP of all time list by episode 14 but here we are. Zhang Zi Yi is amazing. Period. I don’t give a rat’s furry behind that she’s supposed to be 15 in the first couple of episodes even though she’s obviously not. Because she’s magnetic. She plays lighter scenes with a sweet innocence but she absolutely  shines in the quiet, strong moments of her being a princess. And, man, is she a princess. Even though she’s supposedly a ‘pampered’ member of the royal family, she’s not immature, selfish or annoying. She’s kind at heart but she’s not putting up with anyone’s BS.  I don’t think I’ve ever loved a CDrama heroine this much.

Zhou Yi Wei honestly isn’t my ‘type’ in a guy. He’s ruggedly handsome in his way but when I started the drama I was kind of like, ‘eh he’s fine for the part.’ But now? Friends, I am shook. He portrays Xiao Qi with such a gravitas that is, to overuse the term, magnetic. The character isn’t cruel or dismissive, he cares about his men and adores A’wu. And I mean ADORES her. He talks with her, is open and protective but pushes her when she needs it. 

This is a ride or die OTP and that is my ultimate favorite thing ever. (Look at how he stares at her and smiles! Dead. I am dead.)

This show isn’t dubbed. When I watch dubbed CDramas, I get this sense of disconnection from the characters because it’s not the actors voices. Not here.  The scenes feel grounded because you’re hearing the actors talk and emote rather than having a high pitched actress voice the female lead and a husky guy do the male voice. Zhou Yi Wei has a nice, soft voice and I’m so glad I get to hear it because it makes the character so much more real.

The most important aspect and what makes this show so special for me is that it thrives and relishes its quiet moments. That is not a usual thing for longer dramas. Normally, there’s lots of plots and scheming and it feels chaotic and loud. Sure, there’s scheming and plotting in Rebel Princess because palace politics and all but that’s not what drives the show. This drama isn’t afraid to spend 3 minutes on a scene with no dialogue showing A’wu embroidering a cloak for Xiao Qi. It’s beautiful and intimate. 

The scene where Xiao Qi tells Awu the truth about why he married her and the fact that her father is a scheming jerk is rooted in the softness and quiet of the moment. No yelling or screaming. She’s not freaking out or taking the acting over the top- she’s heartbroken and you feel her pain as she sits and cries softly. When she breaks, at first she wants to cry alone but then gently calls his name and he’s instantly to her side holding her. He helps her shed the rose colored glasses in which she viewed her family - particularly her father - and he simply holds her. And she holds him back, clinging to him because he’s utterly hers now. 

There’s scene after scene like this. Just the two of them together - sometimes alone - where they just talk and it’s captivating. The two of them are literal magic together. They play off each other perfectly - flirty, soft, fun...you can feel how much they love each other in those moments. 

There’s plenty of action to come and I know from Mousie’s post there’s some great moments of Awu being even more of a badass and I can’t wait for that. 

So, yeah, it’s not just a great show, it’s an amazing show. This couple has captivated me as much as any OTP I’ve loved up to this point. 

I leave you with another soft moment cause they’re so good at it. 

[saligiare]

desertgourd​:

Gaara had in fact never heard of churchkhela and told Addhir as such. In truth, days of palace celebration - ones that did not solely revolve around him, in any case - were some of his favorites. The rote matters played out like any other day, but tenfold: Drenched in gold-lined finery; exuding the poise and gravitas so demanded by his role; doling out greetings to what felt like hundreds of attendees whose names and stations he had, of course, memorized. These great parties were a time to show off and be shown off. It would not do to disappoint the king.

But as the formalities gave way to revelry he would sip at glasses of honeyed wine, watch the hired musicians strum well into the night, and not be miserable to do it. In years past he had made light conversation with other courtiers from neighboring lands and occasionally be provided a young lady with whom to dance. If the night went well he would watch his father’s face soften from its block of stone as the fruits of his kingdom’s labor prospered.

It was with these memories in mind that an impractical paranoia roiled with his excitement, playing out every detail that might go awry, every tragedy that would thwart their plans. It lingered on his mind still, the palace feast and their escape standing only a single day apart.

“What sort of tricks do you think Hassan will play, exactly? You’ve been vague so far.” Gaara was not ignorant to his own naivete of the outside world, but neither was he foolish. He would not allow Hassan to swindle him out of money, or change the agreed-upon plan; he would not be led down dark alleys or stray from the safety of crowds. He would bring a not substantial amount of coin, and nothing which could reveal his true identity. In a sense, Addhir would act as a bodyguard: Quick-witted and understanding more of the common life than Gaara ever would, his very presence would dissuade Hassan from any particularly ominous plans, and he could suss out anything suspicious from the start.

  Addhir shrugged. It was unwise to scare Gaara more than what level of caution seemed necessary for authenticity’s sake, least he ended up changing his mind after all. Asmodeus was certain that he could keep the young prince safe as long as that one didn’t stray off or do anything too stupid. Considering that he was taking the human teenage equivalent of a purebred Persian out for a stroll without an actual leash though, maybe it was too much to ask. His hope lay with the boy’s generally composed disposition and his own talent for improvisation. But just because Asmodeus was powerful enough to fight any shark stalking them in these waters, didn’t mean that Addhir was, too.

  “He could break his promise and not meet us to go back inside. He could hire somebody to overwhelm us in a moment of poor attention”, the servant mused, eyes once again hovering above the chess board.

  “I don’t know. I only know that he wields dark magic, and that he does not have a thought to spare for the suffering of others. He does as he pleases. And I would hate nothing more than my prince to be hurt for a flea I planted in his ear. I want that night to be positively unforgettable. And who knows? Maybe I will be lucky enough to see you smile, just once.”

[superman86to99]

Superman #85 (January 1994)

Cat Grant in... "DARK RETRIBUTION"! Which is like normal retribution, but somehow darker. On the receiving end of Cat's darktribution is Winslow Schott, the Toyman, who suddenly changed his MO from "pestering Superman with wacky robots" to "murdering children" back on Superman #84, with one of his victims being Cat's young son Adam. Now Cat has a gun and intends to sneak it into prison to use it on Toyman. She's also pretty pissed at Superman for taking so long to find Toyman after Adam’s death (to be fair, Superman did lose several days being frozen in time by an S&M demon, as seen in Man of Steel #29).

So how did Superman find Toyman anyway? Basically, by spying on like 25% of Metropolis. After finding out from Inspector Turpin that the kids were killed near the docks, Superman goes there and focuses all of his super-senses to get "a quick glimpse of every person" until he sees a bald, robed man sitting on a giant crib, and goes "hmmm, yeah, that looks like someone who murders children." At first, Superman doesn't understand why Toyman would do such a horrible thing, but then Schott starts talking to his mommy in his head and the answer becomes clear: he watched Psycho too many times (or Dan Jurgens did, anyway).

Immediately after wondering why no one buys his toys, Toyman makes some machine guns spring out of his giant crib. I don't know, man, maybe it's because they're all full of explosives and stuff? Anyway, Toyman throws a bunch of exploding toys at Superman, including a robot duplicate of himself, but of course they do nothing. Superman takes him to jail so he can get the help he needs -- which, according to Cat, is a bullet to the face. Or so it seems, until she gets in front of him, pulls the trigger, and...

PSYCHE! It was one of those classic joke guns I’ve only ever seen in comics! Cat says she DID plan to bring a real gun, but then she saw one of these at a toy store and just couldn't resist. Superman, who was watching the whole thing, tells Cat she could get in trouble for this stunt, but he won't tell anyone because she's already been through enough. Then he asks her if she needs help getting home and she says no, because she wants to be more self-sufficient.

I think that's supposed to be an inspiring ending, but I don't know... Adam's eerie face floating in the background there makes me think she's gonna shave her head and climb into a giant crib any day, too. THE END!

Character-Watch:

Cat did become more self-sufficient after this, though. Up to now, all of her storylines seemed to revolve around other people: her ex-husband, Morgan Edge, José Delgado, Vinnie Edge, and finally Toyman. After this, I feel like there was a clear effort to turn her into a character that works by herself. I actually like what they did with Cat in the coming years, though I still don’t think they had to kill her poor kid to do that -- they could have sent him off to boarding school, or maybe to live with his dad. Or with José Delgado, over at Power of Shazam! I bet Jerry Ordway would have taken good care of him.

Plotline-Watch:

Wait, so can Superman just find anyone in Metropolis any time he wants? Not really: this is part of the ongoing storyline about his powers getting boosted after he came back from the dead, which sounds pretty useful now but is about to get very inconvenient.

Don Sparrow points out: "It is interesting that as Superman tries to capture Schott, he at one point instead captures a robot decoy, particularly knowing what Geoff Johns will retroactively do to this storyline in years to come, in Action Comics #865, as we mentioned in our review of Superman #84." Johns also explained that the robot thought he was hearing his mother's voice due to the real Toyman trying to contact him via radio, which I prefer to the "psycho talks to his dead mom" cliche.

Superman says "I never thought he'd get to the point where he'd KILL anyone -- especially children!" Agreed about the children part but, uh, did Superman already forget that Toyman murdered a whole bunch people on his very first appearance, in Superman #13? Or does Superman not count greedy toy company owners as people? Understandable, I guess.

There's a sequence about Cat starting a fire in a paper basket at the prison to sneak past the metal detector, but why do that if she had a toy gun all long? Other than to prevent smartass readers like us from saying "How did she get the gun into the prison?!" before the plot twist, that is.

Patreon-Watch:

Shout out to our patient Patreon patrons, Aaron, Murray Qualie, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush, Raphael Fischer, Dave Shevlin, and Kit! The latest Patreon-only article was about another episode of the 1988 Superman cartoon written by Marv Wolfman, this one co-starring Wonder Woman (to Lois' frustration).

Another Patreon perk is getting to read Don Sparrow's section early, because he usually finishes his side of these posts long before I do (he ALREADY finished the next one, for instance). But now this one can be posted in public! Take it away, Don:

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow​):

We begin with the cover, and it’s a good one— an ultra tight close up for Cat Grant firing a .38 calibre gun, with the titular Superman soaring in, perhaps too late.  An interesting thing to notice in this issue (and especially on the cover) is that the paper stock that DC used for their comics changed, so slightly more realistic shading was possible.  While it’s nowhere near the sophistication or gloss of the Image Comics stock of the time, there is an attempt at more realistic, airbrushy type shading in the colour.  It works well in places, like the muzzle flash, on on Cat Grant’s cheeks and knuckles, but less so in her hair, where the shadow looks a browny green on my copy.

The interior pages open with a pretty good bit of near-silent storytelling.  We are deftly shown, and not told the story—there are condolence cards and headlines, and the looming presence of a liquor bottle, until we are shown on the next page splash the real heart of the story, a revolver held aloft by Catherine Grant, bereaved mother, with her targeting in her mind the grim visage of the Toyman.

While their first few issues together meshed pretty well, it’s around  this issue that the pencil/inks team of Jurgens and Rubinstein starts to look a little rushed in places.  A few inkers who worked with Jurgens that I’ve spoken to have hinted that his pencils can vary in their level of detail, from very finished  to pretty loose, and in the latter case, it’s up to the inker to embellish where there’s a lack of detail.  Some inkers, like Brett Breeding, really lay down a heavier hand, where there’s quite a bit of actual drawing work in addition to adding value and weight to the lines.  I suspect some of the looseness in the figures, as well as empty  backgrounds reveals that these pencils were less detailed than we often  see from Jurgens.

There’s some weird body language in the tense exchange between Superman and Cat as she angrily confronts him about his lack of progress in capturing her son’s killer—Superman  looks a little too dynamic and pleased with himself for someone ostensibly apologizing. Superman taking flight to hunt down Toyman is classic Jurgens, though.

Another example of art weirdness comes on page 7, where Superman gets filled in on the progress of the Adam Morgan investigation.  Apparently Suicide Slum has some San Francisco-like hills, as that is one very steep sidewalk separating Superman and Turpin from some central-casting looking punks.

The  sequence of Superman concentrating his sight and hearing on the  waterfront area is well-drawn, and it’s always nice to see novel uses of his powers.  Tyler Hoechlin’s Superman does a similar trick quite often on the excellent first season of Superman & Lois.  The full-bleed splash of Superman breaking through the wall to capture Toyman is definitely panel-of-the-week material, as we really feel Superman’s rage and desperation to catch this child-killer.

Pretty much all the pages with Cat Grant confronting Winslow Schott are  well-done and tensely paced.  While sometimes I think the pupil-less  flare of the eye-glasses is a cop-out, it does lend an opaqueness and mystery to what Toyman is thinking.  Speaking of cop-outs, the gag gun twist ending really didn’t work for me.  I was glad that Cat didn’t lower herself to Schott’s level and become a killer, even for revenge, but the prank gun just felt too silly of a tonal shift for a storyline with this much gravitas.  The breakneck denouement that Cat is now depending only on herself didn’t get quite enough breathing room either.

While I appreciated that the ending of this issue avoided an overly simplistic, Death Wish style of justice, this issue extends this troubling but brief era of Superman comics. The casual chalk outlines of  yet two more dead children continues the high body count of the  previous handful of issues, and the tone remains jarring to me.  The issue is also self-aware enough to point out, again, that Schott is  generally an ally of children, and not someone who historically wishes  them harm, but that doesn’t stop the story from going there, in the most  violent of terms. In addition to being a radical change to the Toyman  character, it’s handled in a fashion more glib than we’re used to seeing  in these pages.  The mental health cliché of a matriarchal obsession, a la Norman Bates doesn’t elevate it either.  So, another rare misstep  from Jurgens the writer, in my opinion.   STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

I  had thought for sure that Romanove Vodka was a sly reference to a certain Russian Spy turned Marvel superhero, but it turns out there  actually is a Russian Vodka called that, minus the “E”, produced not in Russia, as one might think from the Czarist name, but rather, India.

While it made for an awkward exchange, I was glad that Cat pointed out how  her tragedy more or less sat on the shelf while Superman dealt with the "Spilled Blood" storyline.  A lesser book might not have acknowledged any  time had passed. Though I did find it odd for Superman to opine that he  wanted to find her son’s murderer even more than she wanted him to.  Huh?  How so?

I love the detail that Toyman hears the noise of Superman soaring to capture him, likening it to a train coming.

I  quibble, but there’s so much I don’t understand about the “new” Toyman.  If he’s truly regressing mentally, to an infant-like state, why does he wear this phantom of the opera style long cloak while he sits in his baby crib?  Why not go all the way, and wear footie pajamas, like the lost souls on TLC specials about “adult babies”?

I get that Cat Grant is in steely determination mode, but it seemed a little out of place that she had almost no reaction to the taunting she faced from her child’s killer.  She doesn’t shed a single tear in the entire issue, and no matter how focused she is on vengeance, that doesn’t seem realistic to me. [Max: That's because this is not just retribution, Don. It's dark retribution. We’ve been over this!]