#every single time I wear an outfit with sequins

[gods-favorite-autistic]

Spring show was great and I am prepared to be finding sequins for the next week

[live-laugh-lenney]

i extensively think about george having a swiftie gf and not only does he sit and listen to her explain the backstories behind each song and the parallels in lyrics but he surprises her with eras tour tickets and his ig story the entire night is just videos of his girl having the time of her life screaming the lyrics to lover to him <3

this is so cute, oh my-

in the weeks leading up to the show in london, she's preparing outfits for them.

she's scouring the internet for inspiration, saving ideas on a pinterest account that she made specifically for her eras show she was going to attend with george, looking on every single website she can find online when she had a spare moment to get an idea for more than 1 outfit. sending screenshots to george to see what his opinions were, what he was planning on wearing and whether she could alter his outfit so it seemed fitting to the theme of the eras tour.

and when the day comes, it's like a second christmas day for her.

she's up early in the morning so she could enjoy the whole day, she's blasting taylor swift songs around the flat which wakes up the rest of the boys which they couldn't be mad at, for too long, because she was having so much fun singing and dancing around the kitchen as she made breakfast and she was so excited for the show that night that they could dampen her spirits, speaking about nothing else but the night to come.

george has a whole day planned out for her, too.

they spend all morning getting ready together. she plays her music during her shower (which george shares with her because it's the one thing he enjoys doing knowing the boys can't really hear them over the sound of the water), she laughs when george sings along to some of the music because he had definitely been learning a few of her songs so he didn't seem out of place at wembley, and she even goes to town on decorating his face with glitter and some fancy patterns so he really looked the part. and once they're dressed in their almost matching outfits, lots of sequins glistening in the sunlight filtering through the windows and a cowboy hat for both of them on their heads, they get arthur to take photos of them before they disappear out the front door for the day.

they go out for an early dinner where they consume cocktails and she posts it online because she's really having the best day of her life with the one guy she truly loves. the one guy she wanted there with her. in her eyes, he had truly given her the best gift and she was thankful for the effort he had put in to make sure she had a great time. so by the time they're in wembley, they're a little buzzed and she's even more excited when she realises he's got floor tickets for her... which was more than she ever imagined.

and people recognise them, once they're seen inside of the venue, of course!

so lots of friendship bracelets are shared and exchanged with his fans and photos are taken; she even agrees to be a part of someone's tiktok video that george finds absolutely hilarious to witness. where yn wasn't someone well-known or on social media as often as he was, it felt ironic for him stand back and watch his girlfriend take his place on the app. and it made yn feel loved and included amongst those who love george for his content.

there's one photo posted between the two of them...

... and it's on george's instagram. a photo of yn with her back to the camera, arms in the air, as she's mid-dancing to one of her favourite songs playing on the setlist. a photo that george wanted to keep forever because she was in her element. and he felt pride to know she was truly enjoying herself.

"that was the best night of my life," she cries softly, cheeks absolutely sodden with tears of happiness once the show had finished, standing in the middle of the almost empty floor space with confetti littering the floor, her arms wrapping around his neck as she presses a kiss to his cheek, "thank you, george."

"you're welcome, rascal," he grins widely, wrapping his arms around her waist and hugging her close to his chest, her cheek resting on his clothed shoulder, "i'm glad you had the best night, babe."

"it was even better spending it with you," she admits and looks up at him, "seriously, i have no idea how i'm going to top a surprise for you."

"i'm not expecting anything in return, silly girl," he laughs and shakes his head, "just seeing you happy is enough for me, yeah?"

she nods and looks around as the fans around them start to make their way to the exits of the venue, "we should start heading home. as much as i'd love to stay here all night, i can feel my throat has been ripped to shreds."

"let's go," george unravels his arms from her waists and slips his fingers between hers, "plenty of tea for you over the next couple of days." xx

[lanternburning19]

I talked a little bit about this on that Loverfest outfit poll, but Taylor always "previews" the outfits she will wear on tour in earlier performances. I thought this would be interesting to add to my #taylortouroutfits series. So starting with the Fearless tour, there's some interesting predictive programming:

Let's start with the first single of the Fearless era, Love Story. Taylor performed this song live for the first time at the 2008 CMA awards. The stage was decorated to look like a castle, and Taylor wore a purple ball gown. Before the end of the song, she changed into a white wedding dress, complete with a headband. Taylor did something VERY similar with her Fearless Tour performance of this song, just minus the fountain and guest appearance by Justin Gaston. She wore a red ball gown, and changed into a white dress and matching headband:

Fans noticed that the white Love Story wedding dress was the exact same one as the prom dress she wore in the You Belong With Me music video.

Speaking of You Belong With Me, Taylor has an evolution of performance outfits with this one, going all the way back to the Fearless album photoshoot. Taylor was depicted as a marching band nerd in the album booklet next to the printed lyrics of this song. She wore a blue and black marching band outfit and her signature blue nerd glasses (which I think were actually hers she wore irl). So observant fans were not surprised when she wore a similar blue and black marching band outfit in the You Belong With Me music video. For the Fearless Tour, Taylor also wore a marching band uniform. This one was yellow, white, and gold - colors that would become associated with the Fearless album.

One of Taylor's signature looks at this point in her career was sundresses and cowboy boots. So fans were not surprised when Taylor stepped out on stage in a sundress and cowboy boots during the Fearless Tour.

Notably, this outfit is worn during the b stage portion of the show, when Taylor sings Tim McGraw, a song off of her first album. And the sundress and cowboy boots look is mostly associated with her first album.

The other signature look for Taylor at the time was sparkly dresses. Specifically, Taylor frequently wore a sequined sleeveless shift dress. Taylor had multiples of this dress in every color - blue, silver, gold, etc. I freaked out a little when I noticed Taylor brought back this signature look - this time in red - for the Fearless Tour. Another fun little fact about this dress is that she wore a silver version of it when she performed with the Jonas Brothers. And on the Fearless Tour, she wore the red version of this dress during Forever and Always, a song about Joe Jonas.

Finally, the guitars. The guitars might as well be considered accessories to Taylor's tour outfits. Taylor first debuted this silver sparkly guitar in the Our Song music video. And Taylor brought out the same guitar to play Our Song on the Fearless Tour (and Our Song only! She played Fearless on the koa guitar).

And for the finale. Taylor wore a black strappy dress for her performance of Should've Said No at the ACM awards in 2008. Taylor wore a similar black strappy dress for her performance of Should've Said No on the Fearless Tour (for the first few shows).

[pixemix153]

Making a choice for the day’s attire using Pixemix designs

Our lives revolve heavily around textiles. The global market has long been controlled by the production, sale, and use of textiles and everything related to them. However, not every cloth that is produced possesses all the desirable characteristics. Others are created for distinctiveness, while others are created for fashion. But only a few fabrics provide comfort with fashion, which is the icing on the cake. Fabrics that give the wearer a stylish appearance and necessary comfortability whenever and wherever they need it have been in high demand for a long time. While certain textiles are created especially for special occasions, the majority of fabrics are created for everyday use.

It is really unpleasant to wear clothing that has stains on it and is soaked in sweat. As the temperature rises, the unpleasant sensation just gets worse. The hot, humid summers in India can make you feel uncomfortable and sticky. The last thing you want when it’s hot outside is for a garment to bunch up, stick to your skin, and accumulate sweat, leaving you feeling uncomfortable and sticky. The right kind of heat-resistant clothing is crucial for the summer. People desire airy, sturdy, cosy materials in light colours.

When Floral print come into trend, we discover a charm of lovely ethnic wear items wrapped up in their valles. These designs range from simple tulips to tiny sunflowers printed all over to the statement isolated print of blossom.

Your attire represents your style, which in turn reflects your fashion, which says a lot about who you are. Going about your regular business in style is just as important as the fashion statement you make on special occasions. In this case, OOTD is helpful. What I Wore Today, often known as OOTD or Outfit of the Day, is a version that allows you to communicate with others what you are wearing or intend to wear on a certain day.

It can be really difficult to dress stylishly every day, but thankfully you have us. Here are a few straightforward tips to help you choose your outfit for the day.

Do not combine too many floral pattern or prints in one outfit. It will be difficult to choose a single noticeable print or pattern that is more aesthetically pleasing as a result.

To create balance in an ensemble, choose a single print as the main focus point and add complementary pieces in varied patterns and prints all around it. It is preferable to use checks or stripes for this rather than more elaborate designs like plaids or animal prints.

Try with different Doodle leaves textures and weights when combining materials, such as lace against sequins or lighter and heavier fibres. It’s crucial to strike a balance between the prints and patterns so they complement one another without being overwhelming.

Avoid using designs with multicoloured doodle pattern because they could look monotonous or crowded.

By blending patterns with comparable colours, you may avoid wearing too many colours all at once. Carefully chosen complementary designs must be used. Pixemix.com is one of the best websites for current designs because it gives thousands of fabrics pattern designs that you may mix and combine.

Pair prints and patterns with plain clothing items, such as pattern with leaves t-shirts, trousers, and skirts, to achieve a minimalist look. To keep things simple and prevent clashing looks, use patterns that are similar but not identical.

To rapidly mix and match, concentrate on the accessories. It aids in striking a balance between your personal style and your outside look. Use a small print in conjunction with a larger design to prevent looking overly cluttered.

Also with the use of these designs or the Graphic Bundle Pack, which will attract more attention, you may make the design stunning and bright.

[muppetable]

As many fanders have noticed, in Can Lying Be Good, Thomas’s shirt is a floral/skull reverse sequin pattern. It’s split for the majority of the video…

Then when Janus reveals himself, it’s all skull…

And then once Patton is back, it’s all floral.

This symbolism just goes to show that even the smallest things make the big differences and heightens the stakes.

While on the subject of Can Lying Be Good, let’s touch on Janus- but not the snake half of him, just his outfit.

He wears a black suit, golden gloves, a gold chain, and a bowler hat. What’s interesting is that C!Thomas has stated he doesn’t like yellow and that his head isn’t built for hats. The detail here is that Janus has been described as everything C!Thomas doesn’t want to be or like about himself, so taking on a persona with his least favorite color and an article of clothing he doesn’t like is perfect for Janus’s character.

As of now, Remus is the last side to be introduced. His outfit is all black except for his glittery green sash, which is messy and frankly not well kept. He has silver streaks of hair and a mustache.

Remus having a messy tulle sash compared to a sleek satin one like Roman is another interesting detail about his wardrobe, as he’s literally doing anything he can to make it clear he and Roman are brothers, but also doesn’t want to be affiliated with his “unicorn horns and dragon tails”.

Another detail I want to mention goes back to hairstyles, like I mentioned in the first post. Remus’s silver hair and mustache ties back to how I said Virgil is the only light side to have a different style of hair than the others. Janus’s hair is clearly much smoother than the light sides as well. This leads me to believe that Virgil’s bangs are still a part of his past as a dark side.

On the subject of Dark Sides, all the sides that wear black are dark sides, aside from Logan, which enhances the theory about him becoming the orange side. But I won’t go into too much detail with that, that’s a tangent for another time.

Character archetypes can be communicated well through wardrobe- The loving dad, the impatient teacher, the dashing prince, the quiet kid, the slithering snake, the evil twin. Sanders Sides does this with ease, and even uses them for metaphors like the skull shirt. One more reblog coming soon to discuss their Halloween costumes (only the ones from embarrassing phases because jesus i don’t have time to discuss every single thing they’ve ever worn)

The Importance of Wardrobe in Sanders Sides

Sanders Sides is a great show, discussing how deep the characters are even as just facets of one person’s personality. One way this is done is by use of wardrobe.

Let’s look at the basic gist of the characters, in order of their first appearance. At first, C!Thomas. He doesn’t really use wardrobe to express his own character. Mainly he just wears whatever shirt is at the top of his laundry pile. This does change later, but we’ll get into that.

Logan is the first side to appear. He wears a black shirt and a blue tie, along with square glasses. He is the teacher character from Thomas’s vines, and dresses as such. This is because he represents logic, as clear as it is.

Next to appear is Roman. He wears Thomas’s slightly messy prince outfit, also from vines. Out of all of Thomas’s vine characters, the Prince is one of the most creative ideas, including several original lyrics to parody Disney songs, so it only makes sense.

Then Patton appears. As the dad character from Thomas’s vines, he has a cardigan tied around his neck, a blue shirt, and glasses.

Virgil takes a bit longer to show up, but when he does he has slight black eyeshadow and a thrifted black hoodie. He is the only one to have his hair styled different from the others until Remus, having messy bangs going over his eyes rather than slicked to the side like the rest of the Light Sides. He played a villain character against Prince in a few vines, reminiscent of his villain arc for the first season.

What’s really interesting is the eyeshadow. In Accepting Anxiety 2/2, each Side progressively wears darker black eyeshadow. This shows that this is only a trait of Virgil and his room. (Tumblr is already lagging because of how long this is getting, so I’m only putting an image of Roman here.)

From this point on, Virgil’s eyeshadow is much darker. Then the costume change happens, at the beginning of s2.

Roman is the first to change, now wearing a more put together costume. His emblem is a shield and castle, representing his need to defend Thomas from harm and possibly the mind palace as well.

Logan and Patton don’t change too much- Logan has a slightly different tie and his own logo, while Patton wears a cat hoodie and also has his logo.

Virgil admits he likes Thomas’s purple hair, and adds purple patches to his hoodie. His emblem is a storm cloud, mirroring his gloomy nature and sudden panic.

After that, Janus is the next side to appear. But we aren’t talking about his design- yet. Remember how at the start of this post, C!Thomas doesn’t have a unique style until later? This is when that comes into play. I’ll explain this in a reblog because I’ve hit the max for images.

[springloveswinter]

I’ve seen some people complaining that Harry’s outfit was “disappointing” and “underwhelming” or whatever, and it is really sad to see that, cause his outfit was actually really on-theme - camp is not meant to be something specific or expected, it relies on being unexpected and in-your-face enough to make other people look twice but also representing the identity of whoever’s wearing the piece in a way that person feels comfortable with. 

If you compare Harry’s look to Billy Porter or Ezra Miller it will obviously look understated since their outfits are very dramatic and over-the-top and even theatrical, and I’m not complaining cause they look fabulous!

However, if you take a look at (to give an example of a straight man who actually followed the theme) Darren Criss’ outfit... it looks a lot like what we’ve seen Harry wear on stage. And it fits the theme, cause stage!Harry is very very camp and flamboyant, loudly enough that people see that as his default, the masculine pieces with bright details and strong lines. So, that’s what was expected from him.

As co-chair he needed to surprise, but stay inside the overall theme - and going for the glitter, the sequins, the drama was the obvious option. But as his stylist says in the interview they gave, that was not Harry, that was not inside his off-stage comfort zone and wouldn’t have represented him in a way that felt... him. So, they went with the not so obvious choice, and focused on the details. I’m not sure who else could’ve pulled that whole outfit off, and that’s the point! This is Harry experimenting with his style to fit his personality and identity - going from his previous very masculine style with a few feminine details to this very genderfluid, almost feminine look. With it he is showcasing a very delicate and elegant side of camp in contrast to the other host’s neons and feathers and ruffles. It is supposed to make you challenge your conception of what camp is, that’s the whole point. 

PS; if you are honestly grouping this look with the horde of cishet men that dared to go to the fucking MET GALA in black suits with the tiniest detail and called it “camp”, I hope you get new glasses cause you are not seeing right.

[7nessasaryevils]

I was scrolling through YouTube shorts at work (as one does) and came across a little KP edit. And I realized something.

Every single outfit we have ever seen Tankhun in is flamboyant, snazzy and daring. The man wears colours and patterns, sequins, glitter and everything in between. Even his robe is bright pink; you could pick it out from a mile away. There’s not one moment where he ever wears something understated.

Except in one scene.

May I present, the only time, in my living memory where Tankhun is wearing the most boring outfit. Black jeans with the little glam but barely noticeable, a red shirt and a black leather jacket. His accessories are simple: ring, bracelet, necklace. Not the family ring: Kinn is the heir.

But Tankhun is the first son. And he knows something is up. He’s always known. He’s going to protect Porsche and his family and that means wearing an outfit he’ll likely get blood on.

Am I reaching? Maybe.

But tell me this episode hasn’t been pointing to Tankhun being a part of family discussions, deciding what to do as the mafia. Tell me this isn’t Tankhun maybe hearing things and seeing things and wondering if maybe he’s let his little brother suffer enough.

Maybe it’s time to take back the reigns?

[kimsohn]

like i would by zayn with jake sim!!

settle . jake x gn!reader about . 451 words, angst warnings . mentions of toxic relationship

jake shifts as the soft sunlight hits his face, and he grumbles before curling into the soft pillow in his arms, tracing the smooth covers and sequins—

wait, sequins?

his eyes shoot open, and he finds your sleeping figure in his bed, adorned in the black outfit you wore last night as you showed up crying at his door, begging for comfort. the memories rush back to his head as his eyes trace you, memorizing every inch of you before you wake up and decide to return to your toxic boyfriend.

the thought makes him scoff in disbelief. being your best friend of 10 years, jake has seen almost every version of you, and he's fallen in love with you every single time. he's watched you fall and grow to be the beautiful human you are today, and he's grown to love every single one of the so-called 'flaws' your lover berates upon.

it takes every inch of him not to pick a fight with the one person he can't. and it takes even more not to whisk you away and give you everything and more that you deserve. but jake respects and values you, and knows that when the time is right, you'll leave him on your own.

jake brushes back a strand of your hair that had fallen across your face moments prior, tracing the perfections and imperfections that adorn it. he feels a pang in his heart as his finger passes slightly drier lines upon it, symbolizing the tear streaks from before.

if you placed your heart in his hands, he'd make sure to never let a droplet from your eyes form again.

"done admiring me?" he hears, and his eyes find your now open ones, faintly red from your crying upon his favorite flannel.

he merely shakes his head, too afraid to voice out anything to disturb your peaceful face. he wishes he could see you like this forever, forever tranquil and serene within his arms.

you take his outstretched arm into yours, interlacing your fingers and cupping the side of your cheek, a gesture he knows you view as friendship. jake feels like he's wearing his overblown heart on his fingers, and at any moment you might pop it open and see his true feelings for you.

'you deserve so much better,' he wants to whisper, but instead he thumbs your soft cheek stained with the blush of an early morning, mouth sealed with the stitches of your broken heart and his.

at this very moment in time, he can't change the relationship between you two. so, for now, he'll just settle for being the shoulder you cry upon and your secret companion throughout bleary nights.

[mrs-gucci]

Mr. Handsy {Clyde Logan x wife!Reader}

@icarusinthesea :

Okay, okay. I think I've thought of something. Eh, it's a mediocre idea, but it does it for me. Fighting with Clyde followed by sweet, hot, nasty make up sex. I can not think of anything else. But whatever you write I'll love. 🥰

author’s notes: hello, hello! writers block has been hitting HARDCORE as of late, which is kind of a bummer, but luckily I’m feeling a bit better now! @icarusinthesea​ thank you for this request!! I hope it was worth the (very long) wait, and I send love to you, friend <3 <3

warnings: fluff. smut. club brawls. violence against an asshole. protectiveness. dom!Clyde. oral sex (m receiving). rough sex. unprotected sex/creampie.

(possible) tw’s: non-con touching (not by Clyde). physical conflict. sex in a public restroom.

word count: 1.9k

my general taglist peeps! @safarigirlsp @babbushka @mrs-zimmerman @dirtytissuebox @thepalaceofmelanie @einmal-im-traum @charliesahottie​ @gotham-city-uber-driver​ @gildedstarlight​ @slytheriin2002 clyde’s taglist peeps! @goddessofsprings​ @icarusinthesea​ @lumdelacour​ @readingreaver​ @eagerforhoney​ @trubluepensfan​ @beachwoodmonet​ if you’d like to be added to any of my taglists, the sign up is linked here and can also be found in my description :)

You had a bad feeling about this place from the very beginning, from the moment you stepped into this stupid sleazy club for your co-worker’s birthday.

Clyde decided to tag along, mainly to hang out with the other poor guys whose wives dragged them along tonight.

The bass pulses your eardrums as you make your way over to the booth that they’d claimed, saying some very loud ‘hi’s’ and ‘hello’s’ to everyone before taking a seat on Clyde’s lap.

Your outfit certainly matches the locale of tonight’s party, sexy and risqué while maintaining at least some coverage and dignity for your larger areas. Clyde’s been having some trouble keeping his eyes, and now that he can, his hands, off you.

His calloused flesh hand runs over your thigh and hip in a soothing manner, mindless in its movements over your exposed skin.

Soon, a good dancing song comes on and no matter how much you try to beg Clyde to join you on the crowded floor, he refuses, insisting that you go have some fun with your friends.

His eyes keep a close watch on you, knowing that unfortunately, it’s highly likely that some bonehead Joe will come along and think he can touch without permission.

He finds himself in a sort of entranced state, watching the way your hips move when you dance, watches your skin bounce and jiggle with each motion, sees the way the multicolored lights bounce off the sequins on your dress…

Sure enough, said bonehead Joe dances his way over to you, not-so-subtly checking you out from a bit of a distance before making his approach.

Clyde almost instantly leaps into action when his hand touches your hip and he slides in behind you. Thinking that the man behind you is Clyde, you start grinding against him a bit more, smirking.

But, only after a second or two, his motions and touch begin to feel awfully foreign. You’ve just truly begun to doubt your dancing partner’s identity when he leans down to whisper in your ear.

“Keep dancing like this and I’ll just have to take you home, babygirl.”

Goosebumps form on your skin in disgust the moment you hear an unfamiliar voice, yanking away from his grubby grip.

“How dar—“

“Hey, you!”

Your eyes widen and you look around the man to see a very angry-looking Clyde storming his way over to where you’re standing.

He turns the handsy man around with a hand on his shoulder, then gives him a shove. “Can’t ya see she’s married, asshole? Don’t you ever think ya can just go ‘round here, touchin’ what ain’t yours.”

“Cly—“

“Don’t ya even start with me right now, Y/N. I can’t believe ya didn’t stop ‘im, can’t believe ye kept grindin’ against ‘im.”

Your eyes widen. “Clyde, p-please, it’s not like tha—“

“I thought I told ya t’ can it, Y/N.”

You shudder at his commanding and harsh tone, immediately backing down and biting your lip as the tears swell in your eyes.

The man wears a small smirk, giving Clyde an equally rough shove backwards. “And what, you’re telling me she’s yours? Bullshit she is. Who’d ever wanna marry a one-armed redneck like you?”

Big mistake. Clyde used to just stand down and shut off whenever someone made fun of his disability, but usually now, he just gets fucking pissed.

Sure enough, his jaw clenches and he quickly lunges at Mr. Handsy, forcefully knocking him to the scuffed dance floor. Often times, mostly due to his kind and gentle demeanor, you forget that Clyde’s a veteran. A special ops veteran, at that.

You can’t deny that bearing witness to his unbridled anger and dominance isn’t at least a little bit sexy, even if you do feel incredibly guilty about not realizing sooner that it wasn’t Clyde.

Like the coward he truly is, and that many men like him are, he flees the scene quickly when he looks up and sees the anger in Clyde’s eyes.

Meanwhile, you instantly rush up to him, apologizing repeatedly. “Clyde, I’m so sorry, I thought it was you and I didn’t mean to—“

He snatches your wrist, bending down so that his hot, slightly strained breath wafts across your face. “You’d better yer slutty ass into the restroom right fuckin’ now.” He growls, letting you go.

You nod, whimpering under your breath as you scurry off into the bathroom.

He follows after you, pushing you into the single stall before reaching around to lock the door.

“Clyde, please, I’m so sorry. I promise that I didn’t know it wasn’t you until he spoke and I pulled away right after that. I would never…”

He holds a hand up and you trail off, then crosses it back over his chest along with the other. When you look up at him, ready to apologize further, he gives you a subtle head shake and a faint smile.

“Get m’ cock out.”

You know, then, that he’s not mad, and you know exactly what he wants from you. You step up to him with a small smirk and pop the button on his Levi’s, pulling the zipper down before reaching in to fish out his half-hard length.

“Now stroke it. You know how I like it.”

Your hand holds a steady grip around the protrusion, starting off slow but quickening randomly, just as he likes it.

His head tilts back onto the cheap tiled wall, nostrils flaring as he exhales shakily. “Thaaaaat’s m’ girl, just like that.”

You speed up just a bit, focusing your pressure and ministrations on the upper half of his shaft, moving the little bit of excess skin up and down his shiny pink head.

“Mmmmffhhh.” He groans through pursed lips, hips rutting forward into your touch.

Suddenly, he pushes your hand away, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to cope with the sudden loss of stimulation on his pulsing arousal.

“Knees.”

You get onto your knees, using his shoes as cushioning.

“Mouth open.”

Your jaw falls open and he wastes no time in moving himself into proper position, sheathing himself fully in your mouth.

“Ghhhohhh, s-shit.”

You’re choking right off the bat, shoulders shaking with each violent cough.

“Yeah, take it. Gon’ make ye choke on me, shove m’ cock down yer lil throat ‘till ya can’t breathe no more.”

You somehow manage to moan around him in between your gags and coughs, lungs panicked for the rough cutoff of airflow by Clyde’s length. Tears begin to swell in your eyes, soon running down your cheeks.

His eyebrows are tightly knitted in the center of his forehead, skin glistening with the beginnings of sweat as his hips rut into your cavern even quicker and rougher now.

Clyde has to physically pull himself away from your mouth, shuddering as his cock bobs and throbs angrily at the loss of friction. His hand splays out on the wall, chest heaving as he takes a moment to re-gain composure.

Then, he looks down at you, gaze sizzling your very skin.

“Up. Turn yerself ‘round n’ bend over, ass out n’ legs spread nicely.”

You put yourself into the position, wiggling your ass just a bit for play after pushing your jean shorts down, earning you a harsh smack across your newly-exposed skin. He smirks when you squeal softly, giving himself a few lazy strokes as he steps up behind you, lips instantly attacking your neck.

“Yer gon’ walk outta ‘ere with all o’ my marks on your neck, hickeys n’ bite marks. Maybe then everyone’ll understand who it is ya belong t’."

His chin digs into your shoulder, then he’s thrusting forward, filling you up and stretching you out to the max. You gasp, eyelids fluttering as your eyes roll into the back of your skull.

“Ohhhhh.”

He groans into your ear, chin digging into your shoulder as he begins fucking you fast and hard. There’s nothing gentle or romantic about this union; it’s hunger and wanting, it’s pure carnal lust.

Tears quickly swell up in your eyes at the sweet pleasure currently surging through your body, tickling every nerve ending and igniting every pleasure center. 

It’s humid in the club, the bathroom no exception and already, a sheen of sweat has formed on the surface of your skin. Clyde’s good hand takes an even firmer hold on the meat of your hips, hips thrusting at an impossibly fast pace.

“G’damnit, wrapped ‘round m-me so tight, fffuck Y/N. Such a lil’ cccunt, love shovin’ m’ b-big cock in ya, ssssplittin’ ya right in half--christ.”

You love how his accent gets thicker and thicker at times like this, so much so that sometimes you can’t even make sense of what he’s saying. It’s adorable.

“Mmm, C-Clyde! Please baby, please mmmake me cum!”

His lips latch onto the side of your neck, sucking as hard as they possibly can while he reaches around to rub your clit with the cool metal digits of his prosthetic. 

Your hips instantly grind down on him, a shaky gasp leaving your lips. “Ohh god, mmmmmfffuck--right there! Yes, yes, Clyde!”

“Say y-yer mine.” He growls into your ear, panting. “Tell everyone who ya bbbelong to. Scream ma name w-when ya cum.”

“Y-Yours, all yours, Clyde. I’m yours!” You whimper. 

Clyde fucks you with everything he’s got, biting into your skin and sucking more of the flesh until you’re littered with marks. It’s not long before you’re tumbling over the edge, body trembling as you release all over his shaft with a shout of his name.

“Clyde! C-Clyde, fuck!”

Not long after you, Clyde falls over the edge, desperately rutting and fucking each drop of his hot load deep into your spasming cunt.

“Y/N, g’damnit...fuuuckin’ s-shit!”

Both of you are rendered breathless as you come down from your respective highs. His lips and tongue gently soothe the harsh bites and bruises that have been left behind in his wake. 

He sighs softly when he pulls out, helping you pull your shorts back up before tucking himself back into his pants. When you turn around, he crashes his lips into yours, hands resting gently on your hips. 

“‘m real sorry fer that, Y/N; dunno what got int’ me. I didn’t hurt ya, did I?”

You smile, cradling his face in your hands. “Clyde, there is no need to apologize or feel bad for that. You know if I was uncomfortable, I would’ve stopped you or said something. I loved it, more than I probably should have, and I love you.”

His lips tug up into a soft, lopsided smile, relief flooding across his expression.

“I love ya too, Y/N, so, so much. Thank ya fer puttin’ up with me n’ bein’ mine.”

“No ‘thank you’ necessary, baby. I’m yours, always yours.”

Clyde grins, pulling you in for a hug as he repeats your words out loud.

“All mine.”

[encouleurdevie]

OKAY SO HEAR ME OUT. TIMOTHEE CHALAMET AT THE GOLDEN GLOBES. THE RINGS THAT HE WEARS GIVE ME A STROKE. YOU SHOULD WRITE SOMETHING INCORPORATING THOSE RINGS CAUSE... GODDAMN 🥵

Rings

a/n: …. sorry for disappearing for a while. send me ideas, i read them all, and i literally have google docs opened for all of them it’s just a matter of making myself be productive lol i love you. thank you for reading it means more than you’ll ever know

word count: 3100

“Be there in 5 minutes.” you typed as the taxi sped down the road towards a hotel that was much too fancy for your taste. But it was where Timothee was staying and you couldn’t say no to an invitation to come and take pictures of him before his big night. He was a nominee at the Golden Globes this year, and according to his previous texts, his stylists had gone all out for the occasion. One mirror selfie prompted you to pack your camera bag and hail a taxi to where he was staying. You were already drooling over how stunning his head-to-toe black outfit would look on your newest camera, which only shot in black and white.

As a photographer, you had a knack for capturing people at their best. It didn’t matter how confident they were or how camera shy they claimed to be, you had a way of making your subjects comfortable and carefree. People often told you that your photos were some of the most unique and beautiful they’d seen, which is how you had gotten to the point of photographing the enigmatic but easily recognizable faces of Hollywood. And it was going well, for the most part. Celebrities loved the attention they received after you released their photos. They loved feeling so special because of your attention to detail and poise behind the camera, and you loved the fact that they felt beautiful because of your photos. However, many of them would simply pay you for your time and then be on their way, never to speak to you again unless someone from their team of people reached out to you for another shoot. 

Timothee, however, was not one of these people. Months earlier, he had personally reached out to you online, expressing how much he liked your photos and how he’d love to do a shoot sometime. Nothing prepared you for the whirlwind of events that were to follow.

The first time you had taken his picture, you were blown away by how effortlessly attractive he was as he posed for you. The pictures turned out beautifully, but nothing could capture his essence as clearly as you could see it in person, so animated and electrifying. It would be a lie to say you weren’t smitten from the first click of your camera. As it turned out, Timothee was drawn to your passion for photography, your eclectic style, and the way your eyes looked when you stared at him carefully and told him how to pose. The second or third time you had taken his picture, a late night shoot on some of the hidden streets in LA, you had barely gotten ten pictures before he couldn’t stand it anymore and kissed you hard in an alleyway. You remembered waking up next to him, messy haired and in your underwear, the next morning. 

The photoshoots and secret rendezvous became routine, and before long you became a somewhat permanent member of his team, showing up to events and interviews and snapping photos. On the surface, you were merely his photographer, a background character in the spotlight of his life, but behind the dressing room door, he would be carefully undressing you and kissing you with a passion you didn’t know was possible. A secret affair from the public, and an erotic motivation for your art. 

As the taxi cab turned corners, you reminisced on the stolen kisses and the heat of his body moving against yours. When the hotel, in all of its high-end California glory, came into view, you shook your head in an attempt to get your mind back on the present. You thanked the cab driver and stepped out into the heat of Beverly Hills, walking quickly into the hotel lobby. 

Timothee had instructed you where to go once you were inside, so you made your way down the winding hallways until you found his room number. You knocked on the door twice, and waited. Within seconds, the door was yanked open and you were standing in front of the man who had come to be your muse. Timothee looked even better every time you saw him, and this time was no exception. The outfit looked even better in person than it had on your phone. The pristine black fabric of his shirt and pants fit his body snugly, and the small sequins that dotted his Louis Vuitton harness glinted in the light.

“Well hello, stranger,” he smiled.

“Hello, Mr. Fashion Man,” you replied, taking in the bold yet totally tasteful outfit.

He laughed his beautiful laugh and motioned for you to come into the posh hotel room which was decorated with various art deco furniture and paintings. Instead of having you set up in the indoor space, he walked across the room and out into an enclosed outdoor patio area.

“I was thinking this would be a cool spot,” he stated and looked at you for approval. You glanced around at the tall plants that bordered the small yard and admired the varying green hues of the space.

“This will be perfect,” you exclaimed, “but we need one thing.”

You dashed back into the room, and grabbed a tall metal chair that had caught your eye on the way in. You set it down in the grass, and made sure it was perfectly framed by leaves.

Timothee watched you closely, and smirked. “Always so full of ideas, aren’t you?”

You grinned at him and started unloading your camera bag onto a table just outside of the sliding glass door. You felt his eyes on you even after you looked away, making your heart beat ever so slightly faster.

“The newest addition to my collection,” you said proudly, reaching in your bag and then holding up your new camera. 

“Is that a film camera?” he stepped closer to you to see it better. And that was when you noticed them. As he reached up to try holding the camera, you noticed the small collection of rings positioned on his fingers. One on his pointer, one on his middle finger. You’d never seen him wear jewelry before and were taken aback by how good the rings looked on him. A tiny detail against the rest of his outfit, but a detail that for some reason made you lose all focus. As you gazed at his fingers, you realized you hadn’t answered his question.

“Yes. Um, yeah. I found it at an antique store last week and fixed it up.”

His eyes flicked up to you, obviously noticing the way you hesitated, and saw your eyes locked on his fingers as he held your camera. 

You brushed it off. “Anyway, I thought it would be cool to try it out. I forgot how much I love film.”

“Yeah. Okay, let’s do it.” He handed you the camera, and you noticed the way he made sure to brush his fingers against yours. This was going to be a long shoot if your mind kept wandering to other places, like it was starting to in that moment.

Timothee perched himself gently on the chair as you finished setting up the camera. When everything was ready to go, you brought the camera to your face, ready to start snapping away. The looks he was giving you could have melted iron. He knew exactly what he was doing too. As his eyes burned through the camera and he moved between poses, he began absently twisting the rings around his fingers. He moved them around, up and down his fingers, and spinning them around. 

The slight movement, paired with the fire in his eyes was making you squeeze your legs together. The rings were sexy, distracting, and clearly causing a lot of feelings to stir within you. His fingers were the only thing on your mind. You were always surprised at how he didn’t even have to say a single world. He just had to lock his big green eyes on yours and you were putty in his hands.

You pulled the camera away from your face, accidentally revealing your flushed cheeks.

“I just… um. I need to check something with the… uh… the shutter speed.” you said and it came out sounding more like a strangled whisper.

Timothee stood up instantly, and within seconds he was standing right in front of you. 

“No you don’t.” he cooed. You felt his presence so close to yours, and once again your eyes were glued to the rings on his fingers. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “You’re aching aren’t you?” 

You looked up at him, and that was the end of it. He took the camera from your shaky hands and bent down until his lips were pressed roughly on yours. If this was what getting busted for having dirty thoughts about Timothee meant, you would gladly accept the consequences. 

He started nudging you backwards into the hotel room, one hand on the small of your back the other reaching out to set the camera back in your bag. Obviously, you wouldn’t be needing that for a while. You reached up, still moving your lips messily against his, and clasped your hands behind his head, gently touching the curls that graced the back of his neck.

Timothee pulled away for a second, letting you both catch your breath. His demeanor had gone from the smiley boy who greeted you at the door, to a worked up and dominating version of himself. You could sense how worked up he was too, and how much he craved your body. Every time something like this happened between the two of you, it was like the first time. There was so much sexual tension between you and the second someone initiated anything it was like an explosion of repressed feelings. And it felt so good.

As soon as Timothee led you across the threshold of the room, he fell back onto a chair that had been pulled away from expensive-looking desk. He pulled you right on top of him so that your chests were right up against each other. You straddled his legs, causing your flowy skirt to bunch up around your thighs. Timothee’s hands followed the fabric, gently grazing the skin on your legs until he had a firm grasp on your hips underneath your skirt. As he traced his fingers along the waistband of your panties, you felt the rings against you, causing your breath to hitch. 

“I saw you looking at them, baby.” he whispered against your ear. “Thought you might like them.”

“Fuck.” you groaned against his neck. “They look so good…”

You pushed yourself closer to him, grinding your hips onto his and feeling the outline of his hardening cock beneath you. In a swift movement, he pulled one hand away from your waist and brought it back down on your ass quickly. The warmth of his hand coupled with the cool metal of the rings made you squeal in anticipation. His hands guided your body as you continued to rub your hips against his lower half.

“Stand up.” he directed, his voice coming out cool and confidently arousing. You climbed off his lap, painstakingly dragging your body away from his, despite only wanting to be touching him everywhere. You stood up on shaky legs between his knees as he looked up at you from where he continued to sit. His hands gripped the backs of your thighs, his stare filled with desire. Calmly, and still gauging your reaction, he gathered the material of your skirt in his fists and tugged downward. The light fabric fell from your body smoothly and pooled around your ankles, leaving you in your blouse and lacy underwear in front of him. His eyes hungrily raked across your body.

You really couldn’t stand not touching him for a second longer, so you bent down and caught his lips in yours. His hands cupped your jaw as you licked into his mouth, and you dropped your hands to the top of his pants. You popped the first button open and fumbled around until your fingers worked the zipper down. He pushed up against you, still kissing you hard, just enough so that he could push his black pants down to his knees. 

“Now come back here.” he mumbled against your lips. You didn’t need to be told twice. You let your body fall back open, spreading your legs so that you were straddling him again, this time only underwear between your lower halves. Your draped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer to you.

Timothee snaked one hand up the back of your blouse, sending a shiver up your spine, and began inching the other hand down the front of your panties. 

“I know what you want, princess.” he whispered. “I know you’ve been thinking about my fingers since you walked in the goddamn door.”

He ran a finger teasingly across your slit, and his face broke into a cocky grin as soon as he realized how wet you were for him. His eyes were locked on yours with such intensity you felt like if you broke the stare you might burst into flames. He began rubbing his fingers in slow circles around your clit, eliciting a string of moans to come tumbling from your lips, which you were biting down on to try and stifle the noise.

But your mouth quickly fell open as he slowly, slowly pushed a finger into you. His face remained calm but he knew exactly what he was doing to you, knew exactly the way he made you feel. You whimpered as you felt his ring make contact with your entrance. 

“That feel good baby?”

You didn’t reply, but merely sighed heavily in response, feeling so worked up. 

“I said does that feel good baby.”

“Fuck.. yes I-” Before you could finish speaking he was inserting a second finger, and didn’t stop until both fingers were ring-deep inside of you. You could feel every inch of his fingers sending waves of pleasure straight to your brain. He stilled for a second, still with his fingers inside of you and tilted his face up to yours. He just looked at you, his face emotionless but stern, studying you closely. He was driving you crazy, edging you on, and still giving you that stupid look. This was exactly what you craved.

“Look at me.” he said. “Look me in the eyes when I touch you.” You dragged your eyes open to meet his only inches away. He pulled his fingers down and out in one quick motion, before sliding them right back in and starting up a rhythm. In and out, scissoring you open a bit, feeling your walls, rings colliding with your entrance each time he pushed his fingers back in. You dripped onto his fingers, covering his knuckles with your juices. Moans spilled from your mouth as you bounced lightly on his fingers. You gripped his shoulders, pulling at the black fabric that was still annoyingly on his body. The way Timothee touched you radiated this dominant energy despite the fact that you were on top. He had a way of making you feel like all of you was his, no matter what position you ended up in, and it drove you wild. 

You started feeling your stomach get tighter, teetering on the edge of cumming all over his fingers. He noticed this too and began pulling his fingers out of you, not ready to let you come apart just yet.

“Clean it up.” he said putting his fingers close by your face. You took his hand in both of yours and slowly licked up the mess you made on his fingers. Your brain felt fuzzy, still grasping for the high he denied you, and as you licked yourself off his fingers your heart pounded in needy anticipation. Timothee watched you with hooded eyes and flushed cheeks. He began edging a hand down into his underwear, which were tight as his cock strained against them. You watched his jaw clench and unclench as he began pumping himself, getting harder and harder as you licked his fingers.

The sight was enough to throw you over the edge. You could not wait any longer. 

You let his hand drop from yours and you pushed yourself up and against him until the tip of his dick was right at your entrance. 

“You gonna fuck me, baby? You wanna ride my dick?” Timothee hissed.

You groaned in response and dropped your body down, letting his cock fill you all the way up until you bottomed out. A low, loud groan fell from his mouth and his hands found their way back to your hips. You allowed yourself to fixate on the feeling of him inside of you, filling you up so perfectly and sending jolts of pleasure throughout your body.

After a second of adjustment, his hands found your hips again, and began guiding you, up and down, roughly, against him. The rhythm got faster and faster, and you whimpered above him as the incredible sensations racked through your body. He groaned beneath you, loving the way your pussy felt around him and the way your nails dug into the skin on his shoulders. He leaned forward and placed open mouthed kisses along your collarbone which was peeking out over the top of your now very messed up blouse, as the two of you got closer and closer. 

You dropped your head down onto his shoulder as you felt yourself start to tighten around him. 

“I’m gonna cum, oh my god. I’m gonna cum.” you moaned into his neck, feeling his hot skin and the tight breaths coming out of him. 

“You look sooo good, Y/N,” he whined moving his hands to your ass and rocking you against him. It was like you couldn’t get close enough to each other, and your bodies moved together in hot quick motions. Timothee angled himself into you and you suddenly felt him so deeply, so electrically, so incredibly well. You felt yourself come apart around his cock, grinding your hips down into his and crying out as the pleasure flowed through your body. 

The intensity of your orgasm was enough to throw Timothee over the edge too. He fucked up into you roughly as you clenched yourself around him, still coming down from your own high. He moaned your name loudly in your ear as he came undone, cumming in hot spurts inside you, and still holding your hips tightly against him. 

His dominant aura began to disappear as he recomposed himself, and his face melted into a smile. 

“God, I’m so obsessed with you.” he said, breathing heavily.

You leaned forward and kissed him gently on the cheek. “You’re my muse, Timothee.” You peppered more kisses on his cheeks and neck.

The smile stayed plastered on his face for the rest of the evening, and through the award show he attended later, where he beamed at the rest of the cameras, thinking about how none of them could ever compare to you.

[babyspiderling]

Tiny Dancer Michael Jackson x reader (Triumph era)

"Blue jean baby, LA Lady, Seamstress for the band"

I pulled the shining fabric through the machine, turning a square of sequin material into a shirt for one of the boys. I adjust the needle of my machine as someone opens the door. I glance up to see Michael peeking his head in. "Oh, Michael, perfect timing. I need you to try this on. And if you could get your brothers in here too, I need to do fittings on the outfits I've already finished." I hand him the shining fabric, as well as a pair of white pants. "Put these on, I'm planning on putting some sequin on the knees, and I need to see where that falls on you." I shoo him out the door as I thumb through my shelves of fabric, deciding on what to work with next. Once again my door is opened, this time four Jackson's trample through the opening. Randy and Marlon automatically move towards my designs pinned to the wall, Tito is drawn to the shining fabrics, and Jackie leans against the door frame a small smile blooming on his face. I swat Tito's hand away from the fabrics, very territorial of my materials. "Alright guys, it's fitting day!" I organized outfits by person, making it easy to select an outfit for each man and give to the correct person. I shoo them out the door as well as Michael comes back in, a perfect fit.

"Alright Mike, what do you think? Too loose anywhere, too tight anywhere? Go ahead and do a couple steps to make sure it doesn't get in the way of anything." He does his little ankle breaking shuffle, spinning a couple times. He shoves his hands into the pockets and shrugs. "Feels good, perfect fit." I smile and nod, feeling proud of getting his perfect size on the first try. I grab my swatches of silver fabric and rest on my heels in front of him. With a mouth full of pins, I feel around his legs to find his knees, pinning the fabrics in place. Leaning back, I inspect the patches, muffling out a "Heels together." as I inspect them closely to make sure the two sides are identical. I hear Michael say "Wow, you're really good at this.", and I chuckle in return. "Glad I can be of service. You like it?" He murmurs an affirmation, and he lifts me off my heels. I search his face, memorizing every single detail. My hand reaches up to his face, his weight leaning into my touch. "I love you Mike." Kissing my palm, he rests his forehead against mine. "I love you too." I enjoy his presence just a little longer before stepping away, clearing my throat. "Alright, I've got another outfit for you to try on. Careful with the pins, and I'll see you in a bit, ok?" He chuckles, kissing my cheek one last time before exiting. "Ok. I'll be careful. See you when I get done."

Rolling my eyes, I sit back down at my seat, hemming a skirt Janet had begged me to alter. Tito then entered, his sequin vest shining, and his outfit going together very well if I say so myself. He inspected himself in the mirror, almost as if trying to see what was missing. His eyes lit up and he turned towards me. "That's it! I need a cowboy hat!" My eyebrows crease and my jaw drops in confusion. "You need a what? Tito, no. You are not a country band, no one else is wearing a cowboy hat. You do not need a cowboy hat." He slides up to me, puppy dog eyes staring me in the face. "Please Y/N, it'll look really cool. Plus it'll tie the whole thing together. I've already got the vest and everything." I huff, throwing my hands up in the air. "Fine! Tito, you can get a cowboy hat, but you have to find one and I will jazz it up, understood? I am a seamstress, not a hatter." His face lights up at getting his way, hollering and spinning me. "Yes! I knew you'd agree! Thanks Y/N!" I roll my eyes playfully shoving him away. "Is there anything else wrong or missing with the outfit? Besides the cowboy hat, anyways." He turns and twists, pretending to play guitar, and does a couple steps. He shakes his head. "Nope, all good. Just need to get the hat. Which I'll go out and get when we're done here." I hand him a second outfit, sending him on his way. Marlon and Randy follow one right after the other. While hemming Randy's pants, I kept having to chide Marlon from touching my stuff. I yelled over my shoulder, "Marlon Jackson if I find a fingerprint on my fabric or designs I swear I will give you the ugliest tour outfits until the end of time." He raised his hands in surrender and took a seat.

Jackie and Michael came in about the same time, Michael letting his older brother go first. "Alright Jackie, what do you think. Anywhere too loose or too tight?" Jackie wiggles around and lifts his leg. "The pants are a little loose. But overall, it's all good." I nod, filling my mouth with pins, sitting on my heels in front of him. Jackie smirks down at me, "Babe, if you wanted to get on your knees for me, you could've just asked." I roll my eyes, pinning the inside of his pant leg tighter, pointing a pin threateningly at him. He smiles at me flexing his hands in surrender. I see out of the corner of my eye Michael shifting in his seat, a scowl deep in his face. I send a smile his way before finishing Jackie's pants.

Rocking myself back to stand, I stagger at the blood flowing back into my legs. A large pair of hands wrap around my hips to steady me, and I look up to see Michael staring down at me. I give him a reassuring smile and whisper, "I'm ok Mike, thank you." With a smile in return, he releases his grip and takes his place for hemmings. I see Jackie flick his gaze between Michael and I, his face scrunched up in concentration. I shrug it off, trying not to give anything away. "Alright, Michael, you know the drill. How's it fit?" His white pants from earlier are simply duplicated since Michael has a talent for wearing out his costumes faster than anyone else. He has a red Hawaiian print shirt tucked into it, a few buttons undone. "The pants fit, but they're a little loose on the belt line. Nothing you need to fix or anything, just a belt would make it perfect." I nod, checking over his outfit myself for loose threads, puckers in the seams, loose buttons, but find nothing wrong. "Alright, let me add that to the list with Tito's cowboy hat." At the mention of the horrible idea of a cowboy hat, Randy and Marlon are back, Tito not far behind. Marlon screeches and cackles. "Tito, you want a cowboy hat? C'mon man!" Tito huffs, and folds his arms under his chest. I roll my eyes and call out to everyone "Alright everyone. Mike, Jackie, go change. Jackie, please be careful with those pins! You three, decide which order you're going in for fittings, and then we're done for the day." I pin and adjust Tito and Marlon's outfits, Jackie and Michael returning while I finish up on Randy. "Thank you boys. Just take a seat while I finish up here." I place the last pin in Randy's sleeve, shortening it to the correct length. "Randy, are the pins comfortable enough for you to stay here for a couple minutes?" He nods and I open my mouth, "Alright guys, we're all done for the day. Please I am begging you guys, do not rip up these costumes. I'm looking at you Michael, if you rip these shirts like last time, I will send you out in whatever you have packed for tour." A few chuckles are heard and Michael smiles and rolls his eyes. They all take their leave as I sit back at my machine, ready to fix everything from today. Michael calls out to his brothers that he'll catch up, he just needs to double check something.

Slipping into my work room once more, he shuts the door behind him. He pulls me from my seat and presses me tightly against him. "Y/N, you have no idea how much I wanted to punch Jackie after he said those things to you. Why can't we tell everybody about us? At least my family? We're going on tour next month and my brothers are going to try to set me up with fans. Are you ashamed of being with me?" I stare into his eyes with a passion. "Oh god, Michael, no. Of course I'm not ashamed of you. If anything you should be ashamed of me. I'm just the band seamstress. Not to mention the fact that if we did come out about our relationship, people would wonder why in the world would you choose to be with a white girl who makes your clothes. Your father would see me as a distraction. If he found out about us, he would fire me and then kill the both of us. I love you too much to let you risk that." He shakes his head, his eyes growing glossy. "I love you too much to keep it a secret. To keep you a secret." I lean my forehead into his chest. "I'm sorry Michael. I didn't see it like that, if you'd like, we can tell your family. Just, just let me be there when you do. Ok?" He nods his head and captures my lips in a gentle kiss. Breaking away, I sit back down. "If you want, you can put some records on and we can have each other as company until I finish here. You'll just have to tell your brothers to go on without you." He nods and exits to tell his brothers goodbye, saying that I need him to stay behind to make sure everything meets his standards. Returning, he puts some old records on, teasing me for my Dolly Parton albums, and we just enjoy the music and the hum of my machine.

"Jackie! Outfit! Tito! Outfit! Marlon! Outfit! Randy! Outfit! Michael! Outfit! Please be careful tonight! We have reached the halfway point in the tour and I am very proud of the condition you are leaving these in! Have a good show tonight! And please, do not rip your shirts open!" I hand out garment bag after garment bag, the boys hurrying to change in their dressing rooms. Janet leans against the wall, her outfit designed and made by yours truly, looking good for a fifteen year old. "When I go on tour, I am definitely bringing you with me." I rolled my eyes and laughed. I place my ticket around my neck and take my place up against the barrier separating the crowd from the boys. The opening refrains of "Can You Feel It?" rang out and the crowds went absolutely wild. It was so fun just to watch them all in their element. I'd catch the boys singing to me or looking at me and I'd make the silliest faces. I accidentally almost made Randy mess up on his bongo solo on "Working Day and Night". "Shake Your Body (Down To The Ground)" finished and slowly the fans filtered out of the arena. When no one was looking, security lifted me over the barrier and back to the corridors in the backstage area.

Michael was on a high after the show like he always was. He was jumping around in the hall when I finally made my way to him. "You had a very good show tonight. I had fun, and I'm pretty sure the girl next to me was having fun too. When you winked her way, I'm pretty sure she found euphoria." He giggled and spun me around. "Goodness, I love you." With that he held me tight against him and kissed me deeply and passionately. I let myself melt into him, letting myself slip into the bliss only he provides. We break apart with the sound of Janet shrieking "What the hell?"

Taglist: @accio-boys

[inber]

Vegas Baby - Part 2/2 of a Very Dumb Geraskier Headcanon

When Geralt emerges from the bathroom some time later, he looks decidedly better. He's taken a shower and kept some water and gatorade down, and his hair is twisted up in a towel. The hotel robe almost doesn't fit his arms, but he has wrestled into it.

Jaskier looks less fresh, but he is less touched by the brutality of hangover. He can't sit still, so as Geralt is in the other room, he goes into full denial mode. Bins the condoms -- three quite used, and he tries not to marvel at how either of them got it up last night -- and the lube, makes the bed, orders room service. He wraps himself in a robe too, and grins uneasily as Geralt enters.

He makes a lame joke about a snack with their film, gesturing to the covered platters, of which there are several. Geralt raises his eyebrows, and Jaskier tries to fumble out that he didn't know what Geralt would want -- but when Geralt uncovers the first plate and finds two over-easy eggs, four crisp bacon strips, and almost-burnt toast, they both chuckle a little. Of course Jaskier knows his... best friend's... go-to hangover meal.

Geralt picks up the USB like it might be haunted, and clears his throat, before he says that they might as well see the damage. As he fits the device into the TV, he realises he hasn't taken his ring off. When he sits at the edge of the bed, picking at a piece of bacon, he notes that Jaskier hasn't either.

The opening title reads, 'The Wedding Ceremony of Jaskier and Gerralt' and they both make a noise -- Jaskier because of the typo, Geralt because of the font choice.

And it only gets more interesting from there.

The camera focuses on the two of them stood beneath a plastic archway decorated with huge pink plastic flowers, lawn flamingos, and fairy lights. Their celebrant is an overweight Darth Vader with a microphone. Apparently they somehow roped the Superman performer in as a witness, although he now has his shirt on. Off-screen, someone is playing Katy Perry's 'I Kissed A Girl' on a keyboard, slightly off-tempo.

Jaskier and Geralt are clasping each other's hands, and absolutely beaming. Jaskier is dressed in a wedding gown, obviously rented (the first thing he hisses is, "I chose polyester?!") and it's held in place by a diamonte dotted corset. The train is huge, and takes out a couple of flamingos during the course of the ceremony. He's wearing a fashionably short veil, more of a fascinator.

Geralt is wearing his party outfit, but half the shirt buttons are undone, and he has the addition of a neon yellow sequin and ostrich plume Vegas showgirl headpiece, as well as the long caribou tails tucked into the back of his pants. ("Explains the feathers." He grunts)

Darth Vader begins the ceremony in his breathiest Vader impression, before Jaskier pauses and asks him if he needs an inhaler. There's a brief moment where Jaskier and Geralt squabble over Star Wars lore, Jaskier explains that he chose Vader because he liked the cape, and the celebrant clears his throat and carries on in a decidedly more normal -- albeit bored -- voice.

The ceremony is standard, until they get to the personal vows. Jaskier goes first, and immediately starts crying as he tries to explain that he can't believe he's finally marrying his best friend, and this is the best day of his life, and he's loved Geralt since high school, when he punched a bully for trying to take Jaskier's clarinet case.

When Geralt is handed the microphone, his voice is thick, but surprisingly lucid for someone that should, by all accounts, be unconscious. He tells Jaskier that he's always been too scared to admit how he really feels. How Jaskier was always surrounded by other, better suitors. How Jaskier deserved the best, and Geralt is just a lousy college teacher, but he'll do his best every single day to be enough. And he loves him.

Jaskier is ugly crying. There's a lot of mascara. Superman is also sniffling. A fubsy woman hands out tissues and they all take a moment.

Rings and promises are exchanged, Darth Vader declares them wed and says "The power of the dark side demands that you kiss your spouse", and the two men reach for each other with a solemn desperation. They kiss sweetly, with slow promise; it's not sloppy and drunk. When they part, Geralt thumbs Jaskier's tears away, and mouthes 'I love you', which makes Jaskier glow in a grin.

The film ends, and the two stare at the black screen in stunned silence. Geralt picks up a small album and flips through it: the two of them stood at the altar; both of them with an arm slung around the celebrant; Superman catching the bouquet; and the last photo - their wedding kiss. Somehow, although Jaskier has decimated 4 flamingos at that point, Geralt's headpiece is askew, and the celebrant is actually looking at his watch -- somehow they are the calm in a storm, the eye of something peaceful and genuine.

Both of them stare at the photo. Minutes pass as small pieces of memory return, coaxed by the film. Jaskier places his hand gently over Geralt's.

"Were you... just drunk?" His voice is tiny. "Or did you mean the things you said?"

Geralt thinks about how well-off Jaskier could be. How they could play this off as a very silly story at the actual wedding. How they could haul arse to the city hall and file an annulment. Then he thinks about how long he's lived with the secret, and he can't. He can't lie to Jaskier anymore, even if he has nothing to offer the vivacious man. "I meant them." He whispers, "But I know you love Valdo, I know this was a mistake--"

"I meant what I said, too." Jaskier cuts him off. Geralt looks up sharply to meet two tearful blue eyes. "I never thought you were interested in me. You thought me too impulsive, too... difficult. As a partner, I mean."

Geralt bites his lip. "The men you date. I see the things they buy you, the way they treat you. I can't afford to spoil you the way you deserve."

Jaskier laughs, and laughs, and Geralt eventually shoves him over. Still, he giggles on his side. "Oh, christ, Ger'. We've wasted so much time. Yeah, those men bought me pretty distractions, and yeah, I like nice things, but I have a trust fund if I really want anything for myself, you know that. I think, maybe, I was just... distracting myself. Filling a void with admirers and Gucci because I couldn't... have you."

"You want me more than Gucci?" Geralt's voice is wobbly and incredulous.

"I do." Jaskier says.

"That's the nicest thing you've ever told me." Geralt whispers, and lays down next to him. They grin stupidly, and then hesitantly, share their first sober kiss.

It's warm and tingly and Geralt tastes like bacon and toothpaste and Jaskier like strawberry jam, and they bump noses as they work out how to fit into one another best. Jaskier's tongue is playful, and Geralt purrs his delight into the embrace.

And then Jaskier's phone rings. The tone is 'Diet Mountain Dew' by Lana Del Rey, and they both flinch. Valdo.

Jaskier clears his throat, and answers. "Heey, hon." He speaks, a little too chipper. Geralt is close enough that he can hear; he gestures to ask if he should leave, but Jaskier violently shakes his head no.

"Hello, sweet thing." Valdo's voice always makes Geralt's skin crawl. "Just checking in. Are you having fun with your friend?"

"Oh, tons." Jaskier enthuses, "We drank champagne and played poker. Tickets to Britney tonight!" Well, they did do both of those things, so he's not lying.

"Urgh, I'm glad you took Gerard. Can't stand that Spears tart." Both men bristle.

"His name is Geralt, hon, you know that." Jaskier grits his teeth.

"Sure, babe, whatever you like." Valdo's not listening. "Hey, I checked my account and there's a five grand charge to some... cheap wedding chapel. Y'know anything about that?"

"Nope." Jaskier's eyes are wide. "Maybe a mistake with Visa? I'll stop using your card."

"Nah, it's just five thou', I'll sort it later. Rein it in a little bit though, sugar cheeks. You're around a hundred thousand already, and I said no more than one-twenty."

Geralt's eyes are huge. How the fuck did they burn through - then he remembers the high roller room, and sighs. Jaskier was incredibly chip-happy.

Jaskier croons down the line. "Sure, of course. I'm putting your card away, swear. Call you later!"

"Love y--" Jaskier hangs up, and throws the phone onto the bed like it's a snake. He shudders.

"Has he always... spoken to me like that, Ger'?" Jaskier's voice is wobbly. "Like I'm a bimbo idiot?"

Geralt sets his mouth in a hard line. "...They all do, Jask'. And he never remembers my name. Once he called me 'Gershwin'."

"But you are so important to me!" Jaskier explodes, frustrated. "Why... did I let them...?"

Geralt shrugs. "Because you're smart enough that you could. You stocked your wardrobe and garage and what - three condos? And they thought you were the stupid one. But who cries when you break it off - you or them?"

Jaskier blinks. "Christ, Geralt. You must think me so... vapid."

"Yeah, that's why I hang out with you all the time." Geralt snorts, and opens his arms. "Come here."

Jaskier obeys, and it feels cosy and nice and right. He nuzzles into Geralt's neck.

"I'm calling it off." He whispers, "I'll call Valdo and tell him it's not working."

Geralt hums. "He might be pissed about the one hundred..." And then he tenses up. He scrambles about for his pants from the night before. Jaskier observes, bemused.

"What are...?"

"Whilst you were making out with the roulette table," Geralt fishes into the back pocket and pulls out the 200k chip, "I was owning the poker table."

Jaskier claps his hands, and squeals. "Oh, oh, can we rent a limo for Britney tonight?"

Geralt grins. "For my husband? On our honeymoon? Anything." He pauses, "Erm, within one hundred thousand. You'd best... make that call." His eyes drop to his feet. "If, I mean, if you do want. Me, and this."

Jaskier crosses the room and cups Geralt's face. "It was not the wedding I envisioned for myself, and we are absolutely having a second ceremony later, but yes. I want you, I've wanted you, and I'll want you forever."

Geralt's eyes prick with tears. He puts his hands over Jaskier's. "May the force be with us."

"What force?" Jaskier tilts his head, and Geralt can only laugh, and kiss his darling husband.

[westerhos]

Our Story: Chapters 2-3

Thank you to everyone who has sent such lovely messages about this story! Happy to hear some of you are re-reading it while others are discovering it for the first time. Now for the next two chapters, which really should have been one...

[December 24th, 1990]

Their home is a modest one—a studio clinging to edges of the city, not far from where they first met. It’s an older building, mid-19th century, with pipes that freeze in the winter, burst like Scottish primrose in the summer. There is a single window on its western side, which welcomes the December-white sun at each day’s end. And it is here, lined along this sill, that Claire’s plants reach hungry towards the sky, try to trap this silver sliver of heat inside their veins.

Save for the flowers, theirs is an ascetic sort of décor. Sparse like a monk’s quarters—though Jamie and Claire hardly mind. They decorate the empty corners with their future, hatched in whispers during the night.

One day, Jamie promises, they’ll have Persian rugs and a four-poster bed. One day, they’ll own a leather sofa, its cushions like butter against Claire’s bare thighs. “And a vase!” she adds. “All fancy people have vases.”

But for now, they sleep on a musty twin cot, their belongings stored in the trunk at its foot. Jamie’s manuscripts are stacked inside, their pages marked in ballpoint scribbles and soil-dusted fingerprints. (“I canna read what this says anymore!” Jamie yells. “S’okay,” Claire says. “That paragraph was rubbish anyways.”) He’s an editorial assistant, the paltry salary worth the power of the red pen, which reshapes the written world to his liking. It buys food and rent, and covers what med school tuition Claire’s scholarship does not.

It’s a quiet life, but a happy life.

Claire yawns. “Did you know that every Christmas Eve my uncle told me a story? Made it up himself, right on the spot.”

“Are ye trying to tell me ye want a story?”

“I may be hinting at that, yes.”

“Ach,” Jamie says. Her favorite sound, every inch of him encapsulated in this strange, Scottish scoff. “Your subtly always turns me on.”

“Oh, hush. C’mon.”

He runs a hand through his hair, auburn and cinnabar limned in moonbeam.

“A good story on the spot? That’s no small amount of pressure, Sassenach.”

“How about a request then?” she offers, and Jamie raises a brow. “How about my favorite?”

“Yer favorite?”

“Don’t play coy. You know. The one you always start incorrectly? She is wearing a holiday sweater, a confection of silver bells and sequined penguins…”

“Weel, it’s a much better beginning than the ‘curl of my lips’…”

“Debatable,” Claire replies, tongue tracing the valley of his cupid’s bow.

But Jamie nods, chooses a different beginning this time: “It was immediate…”

He twists one of Claire’s curls around his finger and inhales. She still smells like the springtime, earthy and ripe, and perhaps there’s a hint of his own musk now, too. He likes it this way, enjoys finding proof of his existence somewhere beneath her skin. Permanent.

“Immediate!” Claire echoes, a one-woman Greek chorus. She is pressed into him, feeling his chest curve around her spine. It always surprises her how their bodies fit so perfectly, their limbs folding and molding to fill all their negative spaces. (And she has so many, our Claire, between her toes and between her ribs. Vacant rooms where her mother, her father, and her uncle once lived.)

“Aye, from the minute I saw ye, I ken you belonged wi’ me.”

“Mmm,” she hums, not saying, “Of course I felt the same thing,” or ���Of course I loved you from the very first.” Because, of course, Jamie knows this already. (Strange, they both think, how the heart can move faster than the speed of light.)

“Speaking of which…” she says.

“Ye don’t want to hear the rest?”

“In a sec,” she replies. “But your friends seem to think we should get married. Dougal especially.”

“They do,” Jamie says softly. “And Dougal does—to him, maybe.” He brings Claire’s hand to his lips, smiles into the Christmas present he’s wrapped around her finger. A ring: one mounted pearl, taken from his mother’s necklace. (“No’ an engagement ring, mind,” though they both knew it meant forever.)

“Do you, though? Think we should get married?”

“I’ll do anything that means I can call ye mine.”

“You already can.”

“Aye, but I dinna think the law agrees wi’ you.”

“Devil take the law.”

Jamie laughs. “I reckon the Devil doesna want the law either, Sassenach. He hates the law.”

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“Which is?”

Claire turns towards him, remembers this past year together: their first date (Italian restaurant, 9PM showing of Pretty Woman), their first fight (broken coffee mugs, a noise complaint). She remembers the first time they made love in this small, crooked flat: middle of the floor, surrounded by packing boxes and crumpled newspaper. The bubble wrap had crackled beneath them—pop-pop-pop!—as if they were dancing on fireworks. (“I never want to leave this place,” she’d told him. He thought she’d meant the flat, but she’d meant his arms.)

“Which is…Well. Do you want to marry me, James Fraser?”

He squints. “Is that a proposal?”

“Yes.”

“Then why aren’t ye on your knees?”

“You bloody—”

Claire’s elbow swings towards his face, but Jamie catches it, stretches her arm back so that her palm lies flat against the wall. He rolls on top of her, leans down and lets her heart beat against his lips. Wills it into him until his blood thrums with it. The sound of their story.

“Yes,” Jamie says. “I want to marry you, Claire Beauchamp.”

“You mean Claire Fraser?”

He laughs; she smiles (they are both winners on this day).

“Aye. Beauchamp, Sassenach, Fraser.” His voice drops, a whisper: “My wife.”

[December 24th, 1991]

While Jamie and Claire’s studio remains the same, the flowers change with the turn of seasons: baby-skinned petals become felted cloth, neon-bright as they hang from a child’s mobile. The pots along the sill are gone, their soil-dust trails swiped away and their roots transplanted to a community garden. In their place, sits a collection of shiny, new tools for a shiny, new crib, which stands half-assembled beside the cot. The flower mobile blooms above it, suspended in silent wait for spring. For Faith.

Come April, Jamie and Claire will bring the sunshine into their home, no longer needing the single window and its lancing, evening light. Come April, they will have marigold walls, yellow linens, and bright rubber duckies floating in the sink. All of this for the baby that will sleep inside the shiny, new crib beneath the flowers that will never die.

Faith. This is the name they have given their future, no longer an unfurnished corner in their studio, but a growing presence inside Claire’s belly.

���Ugh!”

“That bad is it?”

“Worse than bad. I look like a whale who’s just fucked a Christmas tree.”

Jamie opens his eyes, his wife framed by his fingers, and he moves his hands to stifle a laugh.

“And a few wee penguins at that…”

“You’re not helping,” Claire whines, examining her reflection in the mirror. Rounded cheeks, rounder stomach; sharp lines blurred by months of pregnancy. All afternoon, she has scolded and cajoled, bribed and threatened, her cottons and nylons.  But the fabrics have been stubborn, loath to surrender their bodily claims to the child pushing against them.

“Jamie, I can’t go out wearing this.”

“I dinna see how you’ve much choice in the matter, Sassenach. We should've gone to Waverly yesterday,” Jamie replies. The sweater—the same one she’d worn the evening they met—hugs her stomach. Tight but still discreet, the purest flash of flesh above her waistline. “Party’s at 8. We’ve no time to go shopping for a proper outfit. It’s either that or what God gave ye.”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be a treat? A naked, pregnant woman sipping virgin egg nog in front of the buffet. Happy bloody Christmas!”

“Angus wouldna mind.”

“Well, so long as the host is happy.”

“I wouldna mind.”

Claire snorts and twirls, as if to say, “Are you sure of that?” (He is, absolutely, and to the marrow of his bones.)

Jamie sighs. “D’ye want me to wear mine too?”

“You mean your lager-stained pullover? With the Santa looks that looks like he’s got vomit in his beard?

“Aye, that’s the one.”

“Yes,” she replies, grinning. She remembers where it lies amongst the rest of their clothes, just as she remembers its wooly scratch against her breasts two years before. Jaime’s hands (so much larger than hers, even then) lifting it up and over, laying her bare beneath the fluorescent lights of his dorm room. “Yes, I want you to wear your Belligerent Santa jumper.”

Jamie nods.

“And no beer for you, either. Just store-bought non-alcoholic egg nog. My misery needs company.”

“Fair is fair.”

“And—”

“There’s more?”

“Much more.”

“Ach, weel. Anything for the most beautiful woman in the room.”

“Oh, Rupert will be so grateful you think so, Jamie.”

“What are friends for?” He draws closer, vibrating. “But what about you, Sassenach?”

“Me? You’ll look more ridiculous than I will. I’ll be peachy and taking shots of fake egg-nog!”

Claire finds the sweater and throws it to Jamie, watches him catch the frayed and wrinkled ball of it. The hem is still an unraveled spool, which she winds and winds around her finger. Once, twice, three times until it marks her skin in a pale, white ring. She pulls it taut, feels the slow draining of her finger as the blood retreats, towards her husband. Electricity between them (the pipes groan, the winter thaw come at last).

“Now,” Claire purrs, “put that on so I can take it off you.”

“D’ye think we have time?”

“Of course we do,” she says. "We always have time." (Not always, not forever.)

“Well then,” Jamie says, bowing. “Your servant, madam.”

At this point, I still had no idea where I was going with this story, and I think that’s abundantly clear here. Regardless, I was very much taken with the “romanticism” of being poor, in love, and bohemian in New York City—so these two chapters are basically my written daydreams about being a young Patti Smith. Luckily, that never happened! Although I did wind up living in a tiny long-term Airbnb with an opera singer, a grand piano that took up the. entire. living. room., and a very uncomfortable futon that I slept on for my first 6 months in Brooklyn.

These are really the last ~~happy~~ chapters for a while, which is totally a reflection of the fact that I had moved to Brooklyn and was scared, lonely, and just generally very angsty, lol. So my apologies for what lies ahead.

One closing thought: Why did I choose Pretty Woman as Jamie and Claire’s first date movie, lol? Had I just watched it? Did I just associate the ‘90s with Julia Roberts romantic comedies? Did I not bother researching other movies that came out in 1990? Your guess is as good as mine!!!

[atiny-ahgase]

Will You Let Me?

Author’s Note: I’ve been really soft for Yunho recently and this is a result of that. I poured my heart into this one so I hope you enjoy it. - Gabby.

Summary: You’re saved from an altercation with your ex by a friendly bartender. Does he just want to be friends though?

Pairing: Yunho x Female reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Genre: Fluff

 _____________________________________________________________

The blaring ringing of your phone for what felt like the 50th time today makes you groan into your pillow, kicking and screaming like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Now some might ask what’s the big issue here? Someone is just calling you and usually, that would be fine, granted you’re not the most social person in the world but you do receive the typical phone call every now and again. It becomes an issue when you don’t even need to answer the phone or even look at the screen to know who was calling.

It was your stupid ex, you’ve broken things off last week because something just felt off in the relationship. Things were fine in the beginning but as things started to progress you began seeing sides of him that you didn’t like, he kept on saying that he would change and at first you believed him. But after months of being stuck in the same toxic routine, you finally built up the nerve to break up with him. And that decision is what has left you in your current predicament. 

Apparently, he can’t let go. In the spans of one-week, you’ve received hundreds of text messages and calls not only to your cell phone but also your work phone. This is starting to get ridiculous. It’s come to the point where you’ve even changed your number and blocked this number, but he always seems to get in contact with you. You’ve made the mistake of answering one of the calls earlier in the week and it was probably the dumbest thing you’ve ever done. He just went on and on about how he’s a better person with you and he’s never felt like this before and he needs you in his life. Soon after realizing that his sweet words weren’t affecting you, he went on to threaten you. You’ve filed a report about it but in all honesty, it wasn’t helping much.

The ringing had stopped, and you finally sighed, enjoying the moment of quiet before it rang again. Anger began to run through your veins. “This is beyond ridiculous why can’t he just get the message!” you yelled before grabbing your phone and letting the caller have a piece of your mind. Once you were done with your outburst you laid on your bed, the phone still in hand and pressed up against your ear. “You seem like your stressed,” you hear your best friend’s voice. Oh no, you just cursed out your best friend thinking it was your ex. You whined deeply as you apologized, “I’m so sorry. It goes without saying that I didn’t know it was you”. 

She quickly laughed it off before changing the subject. “Since you’re stressed and I’m the amazing friend that you know I am, get dressed and meet me in the lobby in half an hour,” she basically demands not leaving room for you to decline. She didn’t even tell you where you were going so how are you supposed to know what to wear? You climbed off pf your bed with a groan before walking across your room to your wardrobe. Pulling the double door open you begin to rummage through your belongings. It wasn’t long before your eyes spotted a glimmering silver fabric at the back of your top draw. Taking it out to have a better look, you realize that it’s a skirt. You’ve actually never worn it before, opting to save it for a special occasion.

Blowing that idea off, you throw it in the direction of your bed before looking for a top to match. After about ten minutes you’ve finally made a decision. Your outfit consisted of a black leather cropped jacket with a simple white band t-shirt and the silver sequin skirt. Looking over at your shoes you grabbed your pair of black suede booties and some skin coloured stockings because it’s been getting colder these days. 

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

Throwing your jacket over your shoulder, you give yourself one final look over in your full-length mirror before heading to the lobby. You spotted your best friend almost immediately. She wore a pair of fitted black jeans with an off the shoulder top and a pair of high heeled combat boots. “You look so cute!” she exclaims before pulling you into a hug. You smiled fondly before holding her tightly. Once you had broken apart you both began walking to the taxi which was waiting for you both outside. 

Apparently, you were both going to this club that ‘everyone’ has been talking about. So, in conclusion, you’ve been living under a rock cause you’ve never heard of it. It’s also been the talk of the town with all the girls because they have some gorgeous bartenders. You weren’t really in the mood for drinking but that didn’t mean that you wouldn’t enjoy yourself. You also weren’t really in the mood to start dating anyone either but that didn’t mean that you couldn’t look at the handsome workers… No harm in that right?

After the taxi pulled up at the place, your friend paid before you both thanked the driver and started making your way to the entrance. It didn’t take too long before you both were let in, almost immediately bumping into drunken sweaty bodies as you tried to get through. To say that the club was packed would be an understatement, beads of sweat already beginning to form at your brow with the immense heat radiating from the dancing bodies around you. A tugging on your arm pulls you from your thoughts as your friend basically drags you to the bar, the force almost slamming you into the counter. Okay, I think someone is a little too excited to start drinking.

You chuckle to yourself, palms resting on the cool surface of the counter as you study the marble pattern decorating its surface. Not realizing that someone had come to take your orders, you trace the surface with your fingertips. A cheerful voice pulling you back to reality. “And what will you be having beautiful?” you hear the bartender ask, your eyes shooting up to be greeted by the richest chocolate orbs that you’ve ever seen. You felt like you could see the galaxy in his eyes, they were soft, sincere, dare you say angelic. The deafening club music vanishing as the only sound you hear is the sweet melody that your heart plays as you get pulled deeper into his eyes.

He laughs, causing his eyes to crinkle. His laughter being the only thing that forces you to tear away from his eyes. Your happy that you did because the girls weren’t lying. He’s gorgeous. He towered over you, standing at maybe 6 feet, his soft cheeks only exaggerate his gentle smile. The white shirt that he wore had the first two buttons undone and the sleeves where rolled up to his forearm allowing you a full view of his veiny arm. “She’ll have what I’m having,” you hear your friend reply. You make the mental note to thank her for that before you lower your head in a futile attempt to hide your blushing cheeks.

“I’m gonna need a form of ID,” he states directing all of his attention to you. With nervous hands, you open your purse retrieving the item in question. You attempt to place it on the counter, not trusting your shaky hands to place the ID into his hands. To your surprise he meets you halfway, engulfing your hands with his, you’ve never considered your hands to be small but the size of his has yours looking like that of a child; almost completely covering yours. Startled by this action you take in a quick breath before moving your eyes to where both of your hands connected. From an outsider’s perspective, this would look like a normal exchange and you try your best to logically tell yourself that that is all it is. But you’re not sure if it’s the rapid heating of your heart or the way his fingertips gently graze your hand as he takes the ID that is clouding your judgement,

He looks the card over before returning it to you, “Thank you y/n”. He smiles. You didn’t know that your name could sound that sweet. You blush while placing your ID back into your purse. You hear your friend attempt to tease you about your earlier behaviour, but her words are unclear as your eyes are fixated with the bartender in front of you, not wanting to miss a single movement. Not the way the veins in his arm protrudes when he grips the bottle, not the way his muscle flexes as he raises his arm to wipe away the perspiration building up on his forehead and certainly not the way the pink tint of his cheeks deepen when he notices you looking at him. He places your drinks on the counter, takes the payment then briefly glances at his watch. You see him whisper something to an adjacent bartender before retreating to the back. Awww is his shift over already?

After finishing your drink, you are dragged to the dance-floor. You both sway to the music for a short while before you excuse yourself to go to the restroom. She offers to go with you, but you convince her that you’ll be fine on your own. You enter the restroom, finish up and attempt to make your way back to your friend’s side when you are pulled rather harshly against an adjacent wall. Your eyes shut momentarily as you finch due to the impact. As you open your eyes a cold chill runs over your entire body. It was your ex. “Good to see you’re doing well y/n”, he begins while looking you up and down with an expression you just can’t place. “I was sure that you were sick seeing as you never pick up my calls or respond to my texts,” he continues on while taking a step towards you. Your body begins to shake, and a look of fear is clearing painted all over your face.

You want to push him off, but you know that he’s too strong, so your mind continues to race with possible ways to escape from this scary and uncomfortable situation. His grip on your forearm has you wincing in pain as you calculate your next move. “Y/n!” you hear a voice over the thumping of the club music and your heart. It wasn’t your friend, it was a male voice, a voice that you knew you wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon. A voice that calms you down even when you’re in this frightening situation even though you don’t know the name of its owner. You look over your ex’s shoulder to see the bartender from earlier walking towards you. He’s now standing beside you both, his body easily towering over that of your ex’s. His eyes shift down to where your forearm in being held before he makes eye contact with your ex.

“Hey, I’m Yunho,” he states, his voice dropping octaves lower than what you had previously heard, causing him to appear a lot more threatening than before. It was as though all off his boyish charm was gone, the glint in his warm eyes nowhere to be seen. Yunho offers his hand to your ex for a handshake. You feel the grip on your arm begin to loosen as they both shake hands and you take this as your best chance to escape his hold. Yanking your arm out with such a force that causes your body to bounce into Yunho’s, who skilfully stops you from colliding with the floor. His arm drapes over your shoulder protectively as he never takes his eyes off of the man in front of him.

“Did you need something from y/n? Cause we were actually just about to head home,” Yunho says before pulling your body even closer to his. You know that you shouldn’t be so close to a guy that you don’t even know but you would rather take your chance with the bright-eyed giant than your monster of an ex. So, you do the only thing that makes sense to you at that moment, you wrap your arms around his torso placing your cheek on his chest. You feel his body tense momentarily due to your actions before he relaxes under your touch.

“We were having a private discussion,” replies your ex “, so if you don’t mind,” he continues as he stretches his arm towards you. 

He doesn’t reach very far before Yunho has his hand in his grasp. “I do mind. So, could you please keep your hands off my girlfriend,” he responds. Your heart jumped at his words. Girlfriend. You were sure that Yunho could feel your cheek heating up against his chest. You also had no idea that his voice could get that deep. You looked at his hand as he gripped your ex tightly, veins protruding as he asserts his dominance in the situation. He eyed down your ex like he was about to strike at any moment. Realizing that things could end up very bad if this altercation develops any further, you try your best to end it early.

You grip unto the front of Yunho’s shirt tugging at it gently. He looks down at you, eyes softening as they look into yours. “Yunho,” you whine softly but still loud enough to be heard by your ex, “I wanna go home,” you continue while pouting and hopping slightly to feign impatience. He releases his grip on you ex while pushing him back slightly. He uses his newly freed hand to cup your cheek gently, bringing his face closer to yours. You know that this is all just an act but that doesn’t stop your breath from hitching or your heart rate from racing. Yunho looks into your eyes, “Do you have all your things Baby?” he asks. There he goes again with that sweet voice of his. You nod gently completely forgetting that your ex was even there, your only focus was on Yunho. 

He removes his hand from your face while lowering the other to your waist. He glances over at your ex, pure annoyance in his face before speaking, “You two will have to finish your discussion some other time. My Baby is ready to leave.” With that he’s gone, holding you at his side while he shoves your ex out of the way. 

No words are exchanged until you exit the club safely, you both releasing a sigh of relief. “Are you okay?” Yunho asks while using the hand which previously held your waist to caress the area which had been held captive by your ex. You wince, a shock of pain radiating from your forearm. Startled by the sound Yunho pulls his hand away while looking at you, a look of worry on his face. You feel your heart sink due to the loss of contact. In the few moments that you’ve spent together, you’ve already become so comfortable at his side. You didn’t want it to be over yet.

He’s done so much already for a person that he doesn’t even know. No stranger has ever been that kind to you for no reason, they always want something or have some sort of ulterior motive but not him. You could see by his aura, by the look in his eyes, that he acted out of concern and deep down you knew that he would have done the same for someone else. That thought alone makes water start to well up into your eyes. He helped you because you needed it and you are grateful but some tiny sliver in your heart just hoped that that wasn’t the only reason. That there was some level of attraction that he felt for you, a spark in his heart that makes him want to protect you. To hold you. To keep you by his side.

Your tears begin to fall as realization hits you. You like him, a lot, and he doesn’t feel the same way. Your tears don’t reach far before they were being soaked up by the cotton of Yunho’s shirt. You didn’t even realize that he had pulled you into a hug, gently rocking from side to side as one hand rubs soothing circles on your back while the other cradles your head. “You shouldn’t cry over jerks like that,” he speaks almost in a whisper, his voice going back to the sweet tone that you remember from the bar. That’s not why you’re crying.

“You’re way too smart and way too kind and way too pretty to let a guy like that hurt you,” he continues while tightening his hold on you almost like he wanted to keep you close; to protect you. You calm down, you’ve realized that you feel at peace in his arms. His breath tickles you as he nuzzles his face into the neck. “You should only give your time to guys who will protect you,” he speaks into your ear causing goosebumps to rise all over your body. “Guys who will tell you how amazing you are every day, who will hold you in their arms like you’re the most precious thing in the world because you are,” he says gently.

You knew that you both had basically just met and logically there was no way that he could be talking about himself, but you really hoped that he was. Deciding to throw logic out of the window you replied softly,“The only guy I know like that is you.” Your heart raced as you waited for a response, already bracing yourself for the oncoming rejection. You feel his lips twist into a smile on your neck before he pulls you even closer. There is no space left between your bodies and you were definitely not going to complain. The aching in your forearm being drowned out by the singing in your heart.

After a few moments of resting in each other's embrace, he raises his head, pulling back to look you in the eyes. He smiles gently at you making his eyes sparkle brighter than any star you’ve ever seen. “And you’re the only person I’ve ever met that I wanna protect and cherish,” he speaks as he moves his hand to wipe away a stray tear; hand remaining to cup your cheek “, will you let me?” Not trusting your voice, you nod slowly, silently hoping that this is not a dream. His smile widens before you pull you into his arms once more, holding you like you were his entire world.

[clarosowrites]

Mistletoe (Adam x f!Detective)

Adam stood at parade rest against the wall, dispassionately watching the other attendees of the Wayhaven Holliday Party. Most of the town was here, mingling in the festively decorated Mayor's mansion. A jazz band played Christmas music in the next room.

He had thankfully avoided any sparkles in the outfit tonight. His simple red button down and black suit was extravagant enough for him, though Felix disagreed, trying to force him to wear a sequined tie. He easily spotted the youngest member of the team in his glittering silver suit. He was kneeling next to one of Mr. Verde's children, smiling as she showed him her dredile.

With any luck, that would keep him busy the rest of the night.

Mason was...somewhere. Probably skirting the edges of the party, like him, or drinking. And he knew Nate planned to make rounds with Agent McClaran, socializing with the citizens.

Their handler claimed being at the party would help their reputation, which was apparently less than stellar. Adam thought it was pointless. Unit Bravo had been in Wayhaven for over a year, the town's opinion of them was likely set by now. It didn't matter anyway--they didn't need anyone's approval to protect the town.

Suddenly, the sound of a single heartbeat reached his ears.

His shoulders dropped. Even through the music and the noise of the crowd, he'd recognize her.

Adam fought back a smile as warmth flooded his chest. It had only been a week since they saw each other last, but he'd felt the Detective's absence acutely. A week was nothing, a blink of the eye to him usually.  Yet, in the two months he and Catherine had started courting--he refused to call it such an insignificant term like dating--time had stretched in odd ways. A day with her seemed like barely five minutes. Every day apart was spent waiting for the next.

He turned to the entrance. His fingers tapped a nervous staccato against his arm as he scanned the crowd for her.

The mass of people parted and revealed Catherine like clouds parting for the sun.

Red fabric hugged her figure. The dress dipped low in the front, flowed past her hips and flared around her knees. She seemed to glow under the twinkling lights, her already statuesque figure even more noticeable in red. Her hair curled around her face, soft and loose in a way that made his fingers itch to touch--

He cleared his throat as she approached. "Detective."

Her smile was strained as she slipped her hand into his. This close, he realized she wore heels--she stood several inches taller than him and he had to tilt his head back to meet her eyes.

"I'm never letting Tina dress me, ever again." She hissed through clenched teeth. Her lips were painted red to match the dress. "I look like a big red elephant."

"That's absurd." He said and pulled her a step closer.

Catherine ducked her head, turning away from the crowd. She pulled at the dress's neckline. The material was practically molded to her skin, though, and she gave up with a frustrated huff.

"Adam, this dress is way too revealing for a work party!" She gestured up and down her body. "And I shouldn't have to wear heels!"

It was less modest than her usual outfits, true, the Detective preferred turtlenecks and long sleeved shirts most days, but he'd seen several women tonight with more skin on display.

She always looked perfect, even in her messy workout clothes. But he was biased. Besides, he'd asked if she looked appropriate, not his personal feelings on her appearance.

"You look..." He swallowed down the breathtaking and stunning that strained at his throat, "nice. And the height is appealing."

"Really?" She picked again at the dress.

He took her other hand to stop her fussing and smiled. "Are you calling me a liar, Detective?"

"No." Catherine admitted. She pursed her lips. "You're sure I look okay?"

Far better than okay, he thought. "I promise. It's appropriate for the occasion."

"Just what every girl wants to hear." She said sarcastically, the tension easing from her.

"I apologize." He squeezed her hands and smiled up at her. "I'm out of practice in giving compliments."

"Lucky for you, I'm not used to receiving any." She grinned. "I think we'll get along just fine."

A sharp whistle grabbed his attention. He turned to see Tina, grinning next to Felix in a sequined gold dress and pointing above their heads.

...where a tiny spring of mistletoe hung.

Adam's mouth went dry. For everything they had shared, confessions and open souls and lazy afternoons, they had yet to go any farther physically. She would press her lips to his cheek as a goodbye, occasionally, or to his hand as she held it, but they hadn't kissed. Actually kissed.

"Come on, Adam, plant one on her!" Felix called.

He snapped his head around to glare at him, trying to ignore the warmth flooding his cheeks.

Cat sighed. He stiffened as she place a hand on his shoulder and dipped her head to brush her lips across his cheek. The touch burned like it always did, like hot wax pressed onto his skin. His breath caught in his throat.

She walked towards Tina without glancing at him. "Happy?" She asked.

He didn't hear her response as they moved away, focused on his evening out his breathing. He did, however hear Felix's laugh.

"What." He snapped at the younger vampire.

Felix grinned even wider. "You look like you just face down a stake to the ribs instead of kissing the girl you like."

"She is not--"

"What?" He arched an eyebrow. "A girl? Who you like?"

"You make it sound so juvenile." He scoffed.

"It is juvenile if you act like your girlfriend has cooties." He gestured to the Detective's retreating figure. "Do you even want to kiss her?"

"We are taking this slow." He grit out.

"There's slow and there's glacial, Adam."

Nate appeared at Felix's side with a smile. "I think Mason's going to spike the punch. Felix, can you keep an eye on him?"

"Sure, boss man!" He saluted.

Adam sighed as they watched him wander off into the crowd.

"You realize Felix is only going to encourage him."

"Yep. I thought I'd rescue you, actually."

"And not interrogate me about my love life at all, correct?"

"At least you're admitting it exists! Finally!" He laughed. Adam couldn't help but grin.

Over his short relationship with Catherine, Nate had been his sounding board for practically everything. Planning dates, dissecting conversations--anything at all that involved Cat--Adam had applied himself with a military precision and Nate had helped. No matter how ridiculous his request, he'd helped

Nate nudged him with an elbow. "Really, though. You couldn't ask for a better set up than mistletoe on New Year's Eve. Why the hesitation?"

"Besides having a crowd?" He asked. "I need more time to plan it."

"Whenever you get around to it, its not going to be perfect."

"Perfect is what she deserves." Adam said defensively.

He shook his head and laughed. "I think you're just scared."

"Scared."

Creatures more ferocious than Nathaniel Sewell have cowered under the glare that Adam gave him. Nate just smiled.

"Yeah. Chicken?"

"Are you daring me to kiss the Detective?" He asked incredulously.

"It is working?" He grinned and clapped him on the back. "Carpe diem, old friend. No time like the present."

Adam cursed under his breath as his best friend walked away. He was right. He was scared, more scared since he met Catherine than he'd been in the past 900 years. Scared of himself and terrified of the uncertainty that haunted every interaction.

But when did that stop him from doing anything?

"Damn it."

After a military acquisition of a certain decoration and ten minutes of searching, he managed to find the Detective in the kitchen, away from the rest of the party.

"Catherine?"

She looked up at her name and smiled. "Hey Adam."

She perched on the granite counter, swinging her bare feet under her. She fanned herself with an old magazine.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"Those heels are killing me." She nodded to the black shoes on the floor. "And...there's a lot of booze in there."

"Ah." He frowned. "I cannot assist with that."

She shrugged, pushing her hair back and off her shoulders. "Its okay."

He took a steadying breathe and forced himself across the kitchen. Standing in front of her, he saw the uncertain tilt of her head and the way she unconsciously leaned into him.

"Catherine." He said again.

"Adam." She grinned. "What's going on?"

He cleared his throat, his mind suddenly blank. His fist clenched around the greenery he held.

"What's that?" She brought his hand up and he opened it, revealing the mistletoe.

Confusion flashed across her face. It transformed to delight and amusement as he slowly lifted it above their heads. He took the final step to close the gap between them, her knees pressing into his thighs.

She smiled, and god, he could loose himself in that smile, adoring and open and everything he doesn't deserve. And then she slid one hand up his chest, the other curling around the back of his neck, his skin burning underneath her touch, even through his clothes. His eyes fell shut--blocking out everything else but the feel of her hands.

At the first brush of her lips on his, Adam shuddered. At the second, he leaned into her, the mistletoe falling from his hand so he could cup her jaw. Fuck--if he thought her touch before was burning, then this was a brand. Her kiss seared into his lips and he wanted it to, for her to leave her mark on his skin that matched the one on the inside of his chest and--

She pulled away. He moaned at her absence, some small, broken thing that he couldn't bring himself to care about.

He chased her mouth, only halted by the hand pushing on his shoulder, a silent stop.

"We..." She said unsteadily, and he opened his eyes just to see her wet her lips and swallow. "We should..."

He nodded. "Get back to the party." It would be less than impressive if someone found the Detective in a compromising position, as much as he wanted to create one.

He dared to press for one more kiss, firm and swift, before lifting her from the counter. As he set her on her bare feet, she looked dazed.

"Right." Cat straightened her dress and slipped into her shoes. "Do I look okay?"

"You're beautiful." He said. "I should have said that earlier. Stunning."

"You big flirt." She accused, smiling broadly.

Her fingers curled around his collar. "I only have to stay for another hour or so. Maybe we could...go back to my apartment and hang out."

"I would like that." He murmured, leaning his forehead against hers.

"Okay." She stepped back. "Stay out of trouble until then."

"I will." He promised, dropping her hand reluctantly.

"Bye."

With a final wave, she slipped out of the kitchen and out of his sight. He leaned against the counter and sighed happily. He could rejoin the party in a few moments--for now, Adam closed his eyes and let himself follow her heartbeat.

[ambassadorquark]

ALL OF LWAXANA TROI’S APPEARANCES RANKED BY HOW GOOD HER OUTFITS ARE

this rating system has nothing to do with the actual quality of the episode in question and is entirely based on how iconic a given lwaxana outfit is and how many there are in the episode in question. altogether lwaxana appears in nine episodes, which i will list here in order of least to most powerful aesthetically

TNG season 7 episode 7, “dark page”

total number of outfits/costume changes: 3

while this episode is fantastic in my opinion, it definitely lacks looks. one of the costume changes is just the hospital gown everyone in star trek wears while in a telepathically induced coma of some kind, and the other two are certainly not flashy. i actively dislike the brown dress since i feel that even lwaxana’s simpler looks ought to have an elegance or flair that this one lacks. her other dress in this episode is actually quite nice, simple and dark-colored to demonstrate that she’s depressed but also just fashionable & shiny enough to give it a couple points. cumulative rating: 3/10

DS9 season 3 episode 10, “fascination”

total number of outfits/costume changes: 2

“fascination” contains only two lwaxana outfits, both of which are charmingly tacky but unfortunately some of my least favorites out of her wardrobe. the purple dress is sort of shapeless and her headdress is kind of a fumble, and the orange dress is just kind of ugly. while i love DS9’s commitment to giving lwaxana an extensive collection of wigs in addition to her many extremely good dresses, the one she wears in this episode is pretty bad. a point or two added for how truly buckwild these looks are. cumulative rating: 4/10

DS9 season 1 episode 17, “the forsaken”

total number of outfits/costume changes: 3 (including a repeat of a dress from TNG)

first of all, this one loses a lot of points for having a repeat outfit in it; the pink and purple dress, to the best of my knowledge, also makes an appearance in one of her TNG episodes, “ménage à troi”. luckily, the dress in question is great and has been paired with an EXTREMELY powerful pink wig. the wig game in this episode is actually solid as hell and is basically the only reason i don’t hate the weird blue lace thing she wears at one point. i mean it’s certainly iconic but it also kind of sucks. and as beautiful as this episode’s most emotional moments are, the dress she wears during them is way too plain for me to rate this one too highly. overall the looks are decent and memorable, and the introduction of wigs is a legendary move on the DS9 folks’ part. cumulative rating: 5/10

TNG season 4 episode 22, “half a life”

total number of outfits/costume changes: 5

although this episode has a LOT of outfits, i don’t really like most of them too much. the teal dress she starts the episode out in is my favorite, but the others are either a bit uninteresting or like, not great. i guess i appreciate her belt game in this one, but the purple dress is kind of weird all in all. i also guess her wearing a plain-looking nightgown makes her seem a little realer and more down-to-earth but it does require me to suspend my disbelief that lwaxana doesn’t go to sleep in like, a prismatic hot pink negligee or something, so that takes some points off. cumulative rating: 6/10

DS9 season 4 episode 21, “the muse”

total number of outfits/costume changes: 5

while the maternity outfits in this episode are classy and characterful, they’re not very memorable or particularly #iconic. the remaining two looks, however, are pretty great. although the wedding dress IS simple, it’s pretty and the weird face veil is a nice touch, and i also love the addition of a glowing orb as an accessory. the final outfit of the episode is beautiful, though; the textures of the fabric add a lot of interest to a neutral-colored look... also notice that she’s wearing beige to match odo’s colors! this is a good one for outfits that aren’t quite as much weird fun as the usual but still genuinely stylish and nice-looking. cumulative rating: 7/10

TNG season 1 episode 11, “haven”

total number of outfits/costume changes: 2

this episode gets points, despite only having two looks, for its commitment to a striking color scheme. also, this is lwaxana’s debut episode, and it establishes her as That Bitch right out of the gate. the sequined shoulder cutouts of the top dress and the extremely icon backless look AND top notch accessorizing on the second are pretty choice. cumulative rating: 8/10

TNG season 5 episode 20, “cost of living”

total number of outfits/costume changes: 5

NOW we’re getting somewhere! the looks in this episode are all over the place but include one of my ABSOLUTE FAVORITES, the ridiculous silver Glinda the Good situation in the middle there. the topmost outfit is charming and stylishly coordinated if kind of a weird thing to wear specifically to hang out with a small child. the remaining two are kind of weird as hell and i can’t decide if i like them, but they get points for being huge. lastly, the most iconic move in the whole episode, when lwaxana crashes her own wedding nude for basically no reason, puts the looks in this one FIRMLY Up There. cumulative rating: 8/10

TNG season 3 episode 24, “ménage à troi”

total number of outfits/costume changes: 4

this episode straight-up sucks but of course, the most important thing is that lwaxana is killing it the entire time which is why it’s the second most powerful on my list. on the top: i just kind of love this one. the asymmetrical cleavage window and sequin/animal print energy of the top have some powerful energies. and on the bottom: at one point she loses her clothes and has to wear a patented Star Trek Shiny Blanket, and then changes into a pretty choice outfit that’s like the exact same color for absolutely no reason. the fact that only one of the sleeves has sequins on it is what makes this one shine in my opinion. also, you’ve already seen the pink one in the middle there because it was so good she also wore it on DS9. i included the picture of her wearing it to a picnic because everyone in that picture looks extremely stylish except for riker. cumulative rating: 9/10 GET IT TOGETHER RIKER

TNG season 2 episode 19, “manhunt”

total number of outfits/ costume changes: 4

every single look in this episode is SO GOD DAMN GOOD. she shows up in an incredible like, sexy fairy godmother ass glittery dress WITH some rhinestone nonsense going on in the cleavage window for no reason except that she’s That Bitch, and all her subsequent outfits, while not going quite as hard, still rule indiscriminately. the shiny multicolored dress & return of the shoulder cutouts is ICONIC. the hot second where she tones it down for her hot date with picard bc she read his mind and figured out that he was boring i guess is still ELEGANT and PEERLESS. and i am going to be thinking about whatever is going on with that purple dress and its enormous fluffy shoulders for the rest of my life. also, not relevant but the outfits she puts her little attaché guy in are also pretty cute. lwaxana troi invented fashion. cumulative rating: 10/10