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idreamofplaid · 4 years ago

Text

It Begins

Square Filled: Tongue Fucking for @spnkinkbingo & Singing Christmas Songs for @spnchristmasbingo

Characters: Sam x Olivia (OFC); Jensen and John mentioned

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Oral (female receiving)

Summary: Olivia is new to the marketing firm owned by John Winchester, and is surprised to be assigned to an important ad campaign for a high profile client. She feels like she’s in over her head with the work, but she’s in even deeper with the boss’ son, Sam.

Word Count:3781

A/N: This is Part 1 of a Series called Surrender to the Truth. It’s an AU mash up of RPF and SPN characters. I’m also playing with time. Imagine Season 8 Sam and Jensen a year or so into the future.

It was beta’d by the wonderful @fangirlxwritesx67. Thanks Viv for your patience with all my questions, your enthusiasm for this project, your thorough reading that really made me think about what I was doing, and the series title.

Why were Mondays always like this? Olivia found it hard to decide what to wear after a weekend of being relaxed in pajamas and denim. Traffic was predictably the worst, even more so because of the holidays, and if there was any day she was going to forget and leave her coffee on the kitchen counter; it was Monday.

She made it to work on time with only a couple of minutes to spare. This was only her second week on the job at the city’s most up and coming marketing firm and being late was not the way to make a good impression on her new boss. John Winchester was a man with exacting standards and high expectations.

Her first stop was the coffee pot in the breakroom. There was no way her creativity was going to start flowing without caffeine. Cup in hand, Olivia made her way to her office. It was a respectable office, larger than the little more than a closet sized space she’d had in her last office. This one even had a small window. These things might seem insignificant, but Olivia had worked hard for them, and to her they were badges of success.

Olivia had barely had two sips of her vanilla creamer laced coffee when she had a visitor in her office, the kind of visitor who doesn’t knock: Sam Winchester. She hadn’t been here long, but she had been filled in on Sam. He was practically legendary among the women of the office, and some of the men. She took another sip of her coffee to hide the fact that her mouth had fallen open. This guy lived up to the hype.

He was wearing a white dress shirt, minus the jacket, and the way his shoulders and chest filled out that shirt was nothing short of sinful. His tie formed a perfect Windsor knot at his throat, and the face above that tie was Greek god handsome. He was a Greek god with dimples.

As he walked across the room, his every move exuded power and privilege, without the arrogance. Holy fuck. Could a man be more attractive?

He put a folder down on the edge of Olivia’s desk. Work. Right. He expected her brain to focus on what his family was paying her for.

She sat down to take a look at what was so important Sam Winchester himself had delivered it. When he spoke, his voice was just as delicious as the rest of him.

“New account. Dad wants you to take it.” He sat down smoothly on the edge of her desk to watch her look through the file like he owned the place, which he basically did. She finished looking through the file then looked up at Sam, more confused than ever. She was the new kid here. Why would they give her something this high profile, as in Hollywood high profile?

It wasn’t her most impressive moment or the most professional thing she’d ever said, but she blurted out, “Why me?”

Sam rested his hand on his thigh. The way his long fingers spread out over it wasn’t helping her concentrate or wrap her head around this situation. “Because you’re from Texas. Gives you insight into the culture, the vibe, the feel of it.” He stood and adjusted his tie, drawing your attention to his hands again. “This Ackles guy is a personal friend of my dad’s, so make it good.” As he left, he looked back over his shoulder. “Besides, everyone likes beer; you’ll come up with something.”

She said to the empty room, after he closed the door behind him, “No, actually I don’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For a couple of minutes after Sam left, all she could do was stare at the nicely framed but generic artwork on her wall. The Winchesters were trusting her with a huge account for some reason, and she was scared completely out of her mind that she was going to screw it up and ruin her future with this company, along with her career in advertising. Why did it have to be beer? Finally, she opened the file and spread the pictures of the brewery and the photos of its famous owner across her desk.

She picked up one of the glossy pictures of Jensen Ackles in all his male model perfection and took a good look at it. He was just as gorgeous as Sam, but his look was distinctly different. His eyes were a clear green, and they held a deep intensity. Those eyes were captivating in a photograph. What would they be like in person? She allowed herself to indulge in that fantasy for a few seconds then shook her head to break the spell. She needed some Bailey’s in her coffee. Excellent idea. She was already walking a perilous line at this new job, so why the hell not?

Olivia swiveled her chair and opened the cabinet behind her, reaching into the back to grab the bottle of liquor where she’d stashed it. She poured a generous amount into her cup, hoping it would calm her nerves. With that in mind, she turned on some music. The soothing notes of an instrumental version of “White Christmas” floated from the speakers.

She closed her eyes and let the taste of the coffee and the Irish cream sit on her tongue. This had been one of her favorite Christmas songs when she was growing up. It always took her to a fantasy wonderland, a place where life was ideal and Christmas cottages had perfectly trimmed trees with beautiful presents piled beneath them, fireplaces alive with glowing fires, stockings hung on the mantel, and snowflakes falling gently outside. Living in Texas, snow had been a magical and rarely seen event.

That long cherished holiday dream filled her mind and calmed her. She started singing along with the music. ...just like the ones I used to know. After a stanza or so, she opened her eyes to focus once again on the pictures of the brewery in front of her. A snowy Christmas was her fantasy, but she had a job to do; that was her reality.

By the end of the day when Sam came back to check on her progress, Olivia had practically nothing to show him. It would do no good to try and stall or hide just how little she had managed to accomplish. He was her supervisor on this project, and he was here to see how much progress she’d made.

He flipped through the work she’d done that day. His expression was unreadable, but his words were clear enough. “The Taste of Texas? Not exactly original is it?” He paused and cut his eyes over to her, then dropped them back to the papers he was holding. “The drawings aren’t bad though. We can probably use some of these hill country sketches. Maybe a logo design.” He closed the file and tossed it back on her desk.

“Do you know what you need?” Her silence said she didn’t. “Inspiration.”

She put her hand on the folder lying on her desk, the one that represented her failed day of work. “Where do I get that exactly?” She was unable to keep a hint of exasperation out of her voice.

He flashed her those unbelievable dimples and winked. “Follow me.” Sam took her to his office. It was easily four times the size of hers with an entire wall of windows that revealed a breathtaking view of the city, the lights from the skyline competing with the white lights on the tastefully decorated Christmas tree that adorned his office. It was opulent and sleek, a space befitting the heir to the growing empire.

She allowed herself to indulge in the breathtaking view of the skyline for a few seconds before commenting, “It’s an incredible view, but I don’t see anything about a family business in Texas out there.”

“Your inspiration isn’t out there; it’s in here.” His voice drew her eyes away from the magnificent view. Sam walked to his mini fridge and pulled out a six pack. He held it up. “A little Cosmic Cowboy from Family Business Beer Company. How can you create an impactful and memorable campaign without sampling the product?”

Sam twisted the top off a bottle and handed it to her. She took a sip of it. Unfortunately, she wasn’t one of those people who could describe the taste of beer. It was cold. It was beer. That was all she had. She was not a connoisseur. How was she ever going to do this ad campaign? She didn’t even like beer.

Sam had been watching her reaction carefully. Olivia didn’t have a poker face, though she’d tried to hide her reaction. It didn’t slip by him that she wasn’t comfortable with this beer thing.

“Not your favorite then?” He took a drink from his bottle. “Taste it again.”

He was the boss’ son, effectively her boss right now, and this was her job; but she got the feeling she would have done whatever he asked even if that hadn’t been the case. She took another sip, and Sam coached her through it. “Think about what you’re drinking; savor it. Just like wine, beer has notes; and they’re all different.”

She took one more drink. “What am I supposed to be tasting?” She’d never been good with wine either, but once someone explained there was blackberry or oak or whatever in it; she could pick up on that. She needed Sam to tell her what she should be tasting.

“Do you taste how it’s substantial but still light?” She took another sip and nodded. “It’s the grapefruit and pineapple that make it light; the pine in it gives it a little something more.” When he said it, she could taste it. She could taste it all.

Sam’s office had a fireplace, not like the one in her fantasy Christmas cottage, but when he picked up a remote and clicked it bringing the flames to life, it was cozy nevertheless. Sam took off his tie and tossed it on one of the upholstered chairs in front of the fire. He unbuttoned the top of his shirt and rolled up the sleeves. Absentmindedly, Olivia took another sip of her beer while she watched him.

Sam sat down on the plush rug in front of the fireplace, his back leaning against the leather sofa, legs stretched out in front of him. He put what was left of the six pack of beer down beside him and patted the floor on his other side, inviting her to join him. Olivia lowered herself next to him. She was thankful her pencil skirt wasn’t so tight that it didn’t allow some freedom of movement, and she tried not to stare at the way the firelight danced over his golden skin. He caught her looking at his strong forearms, exposed below the rolled white cuffs of his shirt. Sam smiled, a flirty and suggestive sort of smile. He finished the last of his beer, and popped open another.

Olivia was slower to finish hers, but she was beginning to warm up to the taste. Perhaps it was something you had to acquire, or maybe the company you were in made all the difference. Beer might be okay after all.

He asked, “What do you think of it now?”

“I can taste everything you said.” The crackle of the fire, the lights from the Christmas tree, and the skyline in the background created a perfect storm of romantic atmosphere. Olivia noticed how Sam’s eyes were a beautiful honeyed brown, dappled with green and gold. His lips looked incredibly soft in contrast to the hard line of his jaw. He caught her starting again, this time at his mouth.

He took her empty bottle and slotted it back into the cardboard square where it had originally been and put what was left of his beer in the empty square beside it. Sam turned back to her and leaned in closer. He took her face into his hand and looked into her eyes for a long second or two before he lowered his mouth to hers.

The way he kissed was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. His tongue was sure but gentle as it circled hers. He had complete control of her through what his mouth was doing. A wet spot was forming in her panties, her body responding to him. At the same time his hand was cradling her face while his fingers moved slowly back and forth through her hair, massaging her scalp and melting her under his touch. He could do anything to her. She was eager for it.

He broke the kiss, and now he was holding both sides of her head in his enormous hands. His lips were still just inches from hers. She could feel his breath when he asked, “What do you taste now?”

This man could make her breathless. He was either meant for her, or he was excellent at reading her actions and responses. His attention was completely on her, waiting for her response.

“I...can still taste the beer, but the way you taste makes it better.” It wasn’t eloquent. For someone who worked with words to pull the maximum effect from them, he could make her forget how to use them properly.

Sam kissed her again, hands roaming down her back and stopped just above her waist. “You know what else might really inspire you?”

Olivia pressed her body so tightly against his she could feel the muscles in his chest and stomach through his shirt. It made her wetter. “I have some ideas.”

He took off her jacket and let it fall to the floor. “Then let’s get those creative...juices flowing.” The blouse she was wearing was form fitting. Sam’s gaze traveled over her breasts before his eyes locked onto hers.

A spark traveled between them. Lust? Need? Want? Whatever it was, the sexual tension hung in the air for a moment before their lips crashed together.

Sam lowered her to the floor while he pulled her shirt up. He broke the kiss to tear it over her head and throw it out of the way. Now it was his turn. She took a fistful of his shirt and pulled it out of his pants, then did the same on the other side. He propped himself over her on his hands while she unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. She ran her hand across his chest and over his shoulder. What he’d been hiding beneath that expensive shirt was impressive.

Sam smiled down at her. “You like?”

“Very much,” she answered while he took off her bra and lowered his head to take one of her nipples in his mouth. He teased it with his tongue until she was arching her back and raising her hips off the floor.

Sam sucked hard on the nipple in his mouth before pulling off it. “Do you want more?” Her eyes closed and her lips parted, a small moan escaping from them.

He unzipped her skirt and dragged it down her legs, then turned his attention to her lace covered mound. Sam rubbed his fingers over her panty covered core. “Already so wet.” He pushed her panties aside and swiped his fingers through her folds. Then he lifted his fingers to his mouth and sucked her juices from them. His eyes bore into hers. “Tastes so good.”

He tore her panties from her body to gain access to what he wanted; she heard the sound of silk and lace ripping. Sam’s hand felt huge on her thighs as he pushed them wide apart. He held them there, and his tongue found her clit. He sucked it the same way he’d worked at her nipple.

She was raising and lowering her hips beneath him, fucking nothing and needing to be filled until Sam swirled his tongue all the way down her slit to her opening and thrust it inside. She wasn’t empty anymore, and it felt incredible. He moved his tongue in and out of her, fucking her on it until she was writhing and grabbing fistfuls of his hair.

She wanted to scream but was still aware enough to know they were in the office building. So, with some effort, she held it in. But when he added the pad of his thumb circling over her clit while he continued to thrust into her with his tongue, she started to whimper and moan. Her thighs were shaking when she came on his face. He licked and stroked her through her orgasm until she went still beneath him.

Sam didn’t move for a few seconds, then he raised himself up so he could see her reaction to what he’d done to her, how it had affected her. Olivia smiled up at him, and Sam returned the smile while he unbuckled, unzipped, and pushed his pants and underwear down over his hips. If she’d thought what was under his shirt was stunning, what was under his pants was better. His cock was absolutely magnificent. It stood against his stomach long and thick, resting on his well defined abs. Sam caught her looking at him yet again, and his smile got bigger. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

Sam lowered himself from his kneeling position until he was sitting on the floor. He pushed his pants farther down his legs to get them out of the way. He extended a hand to her, and she took it. He settled her on his lap. Olivia wrapped her legs around him. He looked at her with those beautiful eyes that combined colors in so many ways that seemed to change from moment to moment. “Do you want to go through with this? It’s not too late to say no.”

She squeezed her thighs into his sides. She was imagining the feel of his cock stretching her open. From the looks of him, it was going to be a tight fit. “I absolutely want to go through with this.”

That was all he needed to hear. He took a condom from the wallet in the pants pooling around his ankles and rolled it down over his length. Sam put his hands on each side of her waist and lifted her up, lining her up over the tip of his cock.

When he started to lower her down onto his shaft, she rolled her head forward. Her hair brushed over his shoulder as he continued to slowly ease her down onto his length, giving her time to adjust to his size. Once he was fully seated inside her, he began to roll his hips. Oliva imitated his movements, rolling her hips with the same rhythm.

She raised her head because she wanted to see into Sam’s eyes while he thrust up into her. There was something in the depths of them that she couldn’t quite define, something she wanted to figure out, something she wanted to understand and know better. He covered her mouth and kissed her with an intensity she could feel through her entire body.

His tongue was circling hers, tasting her, when she came again. Olivia clenched around him and her body spasmed in waves as her orgasm crested and blended into another. Sam kissed her all the way through it. She went limp in his arms, and he kept moving.

She could feel his hands on her and the warmth of the flame from the fire on her skin. She could feel the way his cock throbbed, still buried deep inside her, and she could taste him. He pulled away from her mouth and buried his face in her neck when he came.

“Olivia.” He said her name once, just the one word, and it struck her to the core. Olivia regretted that she couldn’t feel his hot release painting her insides. It felt like some part of him was being held back from her, and she wanted it all.

Whatever magic she’d felt hearing the sound of her name on his lips dissipated with the reality of Sam pulling himself from her body and carefully removing the condom. He pulled his pants back up before walking over to his desk to dispose of it in the wastebasket there. Olivia imagined it wouldn’t be the first time the cleaning service found one of those in his trash.

What was she doing? She just screwed the boss’ son in his office. She was a total cliche. Her mind told her she should feel like a slut, but she didn’t. She refused to be ashamed of what she’d done. The sex had been mind blowing; her body had never responded to any man that way. Sam had stirred something in her physically, but it had gone beyond that. It was something she would examine later and try to define, but now all she could think of was escaping the overwhelming thoughts and feelings consuming her. Hastily, she grabbed her clothes and was in the process of putting them back on when Sam returned.

He took her hand and charmed her with his boyish dimples and his eyes that had turned a soft gray like the color of a sky lit by a silvery moon. Still, it was his words that got to her the most. “Hey, don’t be in such a hurry to leave; you’re going to make me feel cheap.” He was flirting with her. Guys like him moved smoothly through situations like this as though they were born to it, and in a way they were. Still, part of her hoped he was being at least a little sincere.

Sam hadn’t let go of her hand. “Stay with me. We can watch the fire, enjoy the lights on the Christmas tree.” This was a fling, right? It was a one night stand with the irresistible guy at work. “Plan our trip to Texas.” What did he just say? “A six pack is just an introduction to the business. What you need is to see the brewery.”

Sam sat down on the sofa, and Olivia sank down beside him. She lowered her guard a little and let some of the bliss she was feeling wash over her. The ambience created by the light from the tree and the fire enhanced her mood; both the light and her mood seemed somehow softer now.

“We can take the company jet. Ring in the new year in Austin.” Listening to him, Olivia had a most happy thought. Maybe this wasn’t a one night thing after all.

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @onethirstyunicorn @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @heycasbutt @jules-1999 @mrsdeannafuckingwinchester @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @mrs-meghan-winchester @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @becs-bunker @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @lonewolf471 @sea040561 @dawnie1988 @volleyballer519 @outcastedangel @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @daisymoder72 @sorenmarie87 @winchesterxfamilybusiness @deansotherotherblog

Sam/Jared: @girl-next-door-writes @stunudo @feelmyroarrrr @sammit-janet @idabbleincrazy @evansrogerskitten @focusonspn @autumninavonlea @spnxbsessed @durinsbride @deansyahtzee @waywardnerd67 @fullmooner @julesthequirky

#spnkinkbingo #spnchristmasbingo #sam smut #sam x ofc #sam series

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senttotheshadowrealm · 4 years ago

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The entire Pixar!

Oh wow, that’s a lot xD I’ll try my best! (I’m gonna send you one when I’m out of class and able to send an ask, I didn’t just steal this I promise :’D)

Top 5 favourite characters: HECTOR, Ernesto, Miguel, Woody, and EVE

Other characters you like: Slinky Dog!, Barley Lightfoot, Wall-E, Randall Boggs, Ellie Fredrickson, Bruce the Shark (and a bunch of others!)

Least favourite characters: SPOT, Imelda *prepares for the flaming pitchforks*, Russell, Arlo

Otps: Wall-E/ EVE, Carl/ Ellie, Bob and Helen Parr, Ernector (fun to play with in AUs and such, but I don’t think they were actually romantic in the canon)

Notps: Imector *prepares for the stones*

Favourite friendships: Ernesto and Hector (pre-betrayal of course) ,Miguel and Dante, Buzz and Woody, Marlin and Dory, The Circus Bugs

Favourite family: The Riveras

Favourite episodes: ????

Favourite season/book/movie: COCO, but the first three Toy Story films hold a special place too.

Favourite quotes: “I would move Heaven and Earth for you, mi amigo! Salud!”, “Dumb flower bridge!”, “YOU. ARE. A. TOYYYYYY!”, “I am MISSES! NESBIT!”, “To Infinity and Beyond!”, “I don’t know....but whatever I do.... I’m going to live every minute of it!”

Best musical moment: Anything in Coco, honestly. But Remember Me (lullaby) overall, Llorona for sound.

Moment that made you fangirl/boy the hardest: The first time seeing HECTOR‘S PHOTO~ <3

When it really disappointed you: The entirety of The Good Dinosaur. I really don’t know what they were smoking...

Saddest moment: Uuuuuughhh there are so mannnyyyy..... Probably either the Remember Me lullaby or the legendary first 10 mins of UP

Most well done character death: Hector’s lol That flashback scene is cinematic GOLD

Favourite guest star: Lee in Coco. “What did I miss?”

Favourite cast member: Gael Garcia Bernal <3

Character you wish was still alive: Ellie. Omg. (I was gonna say Hector but he’d probably have died of natural causes by now anyway lol)

One thing you hope really happens: Coco sequel!!!

Most shocking twist: Ernesto’s a baddie. I was genuinely shocked.

When did you start watching/reading?: Lol oh God. I had Toy Story sheets on my first bed when I was 3 so.... young.

Best animal/creature: Pepita! She’s rad!

Favourite location: Land of the Dead <3

Trope you wish they would stop using: Honestly, I couldn’t say. I think Pixar avoids a good amount of tropes.

One thing this show/book/film does better than others: Emotions. Pixar films know how to build worlds and characters and know how to make people care about them.

Funniest moments: All of Finding Nemo is hysterical. But my favorite moment of all time is the bug zapper scene from Bug’s Life. That KILLS me every time! The one skeleton dancing to the accordion music cracks me up, too!

Couple you would like to see: None that I can think of???

Actor/Actress you want to join the cast: No one in particular.

Favourite outfit:I may not like her very much, but Imelda’s outfit is👌

Favourite item: Ummm....Hector’s guitar???

Do you own anything related to this show/book/film?: lmao oh yeah! Shirts, figures, bedding, a bunch of stuff!

What house/team/group/friendship group/family/race etc would you be in?: Riveras. They’re honestly so supportive and wonderful <3

Most boring plotline:Cars. Like holy crap its a snooze fest.

Most laughably bad moment: Cars 2. All of it. It is so delightfully insane from start to finish that I kinda love it.

Best flashback/flashfoward if any: Again, Hector’s death scene. Such incredible story-telling, so much history about the characters, so much emotion packed into what is only a couple minute sequence. It’s wonderful.

Most layered character: Oooofff....I gotta say Ernesto. There’s a lot going on in that deranged mind of his. And they’re so fun to ponder about.

Most one dimensional character: Bing bong. He’s there to die. The end.

Scariest moment: Toy Story 3′s incinerator scene. They just...accept death... Having fun, kids?

Grossest moment: Syndrome getting sucked into the plane engine at the end of Incredibles. What a way to go xP

Best looking male: Living Hectorrrr~ <3

Best looking female: Luisa Rivera. She a cutie pie :3

Who you’re crushing on (if any): HECTOR <3 <3 <3

Favourite cast moment: I like when they used to do those blooper reels at the end of their movies. Does that count?

Favourite transportation: Pizza Planet truck. It can apparently go anywhere.

Most beautiful scene (scenery/shot wise): Miguel seeing the LotD for the first time. Ooof <3

Unanswered question/continuity issue/plot error that bugs you: None that I can think of.

Best promo: I liked the media spots they did for Coco. A lot of them are on YouTube if anyone hasn’t seen them.

At what point did you fall in love with this show/book: Again, quite young xD

Whew, that was a LOT! But it was a lot of funnn~

#Long post #RaeWrites #Pixar #Coco #Toy Story #Others lol

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bluerose5 · 4 years ago

Text

The Precipice of Change: Chapter 1

Rated: T

Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition

Word Count: 4,268

Tags: Male Mage Hawke, Hawke as Inquisitor, DAI Inner Circle, Purple/Flirty Hawke, Canon-Typical Violence, past Male Hawke/Fenris, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Blood & Injury

Summary: The story of Dragon Age: Inquisition, as told if Garrett Hawke were to become the Inquisitor instead.

There's nothing like being the Chosen One for a god that you don't really believe in, fighting to save a world that wants you dead eight out of the seven days of the week. But Hawke makes do. He always does.

Chapter 1:

When Hawke decided to attend the Conclave, it had been out of his heart’s foolish sense of empathy for what Anders used to call “the mages’ plight.” Don’t get him wrong. Garrett wasn’t completely devoid of all sense and emotion. He actively supported mages’ freedom whenever possible, stood up for them over and over again when —for a while there— it seemed as if Kirkwall had nothing to offer beyond blood mages and abominations. Even if he hadn’t factored that in, it certainly wouldn’t do a long-term apostate any favors to support the templars, of all people, but the last thing he had signed up for was this.

The last thing he remembered, he had been roaming around the Temple of Sacred Ashes, hood drawn close to conceal his face. He had been there under the guise of a Circle mage from one noble family or another. A random stranger had mistaken him for this Trevelyan lad from Ostwick, so Hawke had simply rolled with it, figuring that it was better than being recognized as the former Champion of Kirkwall. Not that his possible appearance was much of a secret, given that the Divine’s Right and Left Hands had specifically extended an invitation to him as one of the apostates’ “leaders” or what-have-you.

Still, one could never be too safe.

Anywho, here he was, roaming around the place, minding his own business…

Okay, maybe that was a lie. Hawke may or may not have heard about there being a cheese platter somewhere, and anyone that knew him would know that the mere possibility of there being one was enough to have him searching it out.

It was during his snooping that he came across… something, and then his memory goes blank from there.

Continue Reading Under the Cut...

And now, here he was, waking up in some dark, dank prison. Hurray! It almost reminded him of all of his worst nightmares. Surely any moment now, some Knight-Lieutenant would come barging in with the brand in hand, all serious and dour and ominous looking. They would probably spit on him, call him a filthy apostate for good measure. Can’t forget a nice kick to the gut with those damn boots of theirs. There’s nothing like instilling a decent dose of fear in their bound and helpless captives before lobotomizing them, right? Might as well go the whole nine yards. After they’d have him all bruised and bloodied, then they’d finally follow through and position the brand, its heat radiating along the surface of his skin—

The door to his prison slammed open then, causing Hawke to jolt in shock. His eyes snapped open, but it was hard to see much without squinting into the darkness, his narrow-eyed gaze accompanied by a scowl.

Just as he was getting to the good part, too!

The first woman that strolled in wasn’t anyone familiar, but the second one had Hawke doing a double take. Mind you, her garb was a bit different from the last time they met, but he could hardly forget meeting such a legendary character from the Fifth Blight. What kind of Ferelden would he be, had he forgotten the Leliana herself?

“Sister Nightingale?” he asked, head cocked to the side as he tried to get a glimpse under her hood. A single flash of torchlight upon her face was enough to confirm his suspicions, Hawke’s brain registering a second too late that the “torchlight” was suddenly green and coming from his hand. “Long time, no see. Lovely weather we’re having. How have you be—”

His ramblings were cut short when a mind-numbing, all-consuming pain lanced through his palm. It managed to do the impossible and shut him up for once, a sharp hiss replacing Hawke’s words as he tried to clutch his hand against his chest, only to have his manacles stop his hands in their tracks. He keeled over instead when he couldn’t find the relief he sought, curling in on himself with a breathless wheeze. Each flash of light was an assault on his nerves. It felt like lightning licking through his veins, brutal and relentless.

Muffled words poured in through his ears, but he couldn’t make out who was speaking nor what they were saying. Almost as if he was listening to them speak from underwater.

Just as the pain was becoming too much, black dots now clouding Hawke’s vision, the agony of the mark slowly started to recede. The green light disappeared, and the fire retreated back to his hand. It no longer engulfed his whole body, but simply radiated in his palm as a slow, aching throb.

Once Hawke was able to piece together some semblance of coherence, he gasped out for air. His entire body trembled and threatened to come apart at the seams, but having a sword suddenly pressed against his throat was like a bucket of ice-cold water to the face. He sputtered indignantly, golden brown eyes darting up to the Seeker’s sneering expression.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now,” she snapped, her patience apparently at its end.

Hawke’s head spun in confusion.

“I—” And because the man seemed to have a death wish, he just had to make a smartass comment, didn’t he? “Uh, because of my charming wit and stunning good looks?”

Might as well try for one of his signature smiles.

The second he grinned at her, though, the Seeker’s frown grew impossibly deeper.

Okay, that’s a ‘no’ to the signature smile then. Understandable. Its effects tend to vary, and this lady Seeker already came off as more sensible and sane than most of his former inner circle. Nice to know.

With a hand on her shoulder, Leliana stepped forward and gave her companion a pointed look, to which the Seeker responded with glare.

It took several moments for her to back down, but she eventually did, not without first scoffing at Hawke in disgust.

After she sheathed her weapon, both of them started to circle Hawke, predators waiting for the ideal moment to strike. It made Hawke tense up ever so slightly, his hackles raised and on edge.

“The Conclave is destroyed,” the Seeker continued, as if Hawke had never interrupted her. “Everyone who attended is dead, except for you.”

Wait, what?

Staring up at her in bewilderment, Hawke gaped.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Could you repeat that back for me? Surely, I must’ve heard wrong.”

“I’m afraid that you heard her correctly, Champion,” Leliana stated, her voice deceptively calm, despite the icy layer to her gaze. “The Temple of Sacred Ashes went up in flames. Conveniently enough for you, you are its sole survivor.”

Hawke pursed his lips at what she was implying, but the Seeker interrupted him before he could defend himself.

“It wouldn’t be the first time that you were involved when a holy sanctuary was destroyed in an explosion.”

Okay, now that was a low blow.

“Now, wait a damn minute,” Hawke spat.

The mark upon his hand decided that now was as good a time as any to make its presence known again, flaring bright green in response to his anger. Thankfully, the pain was slightly more manageable this time around with Hawke expecting it, but its mere appearance was enough to send the Seeker’s temper flaring as well.

Yanking at Hawke’s hand, her nails bit angrily into his palm, adding fuel to the already roaring flames.

“Explain this,” she snarled.

Snatching his hand back, he lifted his chin up in defiance as he stared her down.

“Yes, I’ll get right on that, explaining a mark that I know next to nothing about. If anything at all,” he deadpanned.

She took his shirt in hand and hauled him up to his feet until they were practically nose-to-nose, her brown eyes lit aflame with fury. Her hands were clenched tight into white-knuckled fists, Leliana having to step in once more.

“We need him, Cassandra.”

That was all she said on the matter, though. She didn’t even try to stop her as she did last time, lingering more in the shadows.

With a huff, Cassandra shoved Hawke back onto the ground, turning to Leliana with a scowl in place and her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Apparently, that was some sort of signal because Leliana took it upon herself to address Hawke again.

“You know what happened,” she accused. “How this all began…”

She trailed off, giving Hawke ample opportunity to fill in the blanks.

“If only I did,” he sighed, but he knew that such a lackluster answer wouldn’t help his case. “Listen, all I remember was that I was in the temple.” Come on, Hawke. Think. “Then next thing I know, something is, uh—” He wracked his memories for the details, only to fall short. “Something was chasing me? Oh, and there was a woman there too, I think!”

Leliana perked up at that.

“A woman?”

Hey, whatever worked.

Hawke nodded eagerly, scrambling for something —anything— else regarding that fact.

“She reached out to me, but then—”

And just like that, the memory slipped. Damn it. Was this sort of what Fenris felt like all of those years ago?

No wonder why he didn’t want to sleep with Hawke again.

“Ugh,” Hawke grumbled, head falling forward in defeat.

Cassandra must have decided then that she had heard enough.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take him to the rift.”

After the two exchanged a look, Leliana nodded and left. Cassandra took the opportunity then to drag Hawke back onto his feet, giving him little time to regain his footing before she hauled him off. In her haste, he stumbled over himself, but one sharp glare from her stopped his complaint in its tracks. Instead, he focused on staying in step with her, all while the gears started turning in his mind. He might not have ever met Cassandra before in person, but that doesn’t mean that he had never heard of her either.

After all, Varric had warned him that he had people searching for him, and how many Seekers were out there that went by the same name? Clearly not a coincidence.

Then again, when doesn’t Hawke have people after him?

Cassandra must have noticed his staring, eyeing him cautiously in return.

“What is it?”

Hawke really should start thinking before he speaks.

“Oh, I don’t know. From the way Varric described you, I imagined you would be taller, is all,” he chuckled.

The second her expression darkened, he knew that he had fucked up.

“From the way Varric described me?” she repeated slowly, scrunching her nose up at that. “Which means that he had written to you after I took him in for questioning. What a fool I am. I should have known that the dwarf was still contacting you. He insisted that he had no clue where you were.”

Oh, great.

Varric was so going to kill him for this.

“Ah, yes, well you see—”

Usually, he was much better at bullshitting on the spot, but his mind was unfortunately too muddled and dazed at the moment to come up with anything even remotely believable.

“Ugh.” Cassandra rolled her eyes at him. “Save it, and come on.”

That was all that was said before she led him outside, the light blinding enough that Hawke flinched, staggering backwards before Cassandra righted him. As they strolled forward, the commotion outside fell silent, like the calm before a storm. All eyes in the surrounding area turned on them the moment the doors opened, many filled with sorrow, and many more filled with a burning, deep-seated rage. All of which was now directed at Hawke.

He didn’t care, though. His attention was focused on something else entirely. Namely, the massive tear in the sky.

“What is that?”

The sheer surprise in his voice was impossible for even Cassandra to deny, her lips pursed in consideration as she turned to appraise the green, swirling vortex.

“We call it ‘the Breach.’ It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It is not the only such rift. Just the largest.” She took a deep, bracing breath. “All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“Seeker, I’ve seen the damage firsthand that an explosion could do to a city, and it wasn’t anywhere near this magnitude,” he stated, wondering what the hell kind of nightmare he stumbled upon in the Fade. “The amount of power that would be needed to tear open the Veil itself…”

As if his words had summoned its wrath, the Breach flared brightly, causing the mark to hiss and sputter angrily. White-hot pain shot through him, his words cut off with a gasp. His knees hit the ground, but he couldn’t even feel it compared to the wildfire consuming him from the inside-out.

His ears rang, and his vision blurred.

All sounds were drowned out like before, and it was only when the mark started to calm again that he was able to focus on what Cassandra was saying, kneeling in front of him with a hand upon his shoulder.

“—ch time the Breach expands, the mark spreads, and it is killing you.”

Great, so not a dream then.

“It may be the key to stopping this,” Cassandra continued, “but there isn’t much time.”

Yeah, of course not. When is there ever?

“So that’s it, huh? The infamous Champion of Kirkwall, cleaning up everyone’s messes again?” Or causing a few more than they started out with. Cassandra’s expression remained unimpressed to say the least, causing Garrett to sigh. “Okay, yeah.”

The way hope lit up her face nauseated him, his hand suddenly feeling like a dead weight.

“You will help us then?” she asked, wary and hesitant.

“I’ll do what I can, Seeker. Whatever it takes.” Hawke nodded at her with a bleak smirk. “Although, I don’t share your confidence that this mark will do anything other than more harm.”

“And here I thought that the Champion would be more lively in person. Varric never told me you were so pessimistic,” she joked, helping him to his feet to guide him along.

“You’re only figuring out now that Varric is an unreliable source?” Hawke asked. “If anything, though, the people who usually hurl insults at me would label me a hedonist, or perhaps they call me a heathen. It’s so hard to tell sometimes.”

“I can’t imagine why anyone would view your presence as anything less than charming,” Cassandra deadpanned, to which Hawke nodded eagerly in agreement.

“That’s what I keep saying! It’ll forever be a mystery to me.” It was then that he noticed the cold reception he was getting, surrounded on all sides by silent stares. “So… wonderful welcome party you have here.”

Cassandra was quick to jump to their defense on the matter, not that Hawke expected anything different.

“They have decided your guilt,” she explained. “They need it. The people mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and templars.”

“Perhaps the last chance,” Hawke said, his voice little more than a grave whisper. Cassandra nodded.

“She brought their leaders together, and now—” Her voice broke ever so slightly, but Hawke kindly kept quiet about it. If anyone could understand grief and loss, it was him. “—now they are dead.”

She swallowed thickly, standing taller as she schooled her expression back into its cool, calm, and collected mask. The time to mourn would come later, hopefully when the world was in less peril.

“We lash out like the sky,” she said, “but we must think beyond ourselves, as she did. Until the Breach is sealed.”

“And after that?” Hawke asked.

Cassandra paused, considering. “We shall see.”

Well, that was promising.

Once Hawke’s hands were unbound, Cassandra explained that they should test his mark out on something smaller than the Breach, which was fine by him considering that he was the one whose life was at risk. They were interrupted more than once on their trek forward by the mark’s sudden flare-ups, and Hawke could swear that he lost consciousness at one point, forcing Cassandra to practically drag him along at her side. He quickly came back to, but the mark was relentless, the pain worsening by the second.

The next time that Cassandra had to pick him up, he smiled apologetically in her direction.

“You know, I always admire a woman who can pull her own weight. And mine, in this case.”

Maker, he was rusty, but he tried to at least recover from his idiotic blunder by winking at her for good measure. She simply scoffed and shook her head in exasperation, rolling her eyes at his antics.

“If that was supposed to be flirtatious, then you failed. Horribly,” she stated, her expression giving nothing away beyond mere annoyance. “I would give you points for the effort, but even that was lacking.”

“My wounded pride,” Hawke sighed. “Perhaps I could—”

He was interrupted when debris from the Breach came crashing down in front of them, blasting right through the bridge they stood upon. Its foundation gave a loud groan of protest, stones crumbling one by one beneath their feet as they both fell to the icy path below them. The guards that were atop the bridge were sent down along with them. When the dust cleared, several were injured, and one of them had even died on impact, weapons scattered all along the ground as they yelled and tried to regroup.

Of course, fate just had a funny sense of humor because it was at that exact moment that demons started sprouting from the ground like daisies in the spring. The Breach was all but spewing them out without a care in the world, so Cassandra had definitely lost her marbles if she thought for a second that Garrett would follow her order to stay back.

Unfortunately, he didn’t really have a staff on hand, nor were there any spare lyrium potions lying around. Use of his magic would have to be scarce then, but he could make do.

Carver wasn’t the only one among the Hawke siblings that had learned how to use a sword. He was simply the only one that had perfected the skill. Malcolm’s knowledge might have consisted of mostly the basics, but it was still better than nothing, both Garrett and Bethany having learned out of necessity. Not only was it a handy defense for when their magic needed to be hidden, but it was also useful to know when faced with enemies who could dispel their abilities. In the end, though, Garrett guessed that it mattered little in Bethany’s case, but he refused to linger on that.

Right. Need to focus.

Scrambling across the ice, Hawke let his adrenaline flow freely, scooping up one of the swords and shields that had fallen in the soldiers’ wake. Right then, a shade manifested behind Cassandra, who was already busy battling with two others. Letting out a roar, Hawke rushed forward and knocked it down while it was distracted. It gave an indignant screech, which instantly grew louder when Hawke slashed at it with his blade. Blackened blood sprayed out from where he cut, but Hawke didn’t have time to consider it as he attacked the demon once again. Now and then, he would use some spells as needed for backup, but he stayed mindful of his pool of mana.

Soon enough, the demons all fell, one by one. The soldiers that could join them in the fray did so at the first opportunity, but many more still needed tending to.

Before Hawke could approach them, Cassandra was already in front of him, fire blazing in her eyes.

“Drop your weapon,” she snapped. “Now.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow at her, but he complied nonetheless, the sword and shield clattering to the ground as he waved his fingers at her.

“You know I’m a mage, right? Don’t really need a weapon to be dangerous, so far as everyone else is concerned.”

She sneered at him.

“Is that supposed to reassure me?”

He shrugged. “Well, no, but I haven’t used my magic on you yet.”

“Yet,” she repeated.

“Listen, are we really going to stand here and argue my horrible word choice all day, or are you going to let me heal your people so that we can continue on?”

“Heal them?” She blinked owlishly at that, as if trying to root out some ulterior motive hidden beneath his words.

“Well, yeah, not all of them took to the fall as gracefully as we did, Seeker.”

Which was saying something, considering how winded and disheveled they both were at the moment.

Eventually, after much appraisal on Cassandra’s end, she stepped aside. What mana Hawke did store was soon directed towards healing those around him. He was no Anders, by any means —thank the Maker for small miracles— but he knew enough healing spells to do some good.

Unfortunately, only a few actually accepted his help, so he didn’t have much to occupy him for long before he and Cassandra needed to head out.

By a surprising turn of events, she approached him after he was finished with the sword and shield that he had used earlier. When she offered it up to him, he hesitantly took it, wondering if this was some kind of trap.

Picking up on his suspicion, she huffed, arms crossed defensively over her chest.

“There were no mages among this lot, so we will be unable to procure you a staff for the rest of the journey. However, I cannot —in good conscience— leave you defenseless against demons, especially since you agreed to do this voluntarily.”

“Yeah, voluntarily. After you had me bound and gagged. Oh, and threatened me with death! Don’t forget that part.”

Cassandra sputtered, then paused, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Hold on a second. We did not have you gagged,” she protested, because obviously that was the worst accusation out of the three.

“Of course you did, and it was only when I broke free of my chains and escaped my dark, creepy, spider-infested prison that I looked upon all of this chaos around me—” Hawke swept his arms out around himself in a grandiose gesture. “—and decided to save you poor, unfortunate souls from mortal peril. Fighting through an entire demon army along the way, with the occasional dragon and ogre thrown in there for good measure, to reach the Breach!”

Cassandra gave a disgruntled sigh.

“I can see why you are friends with Varric, Champion.”

“Yeah, we are pretty amazing, aren’t we?”

Shaking her head at him, even she couldn’t deny how the corner of her lips quirked up the slightest bit in amusement.

“Not the word that I would use.”

They continued on the path from there, their banter occasionally interrupted when demons popped up or the mark flared. It wasn’t too long until they finally arrived at one of the smaller rifts that Cassandra had described, Hawke perking up quite noticeably when he noticed a specific dwarf there. He had no idea who the bald elven mage was, but he figured he would find out soon enough, he and Cassandra joining the fight against some shades and wraiths.

“Hawke?!” Varric yelled out in shock, releasing a bolt into a nearby enemy. “That you, you bloody bastard?!”

“Ha!” Hawke laughed as he covered a shade in ice, only to break it into a million tiny pieces with a slice of his sword. “Do you know any other Champion that’s this devilishly handsome?”

“More fighting,” Cassandra huffed. “Less talking.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hawke teased, focusing in on the battle at hand.

Once the final demon was downed, the unnamed mage took ahold of Hawke’s hand without explanation, magic coursing through where their skin touched. It was… strange. Not unwelcome, but almost as if the elf’s magic was guiding that from the mark.

Garrett really didn’t have time to consider it, his palm being thrust towards the rift before he could get a word out.

“Quickly! Before more come through!”

The resulting pain swelled inside him. It grew and grew, large and gluttonous, threatening to rip him apart at the seams. When Hawke prodded at the rift, it felt as if it prodded back, but something in that magic eventually gave way. It pulled and tugged at the edges of the rift, requiring Hawke’s full attention to get the edges to budge. Sweat beaded at his hairline, and his breaths soon escaped in labored gasps. But Hawke knew that, this time, failure wasn’t an option.

He didn’t know exactly how it happened. He didn’t know whether he pulled from the elf’s magic somehow or if the elf intentionally fed his magic into his, but something they did made the damn thing work. Like the last piece of a puzzle finally slipping into place.

With one final burst of energy, the mark snatched the edges together and sealed the rift closed. It was a patchy mess, but it got the job done nonetheless, the Veil scarred where the rift once was.

Tired and exhausted, Hawke didn’t even care how he dragged Mr. Elven-No-Name with him, his legs giving out as they both collapsed back into the snow.

The first one to break the newfound silence was Varric, as eloquent and timely as always.

“Well,” he panted, trying to catch his breath, “shit.”

And on that, Garrett thought as his eyes slipped closed, we can agree.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age 2 #dai #da2 #male hawke #inquisitor hawke #male inquisitor #my writing #my fanfic #crosspost #crossposted from ao3 #work in progress

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nso-csi · 6 years ago

Text

190315 [T1001101] D1

Concert name given by Taemin: Tae Min Identity = T. M. I Shawols already knew what the ‘M’ means but he said he prepared how to tell shawols then everyone started saying they don’t know and after Taemin explained everyone was like ‘Ohhhhh~’ cr.

Taemin: do you know what's the meaning of T1001101 Shawol: we knew, we knew! Taemin: i wish you didn't know because i want to explain it to you Shawol: we don't know we don't know!! cr.

Shawols told Taemin that his sweat is a holy water and Taemin could’t stay standing on his feet cr.

Taemin asked what this concert’s nickname should be and shawols were saying TMI but he couldn’t hear, so Shawols spelled out T M I as a fanchant And Taemin is a genius. He didn’t know what TMI is and said “Ah like TM (Taemin) is me (I)” cr.

Taemin’s pants where he wore and danced to only one song ‘Goodbye’ seems to have ripped a little and he was checking before he went “I am asking you to look at my face!” very shyly and he ran backstage after going “I am going to take a look at my pants” 😂 cr.

He ripped his pants during goodbye but didn't realize so kept talking to us and some fans told him so he kept checking to find it and was so embarassed he put his shirt in front of it. He became sooo red and kept telling them "you can't see anything!" But went to change pants cr.

For the SHINee song stage, Taemin also said that he wanted to do and saved it up and saved it up till now but his hyungs did alot of it at their own events that why he was like “I need to do it now!” cr.

At the encore, sherlock intro came on before it went into danger. Taemin asked if we were surprised and of course everyone shouted yes!! He said it was Director Hwang’s idea asking him“how about a sherlock and danger mash up” cr.

He said he wanted the slide type stage on the extended stage but realized that his sweat would fly on us so he couldn't do it. We told him it was okay we loved the it and said that his sweat would be like Holy Water, he laughed so hard he went on the floor ㅋ his shocked face ㅋ cr.

Shawols: T!!! M!!! I!!! TMI!!!!! Taemin: TMI? Genius!!!!! (in Korean), genius!!! (in English), who’s idea is it????! All of you raise your hands! “This concert will be called T M Identity but it’s too long so TMI” cr.

Also Taemin said that he had been thinking why he should translate his Japanese songs into Korean when it’s all his songs anyway. Even though a new version is good, but to keep the original songs’ feels he performed Holy Water and Into the Rhythm in Japanese. cr.

After he came out for the encore he asked what was the song shawols sang and everyone went ‘WANT!!’ and he was giving thumb ups to compliment everyone but we know he didnt hear so everyone was like ‘Ey~~~~~!’ He quickly explained that “i couldnt hear it because i was busy changing but i could hear that you guys were singing then i was thinking ‘what song is that...? I should ask them later!’” cr.

The slope Taemin said that he had to match with the dancers and practiced alot TM “I was thinking whether do I need to sleep on it to get used to it” And also when he couldn’t find the word to describe his stage on the slope he was like “how should I say this? A tortoise?” cr.

Also the slope Taemin said that they actually considered whether to put the slope on the extension so he could be closer to fans when he was doing the 45 degrees move but then “My sweat might drip..” SW: “holy water!!” T: “my sweat is holy water??!! cr.

He performed Holy Water & it started out on a hanging platform that eventually lowered down, but it was still, like, taller than a grown man. So when it reaches the stage, Taemin turns around & literally FREE FALLS into his backup dancers' arms cr.

He lifted a bottle of water that was pinkish (maybe vitamin water) to drink and was like “What is this??” when he first saw the water. He turned around and drank for a few moments and turned around again with the bottle nearly empty SW: WOWOW Taemin: “I am actually a robot~” cr.

He asked what was the 3 words that was added to the Lee taemin chant too and we were like ‘Yeoksolnam!’ (’legendary male solo’) and he was like “oh~~~ you guys added it knowing that I like that word~~” and started throwing thumb fore finger hearts cr.

#Taemin

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laallomri · 6 years ago

Note

paria, ruler of god tier headcanons, tell us about leandro/akira

YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND

leandro:

-curly brown hair (undercut because Of Course), freckles, brown eyes, oversize hands but slender fingers, his ears stick out a little and turn red when he’s embarrassed, when he smiles genuinely his eyes crinkle at the corners, whenever akira does romantic stuff for him he giggles instead of laughs properly and it’s one of akira’s favorite things about him

-he has adhd and hyperfixates on things so he has a huuuge amount of knowledge on very specific subjects. he does the thing where you jiggle your leg and he paces a lot and he keeps a fidget spinner in his pocket

-he is self-conscious. if asked why he’ll say it’s about how much he talks but that’s the surface-version of the real issue, which is that he’s worried about his talent/self-worth. his arc is a mix of him learning to love himself even if he’s not good at something and him doing badass stuff to prove that he’s amazing at a lot of things, too. he learns how to be content with being someone’s support and how to trust himself and his abilities so that he can make decisions with confidence when it is his turn to lead

-he’s your friendly neighborhood sharpshooter and says cool but kinda cheesy lines when he makes shots. akira always falls for them

-leandro, shooting the doorbell of the villain’s home from across the yard, at night: buzz buzz motherfucker! I got a delivery for ya

-akira, muttering: he’s so cool holy shit

-leandro, shooting a villain square in the chest while under heavy fire: HOW’S THAT FOR A BOY FROM CUBA

-akira, hyperventilating: do u think it’s a bad idea to make out while people are trying to kill us or

-leandro was born and raised in cuba. spanish is his first language and he speaks english with an accent

-he is the youngest of four (2 older brothers, 1 twin sister) and has 2 nieces and 1 nephew. his best friend is his maternal grandmother. he calls her every day and she was the second person he came out to after his sister

-he started to consciously realize he wasn’t straight at 14 but he wasn’t out as bisexual until he was 18 (he tells his sister at 15 and his abuelita at 17). part of his arc is becoming less nervous with saying it to people in general because he spends time around the rest of the team, who are all lgbt and make him feel safe and normal about his sexuality

-his ears are pierced and he wears earrings that used to belong to his grandfather, who was a hero and leandro’s inspiration for wanting to help people and do things to make the world better

akira:

-long dark hair (usually ties it up), dark eyes, 1 year older but a few inches shorter than leandro, a dimple in his cheek that flashes whenever he smiles (leandro will sometimes poke the dimple when akira smiles and say “oh hello, nice to see you again” and it always makes akira smile even bigger). his neck and cheeks turn red when he blushes, he snorts when he laughs, and he always sits cross-legged in chairs, even at dining tables and desks

-born and raised in america, though his family is japanese. he understands it fluently but can speak it only conversationally

-he has a necklace that used to belong to his dad. there’s a small square pendant in the center that says ‘family’ in japanese. akira keeps it tucked under his shirt so he can wear it without worrying about losing it

-he is autistic and stims by making a fist and running his thumb over his index finger. sensory overload affects him sometimes so he keeps noise-cancelling headphones in his backpack and leandro makes sure that he scouts out a quiet place for him to take a break whenever they’re at a party or in some kind of crowded area

-sometimes his fangs will appear and his eyes will flash purple and he kinda goes into a lowkey rager mode during a fight. he always manages to calm down when the fight is over so he’s never harmed an innocent person but it bothers him that he can’t control it so leandro offers to train with him to help him learn to bring it out or suppress it at will

-akira, softly: but what if I hurt you? I’d hate if I ever harmed you when you’re just trying to help me

-leandro, also softly, smiling with crinkly eyes: you’d never hurt me. I trust you

-akira, internally: the gay you two exhibited in that moment was legendary. like, the gay jumped out

-akira always knew he liked boys but wasn’t really comfortable saying it. then when he was 13 his mentor/older brother figure talked about asking out a male friend and akira realized that it’s totally normal. he came out as gay a couple years later. he was still a bit self-conscious about it for a while but by the time he’s 17/18 he’s fully comfortable with that part of himself

-he has a motorcycle and normally he doesn’t care about looking cool on it but whenever leandro is around that goes completely out the window

-akira: revving the engine is dumb it’s just showing off

-leandro: hi

-akira: VROOM VROOM BITCHES

-he has 2 swords and often dual-wields. it’s another thing that he knows is cool but doesn’t care but then suddenly does when leandro is around

-akira, after chopping up 12 bad guys: anyway let’s go home now

-leandro: great job, man!! that was fuckin awesome!!

-akira, kneeling and crossing the swords in the air like he’s in some kinda historical epic movie: I AM A GOD

-his arc is about family, about figuring out what happened to his dad and mom and about his attachment to his older brother/mentor and about discovering a family in the team. it’s hard for him to let people in and he often gets scares when he realizes how close he is to someone. but he learns to trust them and trust himself not to ruin things

#ask #centrifuck #long post #fic ideas #leakira #is that the ship name?? I think so #klance #for easier categorization purposes #100 #my post #500 #1k #my lists #2k

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theattainer · 6 years ago

Text

THE CULT OF THE CUSTOMIZED MCCOYS

http://theattainer.com/the-cult-of-the-customized-mccoys/

THE CULT OF THE CUSTOMIZED MCCOYS

Among those caught in Robert Mueller’s dragnet is the recently indicted Roger Stone, one of Trump’s long-time political advisors. Well known for his attention-seeking public persona, Stone’s eccentric taste in clothes has likewise become an ongoing subject of interest for the nation’s media. As he has attributed to me a significant role in mentoring him towards his own sartorial way, much of the press’s curiosity in his dressing style has landed at my shop’s doorstep.

I was first introduced to Mr. Stone in 1979 at the legendary Washington menswear retailer Britches of Georgetown. The folks at Britches were helping me launch my first tailored clothing collection, and Stone became an immediate devotee, going on to become an important client upon the opening of my first NYC Custom Shop in 1985. A good deal of what Stone sports in custom-made clothes today is an outgrowth of that collaboration.

Roger does not come by his passion for clothes casually. He has long been a serious student and ardent collector of the fashion arts, amassing a trove of vintage menswear posters and artwork. Having crowned himself a style arbiter, he has for some time published his own Best and Worst-Dressed list.

It’s probably been ten years or more since we last made Roger any clothes. While I share with Master Stone a life-long passion for matters sartorial, that is pretty much where our shared values end. Having no sympathy for his politics or take-no-prisoners style, my attention to him is limited to his public habiliment. In recent years, as he’s cultivated a fashion notoriety to complement his outsider politico image, his attire frequently lands on the too-conspicuous side of the tracks for my taste. However, dressing for outsize visibility fits in well with Stone’s persona as a card-carrying member of the Republican far right and outspoken critic of democratic politics. With a thirty-year-old tattoo of Nixon on his back, and as a fire-breathing defender of all things Trumpian, Stone dresses to the nines, the limelight being his holy grail.

What particularly interests me is the seeming legs of the Roger Stone as fashion doyen story, and more specifically, why it continues to curry more attention than one might anticipate. By now, one would have assumed that the sheer number of breaking investigations inundating the White House would have overrun the public’s attention-deficit news cycle. And yet, the press’s attention to Stone’s wardrobe has not abated and I can only imagine how his appearances in court will continue to ramp up interest.

Image by Christopher Goodney/Bloomberg/Getty Images

The last time I speculated about the underlying forces at work relative to a public display of custom-tailored stylishness was back in the eighties when I designed Michael Douglas’s wardrobe for the movie Wall Street. Basically a custom-tailored rendering of traditional male business garb (okay, with a soupcon of personal style thrown in) the interest was so widespread that menswear industries from Australia to America heralded the actor’s duds as the defining look in haute stylishness. Even today, thirty-plus years later, the Gordon Gekko wardrobe still evokes praise and commentary.

I think there’s a common thread between Gekko mania and the fascination with Stone’s wardrobe, and I’m going to title my theory The Cult of the Customized McCoy. (This is sounding more like a Sherlock Holmes episode every minute.) Members share patronage with high-establishment English tailors and their haberdashery brethren as well as a dressing mindset adhering to certain Savile Row-inspired markings. I speak of clothes cut to perfection and tailored to the highest quality. They appear neither rigid nor overt in any way, the impression one of discrete yet discernible distinction.

Now, I am not stating that this particular avatar should be everyone’s fashion ideal. However, the mystique of these so-called Customized McCoys continues to fascinate and inspire today’s blogosphere and its many style pundits. The younger generation of aspiring menswear arbiters has seen their fashion intellects informed by exposure to the McCoy’s immediate progenitors — the Astaires, Windsors, Agnellis, et al. who in their day formed a new sartorial species based on a shared experience from cutting their sartorial teeth in and around Bond Street, Rue Royale, and Madison Avenue.

Occasionally you’ll catch a glimpse of a Customized McCoy scurrying down a West End street in London, the Faubourg St. Honore in Paris, or New York’s Park Avenue to disappear behind some lacquered, gilt-handle doorway. This is not just about the clothes, but rather the underlying attitude defining their stylishness. It’s Brooks Brothers’ original secret sauce, Astaire and Agnelli’s dressing styles, the famous Duke of Windsor’s dégagé fashions, Ralph Lauren’s eclectic mixologies. Today you can find moments of it captured in the Rake Magazine, or in photo snippets from brands like Drakes, Rubinacci, or The Armoury. It’s a look born out of one’s own taste, based on both the recognition and the rejection of high fashion. You have to pay attention to notice it — subtle and opinionated, distinct yet inconspicuous, elitist but lacking in pretension.

Since Wall Street in 1986, menswear has glorified numerous questionable fashions and beau ideals: designer costumes monopolize the runway, shrink-wrapped James Bonds populate the silver screen, androgynous youths cover the world’s billboards. When you think about it, how frequently does the public get to witness even a fleeting glimpse of a Customized McCoy, or a compelling facsimile? Not too often.

While Stone’s dressing style doesn’t rank among the aforementioned pantheon of Customized McCoys, on certain days he can project the kind of stylish know-how that justifies the approving eyebrow. And while the public may not understand just what about his attire is distinguishable, they realize that there is something that distinguishes him, especially in the style-challenged landscape of the political realm. To the initiated, there are the giveaways – the locking in of the suit trouser’s height with that of the jacket waist, the expert pattern matching of suit and shirt and tie, the casually folded pocket square’s aplomb. When he executes it well, I would submit it’s the Cult of the Customized McCoy raising its head once again to take the temperature.

Despite the possibility of prison time, with his personage now slathered across high-brow covers from the New Yorker to the New York Times, Stone seems more than prepared to trade any pre-trial ignominy for his long-fantasized coming out party, his fifteen minutes of fame. For the Roger Stone brand, these would appear to be the boulevardier’s salad days.

What do you think?

#All #Style

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ecotone99 · 6 years ago

Text

[RF] Broken

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental

----

The music was blasting, my ears were ringing already, and I was only at the bar. My musketeers had asked me to fetch them some drinks while they evaluated the state of the dancefloor and looked for potential dance partners.

It was too early for me to party; I felt like shite, I could still smell Anne’s perfume in my sheets and in my pillow. I couldn’t bring myself to wash them, maybe yearning for her touch was my way of beating some sense into my own head. That woman had been in my life since I was 7 years old, and now, in every moment of the day, I always felt like there was something missing, no matter where I went and no matter what I drank.

The waitress came back with 4 rum and colas, throwing me out of melancholy lane for the moment. I tapped my card, collected the glasses and snuck a peek at those beautiful green eyes of hers as I mouthed thank you, they seemed to beam with their own light.

Back on the dancefloor, we were doing a poor job at balancing our drinks in one of our hands while dancing like proper dorks: flapping our arms like birds, doing the robot; the whole shebang. I loved the fact that we were happy to chill for once; when we were in our early years of university, it was all about women and it got boring quite quickly for me.

We must have looked ridiculous together since we are extremely different. Raf stood at 2 meters tall, slim, with wild curly brown hair breaking free from underneath a stylish hat, and a huge nose. Loui was looking careless lately: he had left his black hair to grow out of control, almost reaching shoulder length, thick glasses framed his pale white face. He didn’t visit the gym that much anymore; you could tell he was ripped, but we had all seen him in better shape. Richard was out hunting tonight, he wore a stylish white shirt over some jeans and when he raised his hands to dance you could see the hypertrophy struggling to break the bonds of that expensive shirt, tattoos sneaking off to his forearms from the sleeves. I stood between Richard and Loui, my dirty blond hair was barely combed through and I was wearing a shirt that did a good job at hiding how much I had stopped taking care of myself lately.

Richard was the first one to spot them: the blonde was hard to miss. She was probably under 25, and she was wearing a dark red dress that was too short for my taste, ending just a few centimetres from her bottom. She was petite, slim and slender, but the dress stuck to her like a second skin, shifting over her as she danced. It was mesmerising, I had to admit. The dark red tones of her dress matched her lip colour and contrasted with her porcelain skin. She was wearing a heavy layer of makeup that probably took a few hours to put together. I could still hear Anne’s voice:

‘If you want me with a proper face on, either shut up or fuck off. Would you darling?’

The dress reflected some of the dancefloor lights and made that golden hair of hers even more obvious. She was sipping on a cosmopolitan and talking with her group of five friends.

I could already see ‘The Womaniser’ thinking about a plan of approach. Richard was an open book to most of us. We had known each other since we were in our early teens. Raf pointed towards Richard, as he moved towards the group of young women. He smiled; ‘Classic Richard’ screaming out as body language to those that could read it.

Patience is a virtue and I was not in a hurry to turn this guys night out into whatever it was that Richard had on his mind. I had recently started to drink a lot faster, and hence, I was running dry, so I went to get another one for myself. Alcohol was starting to numb my previous melancholic state of mind and I felt like indulging myself.

From the bar, I asked the green-eyed bartender for a whiskey double. She briefly made a recommendation of a brand they were carrying. I was happy to humour her, she nodded as she went for the bottle. From the bar, I could clearly see Richard perform his mating ritual moves nearby the group of girls, casually approaching. Not casually enough. Their faces went from amusement to annoyance to amusement again as he realised that he had been caught and went full dork mode again.

‘Your friend better stay away from Chloe, she is too much for him to deal with.’ I barely caught the last words over the loud music.

I turned to see an attractive woman around 30, wearing a very light layer of makeup over dark caramel skin and what looked like pale brown eyes, yellow maybe, I couldn’t tell with all of the lights. Her lips were a shade darker than her skin. She wore a very simple black dress that clung to her shoulders by a single strap around her right shoulder, almost touching one of the two silver loops hanging from her ears. She was of medium build and looked like she hadn’t been skipping gym lately. Her expression was a mixture of contempt and irritation.

‘How do you know that I’m with that dork, lady?’ I smiled as saw Raf and Loui join Richard in what it seemed to be a native American rain dance.

‘Cause you’ve been laying everyone low with those 60s moves and we’ve been laughing at you for the entire night!’ She wasn’t quite smiling.

‘I don’t see the problem on making a bunch of, if I may say, very lovely women laugh at us. Do you?’ I offered her my most innocent smile.

‘Ha! Cheeky!’ It seemed that comment caught her by surprise, as her stern face lit up momentarily.

‘So, you’re with Chloe the cheerleaders, I take.’ I asked pointing at Chloe and her red dress.

‘It’s more of a hen party actually. She’s is getting married.’

‘Jack, STOP it. Get up, please.’ I somehow managed to smile through the flashback of my brief, failed attempt at marriage.

‘Pleased to meet you, mother hen.’ I replied playfully, extending my hand.

‘Oh, would you sod off?’ She slapped my hand away, looking irritated, after a brief pause she turned her back on me.

‘Pardon me miss, I meant no offence, I was simply jesting.’ She looked away, without bothering to answer.

I got the message loud and clear. My drink got here, I signalled the waitress to come close. ‘I’ve been a proper jerk to that lady I’m afraid! Whatever she’s having, get her another, and charge it here.’

She nodded and loaded the contactless payment platform with the proper amount. Whatever I ordered for her was cheap. I collected my drink and gave it a sip.

‘Holy moly miss! That’s some proper whiskey, thanks for the recommendation.’ I smiled at her.

She smiled right back and made an ‘I know a thing or two’ gesture. I shook her hand and went back to the dancefloor, quickly setting my unfortunate encounter aside. It was only 1 am, I had plenty of time to have fun.

‘Somebody got rejected by an Indian goddess.’ Loui shouted at my ear.

‘She was already angry to begin with! She cannot take a mild joke…If you talk with her, whatever you do, do not call her mother hen.’ I said.

‘Hahaha, you can be such a twat sometimes Jack.’ He replied while smiling.

We talked about the girl group for a few minutes, got the remaining musketeers up to speed. I grabbed Richard, who was looking a bit grim after discovering that his mark was already taken and invited him to join me for a legendary waltz. After we were done and we were all laughing at the poor show we were putting on, someone tapped me on my shoulder. I turned to see Mother-Hen, holding an empty glass and looking less angry than before.

‘My friend told me that you love nicknames.’ Loui shouted through the music, sharp as ever.

‘You can call me Daddy Rooster!’ the subtle Richard strikes again.

‘I see you’re all clowns!’ she replied.

‘Yup!’ we shouted in unison.

That got her to laugh and she got closer to me so that I could hear her better through the blasting speakers.

‘May I return the favour?’ She raised her empty glass.

‘You may.’ I was short for words. I didn’t know where this was going, this woman was still feeling a bit off, and I wanted to be a bit cautious.

‘Tell her to get me a rum.’ Loui wasn’t done being an idiot.

As we headed towards the bar, it got quieter and quieter. We could finally speak in a normal tone of voice.

‘Sorry, I overreacted before.’ She looked forward, trying to find a spot to order.

‘Don’t worry about it, you’re not the first nor the last lady I piss off by running my mouth off.’

She was walking in front of me; I got a brief look of the back of her dress, which was open just before reaching her lumbar back, showing a discrete tattoo in black ink between her shoulder blades. Her skin tone made it really hard to see clearly. We saw a spot in the middle of the bar and we headed towards it to order.

‘What are you having?’ she asked.

‘They have a lovely single malt here, the bartender will know what I’m referring to. Tell her no ice.’ I turned around and placed my elbows on the bar.

'My my, a bit young to take your stuff straight aren’t you?’ She playfully stated, her tone change was sudden and it seemed out of character.

‘Just old enough to appreciate my liquor bare.’ If she was game, so was I, god knows I could use some company. There was something wrong with this lady though, I could feel it, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

She nodded as she spoke to the waitress and swiped her card. She had a single ring on her right hand’s middle finger, a silver band and a black stone. Classy. Our drinks got here and we gently knocked our glasses together.

‘So I take that to keep things civil I’m going to have to call you by your name.’ I said, while taking a small sip, it was lovely.

‘My name’s a bit long, you can call me Shiva.’ She said, funny enough, an Indian goddess after all. Shiva was the male God of destruction, I could faintly remember.

‘Nice to meet you Shiva.’ We shook hands. ‘I’m Jack. So, how is it that you ended up in charge of the girl scouts over there?’

She smiled.

‘I’m their boss…’ Her face turned grim again. ‘I really didn’t want to come here.’

‘How so?’ I could relate.

‘Oh you know they are just in the whole celebration mood. They want to drink till they’re fuzzy enough to not give a fuck and then go to this strip club down the road.’ I knew the place, it was one of my recent haunts, something that I wasn’t about to admit. ‘They’ve hired a boy toy for a private party.’ I did not know they had male strippers. ‘They just want to enjoy the view as he shakes his junk all around the place.’ She was clearly nervous about this last part, which made me wonder why. Her thumb kept turning her ring around her middle finger.

‘Well, if you are looking for an alternative, you are in luck! My friend Richard there happens to be a fantastic dancer.’ I said.

‘Is that the discrete one?’ She smiled.

‘That’s his surname, yes’

Her smile grew wider.

‘Yea I bet he wouldn’t mind.’ She kept turning the ring on her right hand around. ‘You two could have your own number.’

‘Ha! It’s a work in progress. We don’t get much practise I’m afraid. I can barely dance while I’m sober so we only get the chance while we’re out!’ I replied.

‘It sounds like that’s not very often.’ Her expression turned neutral again. ‘Do you come here much? I haven’t seen you around.’

‘No, I‘ve been a bit of a shut-in lately, but it’s good to go out with the gang again.’ I pointed at them. Raf seemed to take this as an invitation, as he decided to approach us. He faced Shiva, greeted her by taking his hat off, with his other hand, he took my glass and chugged my drink in one swift gulp.

I closed my eyes, raised my eyebrows, gently shook my head and sighed with a profoundly sad expression. You don’t do that to a nice whiskey. I could have slapped him, except, not really, because he was too bloody tall. He smiled as he flicked me off and went back to the dancefloor.

‘Well… that’s one way not to drink whiskey.’ She said.

‘Yes indeed, but I’m not ever going to teach that twat how to drink for pleasure rather than numbness.’

I waved at the waitress, pointed to the glass as I mouthed another one.

‘Please, let me get this for you.’ She said.

The waitress was pouring the whiskey into the measuring cup.

‘Under no circumstance lady. You’ve already bought me one.’ I held my card on my hand.

‘But your friend drank it! You didn’t get to have anything…’ Her tone turned melodic and playful again. She got closer to me. ‘Let me get this for you. Please. I probably make more than you do anyway.’ She said as she held my hand back with hers.

I’ve always had a short fuse, and I’ve always been very aware of this fact. It has always gotten me into trouble. Even my mom was never able to understand how I could ignite so easily when I was being looked down upon.

‘How patronising of you!’ I tried to hide the fact that my blood was boiling under my skin with a very poorly faked smile and a mockery of her playful tone. I removed her hand from mine with more firmness than I meant to, as I signalled the waitress to ignore her.

‘Oh please don’t take it the wrong way!’ She replied sung with that bloody tone again, it was driving me insane. ‘I must be 10 years older than you! Just let me get you that drink!’ She said, putting her hand again on mine so that I couldn’t swipe the card.

‘Seriously Shiva, piss off, I don’t want you to pay for my booze.’ At that point, I was the one wanting to slap hands away.

‘Oh come on… Did the baby get offended?’ She got uncomfortably closer and she playfully grabbed my cheek. ‘Don’t be like my kid!’

My patience came to a sudden end.

‘Yeah, I bet you don’t need anymore else that just wants you out of their life.’

The slap made the heads of everyone in this side of the bar turn. There was a jolt of pain under my left eye. When I opened my eyes I saw her face lit with a fury that I did not expect. She drew her hand back again, her upper lip was drawn upwards and I could see her teeth showing. She hit me again, on the same side with her open hand. She was going for the third hit. I grabbed her wrist, gently but firmly.

‘Whatever the hell you got going on, love, you should really get some help… You obviously need it.’ I said. I let go of her hand, as I gently pushed her back, picked up my whiskey, drank it like Raf did, placed the glass down and headed for the exit of the club. She didn’t say anything, she just stood there. I only caught a brief glimpse of her face before I turned, a weird mixture of anger and embarrassment.

My friends had been watching, they had seen what happened and they were coming to meet me.

‘What in the world did you say to that woman? It looked like you were about to have a little moment there. I blink and I see her properly slapping you.’ Richard looked worried. ‘You okay?’

‘Yea, of course, I’m okay. It’s not like I’ve never got slapped before. To be honest I don’t usually mind getting roughed up.’ I joked while trying to make this less serious than it seemed.

‘We’re not taking you out ever again. You never keep your mouth shut.’ Raf said, barely standing. ‘Now we’re going to have to hit another club!’

I smiled, and a jolt of pain went through my right cheek again. She had some wrist power for sure. I put my hand on my face to find that it was sticky.

‘What the hell?’ I thought out loud.

‘Jack, you’re bleeding.’ Loui said. ‘Let me have a look at you…’

I tilted my head back so that we could shine some of the lights from outside the club.

‘How did she even draw blood?’ I wondered.

‘I don’t know but you have a nasty ass cut on your face mate. Maybe two? I can’t quite tell.’ He grabbed my face and made it face the light. ‘We’re going to have to get you stitched up to avoid this from scarring. This looks deep…’

‘Oh my god there they are!’ We four turned our heads.

Shiva and Chloe were out of the club, apparently looking for us. They approached us with urgency.

‘Coming for strike three?’ I said while they were approaching. ‘You crazy cow! You managed to cut me!’

‘I know…’ She said after arriving, panting, a fine layer of sweat on her forehead. She paused for a moment and looked at her hands, which were bloody. ‘It was the ring. I’m so sorry I lost it there I…’ She didn’t finish the sentence, she looked down and her gaze fixed on her hands.

‘Apologies not accepted, now kindly piss off.’ I replied.

‘No, wait! I’m really sorry, may I please have a look? I’m a doctor.’ She insisted.

‘No, you may not. Seriously, leave me alone before I call the coppers.’ I was not impressed by her sudden remorse.

‘Look, the sooner you get that stitched up, the lesser chance you have of it actually scarring. I live in that block.’ She pointed at the building directly opposite to us. ‘I’ve got the necessary stuff to patch you up in the next 10 minutes. I’m a surgeon so I know what I’m doing. You can call the police afterwards if you want, call them now if you want. Just… let me fix this.’

‘Please Anne, just… let me fix this.’

I looked at Loui, he was almost done with the fifth year of his medicine grad. He didn’t say anything, which meant that he somewhat agreed with what she said.

‘How much has she had to drink?’ I asked Chloe, she had just observed the encounter, silently standing behind her boss all this time.

‘She doesn’t drink at all.’ Chloe looked at us worried, and then to Shiva. ‘She did come back with two drinks from the bar once, but we checked. You know? Cause we like… we thought we had finally gotten her to grab a proper drink but no… they were both sodas.’

That was the first time I invited a woman to a flipping soda in a club.

‘Seriously, you should let her stitch you up. You can’t even imagine what she does to faces on a daily basis.’ Said Chloe.

‘I think I might have a slight clue.’ I pointed at my open wound.

‘So I take you’re less of a doctor and more of a plastic surgeon.’ said Loui, he was aiming for neurosurgery, elitism was something that just came in the package.

‘Yes, I’m a plastic surgeon.’ Shiva barely looked at him to respond before turning to me. ‘Just please let me help. Please?’ Her yellow eyes stared right into mine.

----

We walked into the lobby in complete silence, we hadn’t spoken since we left Chloe and the musketeers waiting downstairs. We got into the elevator and we both turned and stared at the door. The elevator went up to the twentieth floor, the last one, it wasn’t a short ride. It was the only apartment on that floor, must have cost a fortune.

She pushed her keys into keyhole and swung the heavy duty door open. I didn’t break the silence as I didn’t want to wake up some kids in the middle of the night with a bloody face. She turned the lights on, the lounge turned bright. The ceiling was quite high for an apartment, it was about 3 meters high and it had white walls with dark brown furniture, the floor was pale marble, it looked a bit like a futuristic palace. There was a single corridor making the way into the apartment. A single empty three shelved shoe rack marked the start of the no shoe zone. She took her heels off and placed them there, leaving her purse hanging inside the closet. Everything was in an immaculate state.

‘Could you take your shoes off please?’ She said.

‘Yes of course.’ I bent over to undo the laces on my trainers. A few drops of blood fell on the marble floor. They looked like how the dress looked on Chloe’s skin. ‘Ugh, I’ve…’ I said struggling to find my words.

She turned around and she looked where I was pointing at.

‘Oh don’t worry about it, I’ll clean it later. Come to the bathroom, I got my first aid kit there.’ She looked nervous, but emotionless, cold, like a bonfire that’s just been smothered by a bucket of water.

She moved into the apartment turning lights on as she reached the switches. I followed her after I had neatly placed my shoes on the rack next to hers. The corridor was long, I passed two rooms on my right hand, one of them had punk rock posters pasted on the door, Sum 41 and Green Day. I smiled, those were from my generation. The second room had a figure of a moon hanging from the knob and was open. I peeked in, and the walls were blue, a single cradle was in the corner that was visible from the door, and there seemed to be a mattress on the floor, which looked slightly out of place.

‘Jack?’ I heard her call my name.

I hurried to the source of her voice, I passed two corridors to each side, I kept going straight and arrived at a huge, professional kitchen, the fridge was huge, and the induction cooker looked completely unused or very well kept, there was a high dining table in the middle of the room, with high stools, which reminded me of the ones from the club. At the furthest side, there was a baby chair. There was a half open bottle of wine on the middle of the table, and a dirty glass right next to it. I thought Chloe said she didn’t drink. A few dishes were piled up next to the sink, it had a faint food smell like the kitchen hadn’t been aired in a while. There were a few boxes from what seemed to be takeout piled in the trash and there were a few family pictures hung on the walls. Nice place.

‘Shiva, where are you? I’ve gotten lost in this small apartment of yours.’ I whispered into the corridor.

She came from the corridor to the right carrying a little bag.

‘Oh, you found the kitchen, that works better than the bathroom. Sit on that chair would you?’ She hurried me back in, grabbing a stool and sitting next to me. She took the contents of the bag out, and methodically placed them on the counter. ‘This might sting.’

She cleaned the wound with some transparent liquid from a small bottle and some cotton.

‘It does sting like the devil.’

‘Do you want to sit on the baby chair?’ She gave me a Mona Lisa smile.

‘Yes please.’ I could take a joke, even in this weird situation.

She didn’t reply, her smile grew a bit wider before she started to study my cheek, she seemed worried. She gently tilted my head to the side and asked me to hold the position as she got way too close to my face; her rounded nose was close enough to be burrowing into my beard; her yellow eyes, centimetres from mine, not aware of my gaze; her chest was pressed against my arm. She seemed to be a lot more comfortable with this than I was. While trying not to think that this was the closest I had been with a woman that I hadn’t paid to strip for me in some time, I focused on one of the pictures hung on the wall. Shiva was wearing a full piece swimming suit, she was hugging a pale, blond, muscular man, they were on the beach and she was pregnant.

‘I’m so sorry Jack… I’ve done a good number on you, there are two cuts, almost parallel to each other.’ A few tears fell from her face into my beard. ‘Oh god, I’m sorry, I must look like a proper nut-job at the moment.’ She wiped the tears from my face and from hers with the back of her arm.

‘No worries…’ This was beyond awkward, I was still somewhat angry at this woman and I wasn’t quite sure that I had made the right decision following her there.

She continued cleaning the wound, the cotton was turning reddish as she methodically and carefully pressed it against the cuts.

‘Okay, I’m going to need you to stay still. This is some very fine material and I don’t want it to snap.’ She grabbed the hook with something that looked like tweezers, the thread was barely visible to me.

She spread my face with her fingers, now behind a silicone glove and she put the stitches down one by one. I decided to keep my pretty mouth shut and looked at the picture again. I noticed that there was a small boy climbing on her husband’s leg, holding onto his waist with both hands and wrapping his legs around him to push himself up, he had curly dark hair and his skin was a very light shade of brown. It was a lovely family picture.

‘Okay, we’re halfway through, you still there with me?’ She said.

‘Yea, just admiring your little monkey, he seems to have excellent taste in music. How old is he now?’ I pointed at the picture.

‘He’s seven.’ Shiva said, completely emotionless, focused on her work.

‘Pretty young to listen to Punk Rock isn’t him?’ I realised that was none of my business after those words came out of my mouth.

‘That’s his dad’s fault.’ She quickly stated, less neutral than she wanted to sound.

‘Sorry, I was thinking out loud. It’s no concern of mine.’ I did not want her to snap again. I pictured her choking me with the thread, very plausible indeed.

‘Don’t apologise, please… I’m almost done here.’ She tied another knot, but at the end, she dropped the tweezers, which ricocheted off the floor and went under the sink counter.

‘FUCK’ She shouted.

‘Shh!’ I tightened my whole body and pushed my open palms down in a “be quiet” gesture. ‘Jesus Christ, you’re going to wake your whole family.’ I was in no hurry to experience how wonderful it might be to explain this situation to her husband.

‘Shit, those things are slippery. I don’t have another pair, we’re going to have to get them from down there…’

‘Seriously don’t worry about it, I’ll get the rest done at the hospital. God knows what’s down there, I don’t want to get the cut infected…’ This was getting weirder and weirder and I just wanted out of the house. This had been a really bad idea.

‘You’re right, I think Jonh keeps another pair in his nightstand.’

‘No no, do not wake your husband up please.’ I pleaded anxiously.

‘He’s not here.’ She said in a neutral calmed tone. ‘Now shut it and wait till I’m back!’

A few minutes later I heard a loud noise.

‘Shiva?’ I whispered loudly into the corridor again.

‘I’m okay, I just fell down, wait there.’

I’ve never been the waiting kind, I headed to the source of the noise, to the left of the kitchen, and I saw her sitting on her side, in the dark, facing the door, patting her right thigh and looking in pain. I turned the lights on as I entered the room.

‘How did you fall?’ I offered my hand, she grabbed it and pulled herself up.

‘I must have tripped on something. Let’s get back to the kitchen.’ She seemed to want to get out of that room rather quickly, she was tight, nervous.

I thought it was because of the fall, but then I actually looked at the room. I had not noticed the state it was in until that point. There were bottles everywhere, she had tripped on one of them for sure. There was no mattress on the bed, it must have been the one that I saw in the room with the cradle. The blinds were shut and there were two ashtrays sitting on one side of the bed, completely full of cigarette butts, everything else on them was glasses and mugs, some of them overflowing wish ash and more cigarettes. As I noticed this, the smell of home hit me: stale tobacco, marihuana, closed room and the sour-sweet smell from the dried alcohol in the bottles. The pictures in the room were taken off the walls and turned around and there were piles of books on both sides of the bed frame.

‘Seriously please, let’s get out of here, I got Jonh’s first aid kit right here.’ She waved the little purse in front of my eyes, capturing my attention. It was the same way a mother would wave some candy in front of their kids while saying ‘look what I got here’. By this time, Iw as already used to her forcefully playful and cheerful tone.

Before she left, she opened the windows. We left the room without speaking at all, as she left, she closed the door behind her. I sat down in my stool, rested my hands on my lap, and she started working on me again. We remained in silence for a few minutes, this allowed me to unpack the night a bit. I thought about my own demons, and how much they might look like hers. She looked calm and serene while she dug into my skin with that hook. By the few last stitches, I was no longer angry.

‘He left with the kids right?’ I said as I looked her in the eye.

‘Yes.’ She tied another stitch and wiped her first tear away.

----

If you've reached this far, thank you for taking the time to have a read. I really appreciate any feedback. English isn't my first language, so if I've gotten anything wrong: do let me know. Once again, thanks.

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toddrogersfl · 7 years ago

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Vintage men’s fragrance advertising down the decades

To celebrate National Men’s Grooming Day, we thought we’d share this article by novelist, blogger and columnist Maggie Alderson from ‘The Magic of Mimosa’ edition of The Scented Letter – which looks at men’s scent ads new and old…

Spending an afternoon than researching pictures for a feature about great aftershave advertisements can have quite an effect on you. Holy plumped pectorals! After five minutes browsing muscular torsos and manly gazes, I didn’t know whether to take a cold shower or dance a tango.

But once you really study these images (as opposed to just drooling over them) it becomes clear that there is in fact a lot more to this genre than photographs of ridiculously beautiful men.

In-depth scientific research (ahem…) reveals that they fall into four main categories, which involves said living gods wearing one of four outfits: practically nothing, a suit of superb cut, sporting attire, fancy dress.

But whichever of those it is, the very best aftershave print ads share one thing, in my opinion; they consist of nothing more than the picture and the name and brand of the fragrance. There’s not even a smart tag line – yet these heavenly images create an entire world, telling a story that draws you in wanting to know more. And makes you very keen to lean in and smell that particular man’s neck…

Here are some favourites from the archives – and a few vintage classics that show how not to do it, perhaps.

HOT, HOT, HOT

Giorgio Armani Acqua di Gio

This was a masterstroke of casting, taking all-American blond hunk Jason Morgan and photographing him in moody black and white. Mr. Morgan’s astonishing blue eyes are his calling card, but who knew they’d be even more arresting in greyscale? One of the greatest aftershave photographs of all time, taken by Matthew Brookes, with that serious expression adding dreamy depth. There is also a video… Have your fan ready. And a mint julep.

Chanel Allure Homme Sport

Probably the medal winner in the sporting genre, the series of Spanish super dude Andrès Velencoso Segura – ex-squeeze of Kylie Minogue – with a surf board stopped me in my tracks when I first saw it (and inspired the leading man in my novel ‘Everything Changes But You’). It’s the combination of hunky, yet sensitive, which is so devastating. Senor Velencoso has his mum’s name tattooed over his heart and loves dogs. I’m working on finding out his favourite biscuit.

Dolce & Gabbana Light Blue

Our very own David Gandy wearing little more than his birthday suit and showing how it is possible for art to improve on nature. Even the azure waters of the Amalfi coast are enhanced by his white Speedo-clad proximity. And how could a fragrance associated with a scene so pleasing to the eye smell anything but divine?

Dior Eau Sauvage

Here’s one that spans the genres – it could equally fit in Famous, because while the ad appeared in 2105, this bearded beauty is none other than French actor Alain Delon, snapped in his youthful glory in 1966, the year this most classic of Colognes was launched.

It would also fit in Story. That little frown…what just happened? Who was she? Is he about to write a poem, jump off a cliff, or sail off into the horizon? We’ll never know, but it’s so easy to imagine that lemon-y herby sillage trailing behind him as he goes.

STORYTELLING

Dior Eau Sauvage

Could this be the most iconic aftershave advertisement of all time? Part of the wonderful series of works legendary fashion illustrator René Gruau created for the brand, somehow this gorgeous – fictional – man’s entire sophisticated, sexy, city life is conveyed by this cheeky image of a most personal moment, through a half-closed bathroom door. I know I’m not the only person whose entire ideal of what a man should be like was inspired in childhood by seeing these advertisements…

Michael Kors for Men

The American designer is the current master of the atmospheric advertisement, reaching standards set by Martini commercials in the 1960s, conveying the sense of lives of perfect insouciant glamour. It took Martini a couple of minutes of film of ski lifts, helicopters and white horses on beaches, plus an iconic theme tune to achieve it; somehow Mr Kors pulls it off with one picture. Where exactly was this open-shirted hottie last night? Who was he with and where’s he off to now? Is he getting into that seaplane landing behind him? Are his tanned feet bare, below those white jeans? Is that a gun in his pocket or…? Whatever he smells of, we like it.

Givenchy Gentleman

Swoon. That’s the only word to describe this photograph. While the frontal lobe of our brain might try to tell us it’s just beautiful models in a studio doing what they’re told, the imagination immediately has other ideas. You can practically feel the skin on skin. How they managed to convey such passion in one shot is quite miraculous and you just want to know more. Is their embrace illicit? Or are they reunited after a long spell of enforced separation? I’m feeling army (could be those shoulders…). To me this is Prince Andrei and Natasha from War and Peace and oh my lord, do I need to smell him, the most romantic character in literature, ever. Swoonavich.

Guerlain Habit Rouge

As befits the most classic of French perfume houses, this image has a more metaphorical feeling to it – the romance between a man and his horse, rather than that old une femme et un homme storyline. But is it a real horse, or an imaginary one? An expression of his innermost feelings? His essence (said in a French accent). Or, when you consider the meaning of the aftershave’s name Habit Rouge, which is French for a huntsman’s red coat, does it represent the male’s eternal hunt for a mate? Whatever – cor!

Aramis by Aramis

Forget the silly text – which modern advertising has shown really isn’t needed. This brilliant 1980s picture says it all for Aramis. She’s a modern girl and she likes what she smells so much she’s got him pinned up against the fridge. He’s not going anywhere until she’s fully explored all those intriguing wormwood and leather notes. But where have they been in their black tie outfits? Whose kitchen is it? And why does he look a little bit uncomfortable with his hands in his pockets? Might somebody be about to come in and surprise them?

FAMOUS FACES

David Beckham Urban Homme

Aftershave ads featuring famous chaps fall into two types – famous faces modelling for the brands and famous men who are the brand. David Beckham is a classic of the latter with seven aftershaves to his name, plus spins on those – all of them promoted by this sporting living national treasure in different moods. Sometimes casual in a classic T, showing off his tatts (Instinct Sport and Beyond Forever), in a fetchingly undone black tie (Instinct Gold Edition), or here in his full metrosexual glory in an immaculate mohair suit and crisp white shirt, ready for dinner at the coolest restaurant in town.

Jimmy Choo Man

The Jimmy Choo man is dark and brooding, a modern warrior in urban leathers and biker boots, ready to swoop to the aid of a damsel in distress – possibly because she is wearing such very high heels. And who better to pull that off than dark and brooding actor Kit Harington, Game of Thrones’ tortured hero Jon Snow, who looks born to smell of suede and patchouli?

Mont Blanc Homme Exceptionnel

A sub-genre of the famous man aftershave advert is the man who is famous for something specific, not acting or modelling, or owning the brand. Brut owns the concept, with their legendary 1970s commercials with Henry Cooper. Other sportsmen featured included tennis player Vitus Gerulatiis, racing driver James Hunt and American footballer Richard Todd. Montblanc run a posher version of this, featuring men exceptional violinist (and hot tottie) Joshua Bell.

Bing Crosby

If you’re going to go famous, why not go pure legend? LA based toiletries outfit Courtley Ltd. did, with a Father’s Day ad for their ‘virile Courtley fragrance’ in 1946. The backdrop photo of His Bingness looks as though it might have been sent out by the publicity department of Paramount Studios which was also promoting his new film Road to Utopia on the ad, but a more personal connection has been shoed in by adding a cunning gift tag to the ‘flagons’ (their word) making the gift set appear to be a gift from four of his six sons. Can’t see David Beckham’s team trying that stunt.

VINTAGE TREASURES

Old Spice

‘Joan Daly says she likes it when men wear Old Spice’. Likes what, exactly? But the finger resting playfully on lips and the position of her right hip ready to move into the twerking position gives a hint. The lower tag line is brilliant in its disingenuous simplicity. ‘Girls like it. Is there a better reason to wear Old Spice?’ Ms Daly was Miss Massachusetts in 1953.

Centaur

‘Are you ready for Centaur?’ Frankly not. If the ads looked like this, what on earth did it smell like? Goat blankets? The image alone is terrifying, but wait til you read the copy. ‘It’s the massage cologne. Half man, half beast, all male!’ proclaims the headline.

And also a little bit sex toy, it would seem: ‘Out of the Wild and Violent days of ancient Greece comes the exciting concept of Massage Cologne… Massage CENTAUR [so manly it always has to be written out in caps] into your arms, legs and loins. CENTAUR [can you hear us at the back?] has no alcohol [their itals] to irritate, so it massages with comfort into sensitive areas.’

SENSITIVE AREAS. [my caps]. But wait! There’s more: ‘CENTAUR adds a delightful new dimension to your body, a low level aroma that hovers close to the skin for hours, transmits its virile message only in moments of close and intimate contact.’

A virile low level aroma, like around hip level… Basically it seems to be perfume for his nether regions.

Brut

His rakish eye patch (not available on the NHS) and general air of nudity are just red herrings. This ad is really all about the way he is grasping the, er, shaft of that Brut bottle. But that really is a very small cigarillo.

Denim

There’s something rather contemporary about this image – and it still has sex appeal. It’s just the name of the fragrance that adds the cheese. But then you get on to the copy, clearly written in the afterglow of a 1970s ad agency creative department expenses lunch.

‘DENIM. For the man who doesn’t have to try too hard. He doesn’t have to. Things come easy for the man who wears DENIM (trademark). Because a man feels better. A man feels cooler.’

Despite seemingly being permanently off their trams on Beaujolais nouveau and Black Forest gateau, this shows what geniuses those copywriters were at subconscious messaging. Read it carefully and you’ll see that this blurb has several key words planted in it: hard, easy, feels and man. Next stop, CENTAUR?

Tabac

‘Peter Wyngarde smells… great’ declares this ad for Tabac. How could we ever have thought otherwise? As the magnificently coiffed, Windsor-knotted and luxuriantly moustached Jason King, his performance was OTT top you could practically smell his aftershave through your TV screen. Really worth checking out on YouTube if you are too young to have witnessed Mr. Wyngarde’s hilarious delivery in this early 70s classic TV show. He makes Austin Powers look demure.

Written by Maggie Alderson maggiealderson.com

The post Vintage men’s fragrance advertising down the decades appeared first on The Perfume Society.

from The Perfume Society https://perfumesociety.org/vintage-mens-fragrance-advertising-down-the-decades/

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