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alcinadimitrescuwu · 3 years ago

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The Night Before (An Alcina x Reader Fanfic)

Warnings: NSFW

You are trying to go about your daily tasks in Castle Dimitrescu but are finding it very hard to focus. It could be the fact that spring has finally arrived in Romania, the birds chirping, the sun beaming down from the heavens, the snow finally melting away to make way for new life teeming from the earth.

It could also be the fact that your wedding to Alcina Dimitrescu, the love of your life and the Lady of the Castle is tomorrow.

The housekeeper turns in your direction and gives you a pointed look. “Are you going to stand there all day away with the fairies, dearie, or are you going to polish those candelabras like I asked?”

You immediately snap back to reality. “Of course! Sorry, Mrs. Fischer.”

Mrs. Fischer shakes her head, clucking to herself. “Tomorrow you may be the Lady Consort, but today you are still a maid and you have your duties to perform.” She inspects you over the half-moon spectacles perched over her nose. “Now I expect you to polish those candelabras until they sparkle!”

“Right away, Mrs. Fischer.” You turn and set to work on your polishing.

“Oh, and Y/N?” Mrs. Fischer calls over her shoulder.

“Yes, Mrs. Fischer?”

She gives you a conspiratorial wink. “Congratulations, dearie.”

You can’t help but be shocked. Mrs. Fischer never gave out compliments or congratulations freely. You only knew you were doing a job correctly if she wasn't constantly checking up on you to make sure you didn’t mess anything up. You start to get emotional in spite of yourself. You may have started out working at Castle Dimitrescu as extra income for your aging parents, but there had always been something satisfying about taking care of a large house. You didn’t even mind the extra hours that you put in saving up for your engagement ring to Alcina, which had turned even more beautiful than you could have imagined.

Alcina had put her foot down about you staying on in your job once the two of you got married, however. “Darling, after our vows, you’ll be a part of this house. Your place will be with our family, not working for it,” she had said, taking your chin in her hand and stroking your cheek.

You finally agreed and she smiled indulgently at you as you asked to work just one last day, for old time’s sake. “Of course, draga mea,” she said, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “If that is what you wish.”

A sudden crash breaks you from your reverie and you smile as you see one of the parlor maids, Constanza, making her way over to you with a sheepish grin on her face after picking up the tray she had dropped on the floor. Constanza was a lovely young woman with auburn hair and blue eyes, perfect for a parlor maid. Unfortunately, she was also very accident-prone. She finally comes to a stop in front of you with a silver tray. On the tray is a single envelope sealed in wax with the Dimitrescu family crest.

“Good morning Y/N!” Constanza says brightly. Then thinking better of it she tries, “Er, good morning Miss -no, Lady Consort- wait you’re not Lady Consort yet-”

You stop her before she can continue her babbling and put a placating hand on her arm. “Constanza, you’ve been working here as long as I have. You can still be familiar with me if you want to.”

Constanza breathes a sigh of relief and breaks out into a grin. “So the big day’s tomorrow! Are you excited?”

Yes, you were excited. And nervous. And terrified as all hell. But you give her a smile as you say, “Yes, Connie I am. Alcina and I have been waiting for this day a long time.” It still felt weird to say Alcina’s given name out loud and not in private like when you were first courting.

Then your attention turns to the sealed envelope on the tray Constanza is holding. “Is that for me?” you prompt.

Constanza’s face suddenly turns a lovely shade of puce and her blue eyes grow wide behind their spectacles. “Er- yes, the Lady herself gave it to me with, er, very specific instructions to tell you to not look at it until you’re alone in your room. At night. She said she would give you a call when she wants you to open it.”

You feel your own cheeks start to burn as you take the envelope off the tray. “Thank you, Constanza, I’ll just take this back to my room for now.”

Constanza gives you a nod and turns to leave. Suddenly she turns around and gives you a brief curtsy. You suddenly notice all the other servants of the house staring at you and you feel a pang of sadness as you realize you won’t be able to interact with them as freely as you normally could. You’ll be in your own separate worlds.

Without a word you head back to your room, the envelope clutched in your hand. Night cannot come soon enough.

***

After what seems like eons, night has finally fallen on House Dimitrescu. You’re alone in your bedroom pacing back and forth like a caged animal. You’re not used to sleeping alone as for the past couple of months you had been sharing your bed with Alcina in her bedchambers. However, Alcina’s daughters- no, your daughters too, soon- had insisted that it would be bad luck for the two of you to see each other before the wedding. It had taken you aback as you hadn’t considered the girls to be traditional, but they were insistent and after some protesting, Alcina had finally relented.

Still it wasn’t easy. You hadn’t seen Alcina all day since you had left her side this morning. You had heard her talking with the Duke outside earlier discussing last minute wedding arrangements, her elegant velvety voice carrying through the entrance hall. You had longed to run over and put your arms around her, burying your face in the curve of her hip, but you held yourself back out of respect for your future daughters’ wishes.

The phone begins to ring loudly in your bedroom and with your heart already pounding, you pick it up off the hook and hold the receiver to your ear. “Yes?”

“Draga mea?” Your heart skips a beat as you hear your fiancee's voice on the other line. “Is that you?”

“Yes,” you say, holding the receiver closer to your ear.

“Did you receive the envelope I addressed to you this morning?”

“Yes,” you say. The envelope is on a nearby table with your name on it in Alcina’s beautiful cursive handwriting with a letter opener nearby, ready for opening. “Can I open it now?”

“Not so fast, pet,” Alcina’s voice takes on a teasing quality. “You didn’t look at the contents inside did you?”

“No.” But you were certainly tempted throughout the day to sneak a peek. You held firm, though, knowing that even after all the waiting it would be worth it.

“Good girl,” Alcina purrs on the other line. “You’ve been so very patient and that ought to be rewarded. But first, tell me, what are you wearing right now?”

Immediately you wished you had put on sexier clothes than just your nightgown. Oh well. You have to deal with what you got. “Just my nightgown. Nothing fancy, I’m afraid.”

“Oh? Is it the one with the ribbon in the front?”

“Yes,” you say looking down at your nightgown. There is indeed a ribbon in the front. You remember when it’s unfastened that it reveals more of your cleavage. Your outfit choice might not have been so bad after all.

You can tell that Alcina is recalling the exact same thing as she says, “Loosen up the ribbon for me, dear, would you?”

You loosen up the ribbon and the nightgown slips off your shoulders slightly. You’re finding breathing normally difficult. You feel a slight pinch as you feel your nipples grow hard at the sound of Alcina’s husky voice.

Alcina chuckles. “All right, dear, I’ll stop torturing you. You may open the envelope now.”

You practically lunge over to the table to slice open the envelope. Inside are a bunch of photographs taken with a vintage style camera. As you take out the first one you see that Alcina is featured on it and you suspect that the rest all show her as well.

“Now, pet,” Alcina purrs. “Tell me exactly what you see in the first picture.”

You hold the picture in your hand to the light to get a better look. “You’re sitting in front of your mirror. Your hair is down and your hat is off. You’re, um, wearing a black peignoir and brushing your hair. It’s all, uh, very tasteful.”

Alcina lets out a laugh like tinkling bells. “Oh, rest assured, darling, the rest of the pictures will become progressively less tasteful.”

Your mouth runs dry and you feel your palms have grown sweaty. You wipe them on your nightgown before continuing.

You take out the second picture. “Just like before, pet. Describe it to me and leave no detail out.”

You clear your throat. “You’re standing before the window and smoking. You’ve cast off your peignoir and are wearing a red and black lingerie set. The bustier is black and your garter is clipped to red stockings, the exact shade of your lipstick.” You swallow before continuing. “You look stunning.”

She lets out a girlish giggle at that. “Thank you, darling. Speaking of garters, how about you unhook yours?”

With shaking hands you unhook your garter belt and peel down your stockings. You push the skirt of your nightgown up a little bit, but you know to wait until Alcina gives you further instructions.

Onto the next one then. You take it out and you suddenly find your mouth moving but no words coming out.

“Dearest?” Alcina prompts. “The next photo?”

“Um,” you stammer. “Your back is turned to the camera now and er, the back is very um, sheer.” The back indeed is very sheer with only a thin layer of lace covering the curve of her hips. You feel your core growing hot with desire. You feel your arousal drip down your bare leg.

“You sound a tad overwhelmed, darling,” Alcina purrs. “If you need to take some time for yourself you may do so now.”

Now that she had given you express permission you glide your hand up your skirt and slip it into your already dripping cunt. You let out a soft gasp as you feel your fingers move inside you. It’s not the same feeling as when Alcina’s fingers are inside you, but at this point anything will do. You can hardly wait for your wedding night. You try to maintain the pace she usually uses.

“There, pet,” Alcina is panting now too on the other line. “Just like that. Now the next picture, please.”

Alcina’s moans from the other line are driving you to distraction but you hold the phone against your shoulder while you use the other hand that is not in your core to pick up the next photo.

“You know what to do, now, draga mea,” Alcina gasps out.

The last photo nearly takes you out. You feel your climax building as you describe it to Alcina. She is sitting at the foot of the bed, her lingerie set on the floor, her legs open. You take in her full breasts and the soft black down that covers her nethers. One of her arms is extended and you see her muscles rippling in her shoulders as she beckons you teasingly to the bed.

You cry out her name as you orgasm and you lean your head against the table, spent. “Good girl,” Alcina purrs, still riding out her own climax. “That was but a foretaste of what our wedding night will be. I do hope you’re prepared, dear.”

“Yes,” you practically squeak.

“Good to hear,” Alcina chortles. “Well, I suppose we ought to get our rest before tomorrow. I’ll see you in the morning, my bride.”

You blush scarlet at Alcina calling you her bride. You could definitely get used to that. You have something prepared too. “Alcina?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Te iubesc, draga mea.”

You can almost see Alcina’s beautiful face break out into a grin, her eyes crinkling in the corners, cheeks dimpling. “Your pronunciation has much improved, dearest. Very well done. And I love you too, darling. Noapte bună.”

You fasten back up your nightgown and head over to the bed. You are not the least bit surprised when you find you can’t sleep. There is simply so much to be excited about.

#re8 village #lady alcina dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #alcina x reader #alcina x maiden #lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu x female reader #alcina x female reader #lady dimitrescu fanfic #re8 fanfic #re8 fanfiction

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themousefromfantasyland · 4 years ago

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Fairy Tale Laws: How Fairy Tales and their Worldbuilding work

Who follows me knows I'm mega into mythology and folklore. One of my favorite pieces of folklore and fantasy literature is the Fairy Tale. Since I was a child I was always draw to the magical world of Disney films and their darker literary counterparts.

I love fairy tales, yet in my opinion they continue to be one of the more misunderstood and neglected genres out there.

So, as a Disney fan and avid fairy tale reader, in this essay I show how the genre itself generally works and which principles rule their whimsical world

Fairy Tales, Myths and Fables

The thing that fairy tales, myths and fables have in common is that they all find their origins in the oral tradition.

They were fantastical tales, not told specifically for children but deeply enjoyed by them, that were transmitted through generations.

Both fairy tales and myths don't follow real world logic, instead following their own dream-like logic, in a sequence of weird and fantastical events, that are magical and intriguing to the listener, but essentially normal to the in-universe characters.

Often than not there aren't any explanations of why these events happen and their impact of those in-universe societies, they just happen. Animals talk, mythical creatures live along with human societies just fine, inanimated objects come to life, people seem to turn into animals all the time, etc, and nothing of that seem to ever change the status quo.

The thing that differentiate the fairy tale from the myth, is that the myth is supposed to have happened in our world, but in a far off past. They are supposed to explain how our world came to be, and they have a very strong religious importance. The fairy tale on the other hand is not supposed to be took seriously. It's a fun story that the older generation tell to the younger generation. It can pass deeply important life or religious values, but that's not their main point. They are fairy tales, not fables.

The point of the fable is to transmit a moral. The point of a fairy tale is to transport the listener into a fantastical journey.

Fairy Tales vs. Oral Stories

Although many folk stories became immortal fairy tales, not all fairy tales came from oral tradition. Actually, some can be traced back to specific authors.

The Little Mermaid, the Ugly Duckling and the Steadfast Tin Soldier are all considered immortal fairy tales, yet they were all created by famous danish writer Hans Christian Andersen. A lot of his stories are authoral, and all are considered true fairy tales.

The term "Fairy Tales" actually comes from the french "conte de fées" and was coined in the 17th century by Marie-Catherine Le Jumel de Barneville, Baroness d'Aulnoy, the Madame d'Aulnoy, a french writer who wrote about a world where love and happiness came to heroines after overcoming great obstacles.

These stories arise from the Préciosité, a French literary style in the 17th century, from "les précieuses", intellectual, witty and educated women who frequented the salon of Catherine de Vivonne, marquise de Rambouillet. Themes presented in these stories are the ideals of feminine elegance, etiquette and courtly Platonic love, all hugely popular with female audiences, but scorned by men.

Telling fairy tales was a popular préciosité parlor game, and they should be told as if spontaneously, even though they all were carefully prepared. This style served as influence for Charles Perrault and Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve.

Villeneuve herself was the original author of Beauty and the Beast, and although the story is heavily inspired by older legends like Cupid and Psyche, it still is an authoral story.

Even the Brothers Grimm and Charles Perrault, who were famous for being collectors of tales from oral tradition, gave their own twists and embellishments to their tales. For example, in many Cinderella tellings it's her mother's ghost who helps her. The Fairy Godmother is Perrault's invention.

So more than been just stories from the oral tradition, fairy tales as a literary genre are the reinvention of the old tropes found in the folk stories under a more sophisticated polish, for a new public.

Fairy Tale as a literary genre

In a way I consider the Fairy Tale a sibling genre to Magical Realism. As TV Tropes puts:

"In Magic Realism, events just happen, as in dreams. [...] Magical realism is a story that takes place in a realistic setting that is recognizable as the historical past or present. It overlaps with Mundane Fantastic. It has a connection to surrealism, dream logic, and poetry."

Both use a surreal, almost poetic internal logic with little to no explanation. Magical Realism is the occurrence of a fantastical event in a realistic setting, in a fusion between the mundane and the magical world.

Fairy Tales are similar because they often deal with very domestic topics and subjects. The protagonists often are normal people with very mundane goals. They don't want to save the world, they want to save themselves and their loved ones.

Cinderella and Snow White for example, are more concerned with escaping from their abusive families than being cultural or legendary heroes like in the myths. Hansel and Gretel are trying not to die from starvation, and Red Riding Hood is trying to visit her sick grandmother. Regardless of class status, these are people with their own problems that find in the fantastical events a escape from them, or a even worse danger.

This is not a universal rule, as some characters are more heroic and there's more in stake, but generally the heroes are domestic heroes and it's only their lives that are in stake.

The difference between the Magic Realism and the Fairy Tale, is that while in the Magic Realism you can easily point where the realistic setting ends and the magical one begins, the fairy tale goes even further, and the lines between the worlds are way more muddled.

Worldbuilding in Fairy Tales

Now, that's the most important part. Fairy Tales are a sub-genre to Fantasy, but while in the other genres the magic world is described in the minimal details, often with rich details about the in-universe cultures and their rules, the Fairy Tale maintain the magic world as vague as possible. That's because it uses what I call "soft-worldbuilding".

Part of the appeal of the fairy tale is to transport the reader in a fantastical journey, but in order to do that they use as little details possible, allowing the reader to try to fill in the gaps. That's in order to avoid the magic world of feeling too real or too close to reality. The reader needs to have a sense of wonder and intrigue, and if you started to describe your world in all its details, it will become too grounded, and the wonder and the intrigue will be lost.

Said that, you need some basic rules, otherwise everything will be incredibly incoherent. You reader needs to understand how the magic world works and their rules, but they also need to be slightly lost, discovering all the details along the way and be amazed by them, lost in a mystery that they will never find all the answers.

To illustrate this, look at the differences between the Middle-earth and Narnia. One is a standard fantasy world, the other is a fairy tale world. J.R.R. Tolkien drew inspiration from the epics, C.S. Lewis drew inspiration from fairy tales and childhood stories.

The Middle-earth is grounded on its own rules, with their own races, cultures, languages and myths. Narnia is a playground were everything magical is allowed. Greek mythology creatures? Okay. Roman gods? Okay. Father Christmas? Okay. Jesus? Of course!

One is worried about all the small details, the other wants everything as vague and simple as possible, as to ensure the wonder and the intrigue will never be lost the reader.

When you're dealing with a fairy tale world you have way more freedom than the standard fantasy world. You don't need to think too deeply in the details. You can use the Rule of Funny and the Rule of Cool as much as you want, as long as it's minimal consistent and coherent

Fairy Tale Laws

This are some basic rules and principles that I believe rule over the fairy tale genre

Establish rules of how the world works. Keep it consistent and coherent. That's your base

Not every fantastical event needs a deep explanation, and magic is not allowed as an universal explanation

Keep it simple. Don't worry too much about the small details.

You don't want your world to be too grounded in reality. A little escapism is key

Poetic logic and surrealism reigns

Have fun with all the weird and magical things that crowded your world. "Rule of Cool" and "Rule of Funny" reign

Never reveal too much to your reader. They need to constantly feel as if there is something more happening off the limits of your story

Domestic heroes (As Narnia and the old dragon slayer stories show, this is not an universal rule)

The overall tone can be darker and edgier, softer and lighter, or somewhere in the middle

#fairy tales #fantasy literature #writers on tumblr #worldbuilding

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enthusiasticharry · 4 years ago

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Swan Lake

summary: you've recently audition to be the White Swan in the Royal Ballet’s next production, only to learn that the new choreographer, Harry, will make this experience a lot more thrilling.

author’s note: hiya! sorry the has taken so long but I've been busy with classes and only just had time to sit down and write this. this has been an idea of mine since i first saw harry’s snl promo when he was in the tutu and i'm glad i can finally share it!

word count: 10.6k words of smut, fluff and me trying to sound like i have a clue what i’m on about whilst describing ballet moves (i'm no ballerina, just a pre-warning)

masterlist | asks

Even from being a small child, it had been your dream to become a dancer. You had originally gotten into dancing when you were very little, watching the different dancing programmes on the TV. You can remember like it was yesterday, the day you first watched the Royal Ballets performance of Swan Lake. You were around six, and you remember your mother flicking through the TV guide and seeing it and deciding to put it on, much to your detest at the start. But, you found yourself mesmerised as you watched the dancers flitter across the screen with such elegance and grace that you knew straight away that in the future you wanted to embody. It wasn’t the easiest occupation to get into, and it was very draining upon your body. But you loved it, and you were always going to — until you physically couldn’t anymore.

“Have you heard about the new choreographer?” Ethel, your friend asks as you walk towards the academy. You shake your head, “Apparently he’s very fit.”

“But he’s a choreographer.” You curl your nose up, “No choreographers are ever fit. They’re all old and hate the world.”

Ethel shakes her head, “This one is. He’s not too older than us either, but apparently he’s one of best Ballerino’s to ever walk out of the Royal Ballet School.”

“That’s a bold statement.” You say, pulling your bag tighter on your shoulder, “What is he choreographing?”

“The solos, I think.” Ethel adds, holding the door open as you both walk through, “He’s taking over Vernon.”

“Thank god.” You sigh, letting the door close behind you, “He was a horrible man.”

“He was.” Ethel laughs, “At least he’s someone new. We haven’t had a new choreographer in a year.”

A year ago, you and Ethel had graduated from the Royal Ballet school in London and you immediately joined the Royal Ballet. After auditions upon auditions you both had made it to the shortlist and then even made it through to the corps de ballet and were preparing for the audition for Swan Lake. You were positive that you wouldn’t get in, but you were also positive that you wouldn’t get into the school, never mind to the actual Royal Ballet.

Even though you felt like you had made it in life, you certainly hadn’t just yet. Today, you were auditioning to dance as White Swan. It was the next step into completing your dream completely. You were nervous to say the least, and you don’t think you’ve ever practiced something so much in your life.

“Are you ready for this?” Ethel asks as you walk into the back room, where there were quite a few other people who were obviously auditioning for other solos within the ballet.

You sigh, sitting down on the floor and starting to tie your pointe shoes, “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“You’ll smash it.” She smiles.

“I certainly hoped so.”

You were third to go, which wasn’t too bad. You certainly didn’t want to go first but you didn’t want to go last either. You were nervous, but you felt as though you dealt with it well and floated across the dance floor. You hated to say it, but you did find yourself being distracted quite a bit by the new man in the room, sat at the end of the table with a notebook and pen, watching intently as you dance and making certain notes. None of the choreographers made any hints that you were doing anything good, or not so good for that matter.

“Thank you.” The man said, his voice as soft as silk, “We’ll get to you shortly.”

A week later you were making your way to the notice board, where the solo and cast list were being posted. Ethel was in a rehearsal, so she wasn’t able to come with you and you found yourself being even more nervous due to being on your own.

You hung back and watched as other people rushed towards the list. You had just finished a pointe class, and your muscles were aching and you didn’t feel quite like making a huge scene trying to see the list. You watched as some people had very happy faces, and other had quite disappointed ones.

The group had dispersed quite a while ago, but you still found yourself stood in the corner. You had even started to pretend to scroll through your phone to distract yourself from actually going up to look at what it says on the sheet.

“I don’t think you can see the list from back here.”

You eyes flick up to the voice that startled you from your scroll. The man, who you had since the audition had learnt was called Harry Styles, stood across from you with one corner of his lips curled up.

“I was, uh.” You tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear, “I was psyching myself up to look.”

“I’d go look if I was you.”

You nod your head and walk up the sheet, flicking your eyes down until your saw ‘White Swan’. What surprised you even more was the sight of your name in the column next to it. You eyes widen and you turn to look at Harry, who’s stood leant against the wall next to you. He smiles at you, nodding your head as you look at him with a confused look upon your face.

“Me?”

“Yes.” He nods, “You.”

“I got it?” You’re in complete shock, “Me?”

“You did. You earned it. You have one of the best form’s I’ve ever seen in my life. It was an unanimous decision, and you were the certain choice.”

“Wow.” You smile, “Thank you.”

“It’s really no problem.” You watch as he turns slightly to walk away, “Don’t let us down, though.”

You really hoped you wouldn’t. You hadn’t worked harder for something in your entire life, and he was mistaken if he thought it would be the same for this. It was your dream, plain and simple. It was hard to have a dream that lasted only the first thirty years or so of your life. If you were only going to get a limited amount of time to do this, you were going to make the most of it and you had made your first step by doing this.

“I won’t.” You nod your head, “I promise.”

“Good.” And with that, he’s gone.

The first day of rehearsals came quicker than you expected, but you had spent every minute of every day thinking about this day. Ethel had landed a role in the corps de ballet which she was proud of, and you were proud of her for doing so too. It meant that you both were going to be in the performance and go to all the main rehearsals for the group dances. Ethel wouldn’t have to come to the solo rehearsals, which was understandable, but at least you still had the time together now.

“Have I told you how much I really love that leotard?” She says as you shrug your coat off, revealing your black leotard which you’ve paired with a blush pink jumper that falls off your shoulder to match your pointe shoes.

“It’s just a simple black leotard.” You shrug, “It’s nothing special. I think I got it on sale.”

“You style it well, though.”

You sit on the bench and lift your feet up, slipping your toes into your pointe shoes. They weren’t comfortable, that’s a given, but you were used to it by now. You went to your first ballet class at seven years old, and you were now twenty-three. Sixteen years of wearing these shoes frequently meant that your feet had gotten very used to feeling.

“Thank you, Ethel.” You smile, grabbing your water bottle and following her as she walks out of the door and towards the training room.

“Do you think Harry will be here?” She asks, tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

You shrug, “I don’t know. Possibly. He does solos so he isn’t technically required to be here.”

“He does. It’s the first rehearsal, though. He may want to at least show his face to the rest of us.”

You laugh, “You just want to see his face, Ethel.”

“Maybe I do.” She doesn’t even hide the blush on her cheeks.

In the training room, groups of dancers stand together either stretching or talking. It’s important to stretch and warm up before anything you do, so you and Ethel find a spare spot by the bar and start to stretch your muscles. You stretch every morning quite intensely, warming your muscles up for the day just because you know that you won’t get a lot of time to do so when you arrive at rehearsals and they even ask you to do so before you come so it works better. It’s nice to just refresh your muscles when you arrive, though.

“Can I have everyone’s attention?” Holland, the main choreographer says as her and a few other people walk into the room, “Welcome all to this years production of Swan Lake.”

A chorus of claps circle around the room, smiles all around as everyone congratulates each other on getting a part. It was very hard to get into productions like these, so you weren’t surprised that you were around the best of the best.

“I’m Holland, I’m pretty sure all of you know me but I’d like to introduce you all to the rest of the team.” She motions to the people behind her, “Isabella is in charge of Pas de deux this year and Harry is in charge of Solo’s, more specifically the Black and White swan’s solos.”

You immediately feel your heats cheek up, knowing that you and whoever is playing the Black swan will be spending time with him. You couldn’t lie and say that he wasn’t a handsome man, because he certainly was, but he was your choreographer and he spoke to you in a tone the other day that you couldn’t quite pinpoint but you knew that you weren’t too keen of.

“Today we’re taking it easy, and just introducing some of the group dances. Can both the White and Black swans see Harry, please?”

You freeze with your eyes upon the floor, not wanting to look up.

“That’s you.” Ethel nudges your shoulders.

You nod and stand up, walking towards the corner of the room where Harry stands as well as another girl who you know is called Frances, from being in a few of your classes during school. You smile as you walk over, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. Behind you, everyones already stood and following what Holland is saying.

“Hope you don’t mind.” He smiles, “But I just want to discuss some things with the two of you before proper rehearsals start.”

You both follow him out of the large training room into one of the smaller practice rooms that people can you use whenever they want. You find yourself lagging behind as you walk, the feeling of nerves bubbling within you. You have had one solo before in your life, but it certainly wasn’t as important as this one, and you felt yourself getting more and more worried with every second.

“It’s important that the two of you know that I’m your main choreographer, but also that you’re in the group sessions when they’re on.” You both nod, “There aren’t a lot, because even in the group dances you have a lot of solos so you are with me a lot more than in there.”

“That’s why we got these parts though, right?” Frances says, a smile across her lips that you can just tell isn’t a sweet one.

“Not really.” He tilts his head to the side, “You got these parts because we think that you’re able to make the role yours and work hard for it. We can take it away just as easy as we’ve given them you.”

You nod your head and Frances does too, but there’s a little huff that escapes her lips as she does so.

“Our rehearsals start tomorrow, with the White swan, and they’re all going to be in this room.” You nod, but you don’t take any notice of what Fran does, but you guess she nods too, “Just so you know, I don’t appreciate lateness or laziness whilst in the rehearsal.”

“Understood.” You smile, tucking a piece of your hair behind your head.

“Good.” He nods, “You can both return to the main group.”

The next day you find yourself walking into the studio ten minutes before the rehearsal is set to start. The door is open when you walk in, but no one is in which your thankful for. You place your bag down in the corner and start to put your pointe shoes on.

“Morning.” You jump out of your skin at the sound of Harry’s voice walking into the room, “Didn’t mean to make jump.”

“It’s okay.” You chuckle, “I was in my own world and wasn’t paying attention.

He smiles and drops his bag in the corner next to yours. He walks closer to where you’re stood and leans against the bar.

“Have you stretched?” He asks, shrugging off his hoodie. You try not to stare at his physique, but it’s hard not to. Especially when you notice the tattoos that you can see across his arms and his check and stomach underneath the white wife-beater he had on. He also had one some joggers, but you knew it wouldn’t make the best first impression if you continued to stare at him.

“Before I left.” You say, “Not since I got here.”

“We can stretch together.” He says, “Do you use the bar.”

You nod and stand up, smoothing down the wispy bits of your hair that had escaped your bun. You pull your jumper up on your shoulder also, due to the material slipping off everyone once in a while. Your eyes drift to watch as he starts to stretch, using the bar to stretch his peculiarly long limbs. Average male ballet dancers that you’d met in your life hadn’t been as tall as he was, but he had a sort of elegance to him even when he was only stretching that his long limbs only extenuated.

“Have you been dancing long?” You certainly hadn’t expected him to be making small talk with you, but here he was.

You nod, “Since I was seven. Have you?”

“I was ten.” He says and your eyes widen, “I was quite late, to be honest.”

That was quite late, you had to agree with him. Most ballet dancers that you met within your life started even earlier than you, and a lot of them were surprised that you’d started so late but were so successful. Talent comes in any shape or form, and even though he did start quite late, if he was as talented as people made him out to be, then you weren’t surprised that he was as successful as he was starting quite late.

“Did you dance before then?”

“I did.” He nods, “I did tap for a few years before I decided that it wasn’t for me, and then I started ballet lessons.”

You smile and continue to stretch, lifting your leg up to the bar to stretch as far as you can. You can feel your muscles starting to relax as you do so, and you know you’re warmed up.

“Are you ready?” You nod and make your way to stand behind him, at the side slightly so you could see both yourself and Harry in the mirror. You were nervous, to say the least, but you had a slight suspicion that Harry was going to try and make you feel as comfortable as possible.

“We’re going to take it easy.” He says, “Well, as easy as it can be with this show.”

You chuckle and watch as he starts to teach you your solo. You wondered how many times he’d watched the previous performances of the ballet to know the solo as well as he did. You got through the first quarter of the dance or so. It was very quick, and it was basically going through al of the steps and seeing where you needed to focus your practice.

By the end of the rehearsal, you were sweating and you knew that you didn’t look the best just from looking at yourself in the mirror. The dance was one of the hardest you’ve ever done in your life but you knew that was how it was going to be. It was intense, and Harry was certainly right when he said that he knew you’d be able to do it but you needed to put in the hard work. One of the hardest things you found yourself having to do was stopping yourself from getting distracted at the sight of him.

Every time he moved, the muscles within his arms contracted. You didn’t want to stare at him, but you physically couldn’t stop yourself. You wondered if he could tell, or if he was staring at you. More than once during the rehearsal your jumper slipped from your shoulder, dangerously close to revealing your chest and you swear that you saw his eyes drifting at some points but you would never say anything.

“You’ve done well.” He nods, taking a quite a large gulp of water from his bottle, “I knew there was a reason why we’d chosen you, and that certainly was it”

“There are plenty of other dancers that will have been just as good, maybe even better, I’m sure.” You say, placing your hands upon your hips as you try to catch your breath from the jeté’s you had just been doing.

He chuckles, walking over to you and placing his hand on your shoulder, “Have a little more faith in yourself. Not many people will be able to do what you’ve just done.”

You hate to say it, but you do feel fuzzy inside at his words. Flutters fill your belly and you can feel your cheeks heat up. He can see it as well, you’re absolutely sure of it and you nearly faint. The feeling of his fingers upon your skin leaves it heated for quite a while, long after he’d taken his hand off, and way after you’d left the room.

He was your new choreographer, but you couldn’t help but feel as this was the start of something else.

You had been in the practice room for an hour or so.

The group rehearsal had finished an hour ago, and you had planned to go into a practice room to spend a little extra time going over the new moves that Harry had added a day ago at their second rehearsal. The new steps weren’t too bad, but the order they fell in you just couldn’t pick up. You practiced it over and over again but you still couldn’t get it right. You found yourself becoming more and more annoyed with yourself that you couldn’t do it.

You started to do it again, starting with the jeté before moving to the pirouette but you found yourself loosing your balance yet again.

“You need to keep your core straight.”

You jump out of your skin, placing your hand upon your chest as you turn to look at the culprit. It’s Harry, and you aren’t surprised to say the least. He has a tendency of jumping out at you when you least expect it.

“You should wear a bell.” You say, standing up and and walking towards his body, which is leant against the wall with his hands in his pockets. He was wearing actual trousers today, and you were wondering if that’s why he wasn’t in the group rehearsal earlier.

“I’ll announce myself next time, I promise.” He laughs, walking towards you. His shoes tap upon the floor as he moves towards you, “Your movements aren’t flowing because your core isn’t strong, and you’re letting your body go dizzy.”

He walks towards you, holding his hands out before retracting them.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” He asks, and you nod, allowing his hands to fall one upon your back and the other upon your stomach. He pushes your stomach in, straightening your back as he does so. You find yourself struggling to breath slightly, but once you do you catch up quickly, “Try again like this.”

“Okay.”

You stay as upright as you can, keeping your core straight as you move. Somehow, you manage to do the sequence without falling over. You sigh in relief and drop down to the floor once you’ve done it. He stands and nods his head, watching as you take a sip of your water.

“See.” He nods his head, “I knew you could do it.”

“Thank you.” You smile, “I knew I could too, I think I was just becoming lazy because I’m tired.”

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. Go home, take a break.” You start to unfasten your pointe shoes, sighing in relief as your toes separate after being in the shoes for way too long, “How long have you been in here?”

“An hour or so.” You shake your head, “I just wanted to get it right.”

“I bet it was right before.” He says, opening the door for you to slip through once you’ve put your proper shoes on and gathered your things, “Your body is just tired, that’s why your form was off. You usually have a great core.”

He had been looking at your. . . core? You felt your cheeks heat up, and you tired your hardest to not to let him see it but it was quite hard under the spotlights of the hallway.

“Thank you, but it really wasn’t. That was the first time I’ve done it properly.”

He turns to you with a grin, “We’ll just to have to agree to disagree, won’t we?”

You can’t stop the blush that rises upon your cheeks at his words, but more so at his grin. It’s cheeky and boyish and sort of flirty. He couldn’t have been flirting with you, but a part of you prayed that he was.

“Have a good night.” He smiles at you, “Sleep and don’t worry about the dance.”

“I’ll try.”

“One. . . two. . . three. . . four—”

His counting has been ringing through your ears since your arrived at the rehearsal an hour ago. You couldn’t tell whether there was something wrong with him, or whether you had done something wrong for him to be in such a mood.

You had managed to ignore the fact that he completely ignored you once you’d walked in, and focused more on showing him that since you last saw him, you had mastered the sequence you were struggling with completely.

Everyone has bad days, you knew that, but it’s hard to learn a dance when your teacher is so stoic that you can’t tell whether or not you’re doing the moves right. His eyebrows have been furrowed since you walked through the door, and the clicks of his fingers were so loud that you can’t help but wonder whether or not they have blistered.

You manage to perform the sequence of steps, from start to about half way which you’ve managed to learn in the two weeks that you’ve been learning the steps. It’s nice to know that you’re able to do it, no matter how much you’ve struggled and that it’s been hard work, you’ve done it.

“We’re moving onto the pirouettes next.” He says, standing with his hands upon his hips as he does so. The harsh look upon his face doesn’t leave, and you truly wonder what had happened for him to be this way with you.

It’s making you feel as though every step you make isn’t right, when you know in fact that it is.

“The what?” You are struggling to catch your breath, after non-stop dancing for an hour can’t believe that he wants to do the pirouettes with you.

“Pirouettes.” He stands facing you, instead of you looking at him through the mirror and you wonder what you’re going to do, “Do as many as you can until the music drops.”

You weren’t quite sure what he was asking of you. You furrow your eyebrows, but Harry just stares at you. He looks at you as if to say why aren’t you doing it yet, so you decide you’re better off just starting the pirouettes.

You start, lifting your body into fourth position with both legs straight. You fix your eyes onto a spot where the mirrors meet. After taking a breath, you bend both legs into a deep pilé, concentrating on sinking your heels into the wooden floor so you could push into the spin. You focus your core, keeping it tight. You spring to a retiré position, before relevé to a full pointe with your back foot to your front leg. You hold your body in the position spin, flicking your head quickly so that you can focus yet again on the gap in the mirror. Once you’ve completed one, you continue to go round and round, trying to ignore the aching within your bones and the throbbing within your head.

You manage eight before you loose your balance and drop to the ground, immediately sitting with your head in between your legs.

“Have a break, and then we’ll start again.”

You sigh and shake your head, “I can’t do it.”

“What do you mean?” Harry says, furrowing his eyebrows, “Of course you can.”

“I can’t do it.”

“You’ve done eight.” He shrugs, “You can do more.”

“I’ll be able to.” You say, “But I can’t do them now.”

If you honest, you hadn’t woken up feeling the best this morning. You often get headaches that throughout the course of the day transition into migraines. You had felt it coming on at the start of the day, and you knew with how much you had to do you couldn’t pull out of the rehearsal but at this point you were seriously considering it. The pirouettes seriously hadn’t helped with the throbbing within your head and you had started to feel quite nauseous.

“If you have that attitude then you certainly won’t be able to, and it’s probably best that you leave.”

You’re completely taken aback, unable to believe that the man who has been nothing but nice to you throughout this whole thing had just said something so horrid to you. You were mortified and if you hadn’t felt sick before, you certainly did now.

“You know what.” You stand up, “I think that’s a good idea.”

You leave the room and don’t look back.

The next rehearsal, thankfully, was a group one. You and Ethel had made your way to the training room bright and early, ready for what the day was going to hold. You hadn’t told Ethel about what happened earlier in the week with Harry. It would have been nice to talk to someone about it but you knew that you shouldn’t, so you didn’t. It was, however, the thing that fluttered around in your brain on a loop. Doing everyday mundane things you found yourself distracted. Instead of being upset or angry anymore, you were concerned, and you just hoped that he was okay mainly.

The two of you had stretched yourselves pretty quickly, leaving you stood in the right corner of the room waiting for it to start. You couldn’t help but wonder whether or not Harry was going to be in the rehearsal today. He normally was, but after the last one, you had no idea what was going to happen. A part of you wished to see him, and the other part of you didn’t. It was as though you had a devil and angel on your shoulder, bickering between the options of whether or not you wanted to see his face.

In the back of your mind you knew that this man was your choreographer. You knew that traditionally that you shouldn’t be feeling this way about him, since he had the same role as a teacher would, but you really couldn’t help it. It didn’t help that he was one of the prettiest people you had ever seen in your life — and one of the nicest apart from the last time you saw him — but the was besides the point. You were an adult, and you were allowed to have these feelings, even though you were positively sure that they aren’t reciprocated.

Both Holland and Isabella walk into the room, but there is no sign of Harry. You try to ignore the disappointment that sits in the pit of your stomach but you can’t.

You should be angry at the man, livid even, that he said such a thing to you but you really weren’t. That was your own fault, but that didn’t mean that all would be forgotten from that day. You were at least expecting an apology the next time you saw him.

“Everyone get into positions for the start of the second half.” Holland calls and everyone moves from their groups into positions.

You weren’t on the stage at the start, so you move to the corner of the room by the door and watch everyone else. You try your hardest not to let your mind wander, but you can’t help it. Your thumb is running back and forth over your bottom lip, furrowing your eyebrows as you did so.

“If you furrow your eyebrows anymore your face is going to stay like that.”

You don’t even jump at the sound of his voice. Your heart does start to beat a little faster, since your certainly weren’t expecting him to be so close to you, but you wouldn’t tell anybody that.

“Was starting to think you just hated me.”

“Could never hate you.” He shakes his head, “You’re too good of a dancer for me to ever hate you.”

You have to physically stop yourself from rolling your eyes at him. You manage to, but before either one of you could say anything else, you see your cue and you’re out on the floor.

You try to ignore his stare as you move around the room, remembering the choreography you had learnt whilst also trying to be as elegant and strong as you physically could be. You remembered to keep your core straight, and if you weren’t mistaken by the few times you looked over at him, Harry’s eyes hadn’t left you.

You were unsure whether it was something your were flattered about, or whether you were slightly concerned about it. You weren’t too concerned, but you found yourself wondering why he was doing this. The last time he saw you he told you to leave, and now he couldn’t get his eyes off of you.

Once the dance had finished, and you had your lips around your water bottle that you were taking a sip from, you swear you saw Harry’s head flick towards the door. You furrow your eyebrows and lift you finger up, pointing at yourself as if to ask whether he was looking at you.

He nods his head and walks out of the door, leaving you confused but walking towards him and consequently out of the room. You bite the lid of your bottle as you do so. You knew exactly where he was, and the second you walked into the room you saw him stood in the middle of it with an almost defeated look upon his face.

“I’m sorry.”

You swear your heart almost bursts out of your chest.

You nod your head, “Okay.”

“I was a dick.” You nod again, “And you didn’t deserve it at all. I shouldn’t have asked you to leave and I should’ve asked if you were okay the second you dropped to the floor. I’m sorry, I really am.”

“I accept your apology, I do.” He seems to sigh with relief, “But! You have to be extra nice to me next rehearsal. If I want a break, I want a break.”

He chuckles, “You can have as many breaks as you like.”

“Good.”

To say rehearsals have been different since Harry apologised to you would be an understatement. You found yourself enjoying them, no matter how hard you had to work, and you looked forward to them in your week.

You believe it might have been because of the change in relationship between the two of you. It was much nicer, and also a little flirtier. You had noticed Harry coming over to help you by touching you more, he was forever smirking and winking at you and some of the things he said completely turned you to putty in his arms.

You’d like to think he’d noticed, but you really couldn’t be sure.

“Dress rehearsals start next week.” He says as you take a break, sipping on some water whilst holding a banana in your other hand, “Are you nervous?”

You shrug, “A little bit. I know I’ve worked hard but there are still a lot of things that could go wrong.”

“I disagree.” You throw him a quizzical look, “I agree that you work hard because you’re one of the most hardworking people I’ve ever met. I don’t agree that a lot of things could go wrong because that just isn’t true — one thing could.”

You knew what he was talking about.

You drop back so you’re laid on the group, “The pirouettes.”

“The pirouettes.” He nods and stands up, so you sit up, “I know you can do it, you just need to believe in yourself.”

You sigh, “Can you just do the pirouettes for me?”

“Yeah.” He laughs, “Like the audience wouldn’t notice you slipping off and a six-foot man taking your place to do some spins.”

“I’m sure they’d be highly entertained.”

“I’m sure we’d have thousands of complaints to deal with.”

You laugh and he joins in. You finish your banana and stand up, tucking some of the hair that had fallen out of your bun back before moving to the middle of the room.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to do it.”

“I do.” Harry nods, crossing his arms over his chest, “Focus on your spot and never take your eyes off it, remember your core and remember to bounce yourself. The higher bounce you get at the start, the more you’ll be able to spin.”

You’re unsure how it happened, but after listening to Harry’s words you manage to complete almost twenty pirouettes. The most that had taken place during the small amount of time in a performance had been thirty-two, and to say that you’d never done more than ten in your life before meant that you were pretty proud of yourself.

“See.” He says smugly, “I knew you could do it.”

You watch as he walks towards you, shoving this hand into the pocket of his jogging bottoms. You weren’t one to necessarily like people who are so in-your-face smug but there was something different about the way Harry said things. He didn’t say them maliciously, or to make himself feel better but to just tease you slightly. He was close to you, and you resisted the urge to let out a little squeak of nervousness.

“Are you going to start believing in yourself?”

“Hmm.” You ponder, “I might have to be reminded again, and again.”

It all happened quickly, but before you could process anything happening, Harry’s lips were on yours.

He kissed you. You felt his lips upon yours, his hand immediately reaching to rest upon her cheek. The nervous squeak you held in escaped your lips as he did so, but he masked it with him. You gripped the material of his wife-beater, bunching it up at his stomach as you pulled him towards you. Your lips parted once you’d felt his tongue dance upon your lips, allowing it to slip through them. You were shocked, but you never wanted it to end.

It did end though, like all good things do. He pulled away from you and you felt even more out of breath than if you had just performed your solo. You looked at him with wide eyes and lifted your fingers to run over your swollen lips,

“Did that remind you?”

Dress rehearsals had started, but all you could find yourself thinking about was Harry’s lips on yours.

You stood backstage at the Royal Opera House, looking at yourself within the mirror as you ran your hand over your costume. It was white, and completely gorgeous. The tutu fluttered out gems and sparkles fluttered along the bodice with a hugged your curves perfectly. You had the head piece on as well, but you hadn’t done your makeup. It was the first time you’d seen the costume upon your body, and you were in love with it.

“You proper look like the white swan now.” Ethel smiles, placing her hand upon your shoulder, squeezing slightly, “You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you.” You turn to look at her, and the costume she had on and you gasp, “And look at you! Absolutely beautiful!”

The two of you giggle and walk towards the main stage where everyone was collected. You stood to the side with Ethel, even though she’s quickly scooped away by some of her friends. You stand and done move, going over the moves of your solo in your head just to make sure you knew what you were doing.

Holland calls you all to start soon. It wasn’t the first time that you’d ran the performance all the way through, but it was the first time that you’d done it in your costume.

You manage to make it through the first half of the performance without any malfunctions from yourself, but you can’t say the same for everyone else. It was around half way through the third section of dance or so when you noticed Harry sat on the front row, his eyes never leaving you as you dance around the stage. When your first section of solo dance came up, you saw Harry’s eyes furrowing as you danced. You couldn’t watch him throughout the entire thing, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he never looked away from you.

During the interval, you go backstage and make your way towards a bathroom. As you make your way closer, you try to find the fasten of your tutu so that you can quickly pull it off. What you hadn’t expected as you down the hall and towards the bathroom was to be pulled into one of the rooms you pass.

You squeal as you feel the hand around your arm, but once you’re in the room, you’re silenced by someone’s lips upon yours.

You can tell that it’s Harry immediately. You can tell not only from his lips upon yours, but also from his hand that he places upon your cheek. You feel the coolness of his ring, and the slight itch from his stubble, but you really aren’t complaining. You lift your hand to the back of his neck, slipping your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

His fingers run across your thighs, being light so that he doesn’t rip the thin material. After a minute or so, you pull away, turning your head so that his drops upon your shoulder whilst you catch you breath.”

“Harry?” He hums against your neck, placing a small kiss there, “I really need a wee.”

He laughs and stands up, pecking your lips once more. You smile into the kiss and it seems to only grow afterwards.

“Well you better go and have one.” He chuckles and you nod, “But I’ll only let you go if your promise me something.”

“What?”

“You’ll wait for me afterwards?”

“After what? My wee, because I have to back on stage after—”

“No.” He chuckles, “Not after you’ve had your wee, but after you’ve finished tonight. I want to take you somewhere.”

“Sounding very stalker-ish of you, Styles.” She furrows her eyebrows, “But I’ll wait for you.”

The second half, and your solo goes okay. You managed to do sixteen pirouettes but your brain was in overdrive, thinking of everywhere that Harry could be taking you. Once you all finished, you couldn’t help but rush to get changed and ready to leave. You hadn’t borough the nicest of clothes, only some jeans and a jumper since the air had started to get quite a lot cooler now that autumn had shown its face.

“You ready?” He asks once you’ve walked out of the theatre and find him stood by the wall next to the door.

You nod and follow him. The two of you don’t talk, but his hand does slip into yours as you walk. He’s very smooth in the way that he does it, slipping his hand into yours as you walked across the busy London road. Your cheeks heated as he did so, and you couldn’t help the small smile that planted across your lips.

You knew that you shouldn’t feel this way about someone who was like a teacher for you, and you knew at some point that the two of you would have to speak about what this even was but at this point you were just happy.

You certainly hadn’t expected to end up at a cinema, but here you were. Harry scanned the two tickets he already conveniently already had. The tickets were halfway up in the cinema, where you normally enjoyed sitting but you certainly had never told Harry this.

“If you wanted to see a movie with me, you should’ve just asked.” You whisper to Harry as you both sit down, “You didn’t have to basically kidnap me into a storage room and shove your tongue down my throat.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining about my tongue down your throat.” He says, and you can almost hear the smirk upon his lips, “Just watch, you’ll understand why I brought you here in a second.”

You did understand. The recording was from 2015, one that you hadn’t seem before which was surprising because you’re absolutely certain that you’d watched the majority of them. You wonder if this was one that you hadn’t been able to find before, to nitpick every single movement that the white swan made.

Harry’s hand sat tightly in yours as you watched, never moving throughout the entire performance.

Once it had finished, you found yourself sat in an Italian restaurant that was next to the cinema, the both of you having ordered pasta and having large glasses of red wine to wash it down.

“Why did you bring me to see that?”

Harry smiles, placing his glass down that he had just taken a sip from, “It’s my favourite performance, so far, of Swan Lake. I didn’t know whether you’d already seen it, and you’re probably fed up of it but I thought you needed to see it.”

You shake your head, “I hadn’t seen it.”

“You remind me of her.” He smiles, “Giovanna, who was the White Swan. She was a few years older than me, and I met her getting lost in the school.”

“You knew her?”

He nods, “We were best friends, for a few years, and she taught me everything I know about how to be the best ballerino I could be. I was there when she was got the part, and I used to watch her practice.”

“That’s how you know the solo so well.”

He nods, “She believed she couldn’t do it. I can’t count the amount of times she said that she couldn’t do it. She hardly slept because of it. They recorded that opening night, and it took me sitting her down and showing her that for her to believe that she could do it.”

He’s interrupted by the waitress coming with their pasta, which they smile in thanks at.

“Thank you.” He nods his head at the waitress, “I’m more involved with you as the White Swan, and I swore to never let anyone who I worked with whether it be on this production or not, feel like Giovanna did.”

“How could you tell?”

“You always look as though you’re battling with yourself within your head.” He says, “You need to know that when you’re on that stage, and it’ll be even more like this when you believe yourself, you are elegant and you look absolutely beautiful.”

If you weren’t in public, and if you didn’t have a mouthful of tomato pasta in your mouth, you probably would’ve cried at his words. You couldn’t believe how much this man actually cared about you and how you were doing.

“Are you still friends with her?”

“No.” He shakes his head, “She left a few years ago, didn’t tell me where she was going or why she was doing it. I haven’t heard from her since.”

You drop your head, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He shakes his head, “You’re the new swan in my life, and between the two of us, I much prefer you.”

“Do you think people are going to mind?” You ask, moving your pasta around on your plate, not daring to look up at him, “You’re like my teacher, and we don’t exactly have one of the more conventional relationships.”

“I don’t care.” He shakes his head, “And you shouldn’t either, swan.”

The day of the first performance was here, and you were absolutely dreading it.

“Ethel.” You shake your head, “I really can’t do this.”

“Oh shut up.” She places her hands upon your shoulders as you look at yourself in the mirror, sighing as you made sure your wispy pieces of your hair were down, “You’re going to be fine. You’re only worried about the pirouettes and you managed twenty-two yesterday.”

“It’s not thirty-two though.” You shake your head, “It isn’t good enough.”

Yesterday it was your last run through of the solo with Harry in the practice room. Even though the relationship between the two had shifted dramatically since their first rehearsal, and yesterday it almost felt as though you were back in with that Harry.

The flirty banter that the two had adopted wasn’t there, and you were both focused on getting it right. It was the first time that you had managed to do more than twenty pirouettes, which had been your best, but it was now twenty-two. You had sighed in relief and finished your solo dance with a smile upon your face.

“You’ll be fine.” Ethel smiles, “You’ve got nothing to worry about, you’ll go out there and smash it. I have to go and do my makeup, but I’ll see you during the interval — I promise.”

You nod, accept her hug and sigh yet again at yourself in the mirror. You hadn’t felt this nervous in a long time, not even when you auditioned for the ballet school, or even when you auditioned for the part of the white swan. In every other aspect of your life, you were confident. In your dancing, that’s when you found yourself spiralling in the most.

“Hey white swan.” You can’t help but smile at the sound of Harry’s voice behind you, your body immediately turning around to look at him.

You don’t want to seem shocked, but the sight of him all dressed up causes your heart to beat quickly within your chest. You hadn’t seen him dressed up in this way before, a blue button up upon his body, as well as yellow trousers and a grey jacket. His hair framed his face in such a way that you couldn’t help but press your thighs together. You very much liked Harry’s practice outfits that show off his strong body, but there was something else about seeing him dressed in such a way that you liked even more.

“Hi.” You laugh, standing up to wrap your arms around him. It’s an awkward hug, with the two of you trying to navigate your way around your tutu, “You look fancy.”

“And you look gorgeous.” He pulled away from you and leant back against the wall, whilst you leant against the chair you were just sat on, “Ethel saw me on the way in.”

You laugh, “What did she say?”

“That you’re spiralling again.” He laughs, “I thought we’d spoken about this.”

“I know.” You nod your head, “I’m just scared about the pir—”

“—If you dare say pirouettes!”

You laugh as he interrupts your words, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He shakes his head, “You know that you can do it, and I believe in you. You’re going to smash this and I’m going to be front row cheering your on.”

Without a single hesitation, you cast your eyes around the room in hopes to see nobody there, which there isn’t, and you throw your arms around his neck and place your lips upon his. He smiles into the kiss, and you do too, but you quickly pull away because you know that anybody could walk in at any moment.

Harry flutters his eyes over at the clock, “It’s time, white swan. I’ll be here afterwards.”

In your first performance of Swan Lake, you manage twenty-six pirouettes. It’s the most you’ve ever done, and once you’ve done it, you find yourself finishing the entire performance in higher spirits than when you started it.

Somehow, you were finishing the day of your first performance with your thighs wrapped around Harry’s waist as he presses you up against the door of your flat. He had offered to walk you home, and the flirty way the two of you had become accustomed to felt a change as you walked home. You felt as though there was a magnet pulling you together and the closer you got to your flat, the closer you felt towards each other.

You suspect that was why you were now pressed up against your door.

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” Harry murmurs against your lips, and you smile against them.

With him holding you up by your thighs, and with your half arsed directions, you both make your way towards your bedroom. Harry places you down upon your bed, his fingers grasping the jumper upon your skin. You pull away slightly and he pulls it above your head, exposing your chest to him. He leans down to press another kiss to your lips, moving down to your neck. He litters kisses down your cheeks, and your neck until he’s upon your chest. You hadn’t worn a bra with your jumper, so you’re completely exposed to him.

The next movement he makes is to wrap his lips around one of your nipples, swirling his tongue around one of your budding nipples, using his thumb to tweak the other. Your hips are involuntarily bucking towards his.

“Fuck, Harry.” You sigh, smiling down at his head as he kisses down your stomach until he reaches the band of your jogging bottoms.

He stops his movements and rests his head upon your stomach, “What do you want?”

“Want you to lick me.” He smiles at your words, and hooks his fingers into the band of your jogging bottoms, pulling them as well your underwear down your legs.

He placed a litter of kisses across the inside of your thighs, teasing you until you can help but lift your hips up to him.

“Are you this wet all for me, baby?” He questions, running his thumb across your clothed clit, “Got yourself all messy for me.”

“You have a way with words.” You grin, reaching forward to run your fingers through his hair, “And a way with your mouth.”

“You don’t need to flatter me anymore, I’m already in your bed.” He pecks your pubic bone, “But my ego really appreciates it.”

“Your narcissistic side is showing.”

“What did you expect?” He runs his fingers across your pubic bone, “You’re so fucking ready for me. All wet and ready for me to have a taste.”

He starts with small kitten licks that have you withering across your duvet, small whines leaving your lips. He wraps his lips around your clit, mixing between nibbling and licking.

You moan, lifting your back up off of the bed, “Can I use my fingers, baby?”

“Please.” You nod, watching as he lifting his fingers up to your mouth, pushing them through your parted lips so you could swivel your tongue around them, wetting them to make them easier for him to push into you. He pushes his index finger in, rhythmically moving it in and out whilst also licking and flicking your clit with his tongue. Each thing his does coaxes you closer and closer to your orgasm, the way he skilfully uses his tongue sending moans spilling out of your lips.

“Don’t stop!” Harry drops his hand to your stomach, pushing down so that you aren’t moving you hips as he brings you closer to your peak, “M’gonna come.”

“Come for me, baby.” He murmurs against you, flicking his tongue quickly.

You can feel your stomach tightening as he moves quickly, the feeling causing your toes to curl as he does so.

“Fuck.” He uses his fingers and his tongue to coax you through your orgasm.

You honestly couldn’t believe that you had waited this long to have him touch you. Moans spill out of your lips as you reach your high, the euphoric feeling spreading over your entire body.

Harry kisses your clit one last time, kissing up your stomach and around your breasts, up until he wrapped his lips around your nipple. He allowed you to recover and calm your breathing whilst he kissed up your body.

“Good?”

You hum, a small giggle escaping your lips, “Fucking amazing.”

“I’m glad your enjoyed it.” He laughed, leaning down to place a kiss to your lips.

Feeling as though you had recovered from your orgasm, you start to unbutton his trousers. He grins against your lips as you slip your hand beneath the band of his boxers, wrapping your fingers around his length.

“I want you to fuck me.” You whisper against his lips, the corners of yours curling up.

“Yeah.” He grins, “Have you got any condoms?”

You were glad at this point that you’d picked some up during your daily shop. Not that you had expected anything, but it was always good to be prepared.

“Yeah.” You nod, “In the bedside table.”

He stands up from the bed and unbuttons his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and he makes his way towards the drawer. You eyes never leave his body, watching as his ever muscle flexes. He opens the drawer and drops his hand in, and if you weren’t already flushed, you certainly would be from what he pulls out.

“What’s this?” He holds up the small vibrator that you had bought a few years ago to relive some of your tension every once in a while.

“God.” You drop back upon the bed, your head rested on the pillow as your bring your hand to your forehead, “Just something I use to relive some of the tension in me every once in a while.”

“The tension?” He raises his eyebrow, “When was the last time you used it?”

You shrug, “Ages ago. I think it was after the first dress rehearsal.”

“That long ago? We’ll have to change that.” He turns the little machine on to its first setting, holding it as it vibrates in his hand.

“Are you going to use that on me?” You ask, writhing as he places it upon your budding nipple.

“As tempting as it is.” He smirks, taking it away just as a moan threatens to leave your lips, “I think we’ll save it for another day.”

He turns it off and places it back in the bedside table, taking the box of condoms that are in there out also. He takes the foil packet out and at the same time pushes his underwear off of his body, revealing his member to you. It was already red, the tip angry and already leaking pre-come as it stood out from his body.

You can’t take your eyes off him. You had had some encounters with people before hand, you had needs, but you certainly hadn’t been with anyone quite so well endowed. He uses his teeth to rip open the packet, pinching it between his fingers and rolling it over his length.

“Can I ride you?” You ask, watching as Harry kneels on the edge of the bed.

He raises his eyebrows, “Do you want to?”

“I do.” You smile, watching as he laid down next to you.

“Hop on then.” He smirks, reaching for your hips as your straddle him.

You take him in your hand, lining him up with your centre. He grips your hips, guiding you down onto his cock. You moan as he fills you up, but you can move at your own speed and wait as long as you needed.

“Fuck.” He moans, sitting up to rest his head against your shoulder, “So fucking tight around my cock. Squeezing me just right.”

You couldn’t believe how much you were throbbing between your legs at the sounds of his words. Once you’ve become accustomed to his size, you started to bounce up and down on him. You catch his lips with yours, allowing yourself to succumb under the pleasure he was giving you. You couldn’t help the moans that tumbled out of your lips whilst you bounce, Harry’s hips lifting to meet yours.

“Harry, fucking hell.” He was making you feel so full, and so good, “Fuck, can I go faster?”

“Go as fast as you want, baby.” He kisses your lips briefly, “Make yourself come on my cock.”

You bounce your hips faster, leaning forward to grip your headboard to give you more leverage to move your hips. You could feel sweat collecting upon your brow and body, your hair sticking to your neck. The only sound in the room was your moans and your groans, as well as the creaking of your bed and your headboard hitting the wall. You prayed at this point that your neighbours couldn’t hear you through your wall.

“I’m gonna come, H.” You moan out, lowering one of your hands so that you could rub your clit. Harry immediately notices and pushes your hand away, replacing it with his own finger rubbing quickly to coax your second orgasm of the night.

“Come on my cock, baby.” He speeds up his hips meeting yours, “Come on, I wanna feel you.”

Your second orgasm washes over you quicker than your first, and your eyes roll to the back of your head. Harry thrusts harshly up into you a few time and you feel him spill into the condom. He groans against your neck as you collapse on top of him.

You had never felt so close to someone as you did to Harry, and even though you weren’t together yet it just felt right to take this step.

“You’re incredible, swan.”

You laugh and roll off him, whimpering at the feeling of him leaving you. You lay down next to him and watch as he takes the condom off and places it in the small bin in the corner of your room. Whilst he does that, you quickly make your way towards the bathroom to pee and clean yourself up. Never in your whole life had you felt this wet and orgasmed so hard from being with someone, and you don’t know whether to thank Harry or worship the ground that he walks on.

As you walk back into your room, you notice Harry laid upon your bed, shirtless and smiling as you walk back into the room. You slip into bed next to him.

“Harry?” He hums, “If I perform like this every night, are you going to do this overnight?”

“If you want me to, swan, I’ll never stop.”

You didn’t want him to.

A couple of months later, your time as the White Swan had finished. Your parents, as well as both Ethel and Harry, joined you for celebratory drinks. You found yourself loving having Harry with you, and Harry loved being with you as far as you could tell.

Waking up the next morning, you can’t remember the last time you woke up without having something to do the next day. Harry’s deep breaths fill your ears as he rests upon your neck, his arm around your waist and his leg pressed in between yours. You loved the feeling of having him so close to you, and you felt as though you couldn’t ever have him away from you now.

“Are you awake?” His voice is low and gruff in a morning, and it sparks something between your legs almost immediately.

“No.” You smile, “I’m still asleep.”

“I think you should stick to ballet, lying isn’t your forte.” He squeezes your middle, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“I’m not lying. I’m still asleep.” You smile, relishing in the feeling of his arm around you.

He laughs, “I didn’t know I was with a sleep talker, swan. If I’d have known I would’ve been running for the hills.”

“How long have you been awake then?” You laugh, “Have you been watching me sleep?”

“Not watching.” He laughs, “Observing.”

You turn your head briefly so that you’re looking at him, leaning forward to place a kiss to his cheek.

“Kissy?”

“Morning breath.” You grimace, “Once I’ve brushed my teeth, maybe.”

“I don’t care.” He shakes his head, “I just want a kiss.”

“I care, though.”

“‘Gis a kiss, baby.” You lean forward and place a closed-lipped peck to his lips.

“Good enough?”

“I guess that’s all I’m getting.”

“That is correct.” You laugh.

Harry’s eyes fall upon yours, and he doesn’t look away. Even though he just woke up, he’s so effortlessly gorgeous that you can’t help but want to jump his bones and kiss him all of the time.

In your opinion, you had hit the jackpot. It was the most traditional relationship, but Harry was your person. From the first day you walked into the rehearsal room and Harry looked at you with such joy in his eyes you knew he was for you. You didn’t care what anyone else though, and you only wanted him.

You were falling for him, at a fast speed but you certainly would never complain.

“Be mine?”

“What?” You question, your eyebrows furrowing.

“Be my girlfriend?” He asked, “Be mine?”

You ponder the thought for a couple of seconds, leaving him waiting before your lips curl up into a smile, “Okay.”

“Okay.” You kiss him again, “I’ll be your girlfriend.”

“My swan.” He smiles, leaning forward to kiss you once again.

You laugh, “I feel like that’s going to be my forever nickname.”

“It’s how we met.” He smiles, “I never want to forget it.”

You never do.

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles x you #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles smut fic #harry styles au #harry styles writing

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memento-morri-writes · 2 years ago

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For the new ask game for writers : 6, 8, 9, 20, 31, 42 and 46? I am sorry for this many but I am truly curious, Morri, especially for 46!

Hi Leia, and thanks for the ask!! :)

6. Favorite character you ever created.

It's very hard to choose, but if I absolutely had to pick one, probably Fallon, because she was the one who got me back into writing. I love her forever and ever, and she means the world to me.

8. Favorite trope to write.

Answered here.

9. Least favorite trope to write.

Any kind of toxic romance, or any kind of romance that falls into the category of "insta-love". (aka, the "we just met, he's my soulmate" B.S. that happens far too often in teen / YA fiction.)

20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on.

Oh dear. What haven't I shared already? Snippet tag is here, btw.

"I’ve never been in love, but I know that I love you, because what else can love possibly feel like?” Fallon stared at [Kristopher], speechless. Her cheeks were damp with tears, and she could hardly swallow. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. What could she possibly say to that?

31. Hardest character to write.

Fucking Lavinia. I've talked about this like 80 times, so I won't go into it again, but she's so hard for me. (just go through her tag, and I'm sure you'll easily find my rants about her, lmao)

42. How do you figure out your characters looks, personality, etc.

Honestly, I don't have a good answer for this. It just kinda... shows up in my brain?? Like, with Ashlin, I was lying in bed, thinking, and my brain was like "hey, what if you had a thief character with anger issues?" and it spiraled from there. And it's the same with appearances. They just kinda exist in my brain. Like, how did I decide Calista was a tall-ish Black woman with locs that she wears in a ponytail? I didn't. I just knew that was what she looked like. Obviously, for things like scars, a little more thought goes into it, but I genuinely don't know where this stuff comes from. I swear.

46. What would your story _ look like as a tv show or movie?

ATQH: The whole thing would be set in a very old, but very beautiful castle with a dark wood interior. Soft, warm light. Elegant gowns, nice suits, all in a very specific yet indescribable style. (seriously, idk how to describe the clothing, even though I can picture it vividly.) There is a large garden surrounding the castle, and in one area of the garden is a very old well, the kind you might call a wishing well. The whole thing would have a rich, slightly warm tint to it.

CoS: Most of it takes place on the road, so lots and lots of fields and forests. Beautiful country roads with hardly a soul in sight. A dark bay mare in worn leather tack, saddlebags draped over her. Leather boots well-worn, but well cared for on Ashlin's feet. Simple clothing for both her and Dorian. Forests of tall pines, light filtering through from above, but not enough. The early beginnings of summer, but a northern summer. You can still see snow on the mountains in the distance. Campfires crackling, and quiet conversation.

#perasperaadastrawriting #Leia 🌠#Morrigan replies #writing asks #wip: atqh #wip: cos #shadow wip #that snippet is part of a scene that I really need to rewrite #but I love it all the same #that line #about 'what else could love possibly feel like'#it breaks me #and I love it #and it has a very fun backstory too #which I will tell if asked

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outbythehighwind · 4 years ago

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Tifa’s Fighting Style

One of the things that impressed me most about FF7R is Tifa Lockhart’s combat. Her mechanics were dazzling. Her combos left me awed. Her style was so realistic, but... what was it? Naturally, I did some digging, and happened to stumble across a blog where most of the work had already been done. So this post is courtesy of Flowerslightning, with thoughts and elaboration on my part. THANKS AND CREDIT TO THIS WONDERFULLY INSIGHTFUL BLOGGER (do check out her tumblr for more fantastic content).

First, let’s note that Tifa’s combat design is very much in the field of fighting games. To some degree at least, developers take inspiration from real-life arts. The style of Tekken’s Lei Wulong, for instance, is based on the Drunken First. Street Fighter’s Chun Li uses the model of Chinese Kenpo.

The FFVII devs - to my knowledge - have revealed nothing on Tifa’s inspired martial arts background. She adopted the monk style (the fisticuffs of FF-verse) from a traveler named Zangan. That’s all we know. She trained (obviously very hard) as his pupil for the 2 years between Cloud leaving Nibelheim and Sephiroth burning the town. Zangan then brought her to Midgar and continued his travels. The only path for discerning real-arts inspiration is through observing Tifa’s fights - though even such attempt is limited. Her style is not as straightforward as Lei’s or Chun Li’s. She seems to employ a mix of martial arts, specializing in the offense and using speed and dexterity to her advantage.

Here are the main styles that Flowerslightning deduced, supported by some of Tifa’s abilities.

1. Muay Thai [demonstrated by Somersault].

This is the known as the “Art of Eight Limbs” and is commonly referred to as “Thai boxing”. It differs from traditional kickboxing (which has its roots in Japan) most notably in being an 8-point instead of 4-point striking system. In other words, Muay Thai employs elbow and shin strikes in addition to kicks and punches. Tifa’s kicks, I would say, are actually more akin to kickboxing, for Muay Thai places emphasis on heavy kicks involving the shin bone. Yet her acrobatic style is very akin to the latter.

In addition to the key boxing techniques of both the Thai and Japanese art, Tifa’s elbow maneuvers provide further evidence for the former. This is most evident during her fight with Loz, where she uses her elbows for offense and defense. One could say she expanded her Thai-based skills during in the 2 years that followed saving the world.

Running a new bar and raising two under-10-year-olds would have left at least a... smidgen of free time, right?

2. Muay Thai [demonstrated by Refocus].

Some may suggest this move of Tifa’s is a Taekwondo technique (we’ll get to that lovable sport soon, don’t you worry), but I agree with Flowerslightning in that her jumping style is more Muay Thai. Almost all Muay Thai techniques use movement of the entire body, rotating the hip with each kick, punch, elbow and block. This to me is the obvious discerning factor. Tifa exquisitely throws her whole body into the majority of her combos and limit breaks, ground and aerial alike. Specifically through that neat hip rotation. Refocus is but one example of many.

PS. Don’t you just love her boots? The gloves are really something but, those red boots... Just look at them.

3. Taekwondo [shown in Overpower].

Literally the “Way of the Hand and Foot”, this is a Korean martial art set apart by its emphasis on kicks. Head-height kicks, jump spin kicks, swift kicks, the list goes on. (But of course, there’s plenty of hand blocking and take-downs too.) Did you know that Taekwondo is part of South Korea’s military training program as well as their national sport? Its skillset is heavy in self-defense.

Tifa is mostly an offensive attacker (and wow, do her strikes deal devastating damage). Yet her aerial maneuvers and acrobatic footwork certainly have elements of Taekwondo. What makes the Taekwondo kick-style unique is its elaborate, advanced forms. Xtreme 720s, for instance, are underpinned by precise technical soundness and accuracy.

Yes, these are literal 720° mid-air turns with a SERIES of kicks timed in utmost precision. They require extraordinary strength. Something Tifa deceptively pulls off with ease, no?

4. Hēi-Hǔ-Quán [displayed in Starshower].

Flowerslightning deduces this ATB ability to be a Boxing combo. Though to me it looks more like Hēi-Hǔ-Quán (lit. ‘Black Tiger Fist’, a Shaolin striking art from China). Watch her hands closely: the thumbs are curled like the fingers rather than wrapped around them to form a fist. Tifa’s wide stances and acrostic kicks are a little less tiger-esque than Hēi-Hǔ-Quán, but there is definitely resemblance of the style there too.

All in all, she seems to employ a mixture of Shaolin arts and Boxing. Her finger-positions for fast jabs (as in Starshower and the Loz fight) are predominantly of the Tiger Fist. Her more powerful strikes, meanwhile, include Boxing crosses, hooks and uppercuts. The sewer cutscene demonstrates this clearly, when Tifa & Cloud encounter the Sahagin.

And damn, do we love the back-to-back Cloti in that scene. Surely I’m not just speaking for myself here.

5. Boxing [displayed in Unbridled Strength].

Tifa’s aforementioned fist moves and powerful finishing punches are no doubt reminiscent of boxing. Also, she always enters a fight with her fists closed in a boxing stance (whether she will employ Shaolin or other hand techniques is irrelevant). Take her cutscene against the Whispers where she, Cloud and Aerith arrive at Sector 7. She begins with a cross and follows with a rotated hook - one of the most basic boxing combos.

BONUS FACT: Rather than orthodox, Tifa always employs a southpaw stance (right hand and right foot forward). This is the preferred stance of a left-hand fighter. Is Tifa left-handed? Considering her fighting alone, yes is the plausible assumption. Here are a few examples:

- Unbridled Strength has her delivering a finishing blow with her left hand. We would expect such a move to be done with the power hand.

- Her single strike that hurls Loz across the church is also with the left hand. This punch is not part of a combo; she could have used either hand.

- In guard position, her left is the rear hand, to both attack and protect herself.

- And of course, in southpaw stance, she always begins with a left-hand strike.

However, all of Tifa’s general actions (to my observance) - like bartending, catching Aerith in the sewer, carrying the Buster Sword into Corneo’s quarters, etc. - suggest that she is right-handed. So why use the left, the weaker, as her dominant hand in fighting? Could she actually be ambidextrous? That is a possibility. But weighing up the evidence in addition to Tifa's ingenuity, this could well be out of fighting strategy.

Southpaw can give Tifa a strategic advantage, you see, because of the tactical and cognitive difficulties her enemies would have of coping with a fighter who moves in a mirror-reverse of the norm. In other words, she takes advantage of the fact that most fighters lack experience against lefties. Doing this:

- opens up chance for a variety of surprise combos;

- puts her human enemies in danger of KOs by what would otherwise be ordinary strikes; and

- enables her to trick her opponents should she unexpectedly convert to orthodox during fights.

Pretty damn awesome, huh?

6. Gymnastics [dodging maneuvers].

Gymnastics, like fighting arts, enhances balance, strength, flexibility and agility - the four areas Tifa excels at. Now, we’ve talked a lot about her strong points. But what of her weaknesses? Players will have noticed immediately that Tifa has a major setback. She can accurately be described as a glass cannon, due to her low HP and defenses that counter-balance her speed and dexterity. That is precisely what makes playing as her so compelling; you get that sense of life or death intensity. The fight feels REAL. She is the least OP character in the party, in addition to by far being the most difficult to master. Utilized properly, she can be the strongest of them all. And wow, is that rewarding or what?

Because of her weak defenses, Tifa must constantly remain on the move, and gymnastics is the quintessential means in doing so. Hand springs, aerial cartwheels - you name it, she’s got it. As if those kicks and uppercuts don’t scream epic enough already. Doesn’t it just make her even MORE amazing?

So I’ve added Hēi-Hǔ-Quán to Flowerslightning’s conclusion: that Tifa’s combat is Mixed Martial Arts, with her dominant skills as Kickboxing, Taekwondo and Muay Thai. And of course, the interweaving of Gymnastics, which adds an elegance to her epic kickassery.

Tifa lost her teacher after just two years, and spent the last five managing & running a bar, serving as AVALANCHE’s funder & treasurer, and effectively solo-raising Barret’s little daughter. Add two more years, and we have a completely absent Barret, a very sick child in addition to the one she is (now permanently) raising, and a depressed, distant Cloud who has left her to struggle as a solo barkeep, full-time nurse and single mother. How on earth did she find the time and will to master her fighting techniques?

Yes, we are talking about fiction, but this woman is nothing short of incredible. Not simply as a fighter - that isn’t even the start of it. Tifa is, to me, the character who has had it the hardest. Yet she perseveres. And not only that, but she gives. She gives and gives, and doesn’t give up, even when everyone else around her has. In addition, she is the only ‘ordinary’ member of the party: Cloud, on top of military training, had his senses enhanced with Mako & Jenova cells; Barret literally has a gun for an arm; and Aerith as the last Cetra possesses exceedingly strong magic. Tifa, like with everything she does, worked hard to hone her skills. And that, to me, is incontestably admirable.

As Flowerslightning put it, she was “ready to go through hell and yet still remain soft”. And those virtues she held to, where most people would have quit. Compassion and perseverance to the end, the two traits that uphold her - to me - as the most inspiring hero of fiction.

#my analyses #tifa lockhart #combat #ff7 remake #ff7 advent children

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loopy777 · 3 years ago

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Non-Review: Free Comic Book Day 2021 - The Legend of Korra (Also Featuring Avatar: The Last Airbender)

With all the hype around 'Suki Alone,' it looks to me like most of the fandom missed that an additional Avatar comic with a story from each cartoon's era was just released for Free Comic Book Day. You can read them for yourself on either Dark Horse Digital or Comixology where it's mislabeled as being for ages 17+ (free accounts are required for both), but I'm sure one of the reasons you all love me is because of my willingness to jump in between you and these comics like the deadly bullets they can be. Well, I'm happy to die (metaphorically) for the sake of (a little anonymous internet) love, so I'm doing a full snarky review for each ten-page story. Also, I'm bored, and it's more fun to make fun of mediocre stuff than to praise stuff I like.

It's time for me to review "Free Comic Book Day 2021 - The Legend of Korra (Also Featuring Avatar: The Last Airbender)" or more specifically "The Legend of Korra: Clearing the Air" and "Avatar: The Last Airbender: Matcha Makers."

CLEARING THE AIR

The cover makes this look like a story about Jinora and Ikki having a sibling conflict. That's a lie. The Air Sisters arguing is merely the inciting incident for Tenzin telling a story of his youth. I should note that, as inconsequential as the Air Sisters stuff is, it's actually written very well because it posits Ikki as a victim of circumstance and Jinora as a bully who terrorizes her little sister with threats of getting thrown in jail by Metalbenders for an accident, cementing the characterization from the cartoon. This is not sarcasm. I really do think Jinora is presented by LoK as a Holier Than Thou little snot who just so happened to be naturally gifted with magic spirit-powers, but for some reason the rest of the fandom doesn't agree with me.

Anyway, Tenzin comes in to find the arguing (and Meelo just running amok for the fun of it and so far these characterizations are perfect), and rather than telling Jinora to shut her stupid face, he delivers a tale of his youth about conflict resolution.

So the meat of the story is how, when Tenzin was "a few years older" than Jinora, a pair of vandals got onto Air Temple Island and burned some graffiti into the spinning-panel things that Korra will destroy out of frustration during her Airbending training. Literally, the vandals are depicted as scorching the wood with enough smoke to be seen across a plaza. Tenzin goes after the vandals and they flee across the bay back to Republic City proper (one of the vandals is a Waterbender with a surf-plank). Tenzin pursues, catches them, and attacks them hard enough to smash some dockside crates. They are all then arrested by Metalbenders and dragged before Chief Toph. She's going to let Tenzin go (yay Toph!) and throw the vandals in jail (YAY TOPH!) and makes this face, and this entire comic is worth it:

However, Aang arrives and instead arranges to forgo the jail-time in favor of an Air Nomad Conflict Resolution Ceremony. This is nice and in-character, but I'm totally with Tenzin that these vandals should have been thrown in jail. They literally burned insulting graffiti into antiques from a genocided culture. But instead, Aang demonstrates conflict resolution by having Tenzin explain why he's hurt and what needs to be done to redress the wrong. And so the vandals help Tenzin scrub the graffiti off the panels with water and rags and mops- how, I don't know, since they were literally burned.

They also do a ceremony thing where they each take turns bending their element into a central space between them to 'clear the air' (GET IT GET IT HA HA IT'S ALMOST LIKE A PUN BUT NOT), so it's a good thing they were all Benders because this is kinda racist. This fixes all the problems and everyone is friends. Yay!

In the present, though, things are not so nice, because Tenzin's kids are still screaming at and provoking each other. Korra comes in with Asami at the end to ask what's going on, and Asami says nothing, so I still think everyone is characterized with perfect consistency with the cartoon.

I made this sound silly, but (aside from the spinny-panels getting cleaned with a little water and elbow-grease, which doesn't matter because Korra will eventually blow them all up anyway), I actually like this one. It has Tenzin demonstrate how much he's always had to work to be the Perfect Air Monk that everyone expects him to be, and Aang acknowledges how this is unfair but that Tenzin will never let him down no matter what. It also has Katara come in at the end (for just one line, boo!) to acknowledge that this was an especially easy little conflict for Tenzin to practice on and he'll eventually face worse. I found it a nice adult moment in a story that's otherwise clearly aimed at 8-year-olds.

The art is good. It's simpler than the LoK cartoon, with flat colors, but it captures the story and has enough liveliness for everyone's character to come across in their look and body-language. The brief action-sequence where Tenzin attacks the vandals is well done, moving quickly but showing the full flow of the fight and every move Tenzin makes.

MATCHA MAKERS

Apparently, "Matcha is finely ground powder of specially grown and processed green tea leaves, traditionally consumed in East Asia" according to Wikipedia. I had to look that up. I'm curious how many people understood the full reference in the title, especially since these comics are aimed at kids too young to be allowed on the internet.

This is a very simple story about Iroh in his tea-shop in Ba Sing Se. He has an assistant/waitress named Feng, a new character who wears glasses, ruining the hopes and dreams of all the fanfic-writers who were so sure he'd rescue Jin from the Lower Ring. A frequent patron of the tea shop is an elegant, older lady (very clearly Upper Ring material) named Li-Mei, who cannot go a single panel without giving Iroh a HEY BIG BOY look. She is very clearly smitten. Also, I feel the need to clarify that she knows his name is Iroh, so apparently Ba Sing Se is okay with the Dragon of the West serving tea to their wealthy. I don't say that as a criticism, I'm just noting it.

That night, Iroh meets up with his friends- the Pokemon-style spirits that we saw in Legend of Korra. (I don't know if they're the actual spirits from LoK, or just new spirits in the same style. This is because I would sooner grind matcha into my eyes than rewatch Book Spirits.) He serves them his special blend of tea and talks about how he's totally into Li-Mei but isn't going to pursue it because he's feeling old and doesn't want to take a risk. At this point, I could stop describing the plot because between the title and what I've said so far, I'm sure you could figure out every single plot beat that will follow.

The next day, the spirits trip Feng so that she drops Li-Mei's tea and Iroh needs to bring a replacement, and they've drawn hearts on top of the replacement tea with foam or sugar or milk or whatever. I don't know because I've never bought tea in a place that will even put the bag in the hot water for me. Iroh gets out of the situation without starting any love-affairs and runs into the back to tell the spirits to knock it off, dudes, they're totally embarrassing him! The spirits respond by giving him a flyer for a romantic restaurant. I don't know how they got it, so I can only assume that some Upper Ringer had their mail diverted.

Iroh refuses, so when Li-Mei orders more tea and he brings it to her, the spirits hover just out of her sight and threaten to smash the furniture. I am not making that up. They literally threaten to smash Iroh's furniture unless he asks the lady out. He submits to their tyrannical threats, Li-Mei happily accepts the date, he happily accepts her acceptance, and the story comes to a close. Iroh thanks his spirits friends for opening him up to new experience, but hopes that next time (so I guess Iroh is signing up for Tinder after this?) they won't threaten his shop.

At best, I can describe this story as 'harmless.' But it's been a long week and I just got a bunch more extra work at my day job that I really don't want to do, so I'm going to go ahead and call this story 'dumb.' It's rote, leans towards humor without actually being funny at all, and turns the spirits of the setting into Pokemon. And not even the cool dragon kind.

The art is strangely stiff. The coloring is soft and nice, but the drawings seems more 'assembled' than actually drawn. I swear there are even a few panels that reminded me of 'How I Became Yours' with janky poses, horrifying expressions, and just enough resemblance to the original cartoon to make me think a screenshot was partially traced and then ruined. (I'm not accusing the artist of tracing, BTW. I wouldn't even condemn the artist for tracing if they did. I'm just describing that HIBY feeling I got.) It was so stiff that rather than hear Iroh's dialogue in Mako's rich tones, I instead imagined Greg Baldwin doing a stiff Mako-impression with no naturalism to the delivery.

This story is definitely worthy of its "Also Featuring" billing. I'd rate it below Gene Yang's Mai and Suki FCBD short stories, but above everything else he wrote for Avatar.

So there you go. Overall, this is very middle-of-the-pack for Avatar FCBD stuff. It's very much of the nature of the 'Team Avatar Tales' stuff, and I wouldn't be surprised if the Iroh story was a leftover from that project. On Free Comic Book Day, you often get what you pay for.

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maluminspace · 4 years ago

Text

Genre: Fluff

Pairings: Michael Clifford/Female Reader

Prompt: Person A goes to in costume to a Halloween party, to find no one else is really dressed up except Person B

Word Count: 3k

Content: mostly just cute Halloween fluff, Michael in drag, there’s also a bit of side lashton,

Trigger warnings: Alcohol, strong language, references to sexual activity including public sex (nothing too explicit)

A/N: Okay, so this is my second attempt at writing something for this collab. My first one turned out huge and not really very halloween-y so I re-assessed and this is what I came up with! I hope you guys like it <3

Please check out the masterlist and support/show some love to all these amazing writers.

***

When your best friend in the entire world, Luke, had first invited you to his new boyfriend’s Halloween party, you’d taken it as the perfect opportunity to blow off a little steam. Work had been busy lately and you hadn’t had much chance to relax. Furthermore, Luke had told you that Ashton (the new love of his life) had a couple of hot single friends, so you’d figured your costume should be on the sexy side.

You’d spent weeks deciding on the perfect outfit before finally settling on a black cat outfit that was just the right side of tasteful. The bodysuit was figure-hugging, showing off your curves perfectly. The elegant velvet ears and tail matched it well and you finished off the look with some cute whiskers painted on your cheeks and a red choker with a little gold bell on it.

Luke let out a low whistle when he met you outside the house he’d given you directions for. “I wish I could say the same for you!” You huffed, surveying your friend’s very lackluster costume, if you could even call it that. “Where’s the pirate costume I helped you pick out?”

A slightly guilty expression coloured Luke’s pretty face as he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well, I mentioned it to Ashton and he kinda hinted that he didn’t like tacky costumes so I went for this instead.” He shrugged awkwardly.

“And what exactly is this supposed to be?” You asked, gesturing to the plain white shirt and black jacket. “You just look like you’re about to go to work at the office, what the fuck, Luke?”

“Wait…” He said, his face brightening a bit as he pulled on a wig that you hadn’t even noticed he was holding. “I’m Vincent Vega!” He announced.

You rolled your eyes, fully disappointed in your best friend’s decision to side with his new squeeze over you. “I preferred the pirate costume, you’d have looked super hot.”

“I’m sorry to break it to you, buddy…” Luke giggled, “but you’re not the one I want to impress tonight.”

You clutched your chest in fake pain and shock. “And here I thought it was me that you wanted to fuck you senseless whilst a huge queue forms outside for the bathroom we claimed.”

An embarrassed blush rose in Luke’s cheeks as the memory of the specific situation you had described filled his tiny, horny brain. “We were drunk, and if he’d whispered in your ear with that sexy, gravelly voice to tell you how beautiful you looked in the new shirt he’d bought for you, you’d have begged him to drag you to the nearest bathroom, too.” He huffed as he started off up the driveway, his ridiculous wig almost falling off with the force of his dramatic head toss.

Suppressing a giggle, you followed your friend to the front door. “You’re forgetting one important detail there, Lukey.” You reminded him with a smirk. “I’m not as big of a slut as you.”

“That costume begs to differ.” Luke replied, raising an eyebrow proudly. “Calum is probably gonna pop a boner after just a glimpse of your ass in that tight suit.”

“And Calum is one of the hot ones?” You asked, remembering Luke’s declaration of Ashton’s stupidly handsome best friends.

“Yeah, he’s the one with the cute dog and swanky apartment near the beach.” Luke explained as he opened the front door. “Michael’s probably a bit more your type, through. You have about the same mental capacity as each other.” He snorted.

Choosing to ignore the weak jibe at your own intelligence and that of the as yet unknown Michael, you focused on Luke’s lack of manners instead. “Shouldn’t we knock?” You asked. “It’s rude to just walk in to someone’s house, even if they do ‘rearrange your insides like no one has ever previously managed’.” You added, taking a great deal of joy in quoting Luke back to himself.

“Keep your fucking voice down!” Luke hissed. “I told you that in confidence!” He shook his head as though to clear it (probably from another X-rated memory) before he answered your question.

“Ashton told me we could come right in. So stop worrying about stupid stuff and get in here!” He laughed.

For the second time in the few moments since you’d met him outside, you rolled your eyes at your best friend, but this time the exasperated gesture was accompanied by a small laugh.

Your merriment soon died away when Luke led you into the main sitting room, which was already packed with people…people who were not in Halloween costumes. People who were very much giving off a sophisticated air as they sipped their wine and stood around talking to each other comfortably over the music that was playing at a much too sensible volume for a party.

In your peripheral vision you noticed Luke tear off his wig and hide in the oversized vase he was standing next to before any of the other guests saw him wearing it. Without that ridiculous little prop, Luke would probably blend right in. You, on the other hand, were going to stick out like a (very scantily clad) sore thumb.

“I thought this was meant to be a Halloween party, Luke.” You hissed, offering awkward smiles to the few people nearest to you, who were regarding you with ill-concealed smirks.

Your best friend gave an awkward laugh before ushering you towards the kitchen.

A few spiteful glances and giggles followed you as Luke pulled you through the crowd of people.

Luckily the kitchen was pretty much deserted, with just three people huddled over by the microwave. You only recognised one of them. Having met Ashton a couple of times previous to this evening, you had no problem identifying his muscular form and the sweater/jeans combo outfit he favoured at the moment, even though you could only see the back of him.

The second man had a very handsome profile. He was wearing a pair of black skinny jeans and a white shirt, with very few of the buttons done up as far as you could tell from this angle. He looked kind of athletic, with strong, muscular arms and thighs. His curly black hair was styled neatly to perfectly frame his face.

Ashton and Muscles were mostly obscuring the third person from your view. But you could tell by the tone of their voice that they were not at all happy about something. “- cannot expect me to stay here like this!”

Unsurprisingly, Luke gravitated to the little knot of people, dragging you along with him until you finally got a glimpse of the irritated man leaning against the counter.

Suddenly, your own embarrassment at your chosen costume vanished. In comparison to this guy, you definitely weren’t going to be the center of attention.

The third man was dressed in a long blonde wig, albeit a very cheap-looking one, styled into high pigtails. His cute, unshaven face was painted in badly-applied makeup. The tight white dress that he’d squeezed into left you with no doubt of who he was meant to be dressed as, and the realisation pulled a snort of laughter from you.

Luke failed also to suppress a giggle as he let go of your hand and instinctively curled into Ashton’s side, as though the slightly older man was some sort of magnet. “Wow, you sure as hell didn’t get the memo about the ‘adults drinking wine’ vibe either, huh?”

The angry ‘Baby Spice’ glared at Luke with what you just knew were usually very pretty green eyes. “Don’t you start, lanky!” He huffed. “I’m already this close to ending your boyfriend.”

“Hey!” Ashton interjected, his voice calm and smooth in comparison to his friends’. “First of all, don’t talk to Luke that way or I’ll be the one ending you. Secondly, it wasn’t me that tricked you into dressing as a Spice Girl.” His last two words were accompanied with a snigger and it only made his angry friend’s face get redder.

“I swear I’ll rip your-” Baby Spice began before Muscles cut him off.

“Now, now, Michael.” Muscles smirked, “don’t you think that’s a bit too much.”

You were apparently the only one to pick up on the reference as your burst of laughter sounded much too loud in the otherwise quiet room.

For the first time Muscles’ and Baby Spices’ eyes snapped up to meet yours. Their reactions upon noticing you properly for the first time were at opposite ends of the scale.

Muscles became instantly flirtatious, his brown eyes lighting up with a charming smile as he greeted you with a smooth. “Oh! Hi there, beautiful…”

Baby Spice on the other hand, looked as though all of his nightmares had come true. The fear and embarrassment on his face were unmistakable as you focused on him over his friend. “It looks like you’re in the market for a new best friend too, Baby Spice.” You smiled gently, hoping to ease his discomfort a little. “I’m looking for a replacement, too.”

There was something about the genuine look of surprise in his green eyes that really endeared this stranger to you. Now that you were standing closer to him, it was easier to see the handsome features that the untidy lipstick and foundation were covering.

“Yeah…” Baby Spice laughed awkwardly, all of his anger vanishing as he tried to adopt a more casual stance. “My ex-best friend thought this would be funny.” He said, gesturing to his outfit, that up-close was much worse than you’d originally thought. His hairy chest, arms and legs protruding from the cheap costume dress made for a comical sight, but you fought back your amusement, intent on befriending this man so that both your night and his might take a turn for the better. “I’m guessing Luke pulled a similar prank on you, too?”

“Actually, he didn’t.” You explained, shaking your head. “Believe it or not, this is what passes for a Halloween costume in Luke’s tiny, dumb brain.”

Luke’s offended noise was lost beneath his replacement’s beautiful laugh as you stepped forward and offered Baby Spice your hand to shake as you told him your name.

He took it, still smiling bright enough to make his emerald eyes sparkle. “I’m Michael.” He confirmed. “And I’d be more than happy to be your new best friend.”

***

In the following couple of hours you made two amazing discoveries;

Alcohol consumption was the best cure for embarrassment.

Michael was fairly close to being your actual ideal man.

Despite the fact that he was obviously gullible, most of Michael’s other qualities were very much to your liking. In the short time that you’d known him, Michael had proven himself to be kind, funny and incredibly easy to talk to. What’s more, as the night went on and more and more of his makeup wore off, you’d found out he was even more handsome than you’d originally thought he was.

“So did you mean what you said to Calum just now?” Michael asked, suddenly looking a little nervous as he dropped his gaze to the bottle of beer in his hand. “About not being interested in him, I mean.”

A couple of times, Calum had wandered over to the corner of the kitchen that you and Michael had claimed as your own, trying to flirt with you. On each occasion, you’d made it perfectly clear that you’d formed an alliance with Michael and that sneaky ex-best friends were not permitted to flirt with you under any circumstances.

If you were reading the signals right, Michael was a little jealous of his friend. That was understandable; Calum was conventionally good looking and was as charming as they come. On a normal night, you’d have been more than a little tempted to see if his smooth moves translated into decent bedroom skills, but tonight your attention was completely focused on Michael.

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “He seems nice and all, besides screwing you over on the costume thing.” You giggled. “But he’s not really my type.”

Michael looked mildly confused. “I’ve never heard a girl say that before.” He admitted. “I thought he was just everyone’s type.”

“I can recognise that he’s hot, but I like my men a little softer and my number one turn on is someone who can make me laugh.” You replied honestly.

A light blush rose in Michael’s cheeks as he apparently realised you’d been describing him. Judging by the shyness emanating from him, people admitting they were attracted to him didn’t happen all that often. You couldn’t understand why; he was absolutely beautiful.

“C’mon, Baby Spice.” You smirked, “Lets get another drink and then you can show me some of your best dance moves.”

“Oh, I can’t really dance?” Michael confessed, his blush deepening a bit as he headed over to the counter where numerous bottles of alcohol were laid out.

“I find that very hard to believe!” You gasped in fake shock. “I mean it’s easy, isn’t it? You just slam it to the left, shake it to the right.... Y’know, go round…” You smirked.

Michael rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna have to stop right now with those Spice Girls lyrics, kitten.”

The pet name made your insides dance excitedly. It could have easily sounded like a cheap, tacky term of endearment from anyone else but Michael’s cute mannerisms just made it sound adorable. “Yeah, okay.” You teased, nudging his arm playfully. “I don’t want you to have to say goodbye, my friend.”

Michael let out a reluctant laugh as he surveyed the drink options. “I can tell you were a huge fan, I’m flattered.” He said, playing along easily.

“What’s with the past tense, Bunton?” You continued. “The Spice Girls are timeless.”

Michael nodded as he continued to stare at the bottles of alcohol as though he couldn’t decide which to go for.. “I agree, I always had a bit of crush on Posh…”

“That’s basic!” You reprimanded him.

“Rude!” Michael scoffed. “Who’s your favourite?” He asked, raising a hopeful eyebrow.

“I’ll tell you if you hurry up and decide what you want; I’ll be sober by the time you pour a drink at this rate!” You laughed.

Michael shook his head, smirking a little. “Don’t rush me kitten, I need to weigh up all of my options.”

“Oh, come on Michael!” You scolded when he still hadn’t made a decision a moment later. “Just tell me what you want, what you really, really want so we can continue getting trashed.”

“That was your worst one yet.” Michael sighed dramatically. “I may have to disown you after that one, kitten.”

Excitement bubbled in your chest at the use of the pet name again, knowing it wasn’t just a one time slip of the tongue meant that it might stick and you couldn't put into words how much you’d like that. “Fine, just pour us both a vodka and lemonade so that you can show me those spicy dance moves.”

Michael couldn’t hold in the fond chuckle that rippled out of him as he obeyed your request. “So are you gonna answer my question about who your favourite Spice Girl is? Or do I have to guess?”

“Baby’s always been the one I crushed on the hardest.” You replied easily, deciding to forgo the guessing game.

“Yeah?” He prompted. “What attracted you to me?” He asked before panic flooded his features. “I mean her! Sorry...I wasn’t being-”

You cut Michael off with a giggle as you allowed your already tipsy brain to capitalize on the alcohol-fueled confidence you always seemed to develop after a few drinks. “I think it’s your terrible makeup skills, quick wit and those pretty green eyes that attracted me to you the most, baby.”

You never really noticed how close you’d gotten to him until you felt the little puff of breath from his quiet “Oh…” ghosting over your own lips.

If there was ever an opportune moment to kiss him, that was it. Without any good reason to stop yourself, you tentatively wrapped your arms around his neck. “I can’t believe I’m about to kiss a Spice Girl.” You chuckled, loving the way his hands felt as they rested on your waist.

“I hope I don’t disappoint you, kitten.” He replied, tilting his head to one side slightly so that you wouldn’t bump noses when the gap between your lips was finally closed.

It was you that took the final step, pressing a soft kiss to Michael’s lips. They felt every bit as soft as they looked and used them perfectly, kissing you back with just the right amount of enthusiasm.

Usually, it’d take a lot more than a shy first kiss for a guy to fully win you over, but somehow you found yourself melting into Michael’s hold, prolonging the simple kiss for as long as possible. Michael didn’t seem to mind that at all, holding you closely as he parted his lips allowing you to deepen the kiss, sliding your tongue teasingly against his.

When the two of you naturally drew apart a few moments later, your head was spinning from more than just the alcohol. Michael was well and truly intoxicating in a very different way. “I’m gonna need a lot more of that to keep you on the top spot of my favourite list, Baby.” You said, trying not to let your voice sound too breathy.

“That’s definitely a promise I can keep, kitten.” Michael smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Glad to hear it!” You proclaimed. “Now, let’s drink up so that we can move on to somewhere that our awesome costumes will be more appreciated!”

Michael raised a questioning eyebrow. “Leave Ashton’s party?” he asked. “Do you have somewhere in mind?”

Nodding, you picked up your drink and took a long swig, “My favourite bar always has an awesome Halloween event.” You confirmed. “I was gonna go there but Luke wanted me to meet his boyfriend’s friends so I came here instead.”

“Well, I’m kinda glad you did, to be honest.” Michael said, his cheeks reddening slightly.

You pecked another kiss to his lips before taking another drink. “I am too, but it’s time for us to be the life of a new party.”

Michael nodded in agreement as he finished his drink in one go. That shouldn’t have been as hot as it was to you, yet there you were practically drooling over a man in the worst drag outfit and makeup you’d ever seen, wiping vodka and lipstick off his incredibly plump lips with the back of his hand. He reached out with the hand that didn’t have bubblegum pink smeared across the back of it and took hold of your hand with the full confidence of the drink he’d just downed.

“So where are we going?” He asked. “I trust you, so don’t let me down and take me somewhere lame, kitten.”

“Oh, don’t worry. This place is amazing.” You promised, smirking as your final Spice Girls joke of the night slipped past your lips. “It’ll really spice up your life, baby.”

***

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Tag list: @h0tsos @byxthexway @afuckingunicornn @painkillerash @moonchildsblack @calumbbyyy @loveroflrh @sexgodashton @megz1985 @myfalsedevotion @aulxna @honeyedlashton @tea4sykes @ghostofmashton @fairyintheglass @cashworthy @cashtonasfuck @opheliaaurora23 @5sosnsfw @wildmichaelflower @wildfl0wer-meg @irwinkitten @cxddlyash @wildmalumflower @cashtonasff5sos @iovehemmings @lowpowermodex @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles @celticclifford @5-secondsofcolor @queer-5sos @Secret-Diary-of-an-Aquarius-blog @babylon-corgis @paradigmax @koalacal @treatallwithkindness @lovelybonesetc @morguleth @atlcalm @mantlereid @malumsmermaid @lashtonswildflower @mermaidcashton @mysticalhood

#michael clifford #michael clifford fluff #michael clifford imagine #michael clifford blurb #5sos fluff #5sos imagine #5sos blue #5sos fic #michael clifford fic #mgc #michael #michael 5sos #5sos #my writing

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mypersonalrambling · 4 years ago

Text

Christmas Wonders

Warnings: None. Fluff

Pairings: Valter x Reader

Requested: Yes :)

Summary: Christmas is your favorite holiday and Valter makes it extra special

Author’s note: This was requested a long time ago. I’m so sorry for the person who requested it. But I finally finished it, I hope you like! I tried to incorporate the reading being from Wales since that’s what they wanted, but wasn’t sure exactly how to execute it so I more or less mention your accent.

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Christmas has always been your favorite holiday; the lights, the music, the air is cold and crisp. . This year is even more special as you have someone significant to share it with. You’ve been dating Valter for almost a year, the relationship could only be described as a fantasy. Valter and you met at a coffee shop not too long after you moved from Wales to Sweden. He fell in love with your accent immediately; he would listen to you talk for hours specifically about your childhood.

Two months after meeting you moved into Valter’s apartment; it wasn’t a difficult decision as you were there most days anyway. Both of your friends and families were apprehensive of how quickly the relationship progressed, however, the two of you proved them wrong and lasted longer than anyone would have guessed.

Now it’s the weekend before December 1st which only means one thing, it’s time to decorate for Christmas. You hop out of bed, attempting to not disturb Valter. Rushing to the storage room, you drag all the boxes filled with decorations to the living room. By the time Valter woke up, the living room looks as if it was meant to be in a Hallmark movie. “Wow, you really went all out.”

“Of course, these decorations can only be enjoyed for a month, you have to put them up as soon as possible. Usually, I put them up right after Thanksgiving, but seeing as this is the first year sharing it with someone, I didn’t want to go overboard.” You turn back to finish putting the ornaments on the tree. Each ornament is unique and has a symbolic meaning. You have some from when you were a child, given to you by your grandmother. Some you’ve gotten in different countries after traveling. You even have one Valter picked out a couple of weeks ago; the ornament has the anniversary date of the first time you met and your favorite picture of the two of you.

“Did you leave anything for me to help with?” He rubs his eyes attempting to rid them of sleepiness. You’ve always thought he looks most attractive after just waking up. His hair is always a mess, usually, his pants are hanging low on his hips, and his voice is at least an octave lower than it normally is.

You can’t help but stare at his entire body before answering.“You can put the star on top. I can’t reach it.” You grab the star out of the box, stretching your arm out so he can take it.

“Is that all I’m good for? Just reaching things you can’t?” He snarks. He loves to tease you about how he’s always having to reach things for you since his apartment is built for a person of his height and not yours.

“Yep. I only date you because you’re tall. I’m so sorry it took this long for you to find out,” you say sarcastically. He walks up until he’s standing directly behind you and able to put it up on the tree. Once the decorations are complete, you make your famous hot chocolate so you can sit and enjoy the fruits of your labor.

The two of you curl up on the couch to watch Christmas movies for the day. You lay so that Valter is behind you with his arms wrapping around you, with a blanket thrown on top. You never feel more at ease than when Valter is holding you. Throughout the movies, he jokes about the cheesiness of the storylines until you remind him your relationship would appear cheesy to others as well. The closer Christmas became the more stress there was. You come from a relatively small family or at least compared to Valter’s. Trying to find the perfect gift for everyone seems impossible. Valter tried to relieve the stress as best he can. He gives you a list of suggestions for his family and tells you no matter what you give them, they will enjoy it.

It’s Christmas Eve and your nerves are through the roof. Stellan’s party is this evening and you are running around making sure you have all the gifts packed, the dish you are bringing is prepared correctly, and the outfit you’re wearing fits. This is the first time you will meet all of his siblings. You’ve met a few of them on different occasions but never all together. Valter did his best to help calm you. The drive to the party felt like an eternity. His family has always treated you with kindness.

You are the first to arrive. Slowly the rest of Valter’s siblings and their families trickle in. When Bill arrives he makes a beeline for you. Besides Valter, Bill was the one you are closest to. Once everyone arrives and is settled in, Stellan informs dinner is ready shortly after. Most of the food is traditional Swedish, however, Stellan being as kind as he is, made a couple of dishes from Wales.

After everyone is done stuffing themselves, it’s decided there should be a rest period before opening presents. Most everyone convenes in the living room; some sit on the floor to stretch out while most find a comfortable place near the fire. The youngest two children can barely contain their excitement. You’ve lost count of the times they’ve asked if it’s time to open presents. By the time everyone agrees that it’s time to open, the youngest two rush over to the tree to grab their gifts.

The tradition in Valter’s family is the youngest opens first and the oldest last, as to keep children occupied while others open their gifts. There is minimal talking while gifts are being opened. Finally, it is Valter’s turn; you hand him two packages from under the tree; one small and one of larger capacity.

First, you hand him the little one, knowing he’ll want to use the second as soon as he opens it. He slowly peels the wrapping paper off of the small one, attempting to not destroy it. He begins to tear up when he opens the box; a couple of months prior you bought a necklace with the date the two of you met. “It’s stunning, I’m never going to take it off.” He isn’t as cautious when tearing the paper off of the second present. His face lit up as a child that awakes early on Christmas morning. “I...how did you...they sold out in minutes,” his voice full of bewilderment. He’s been talking about the new Playstation for weeks but was unsuccessful at obtaining one. You remember him staying up waiting for the launch, making sure he had everything he would need, however so many others had the same plan. What Valter didn’t know was that you had also been online for the launch and was slightly quicker.

“I was in the other room when you were trying to order and was faster than you.” He enveloped you in a hug whispering his thanks among all of the nasty things he planned for later to properly thank you, as he put it.

Valter finishes opening the gifts from his family then it’s your turn. Being as you are a little nervous, you have a difficult time controlling your shaky hands. By the time you are done, you have a new phone case, new shoes, and of course Christmas decorations. You snuggle up with Valter while the rest of his family opens their presents.

Eventually, all the gifts are open, many are sitting reveling in their new possessions. One of your traditions is to sit outside and enjoy the snow. You excuse yourself, grab your coat and head out to the backyard. It’s only just beginning to snow, sticking to the foot already on the ground. You find a chair under an awning untouched by snow. Sitting down, you block out anything that isn’t the flurries falling from the sky.

You only move to go inside when your entire body is numb from the cold. Walking back into the living room, you notice a small gift still sitting under the tree. You inspect it unable to find a name. “We forgot one gift, but I can’t find who it belongs to.” You face them, holding it up, but not one person seems to know.

“It’s for you,” Valter’s voice startles you from behind.

“Why is it still under here?” You ask still focusing on the very small box.

“Because I wanted to wait until the perfect moment.”

“Perfect moment for what?”

You turn towards him as he is getting down on one knee, “I have been thinking about this for months, but I didn’t want to scare you off. And with your love for Christmas, I thought tonight is a perfect time. We’ve only known each other for a year and the year has been so much better than I ever imagined. I can’t envision my life without you in it. You’re the most kind, caring person I know. You encourage me to become a better man. Y/N, will you marry me?”

Shock courses throughout your entire body. You never an inkling he was going to propose. Valter isn’t the best at keeping secrets, however, he kept this secret as his life depended on it. Your entire relationship hastily runs through your mind; how picture-perfect everything seems, how Valter seems to even you out, and how you can’t envision your life without him. “Y/N?” Valter’s voice brings you out of your thoughts. You can hear the nervousness in his voice.

“Yes!Yes!Yes!” You can’t express the euphoria running through you. Tears start to form at the corner of your eyes. As Valter stands up and pulls you into a hug, Bill walks over and congratulates the two of you. The next few minutes are spent with congratulations from the family. The ring is simple, but elegant. A small heart shaped red jem with two small diamonds on either side. It’s better than anything you could have ever picked out. Eija jokes later on, she was the one who picked it out or otherwise Valter would have picked a boring ring, as she put it. You know no matter what style he picked out, you would love it. Hell He could have proposed with a ring pop and yes would have still been your answer.

During the commotion, you don’t notice that Alexander disappears until he comes back into the room with bottles of champagne. “I think this calls for a toast!” He passes around glasses until all the adults have one. “To Valter and Y/N. May their journey be filled with bliss and laughter.”

By midnight almost everyone has left to go home. Valter and you are some of the last ones to leave. You never in a million years thought this night would get better, however, Valter had one more surprise up his sleeve.

When you arrive home, you see roses leading from the front door to the bedroom. The bedroom looks as if it is taken straight from a romantic comedy. Roses covered the bed spelling I Love You, candles are placed strategically, giving the room a nice glow. “When did you have time to do this?”

“I bought all of this a couple of weeks ago. I had a friend come over and set it up while we were celebrating Christmas. I let him know when we were leaving so that he could light the candles.”

“I can’t believe you did this. It looks like it could be out of a magazine.” You pull him into a tight hug, your arms wrapping around his waist. He rests his chin on the top of your head, his arms holding you to him as if you’ll float away if he doesn’t. Valter pops more champagne which you failed to notice sitting off to the side. He also had an arrangement of chocolate-covered fruit.

He then hands you another box, this one slightly bigger than the one for the ring. “What’s this?”

“Open it.” In the box is a ruby red ornament with white writing simply stating ‘engaged.’ Tears begin to well up in your eyes. Nothing seems right to say, so you simply bring him in for another hug.

The two of you spent the night celebrating one of the most significant events in your life so far. Valter kept his promise by properly thanking you over and over again.

#valter skarsgard #Valter Skarsgård #valter x reader #fluff #engagement #valterskarsgard #writing #vatler x you #valter skarsgard fluffy imagine #valter skarsgard fluff #imagine #mine

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amphtaminedreams · 5 years ago

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A/W 2020 Fashion Month: Before Vogue Went Blank

Hi to anyone reading,

I’m sorry this post is so late! I really have no excuse apart from all my mental energy being taken up by shooting and editing my Euphoria lookbook up until now and me being too much of a lazy, nap-loving twat to face the mammoth task of a fashion month review; honestly, by the time it’s done, it’s like a dissertation-level amount of characters, so let’s say the final push to get this out is in sympathy with all my 3rd year friends I started uni with finishing their ACTUAL dissertations.

Things have got scary since I originally started saving the photos for this post, and the world has been turned upside down. In response to the COVID-19 pandemic, the likes of which have not been seen since the Spanish Flu, Italian Vogue’s April cover was blank. As I’m writing this, 26,000+ people have died of coronavirus in Italy, the worst affected country behind the U.S in terms of sheer numbers ( though quick update: as I post this, I’m pretty sure our incompetent prick of a PM has made sure we’re up there too). Proportionally, the actual death rate is even higher, along with a handful of other European countries. There have been some complaints made about the cover and it’s supposed “lack of imagination”; all I know is that in a country whose death toll accounts for 10% of worldwide coronavirus deaths, something of a visual silence feels appropriate.

That being said, for me, writing is one of the only things giving me a sense of purpose right now. Yeah, surprise surprise, working in a grocery store isn’t all that fulfilling. Who would’ve thought it? So what better time to reflect on a time when all the rich people of the world were going about their lives as usual and sitting front row at fashion week rather than crying on Instagram live to their millions of followers about how trapped they feel in their 10 bedroom mansions.

I’ve got to say, this year’s A/W offerings were a lot better than I expected, mostly due to the fact that I’m not generally a big fan of winter fashion; it’s hard to be disappointed given my preconceptions! There’s only so many knits and coats and jeans you can see before it begins to get a bit tiring, and I expected that to be reflected in the presentations. Fortunately, even the brands which are known for their bohemian, Coachella-esque collections generally managed to translate that into something recognisable and consistent on the runway whilst actually being weather appropriate. Of course, there were a few disappointments-I’m sure if I say one of them begins with D, you can guess which brand I’m talking about-but that was more than made up for by the standouts. Gucci in particular was my 2013 Tumblr wet dream and the Moschino show was what I can only describe as a live continuation of Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette, though I’ll stop with my praise there and wait til I get to actually reviewing before I go overboard with kissing Alessandro Michele’s ass. And on that note, in chronological order, I’ll get one with the reviews! First up, Acne:

Continuing on a winning streak when it comes to catering to my personal preferences (if someone tries to tell me designers don’t care about my personal preferences I’m going to whack out that “just found out the world doesn’t revolve around me, shocked and upset” Marina Diamandis tweet), Acne once again channels futuristic hippy commune living in a dystopian wasteland. I know, those are very specific personal preferences

I love the shredded hems and the burnt velvet, the rawness of it all, and the baroque/your-nan’s-wallpaper patterns are actually a surprisingly nice touch. I imagine if Giselle from Enchanted had to make her dresses out of a thrifty goth’s curtains rather than an upper-middle-class New Yorker’s, they’d look something like this collection. You’ve even got the odd bit of classic fresh Scandi tailoring in there with the oversized coats and blazers which holds it back from being a bit TOO flea market. Plus, the renaissance painting detailing on the black leather-look coat is a stunning detail as well; I’m so glad it seems this trend is here to stay, why wouldn’t I want random nude bodies all over my clothes?

As for the styling, I can’t get enough of the tousled hair. As an eternally tired person who can't be arsed to pick up a brush most of the time, I feel represented. Along with the outfits, it says “I’m an art student/transient painter in the 70s living in a city loft who smokes a lot of weed and does acid on the regular” and that is a life worth manifesting.

Alberta Ferretti was dreamy, and a perfect example of how to translate the bohemian aesthetic of their S/S show to A/W. Somehow despite the furs, ruffles (pussy-bows under tailored jackets and knits/generally heavier pieces always looks really chic imo), tulle, metallic tapestry style prints and chunky jewellery, it all still looks very effortless, like a natural continuation of what we saw last summer; the typically masculine structure of the oversized suits with the ornate patterns and the accessories lends to the careful navigation along the line where maximalism and minimalism meet, the looks as practical as they are decorative. Picture it: you work some high-flying, powerful job in the city, commute on a motor cycle and roll up in one of these suit sets. This collection is for the edgy businesswoman who is completely comfortable telling all the twattish males she works with where to stick it and I want to be her.

The evening gowns are, of course, stunning too. In this analogy where I am a powerful businesswoman and not a pushover who works at a grocery store right now and only beefs with rude customers, I would be wearing one of them to the boujie work Christmas party. The ruffled dresses remind me of something Valentino would put out with the colour palette and the ruffles, and whilst we’re on the topic of colour palettes, this one is beautiful. The lilac and hot pink is SO right.

Though predictable, Alessandra Rich is just as much of a treat as usual, the first brand you’d go to if you were styling a throwback it-girl, Chanel Oberlin in Scream Queens if it took place 30 years earlier. Reminiscent of an amalgamation of vintage Chanel and Versace, there are so many cute details I love here, from the white tights with the black heels and the double breasted blazers to the gold chainlink belts and the pearls. The tartan suits with the shoulder padding are very Heathers, the prints the best of your mum’s 80s wardrobe, and nobody else out there is doing bows as well as this; these are the outfits that prissy bitch wears in the cartoons of my childhood that turn out to actually be quite good fashion inspo 15 years later, Trixie Tang from Fairly Odd Parents I’m looking at you.

This girl was the blueprint.

I think someone like Lilly Collins or Daphne Groeneveld would be an ideal fit for any of these looks, or Lana Del Rey if she wanted to stop serving us middle-aged suburban soccer mom and took us back to those H&M ad campaign days. Lana stans please don’t come for me for saying that, I am one of you; I say this because I love her. It’s all altruistic.

Whilst I admittedly didn’t love it as much as last summer’s, I really enjoyed the Alexander McQueen collection too, plus I had a better idea of what to expect this time round; no, we’re not gonna get a repeat of the Plato’s Atlantis show but we do always get some beautiful pieces. Again, like with Alberta Ferretti, this seems like a natural continuation of what we saw in the summer, just with adjustments made for the colder, darker, and altogether moodier months. A/W being the gothier older sister of S/S, it seems right that a lot of the looks turn their back on the ethereal, almost fairy-like feel of what we saw before and embrace the vampier side, reds and blacks (the ultimate Bratz Rock Angels colour combination), plenty of dramatic structures and formidable suit sets. It’s punk but it’s classy, and even with the lighter pieces, we’ve got the grunge inspired harnesses on top to contrast with the elegance and effectively, toughen the whole look up, something Gucci does well too.

The patterned suits with the clunky boots in particular are very cool and I need a gun metal grey heart detailing harness, but undoubtedly the MOMENT of this collection is Adut Akech in what appears to be a silver chainmail dress. She looks like an Amazonian goddess, and whilst I could never dream of pulling something like that off myself, I could happily admire her in it for hours.

There wasn’t much to get excited about at Altuzarra. The collection was very elegant for sure and the feathered belts are cute but it was all quite pedestrian and nothing new-the only detail I really like is the cut out on the second dress from the left, 3rd row down.

As for Anna Sui:

I’m not altogether sure why I wanted to review it. A lot of the outfits as a whole are a bit messy, and not in that avant-garde, expensive-looking Margiela kind of way, just in a “how many fabrics can we possibly get on this model” kind of way. Plus, the styling seems weirdly outdated-a lot of the jewellery looks like the kind of thing you’d see if you searched “gothic choker” on Ebay and ordered the results from low to high, and the makeup and hair in particular is very 2012 Tumblr fashion blogger. Backcombed hair and red lipstick? We’ve got a Zoella thumbnail on our hands.

When the collection did go down the bohemian route though (and when that route wasn’t a failed attempt at what Etro does a lot better), there were a few nice pieces and prints. I mean you really can’t go wrong with a teal fur trimmed coat.

Ashish, on the other hand, took their aesthetic from a similar era and did it a lot more creatively and kookily; this collection looks a lot more deserving of being on a runway. The prints are so loud and costume-y that at times the garments risk looking like something you’d wear at a decades themed dress up party, but they’re saved by understated and much more commercial silhouettes, plus some gorgeous hair and make up. On the whole, very groovy, unintentional disco queen, despite the few risks that didn’t quite pay off.

Next is a brand I always look forward to. In the words of Myrtle Snow:

BALENCIAGA!

Seriously though, if any brand knows how to blend costume and high fashion, it’s them. They take over-the-top, almost absurd silhouettes and turn them into theatre. This year we’re taking it in the direction of Phantom of the Opera, I guess? Dracula? The Woman in Black? An off-broadway production of Harry Potter where Snape is the protagonist? Whatever the direction of the collection is, I live for the dramatics of it all. Demna Gvasalia got these models walkin’ down the runway like they’re members of the Volutri, which is a reference you should all understand given the renaissance Twilight is having online atm.

Straight off the bat, I adore the staging, and all the models are exquisite-the theme of the show was climate change, and I always love when there’s a story behind the presentation of the clothes. I can’t imagine how amazing this must have been to witness in person, though I’m guessing equal parts mystical and intimidating. There are so many things I love here: billowing coats, cinched in waists, the pattens that are sprinkled sparingly in amongst the black, and the bloody shoulder pads that almost run PARALLEL to the model’s necks. This is really a collection that Myrtle Snow would be proud of and brb whilst I get rid of my padlock necklaces in favour of putting whatever meagre amount I can get for them on Depop towards a Balenciaga padlock belt (as if, lol, I don’t even think selling my soul would cover it).

And then there’s Balmain, which isn’t always the fashion critic’s favourite, but which I do tend to like.

I mean there are some really good takeaways here-though the 80s inspired suit, as wearable as they are, can get a little repetitive, they are staples which here seem to pave the way for Olivier Rousteing to try something new for the brand. The moulded breast plates (reminiscent of the Tom Ford one Zendaya wore though I’m not sure which came first!), for example, along with the Matador-style capes and the flowing silk dresses are the most glamorous incarnation of Lara Croft one can possibly imagine, probably just as equally suited for a Roman goddess as they are for an Assassins Creed style action heroine. And yes, I am aware of the fact that Tomb Raider and Assassins Creed are two separate games, okay! I just don’t know enough about the visuals of either to firmly plant this collection in the camp of either one, so I’m going down the crossover route with it!

Not to say there weren’t any bad choices-I omitted a good portion of the looks that were shown; there were definitely pieces that I found to be a little tacky, particularly a recurring chain print which has got to be one of my least favourite patterns out there. Overall, though, it’s gonna be the richly coloured art-deco prints, the wet-look boots and the gem-encrusted scorpion brooch which stick with me, so I’ll let it slide.

Bottega Veneta was very meh; even of the looks I picked out, there are a lot I’m now looking back at and wishing I hadn’t included. Some of the men’s pieces are nice, sure, and I feel like one of those vaguely sick, victorian ghost looking male celebrities everyone obsesses over (Timothée Chalamet and Dane DeHaan I’m looking at you) would make those suits on the second row look fine af, but it’s mostly the womenswear that I’m here for and on this occasion it wasn’t great. A couple of the coats are nice and that’s about it. Like I really had to act as if the tassels weren’t there on a lot of the clothes and go from there because I really don’t like them in this context and if I was to veto looks purely on one of the garments having tassels, there’d be nothing to show or reference when giving my opinion on the show. They were EVERYWHERE. In a summer collection, done right, they can be a nice detail but here they just feel unnecessary and if I’m being honest, are quite ugly.

Thank god for Brock taking the sour Bottega Veneta tassel taste out of my mouth. Never a let down. Literally, everything they put out sends me into a daze of imagining I’m in some romantic drama wearing one of the pieces, in a man’s idea of “no makeup”, running round in a field looking forlorn and windswept because my ghostly lover has-

Okay, you get the picture. I’ve never read Wuthering Heights, but it goes something like that, right? If not, lets just say envisioning myself in any of these catapults me straight into some period drama where I’m born into wealth and sit by my mansion window looking sad all the time and writing poetry and lusting over some stuffy upper-class man I can’t have and who is probably played by Colin Firth because I’m pretty sure that’s what happens in most of them (about to enrage my future English lit undergraduate sister with that line).

Nobody does modest, muted sexy to such a masterful degree. I mean, when Maison Marigela did face veils I was just mildly afraid, but here they’re subtle enough that they’re quite beautiful and almost other-worldly, acting as some kind of boundary between this world and the past that Brock aims to recapture through its designs-the red lip popping out from underneath is a perfect touch too. I don’t like it AS much as the summer collection but I would say that’s solely on the basis of the more autumn/winter appropriate colour scheme and the heavier fits, which is just a personal preference. I mean, I’m usually not a fan of empire waistlines at all and Brock even manages to make that work.

Burberry this season was a real mixed bag, mostly due to the styling. There are some really gorgeous, London back alley vintage shop looking pieces, especially the 70s style coats, reminiscent of outerwear a slimy record exec would've worn back in the day repurposed by someone like Alexa Chung or Zoe Kravitz or whichever effortlessly cool woman it is we all want to be-also the private boy’s school rugby gear looking shit is classic Burberry and I’m a fan of that, even though it’s not the most inventive or exciting. I just don’t get why there had to be SO much ill-fitting plaid over ill-fitting plaid. Again, like with Bottega Veneta, I thought the menswear was a lot stronger; whilst I wasn’t really wowed by anything, it seemed a lot less forced, whereas a few of the womenswear looks gave me the vibe of a design team desperately grasping onto some ill-conceived ideas of street style and relevancy.

The design team at Carolina Herrera for example, know their niche. They never try to be something they’re not, always sublimely preppy and pretty and predictable-when it comes to target market, the bag is reliably secured. Laid- back princess dresses never get old for those constantly “summering” in one expensive coastal town or another, for the rich American moms attending charity galas and the Spencer Hastings and Blair Waldorfs of the world; women with glossy hair and fresh faces who act as if they woke up looking like that polished but are actually anal as hell and take 2 hours to get ready and would NEVER, I repeat NEVER, shit in a public toilet.

Yes, I managed to worm toilet habits into a review of a Carolina Herrera collection. I’m sorry. Enough with the pearl clutching.

Next is Celine:

I mean, when there are THIS many looks, it’s hard not to find something you like, and though VERY predictable and verging on lazy when you’re putting out the same shit every collection, Celine’s aesthetic is so similar to my own ideal style, it’s hard to be mad at it. That being said, a lot of the pieces, as per usual, came across as cheap YSL knock offs; the overall outfits are cute, but the more you look at the details-it particularly pained me to include a metal bow belt and an ill-fitting velvet skater skirt but I liked the rest of the outfits-the worse it gets. Please, PLEASE someone drive it home to Hedi Slimane, I’m begging you: QUALITY NOT QUANTITY. I get what he’s going for, 70s hipster Jane Birkin is a vision I can very much get behind, but not when it seems to be so rushed.

With the men’s looks, you can get away with it a lot more; when so much of menswear is so plain and unchanging, the slightest hint of Mick Jagger is enough to make a outfit edgy. But even then, I still feel like we’re seeing a load of variations of the same outfit. There are always some pieces that catch my eye, this time round the capes and the velvet blazers, and I would wear most of these things, sure, however I don’t think the combinations SHOULD necessarily look like something I’d personally put together; a runway collection is supposed to be aspirational and cutting edge, not pedestrian (entirely intentional self-drag, lol). Also, side note, the lack of diversity really bothered me. 111 looks and not one of these models has a body type that is naturally achievable for most people. It’s 2020 for fuck’s sake. I’m tired.

SO, let’s liven things up a bit with the Central Saint Martins collection, a breath of fresh air in terms of diversity (though a few more plus-size models would be nice):

As a former University of London student, I hate to heap praise upon them. If you’ve studied in London as well, you’ll know CSM students are ANNOYING. I mean, I’m sure they’re lovely as individuals but you can’t fully understand the meaning of the word pretentious until you’ve seen a group of them at a Uniqlo Tate Late. That being said, they are very good at what they do and I’m so glad that Vogue Runway includes them; this is what Off-White thinks it is, and really it makes sense that a bunch of current fashion students are able to come together to present one of the most experimental and forward-thinking shows of this season.

And let’s talk about the RANGE. From catsuits worthy of comic book heroes to dresses Twiggy would’ve worn in a 1960s editorial, every subgenre of fashion has been fully delved into here. Whilst we’ve got the adrogyny of the suits and suspenders combo and kitschy gender-bending co-ords David Bowie would be proud of, at the other end of the scale we’ve also got models walking down the runway dressed like wood nymphs or some other kind of siren-like creatures. There’s looks that wouldn’t be out of place in a Gucci or Come Des Garcons collection but at that same time would be equally at home in a Berlin techno club.

Honestly, credit where credit’s due-it was a really interesting show and I wouldn’t expect anything less.

Chanel was quite literally the polar opposite of the CSM show.

Very blah.

It’s crazy because before you properly get INTO fashion, Chanel is like the epitome of style. And then you do, and you see the runway shows get lazier and lazier (with some exceptions) every year, and you realise that same prestige that had you aware of Chanel at the age of 7 or 8 is literally all that’s keeping the brand going at this point. I’m not saying the collection is flat out ugly, a lot of it’s cute, but you’re CHANEL for fuck’s sake. Yeah, I like the crucifixes but SCALLOPED HEMS!? No. I do NOT recall travelling back in time to witness Primark’s Spring 2013 collection on the runway and I am NOT having it.

It’s not at all surprising that a lot of the time newer brands Charlotte Knowles (above) tend to be more interesting than those more established-and yes that was a Chanel indirect if the transition wasn’t obvious.

With no room to rest on laurels or reputation, everything has to be bolder and smarter and more distinctive and most importantly, has to appeal to its target market with the fervour of an L.A sign spinner. I only found out about Charlotte Knowles because of a Vogue article citing her as Bella Hadid’s new favourite brand to wear, and once I saw the collection, it was clear why; daringly modern, slick, and edgy is both her street style (say what you want about her as a model but her outfit game is unbeaten) and Knowles’ USP to a T. If Dion Lee, Off-White, GCDS and Acne had an orgy, this would be the result, and that is a GOOD compliment.

Next, Chloe:

Not a huge amount to say, to be honest. Low-key, wearable, and cute. Like Emma Roberts’ Nancy Drew if she did an autumn exchange program at the Sorbonne and studied art history, libraries and coffee shops on the weekdays and galleries and protests at the weekend. On reflection, that definitely makes this collection sound more exciting than it is but there are some effortlessly beautiful pieces here. The 4th row in particular is full of stand outs-the vest with the watercolour faces on with the shirt underneath is perfection, and the burgundy suit with the saffron ruffled collar peeking out from underneath is adorable and not at all reminiscent of the Ronald McDonald inspired nightmare that any combination of red and yellow tones should theoretically be.

As for Christian Siriano, I see why people hate it, I really do. I understand that it seems kinda unfair to have it show the same week as Brock and Rodarte and Oscar de La Renta. We’re talking 2 very different kinds of quality here. BUT, at pure face value, his clothes are FUN, plus Coco Rocha will always have a special place in my heart as someone who lived on The Face and America’s Next Top Model and every show that could possibly give me an unhealthy body image ever.

Like are you telling me you wouldn’t wear these dresses to a party!? Live a little. They just need tailoring...which ideally would be done BEFORE the model’s walking down the runway in it but...you know...can’t have it all.

Christopher Kane is a show I always look forward to.

I would say his designs are the only thing that make geometry look fun but I’m going to expose myself and admit that would be a lie because I actually found geometry really fun. Trigonometry was my shit, lol.

He is a designer who perfectly demonstrates that juggling interseasonal consistency and taking risks can be done. There’s always something DIFFERENT about his collections, fresh and subtly experimental. There are occasionally a few misses, sure, but I’d rather that than for a brand to keep playing safe, plus he never goes too far in the opposite direction either; no going weird for the sake of weird. I don’t like it AS much as the summer collection but it’s mostly because of the more muted, autumn/winter appropriate colour palette.

Comme Des Garçons? Too weird?

Never.

Honestly when it comes to a CDG collection, I have to really shift my perspective to appreciate it. I’m not looking at fashion presentation, I’m looking at a moving piece of experimental art. I know, it’s a stretch. But you know you’ll never be bored by one of their shows. Not gonna lie, this specific collection crossed the line into plain ugly a couple of times for me. We had padding so extravagant it looked like several models were walking round with Ikea pillows stuck to their chest and headdresses reminiscent of the kids’ game Headbandz. In amongst that though, we did get some gorgeous veils like the ones seen above and the shoes and socks combo is actually quite wearable.

I’d say Dilara Findikoglu is the cut-off point after which things get a little too avant-garde for my personal taste, and it hovers over that cut-off point flawlessly; despite the other-worldly elements of her collections, they remain somewhat grounded by nods towards conventional fashion that allow the beauty, be it inner or outer, of the wearer to shine through. Comme Des Garcons garments undeniably have character but they tend to swallow up any trace of the individual underneath, whereas the character of Dilara Findikoglu garments seamlessly merges with the wearer and in turn elevates both to something transcendent and ethereal. If the Pussycat Dolls got transported into a rugged, post-apocalyptic future, they’d scrape together these outfits to perform in, I know it; the energy of the collection, with the body jewellery and the frayed cut outs and the chalk white faces, is very warrior princess, just as raw and intimidating as it is hot as fuck, and I want that energy in my life. Along with a Dilara belt, of course. I would wear her name like a badge of honour anytime she wants. Dilara, pls pls let me be part of your tribe. PLEASE.

Anyway, this is where I thought I’d cut things off, so as to end on a positive note. You know what that means: Dior is coming up. I feel bad knowing my first post was defending Maria Grazia and yet here I am now, looking at the bar down on the floor, but I mean, you never know; maybe girl is doing this on purpose and one day she’s gonna come out with a Gucci level quality show like a phoenix from the ashes.

If you got this far, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING even if you’re just here for the pics. Part 2 will be covering some of my most anticipated shows from Elie Saab, Fendi and Etro to Gucci and Moschino, Miu Miu and Marc Jacobs, and everything in between. Yes, the shitty ones too.

I’m plowing through all the material as quick as I can so I hope to get the next post up really soon, and yes-you can count on the overwhelming sense of needing to be productive pushing me into fulfilling that statement.

Thanks again and I hope you’re well!

Lauren x

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trad-masculine · 4 years ago

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I'm dating again.

Which brings a very weird feeling to it, admiting this anonymously to people who follow me for doing a Masculine style thing on a blog. Speaking of I appreciate all of you for being interested in what amounts to one person's thoughts on being a man in the 21st century.

It might be palpable that I'm in an emotionally vulnerable headspace as I write this. Which, yeah, breakup, taking some time to myself to recalibrate, back to dating after over a year in a committed thing; it's emotionally heavy.

A bias to near prejudice, or at least strong dislike approaching disgust of mine is this; I do not like weakness in men. This is a feeling, & the idea of weakness is a felt thing, it's not born of an extensive philosophy, as most of what I think & feel tends to emerge from. This is visceral, the philosophy that it has is post hoc. I'm not sure, then, if this is the truest of beliefs I have, or the most distorted.

Weakness is not emotionality. This is a profound truth for me. As, the men I most respect, I have seen almost to a man, cry & bring forth tears to their eyes over depth of feeling, either of joy, of sorrow, or of compassion. I consider an absence of emotion a form of cowardice. Perhaps the central nature of it. As by my introspection, fear of emotion is what represses all the other emotions. Rolling off of this, I respect people who Know Fear. Being scared is an honorable place to be, if the emotion is appropriate. Cowardice isn't the act of being afraid, but of being only afraid. Having nothing meaningful within you to temper your fear.

I bring this up, because I want to talk about what the social process of dating does to men.

When on a dating app, nearly every guy is a player. Those that aren't are either very confused & naive, or are working something very specific. Player to me isn't a skill or approach, but an innate psychological state, let's call it Player Mode. There is also a psychological state which we can call Commitment Mode.

Spread your seed, or tend it, so to speak.

There is all sorts of powerful brain chemistry involved & the psychological states are deeply embedded in our psyche.

There are two very distinct ways to be a player, however. A Manipulator or a Lover. Possibly a third, I'll call a Sniper.

Before we get deep into that, let's walk through what happens when when you use a dating app, although playing the field at a bar or in the wild works somewhat the same, psychologically.

You start by swiping, liking & messaging girls. Some reply back. Let's say you come across a profile & immediately start crushing on the girl. You get nervous, so your message is shit, she doesn't reply. That's brutal if you think it through, breaking a crush hurts. You have to like/message about say, 50 girls to get a date. Breaking 50 crushes isn't a viable emotional strategy to get to step one of a relationship.

*Thus the emotional train is off the tracks, & for a deep relationship to happen the feeling must be rekindled, after you start to get to know the girl. >She needs to talk you into crushing on her.*

*This* is the central problem of dating. Because of the social process we have currently, men aren't chasing crushes, & so aren't entering a first date in the headspace that builds to true commitment.

The Manipulator is afraid of commitment, & of his own emotions controlling him, so he tells himself that the number of women he can lie to & talk into sleeping with him is the measure of his Masculinity. This is hard to argue with, man to man. The moral analysis isn't worth much. But the analysis that recognizes him & outs him as a coward, that has a better chance of productive impact.

The Lover can be powerfully passionate because his emotions are brought to the fore & made active as he goes into a relationship, as he wants to feel the love, but to balance himself, he lives in the moment. Generally, he doesn't lie or promise commitment. Regardless of the intensity of his feelings, he is still very embedded in the headspace of Player Mode. Since is isn't repressing or managing himself, after a time in a relationship, that player mode returns to the forefront as the honeymoon period ends & he finds himself drawn to a new & exciting Lover.

The Sniper can be of either type as default, but he is also looking for "the one." So he's judging women very directly between what he wants to lay short term, & who might be worth more effort & is worthy of commitment. I think I'd accurately describe myself as a Lover-Sniper.

I tried to not emotionality weight these, or apply judgement to the ideas. I simply want to be concise & analytical so there is clear understanding.

A pure Sniper is rare. The emotional insecurity of not having some form of a relationship is a powerful form of anxiety. There are plenty of guys who are "snipers" because they can't get a relationship. So they are mentally in commitment mode. This is, I think, the source of porn addiction & or simping. I know of guys who are on a high level & who had the self control to turn down offers of sex & relationships until they found someone they considered worthy. I wanted to be this, intuitively as a teen, but gave up the fantasy that I could win the girl of my dreams without having the confidence that comes from experience in realationships & in bed. This can get to a very disturbed & obsessive mindset. Stalkers are pure snipers. But there are other kinds.

My advice to someone in that kinda spot, to my past self. It's easy to get good at sex, it's easy to get good at being in a relationship with someone who sees the potential within you. Figuring out how to get girls to the point of willing & then to turn down those girls is useful. If purity of purpose & being is important to you, don't take the first girl who throws herself at you. The regret bites for a long time. But if porn takes you to a place where you aren't getting out & talking to girls, tossing the v card is easily worth it to get your headspace fixed.

There isn't a psychological dynamic that is in itself correctly healthy for men regarding approach sexuality, at least in the current dating environment. Chasing Crushes isn't scalable, & that is the root problem.

There's a type of girl who is only looking for "A Long Term Relationship Only." She isn't however, inticing. She doesn't know how to be wanted & desirable. She doesn't offer anything that brings out the crush which a man will need to be in in order to shift into a healthy commitment mode with her. I'm not certain what happens there, but I have to imagine everyone involved feels they are settling, & will hurt for the entirety of the relationship.

I'm writing this up as I'm trying to really think through how to solve the dating situation so that it works for more people. So relationships are successful & men & women are happy in them. It's not the most elegant or beautiful or composed thought I've had or published here, but this is deeply important to me.

Love shouldn't suck. We need to collectively figure out how to Make Love Lovely Again.

So, I have an idea I want to pitch, which has been difficult to get across to people I've talked to about this, such that the idea made sense to them. But I really think I'm close to right on this.

Women need game. Men have game. Fuck hookup PUA's but the actual technique tools of how to appeal to women are spectacularly useful. Women need to figure out how to appeal to men, not as sexual objects, but as potential relationships. Game for men is about getting laid. Game for women should be about getting men to fall for them & only them.

"Men are responsible for making the relationship, women for keeping it."

There's an ancient form of girlgame passed down generations mother to daughter. Just as there was an ancient form of guygame passed down from men to boys. We need to rekindle the dance between the Masculine & feminine in the realm of sexual relationship, dating & play. This fight thing we're all doing sucks.

Like most guys I want to find someone good enough to catch my heart, but I don't want to pretend for lifetime I've found the one when I haven't.

The love of men that isnt born of a crush is slow. The path of a crush is easy to explain, but deep love is a slow thing. I've seen love at first sight, or at least very close to it. But it's from a level of deep being that's so rarely reached mutually by two people who meet such that such a lightning connection can form. But I've also seen a relationship start from a small kernel & grow into a forest.

I firmly believe there's a lot of possible paths to True Love, I've seen several myself, but normative paths of how we find each other as sexual humans make us start in places within ourselves that make reaching True Love impossible, at least without a deep course correction at some latter point.

Those of us looking for that Sacred kind of love in fairy tales, that which we burn for, need to figure out how to survive with outselves long enough to find each other & get there together. Maybe this means breaking the rules of what we thing is "proper" dating.

Honestly, whatever we do, we need to figure this bitch out & work together to get back there. I'm tired of the men VS women game, tired of the fight being the normal way of things.

Hmu if you have some thoughts on how to do this love thing better together, I'll be listening to Hozier & watching Princess Bride. ✌️

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gumnut-logic · 5 years ago

Text

Johnny Snapshots

@onereyofstarlight Okay, let’s face it, I live in the land of the Virg and John is one of the hardest for me to tackle (the other being Alan who I do a disservice to on a regular basis). So I don’t read much John focussed fic. Not that I don’t love the boi, it’s just...oooh, look a bright shiny Virg! :D

So in order to get Johnny fluff for you, I only really have my pile of Virg-focussed fic to play with, though I can recommend reading stuff from @the-lady-razorsharp and @willow-salix cos they claim Johnny as their boi and write lots of stuff focussed on their space noodle :D

While looking for my previous post in my archives, I came across a snippet of John from one of my fics and got the idea of little Johnny Snapshots. So, here from amongst all my Virg fic, have a little Johnny Nutty-style.

Note: Snapshots from all sorts of fic, looking for fluff, spoilers for everything, several AUs, several ships, pretty much potluck and lots of description of the Johnny :D And while I’ve included links to the fics, the fics themselves are likely Virgil focussed and there may not be much more of John in them than is already here. You’ve probably read some of these before, too.

I hope you enjoy anyway :D

-o-o-o-

A ghost drifted on the breeze.

White as an angel, pale as the moonlight sculpting his form, his next youngest brother rode the air currents above the island.

The only word to describe John was elegant. Airborne porcelain, he circled. Midnight starlight cascaded through Virgil’s mind. Expressions of sorrow draped in calm, warmed by an amber light, the steady core of his star-loving brother.

Virgil watched mesmerised as his turns became tighter and tighter, closer to the ground. A great arch of white feathers and he landed gently, barely disturbing the sand beneath his bare feet.

He was gleaming in the moonlight from toe to hooded gaze. Ever so pale skin, free to be bare to the elements with the absence of the sun, his only clothing was a cut off pair of jeans so faded they were more white than blue.

Only his hair had colour, flame caught in just the right flash of light.

Decision

-o-o-o-

When he woke, the sun was making for the horizon, the whole island cast in gold.

“Hey, Virgil.”

The soft melodious voice of his space borne brother was lacking its usual transmission static and it was a pleasant surprise to roll over and find John sitting on a lounger beside him. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?”

First question of any brother to any injured brother, of course. “Good, actually.” And he was. Relaxed, pain at a minimum, a gorgeous sunset in preparation, and... “Great to see you down here.” Virgil didn’t admit it often, but he did miss his middle brother. Didn’t really like him so far out of reach. But John loved it, so it was what it was. Didn’t mean Virgil couldn’t be happy to see him when he could. “What brings you to this little planet?”

The sun was sculpting John’s pale features and white shirt in almost molten gold, merging his skin with his copper hair. The odd thought of some kind of Greek god fluttered through the back of Virgil’s mind. He shook himself mentally. What the hell?

V.T. Green

-o-o-o-

John appreciates a fine meal. Of the five brothers, he is the one who will know about the wine. He’ll know which region it came from, what it should be eaten with and which year grew the plant it was made from. This, of course, means he is the most likely culprit to steal Scott’s boutique beers out of the fridge…to the point that one of the first signs of the middle brother being back on Earth is the sudden missing bottles from said refrigerator.

Virgil thinks it is hilarious.

Scott’s worried his brother is a secret alcoholic and keeps monitoring his intake.

Alan keeps messing with Scott’s head by pinching extra bottles to ‘up John’s intake’.

Gordon messes with everyone by refilling the bottles with apple juice.

But yes, John is the one to appreciate a good meal, most likely because he has to eat all that space crap eighty percent of the time.

Food, Tracy style

-o-o-o-

A sigh. “Um....never have I ever...er...been arrested?” Surely, they hadn’t done that?

“Are you kidding me?” Gordon, glugged down some more drink. “That’s an easy one. Paris. The Louvre.”

What?

Scott raised his hand holding his glass. “Gordon.” As if that explained everything. He swallowed heavily.

Alan snorted, rolled and fell face first onto the carpet.

Gordon laughed. “Hey, bro. Time to take another drink. Remember the teddy bear at the fair?”

“Crap.” Alan grabbed his glass and toasted the air. “Gordon.” Apparently, it did explain everything.

“Gordon.” Kayo said it like a zombie and swallowed some more alcohol. Ridley just stared at her, but was distracted as apparently not-so-asleep John attempted to locate his glass by pawing blindly at the carpet with one hand. His mumbled “Gordon.” Was almost muffled as Ridley tried to grab his arm.

“Lawn flamingo.” Virgil attempted to bring the drink to his mouth, but missed and threw it over his shoulder instead. “Oops.”

Em blinked.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m calling this game. Off to bed with the lot of you. I have the strongest feeling that I should have taken Grandma’s advice and gone to bed early myself.”

There were many a muttered groan, mostly of ‘Awww’ and her name, but the brothers mostly stumbled to their feet. Kayo had to drag Virgil off of Em. The man was heavy.

Ridley smiled at her as she manhandled her space noodle off into their rooms. John was muttering something about ‘Gordon’s fault...didn’t want to do that in a book store.’ Penny helped Alan to his rooms, all the time shooting glares at Gordon.

“What?” The aquanaut looked non-plussed. “What did I do?”

“Gordon, go look after your brother.” Scott’s voice was firm. He still hadn’t relaxed.

Em sighed, grabbed his arm and, activating her hoverjets, pulled him up. “C’mon, Commander, time for bed.”

“Em.” And suddenly she was in his arms.

“Flyboy, your blood alcohol content can be detected from space.”

“Space!” John’s voice echoed down the hallway.

“Not today, spaceman, you’d miss TB5 and end up on Mars.” Ridley was obviously being very patient.

“Not Mars. Wrong trejacktory.” A closing door shut off the rest of the mumbled maths that followed.

Never Have I Ever

-o-o-o-

John sighed, walked over to the bed and sat on the edge in echo of something he had done so many times as a boy. He used to come in here and talk Virgil’s ear off about space and stars and his latest science projects. Virgil, in turn, would nod, say the right things at the right time and generally be the good older brother. John suspected that Virgil hadn’t understood half of what he was saying, but the older boy had never said anything. Not that Virgil wasn’t smart, just his interests lay in different areas.

They were both quiet by nature and Virgil’s patience drew John to him. Mostly because he would listen. One of the hardest things about being a far above average student with very specific interests was finding someone to talk to about them. John wasn’t a big talker outside the family, but that was because society in general was lost two words into any sentence he wanted to construct. John had no use for general gossip when he had spent the day discovering a new extra-solar object. Who cared who won the football when Neptune was aligning with Earth in a way that wouldn’t happen for another one hundred and sixty five years?

It was Virgil who stopped and listened as a young John Tracy babbled about his latest discoveries.

He was his big brother.

The House

-o-o-o-

Unfortunately, distracted, he didn’t see brother number three and collided with him, nearly sending both of them to the floor.

“Oh, god, sorry…J-“ His hands met soft silk and he looked up, this time truly focussing on his tall brother.

Oh my god.

He must truly have some kind of sibling radar because there was no way in hell he could have recognised his brother otherwise.

“John?”

“Hey, Virgil.”

And yes, that was a smirk on that face.

He eyed the man from bottom to top. High heeled boots in shiny black leather. Black tights! High cut, buttoned up, deep blue coat sequined in an elaborate filigree with almost ankle length tails. The ends of his sleeves flared out like flowers over leather gloves. And a white silk cravat wrapped his throat with about ten layers of frills.

But all that didn’t live up to the hair. Oh, god, the hair. Gone was the familiar red, replaced with a fountain of silver white, springing in strands from the top of his head like a spray of leafless weeping willow, long enough to reach his chest.

Virgil stared. “Are you wearing makeup?”

The smirk widened and, yes, there was some kind of lip gloss to go with the elaborate eyeshadow arching into his brows.

Blink. “Wh-who are you?”

“Why, my dear child,” and John tapped him on the head with his ornamental riding crop. “I’m the Goblin King.”

Another blink. “Who?” He couldn’t recall ever seeing a goblin who looked quite like that.

And the more familiar John rolled his eyes. “A friend of mine advised me that this would be easier if I made myself completely unrecognisable. She is a fan of old movies, so I picked one.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes. “She?”

“She.”

“Okay.” He eyed his brother again. “I’ll take your word for it.”

A Warm Rain Halloween (wip)

-o-o-o-

It had been three days. His brother was now hooked up to several IVs and other invasive support mechanisms, his unconscious body needing assistance to survive. The usually agile, calm and kind man now lay pale, his hair unkempt and limp, eyes bruised smudges on his lifeless face, hands wrapped in copious bandages.

Virgil reached over and ran his fingers through that blond and red hair, attempting to straighten it out, forcing the flick to behave itself.

“C’mon, John, speak to me.” Virgil’s voice was little above a whisper. “I can’t do this without you.” And the statement was suddenly true. Spoken without thought, Virgil realised that through everything that had happened to him in the last few months, John had been there, even when Virgil was too terrified to see him, John had stood strong while his brother dragged him through the mud. He had done everything in his power, everything, to support Virgil. “God, don’t let a faulty circuit be your epitaph, you are worth so much more than that. So much more.”

He needed his brother’s dry wit. He needed his calm voice. He needed him.

Virgil let his head drop to the bed.

Please.

Father

-o-o-o-

John hated crowds, especially those involving the press. Scott went out of his way to make sure he wasn’t exposed to them, but his brother wasn’t available right now.

Head down, no eye contact. “No comment.”

“No comment.”

They crowded in on him and he grit his teeth.

A sharp crack and a yelp. A squawk and the clattering of plastic on concrete. A scream and a flash of light. John looked up to find holocams falling like rain. One close to him simply stopped and dropped. Another sparked, spun and dove at the nearest reporter. She screamed and ran.

The holocam chased her.

Oh.

The crowd began to disperse in erratic squeals and yelps of fear. John took advantage and dashed through to the doors of the hospital. Behind him, the elevator fired its thrusters, adding to the confusion, and launched towards orbit.

“Eos, you are dangerous.”

“Yes, John, and don’t you forget it.” The amusement in her voice had him smiling.

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

Dirt

-o-o-o-

The only one standing entirely upright was her middle grandson. He brought up the rear, his tall, lithe form fluid as he walked. As always, his red hair was startling against his golden baldric. His eyes tracked around the room, his expression cool and controlled, but as his grandmother, she could see the tells of worry and exhaustion.

The great silver form of Eos sat on his arm preening her feathers. Every so often, the hawk would pause and survey the room, just like her bearer, her startling red eyes catching everything. Sal would never understand that relationship, but it had saved her family more than once and she was grateful, if still wary.

The Prince Who Would Not be King

-o-o-o-

If the quiet lifestyle is more your thing, you may wish to upgrade to John Tracy. ‘Up’ is the keyword here as he resides twenty-two thousand miles up, in orbit, in fact. Yes, John is the original space Tracy. Fully adapted to the cold and dark beyond our atmosphere, he does indeed adore the quiet life.

However, before we tempt you any further, it should be noted that John is the only Tracy brother who is a parent. A single parent at that. Inadvertent though her existence is, Eos is recognised as John’s daughter and she presents a number of unique challenges, the least of which is what she will do to your bank accounts if you upset her. Yes, if you are looking for bankruptcy, offending Eos is a fantastic way to achieve your goal.

In summary, don’t piss off the kid.

Having said that, should she approve of your existence, Eos is quite capable of enhancing that existence should she so choose. In any case, John’s daughter is a great conversationalist, even if she has locked you in the bathroom.

John himself sports arguably the most stunning eyes of all the five brothers. Alan, please be quite and Scott, sit down.

A unique pair of turquoise irises that contrast exquisitely with his copper hair makes for a stunning date to have on your arm. The only downside is that arm may need to be handcuffed to yours if you intend on going anywhere involving more than six people at a time.

Our space Tracy is not a social being. Despite communication as a profession, John Tracy has been heard to wish to only speak to others from space. This may include you. Please keep your phone charged at all times.

It should also be noted that if your phone battery is dead and John wishes to contact you, he may hack an appliance as mundane as your toaster. Communicating via the temperature controls in the shower has been reported. Virgil was not impressed.

John is one of the taller Tracys. Unlike Scott, however, heels may not be needed as ninety-five percent of the time John is in space, so if you are planning to get to know him, you’re going to be in space too. Just float up to look him in those gorgeous eyes.

A fan of spaceball and Star Trek, John is your traditional loveable geek. Be aware that his neighbour knows this and you may want to lock all the airlocks in case she comes knocking for a cup of sugar.

John is definitely a good investment and comes with a space station to boot. You will be able to spend many hours stargazing both at the universe and those irises.

Plus One Tracy

-o-o-o-

Oh, I do have a couple of John focussed fics. The fluffiest is Bagel.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #john tracy

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