#i apologize to so many artists i had to cut

[medicasino]

EVERYONE GO LISTEN TO JHARIAH !!!! RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[hotvintagepoll]

LAST POLL OF ROUND 6

Propaganda

Ingrid Bergman (Gaslight, Casablanca, Notorious)—A lot of the time hotness in a movie is just about words and framing. "You're the most beautiful person here" [vaseline lens] well I sure hope so because that's who you cast. But when, in Casablanca, they call Ingrid Bergman the most beautiful woman in the world... they were not fucking lying. And such a dynamite actor too!! I'd only seen Casablanca up until last year, and there she's confined to love interest. But in Gaslight she was maybe one of the most incredible actors I've ever seen!!!! Goddddd shes so fucking hot and cool.

Lauren Bacall (To Have and Have Not, The Big Sleep, Key Largo)—"Just put your lips together...and blow" excuse me ma'am i'm briefly going to turn into a kettle. She's the quintessential Femme Fatale who may betray me in the end but I'd let her it'd be worth it

This is round 6 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Ingrid Bergman:

God, she's fantastic. She's both beautiful and a compelling actor who's more than capable of putting the whole movie on her shoulders if necessary. It's worth noting that while her beauty is conventional, she was seen as refreshingly "natural" with more eyebrows and less makeup than many other leading ladies of the time. She's well known for her role in Casablanca, but in Notorious, Spellbound, (both available on archive.org ) and Gaslight (1944) she shows how immensely capable she is.

I mean...she's Ingrid Bergman. I feel like that should be enough, you know? She's physically beautiful (her eyes!) but watching her is like a transcendent experience. Her voice, her expressions... beautiful woman, beautiful actor.

I'm a gay man but even I understand her appeal. I'll watch any movie she shows up in. Gorgeous woman.

Just try and watch her movies without sighing wistfully, then get back to me!

Choosing 1-3 movies where Bergman was at her hottest was agony because, of course, she was always at her hottest. Not just because she was beautiful but because she was absolutely willing to go up against the bs women in Hollywood were constantly dealing with. When exiled from Hollywood for having an affair with Roberto Rossellini, not only did she refuse to apologize at any point, but she went on to say that Hollywood's films had grown stagnant and boring to her. Though she said she appreciated her time working there, she wanted to try new, different techniques (hence starring in Italian neorealist films, working on stage, and acting under directors like Ingmar Bergman). She was not afraid to chase after her artistic ideals and go outside the box regardless of what society had to say about it. From her first movie to her last she killed it. There's so much more to say about Bergman's career and life, but I've already written five million words so I'll stop at that.

One of the most incredible actors I've ever seen on film. Her facial expressions are so intricate and poignant that I cannot look away. I'm either ace or straight, but damn she made me question that.

SEVEN TIME OSCAR NOMINEE QUEEN. Girl also PULLED, having affairs with famously hot men Gary Cooper and Gregory Peck IN ADDITION to her three marriages...sexy

She has a very natural beauty to her, and she's from Sweden!

She left Hollywood and only became more beautiful. You could drown in her eyes. She can look innocent AND like she's seen it all. She is effortlessly elegant. She's played Joan of Arc (automatically hot) AND was in the movie that coined gaslight as a term. And where would we be without that!

She was known for being a breath of fresh air on the movie scene at the time with her windswept hair, dreamy smile and soulful eyes. I have loved her in every movie I have seen her in - she was just magnetic!

Where do I even start. There's a neighborly quality to this beautiful, talented actress that makes her hotness one of a kind and her looks impossible to forget

With a career spanning five decades, Bergman is often regarded as one of the most influential screen figures in cinematic history. Known for her naturally luminous beauty, Bergman spoke five languages – Swedish, English, German, Italian and French – and acted in each.

She's hot, don't get me wrong, but I've always found her very approachable, like she could easily be a member of my friend group

Where do I even begin with Ingrid Bergman? I fell in love with her with her astounding performance in the 1956 version of Anastasia -- the best Anastasia movie in large part due to her wonderful and touching performance. She's got this amazing, fascinating intensity to her in whatever role she's in. She commits 100%, and she's got this light in whatever she's in that's stunning. She's utterly convincing no matter what she plays, from an amnesiac possible lost princess, from a nun, from a woman taking her revenge on the town that wronged her, to light romantic comedy. She's never missed in any role I've seen her in! Also she became quite the MILF.

Lauren Bacall:

"She is soooo neat. And hot. And everything. That one scene in To Have and Have Not where she says "you know how to whistle don't you? You just put your lips together and blow" altered my brain chemistry during media archaeology class and here we are."

"The VOICE, the SLINK, the EYES. Woof."

"Lauren Bacall was a major lesbian awakening for me. Every picture of her makes it look like she’s about to destroy you physically and emotionally (why is that so hot, I may need help). She had incredible long running chemistry with her husband, Humphrey Bogart, but was an absolute star in her own right. I’ll never be over my crush on her."

"She's got that confident, no-nonsense air about her. She's a boss babe who knows what she wants and gets it DONE. Staunch liberal Democrat her whole life. Campaigned for RFK. From Wikipedia: "In a 2005 interview with Larry King, Bacall described herself as "anti-Republican... A liberal. The L-word". She added that "being a liberal is the best thing on Earth you can be. You are welcoming to everyone when you're a liberal. You do not have a small mind."" Beautiful hair. Beautiful eyes. Beautiful lips. She's just beauty. LISTEN TO HER VOICE. TELL ME THAT'S NOT THE STUFF THAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF."

[everestgale]

Whatever you're trying to do right now, you don't have to do it alone.

------

Happy New Year's Eve, Slay the Princess community!

A long, long message and credits to the designs are under the cut.

[Please excuse any awkward sentences, weird repetitions, and grammatical mistakes, I've been awake for 20 hours or so]

I cannot describe how much joy I feel right now, finally getting this drawing done. I feel nothing but joy when I think about Slay the Princess, and I feel nothing but pure adoration when I think about and spend time in this community. This game and this community truly brought a lot of happiness to me and made this otherwise unremarkable, maybe even depressing, year that much brighter. I wish I had more and better words to describe what I'm feeling right now! Genuinely, I don't have words to describe how much gratitude I feel right now.

And so for my final piece of 2024, I wanted to make a thank you drawing to this community and hopefully express the fraction of love and gratitude I feel right now. And I decided to make that drawing a group photo of 30 different Heroes! It ended up being 29 Heroes and one Opportunist, but I promise there is a reason for that-

If I had more time and energy, I would've included even more people, there are so many skilled artists, writers, and wonderful people in general who ended up excluded, especially due to this drawing being a voice-centered piece. But I'm glad I at least get to highlight some of the wonderful creators and artists in this community! Please check them out and support their work! They are all amazing <3

If you wanted to know who is the author behind each design, I made an annotated version! Sorry if the text is too small, I tried my best to write it as large as I could T-T

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Now onto the message to the people in the drawing:

First! I sincerely apologize if I missed some details with your Hero design, or if I used an outdated version of it. I wanted to keep this a surprise, and for some of these, I had to dive into the depths of Tumblr to find (hopefully) relevant references. And yes, if you've received a DM from me about your Hero in the past few weeks or so, this project was the reason why! And if you've received an anonymous ask about your Hero, there is a quite good chance it was from me, too <3

And second! I have a message for each and every one of you:

@acethekenku: Your designs are so well-made and awesome! Especially adore your Broken and Contrarian, there's something about them that just immediately catches my eye! Your Contrarian's fashion and DIY skills are also immaculate :]

@artificial-radiance: Your art is absolutely wonderful, whether it's Slay the Princess, Destiny 2, or sonas! I wish I had a better word to describe your art, but the best I got is "delicious" /lh

@beartitled: I adore your StP comics! I adore your drawings of male!Princesses! I adore your non-StP work! Everything you make is so charming, and it's always a joy to see your work <3

@bubblybloob: One of my favorite fanart memes, to this day, is your old "I do not control the speed at which princesses die" meme. I still go re-read it sometimes when I'm not feeling great, it always puts a smile on my face (yes, this is my kind of humor). Though, your new voice designs are SO creative and unique! Love the fluffy Para and the prophetic cage Skeptic especially, but they are all so good <3

@coldranger: Your lads! So simple and yet so well-designed and expressive! That roadrunner Hunted you shared yesterday is so adorable, I can't with him! It is always wonderful to see more of your drawings. Also thanks for gushing with me over mod Owl's designs <3

@cookiealchemieart: I recently mentioned that you are one of my first Tumblr follows, and it's for a good reason! You made a lot of wonderful illustrations, and your three fan princesses are some of my favorites of all the ones I've seen before! And your voice designs, gosh, I am hugging your Contrarian-

@dampfur: Your art is unbelievably charming! And when I saw your Burned Bridges post with redesigns for Cold and Smittten, I absolutely fell in love with them. I will use this space to gush about just how simple and yet adorable and recognizable they are!

@glitchh1337: Always love seeing what you are up to on Discord! Whether it's design concepts for voices or little pixel art animations, they are all wonderful :]

@justcherryqwq: Your animations!!! Cherry, your animations are pure gold. The way you draw voices as little guys flying around the scene/the Long Quiet is just too perfect. I am also grabbing and petting your Paranoid, gently, of course!

@occatorcreator: You have one of the most unique voice designs/representations I've ever seen! Especially in that one post where you drew voices taking over Long Quiet's body, the way you drew the "possession" is just... so unique, so cool! I wish I had better words!

@orcatnip: I cannot describe how much delight your sketches bring me whenever they show up on my dash! And the way you wrote about voices appearing as fractures in Long Quiet's soul! Oh! Genuinely obsessed!!!

@pareidolla: Your voice designs are very pretty and very adorable! As you can see, I immediately had to try drawing your current iteration of Hero because he is SO PRETTY! I couldn't help myself. Sorry if I was too hasty in my decision to include an in-progress design, but I wanted you to be included here-

@remaking-machine: Rema!!! Your voices!!! They are so precious and charming! Love your Cheated, love your Hero, love your Skeptic! You were one of the first people I found & followed on Tumblr, and it's been such a joy to see what you're up to <3 [Also, I still would like a tray of Hero cookies-]

@salty-an-disco: Your writing, at least from what I've seen of it, is awesome! I genuinely wish I had the attention span to read your Heathens AU because whenever I see you talk about it, or draw anything for it, I love it a lot! Hopefully one day I will, but for now, I am here to admire your art :]

@sorry-not-feeling-it-right-now: Hey, who let this bird-fox into this gathering of Heroes-

Jokes aside, I am absolutely obsessed with your voice designs, and I really, really wanted to include you in this drawing, despite the fact that you are still working on your Hero design. Thank you for letting me include your Opportunist in this drawing, I cannot WAIT to see your Hero design <3

@tai-janai: Your drawings are so delightful, and I love the way you draw your voices! Your voice shipping sketches are also so adorable, and your HeA-inspired ParaHero sketch sometimes decides to show up in my head and not pay any rent (I love it a lot)!

@voiceofthebroken: Remember how I mentioned that your Cheated post inspired one of my upcoming projects? Yes, it was this one. You are responsible for this /lh

Don't want to repeat myself too much from the ask I sent yesterday, but I will once again say that I love your voice designs, and I will once again compliment your Cheated and Hunted. They are precious! <3

@wysteriaisapenguin: Your art is so charming and so recognizable! Your most recent HeA drawing is absolutely stealing my heart in a way that I cannot describe!!! I also really like your Hero design, he was an absolute joy to draw <3

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Oh look, there's more, too!

@sonjalikestodraw: Sonja! Oh Sonja, everything you make is just SO PERFECT, your pieces are always so stellar and carefully crafted, and your voice designs are so thoughtful and so iconic, I love it every time you make a post with a little write-up of your design notes! It's always such a joy to read!!

0th: To say that your designs and your writing inspired my own would be saying nothing at all, they were some of the first I've seen! They will always have a special place in my heart as "the designs" that greatly contributed to my own final designs! And your Swap AU still is one of my favorites in the whole fandom, love all the unique designs you made for it!! Noble my beloved <3

@itsonlypolite: The way your voices ingrained themselves in my brain, I cannot describe it! Your designs are truly some of the most unique, most recognizable designs in the fandom. You deserve every single positive comment and compliment on your art and designs!!! I also love how you reply to people's asks with little drawings of your own. It's so charming and welcoming <3 It's also always pure joy talking to you!

@cammie-yammie: I am very glad that I got over my anxiety and started talking more and hanging out in your thread! I love your art, always so charming, so distinctly you, just such joy to look at, and I'm glad I got to engage with it more, and with you as a person!!! Damn, these sentences are confusing lol Long story short, love your art, love talking to you, and it's just pure joy either way <3

@lavb-b: I am not kidding when I say that your Businessman animation rewired something in my brain, whenever I watch it, I cannot stop myself from laughing, even though at this point I've seen it like 20+ times already. Besides that, your art in general is just such high-quality work, and I love talking to you on the Discord server! Welcoming you with open arms to EG's Yap Central Station /lh

@phantasmatoucan (mod Owl): OWL HOW DO YOU KEEP GETTING AWAY WITH THIS- You have no idea how obsessed I am with your art, you have SUCH a distinct, awesome style, and the way you designed your voices brings me so, so much joy. And not only are you a skilled artist with amazing voice designs, but you are also just such a positive person, too!!! How is this possible!!! What's your secret!!!

@hello-universe-lovers: Your reblog comments always make me happy, and I absolutely love chatting with you!!! The little interaction you wrote between our Cheateds brought me so much joy as I was finishing this project <3 And even besides that, your art is so charming, and also apparently you are a wizard who draws everything with your finger- I cannot understand such witchcraft /lh

@neverpathia: You are the reason I QPR-ship ParaHero! You got these birds in my brain, and I can't get them out, how dare you (/lh). Jokes aside, I really like your writing, especially the way you write voices, and your art is also very pretty, I love it a lot! It's also such a joy to have you hang out in my art thread, thanks for doing that :]

@disarraydoodlez: Jam! And Kiri! Your art is so iconic, Kiri's desire for perfection never goes unnoticed, and Jam's chaotic silly ideas are always such a highlight (I'm still waiting for you to finish that one Den idea. The one we kept laughing about for like 30 minutes. That one). Thanks for inviting me to the PotC one-shot, I had a lot of fun playing it, and I'm glad we still hang out and chat sometime! Love everything you make, regardless of the fandom, and I can't wait to see what you both will make next <3

@s3viien (they mostly exist on BSky, check them out there!): Sev! My partner in crime! One of my biggest cheerleaders, you have no idea how much how dearly I appreciate it. I love sharing all my random ideas with you, and I love hearing about all of yours! Your art, your videos, and your music are all PEAK, and I'm always happy to see what you've been up to! To our friendship for as long as it lasts <3

@inkedout: And last but certainly and absolutely not least, Ink, my friend, you are one of the big reasons why I feel as comfortable writing all of this right now as I am right now. I cannot put into words just how much I appreciate you as a friend!! it is always such a joy to talk to you, whether it's about StP, or ATR, or a different fandom, or just life in general! I love seeing all your art, your OCs, and anything else you might have <3

Also voice shipping. There are certain ships, you probably know which ones, that are now stuck in my head because of you. I blame you /lh

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I believe that should be all I have to say! Happy New Year's Eve again, and I will see you all in 2025!

[fuck-you-upmusicbracket]

Against the Kitchen Floor (Will Wood)

And I swear! I will die trying!/I'm still in the process, but I'm making progress; I promise I honestly wanna prove improvement's possible, I swear!/I'm so fucking sorry! I'm not a good person, I'm barely a person at all, But someday I'll be perfect, and I'll make up for it all!

Less rare than scarce, less diamond then rough/Unlikely to be more than just the coal you failed to crush

I'm catatonic in your arms, crying, "How did I cause so much harm?"/I'm down pounding my head against the kitchen floor/Apologizing for my life and ever entering yours

The vertex of my redemption arc/I’m searching on that virgin heart

"The raw emotion! And I strongly relate to desperately wanting to improve for someone you love. I belt out this song when I feel really hopeless"

"my one OC. also me. also it's just a really good song. one of will's best imo. screaminbg"

"Literally hits almost all of my self-esteem issues. Feeling like people only care about you for your body? Check. Not understanding why anyone would want you? Check. Thinking that all you do is hurt people? Check. I don't cry very often but this song DEFINITELY made me teary"

"one of those if u aren’t paying attention to the lyrics ur like this is nice but once u hear them its an OW holy OW and guilt and I’m sorry feelings"

"Just. Loving someone but not feeling like you’re good enough and trying to improve."

"Not only does this song have lyrics that are deeply relatable to me, but this song also feels very deeply personal to the artist and I feel that anyone who listens to it for the first time has that same feeling of getting punched in the gut. Just the lyrics and the melody and Will Wood’s vocals make this song an absolute masterpiece and I cry every time I hear it."

"One reason I'm attached to this song is because my friend sent it to me and said "I'm kin assigning you this song" and ruined my life (/j) It messed me up because I've always had a hard time in my life figuring myself out and dealing with my emotions, and for what feels like the first time, this song has been able to near perfectly describe how I feel about myself and my impact on other people, and it always just meant so much to me that my friend who sent it to me knows me better than I know myself and shared the song with me and I love them dearly."

Tongues and Teeth (The Crane Wives)

If you're fine with that you can be mine.... I WILL POISON ALL YOUR HAPPY THOUGHTS!/I WILL LOVE YOU LIKE THE ASHES IN MY CIGARETTE BOX!

I've grown a mouth so sharp and cruel/It's all that I can give to you, my dear/And when you come in quick to steal a kiss/My teeth will only cut your lips, my dear

And I know that you mean so well/But I am not a vessel for your good intent

"I quote the above passage."

"It sounds happy until you listen to the lyrics and then you're like. Oh"

"Can I submit The Crane Wives whole catalog? Just every song they've ever made? Tongues & Teeth is so good tho so I'll make it my flagship, its both so personal and so universal cause you can interpret it in so many ways to apply it to so many blorbos. I've applied it to 10 and it fits and hits different every time. Absolutely Iconic song."

Against the Kitchen Floor submitted by @pixopolis + others

Tongues and Teeth submitted by @they-thespian666 + others

[ember-ling]

It was only a matter of time before I joined this trend. I absolutely love how many Clangen blogs have sprung up, each with unique stories, characters that rip my heart out, and art I can and will stare at for ages. Here are six I particularly enjoy. (Specifics under the cut.)

Cats, in order:

Partridgechaser from @whispering-clan -- I'm super interested to see what a connection to the Dark Forest means in this context (where the good vs. bad associations of StarClan and the Dark Forest are blurred). I had the hardest time choosing who to draw from this Clan of all the blogs, but ultimately her DF association and cool design made me want to draw her!

Brackenshine from @glitterclan -- she's been through so much and deserves a break, but I feel like prophecy cats don't have much luck with that. I'm interested in seeing how she and her siblings interpret StarClan's message, and what they'll do next!

Dropletsplash from @splinterclan -- I love this story so much, especially seeing the unique relationships every member of SplinterClan has with each other. I often overlook Droplet in favor of the kits or their parents, but she deserves everything and is trying so hard. Congrats on the apprentice!

Petuniapaw from @clansofafeather -- I wish for their sake they had a better family, but I love a character who tries to be a good person (...or cat) despite being dealt a bad hand. I loved seeing them bond with Amber and the kits, and seeing them be so protective of them despite just being an apprentice. (This is technically not a Clangen blog but the artist/writer has done several of those too!)

Honeypaw from @the-exiled-comic -- technically not a Clangen comic, but I wanted to include someone from this one anyways! I love Honeypaw for his design, enthusiasm, and kindness, and I've enjoyed seeing more of him in the recent chapters.

Wildfirecry from @loudclan-clangen -- the last few updates have been rough, but I absolutely love the character moments and seeing Wildfire get his revenge. Such a cool artstyle, too! Please get out of the crude oil

I'm nervous I mistagged or misnamed anyone, so apologies if that's the case! All of these blogs are such inspirations to me and I'm excited to see where their stories go.

[hyunnielix]

things i wish you said. | h.h

Series Masterlist

'Sorry, that I pulled the "It's not you, it's me" One day, I'll make sure you get a real apology'

— hyunjin x (f) reader

— word count: 3.4k (she's a long one sorry + unedited)

— genre: non-idol au, artist!hyunjin, second chance romance (I know who would've thought. eventual smut (not in this chapter sorry).

— warning's: bestie!minho, angst. Minho is pissed!, Hyunjin being a flirt, sexual references, fluff, reminiscing on the past! SO MUCH ANGST, reader is gifted a painting!

→ playlist on spotify

The room hummed softly with your playlist, melodic symphonies and sultry beats. The whole day you'd felt on edge, anxiety eating you alive.

The dim glow of your bedside lamp cast a warm light over your room. Standing before your desk mirror, you slipped into a black and white dress. Tiny diamanté's sparkled along the bodice, catching the light like scattered stars every time you moved. While the cinched waist accentuated your silhouette.

You sat on the ivory chair in front of the mirror, reaching for the makeup scattered along the desk. You dusted highlighter along your cheekbones and couldn’t help but think of him—his absence lingered like a ghost in the room, uninvited and impossible to ignore. But tonight wasn’t for grief or longing. This was your stage, your chance to shine in a way which let him see exactly what he’d left behind.

As you swept another brush over your cheeks, adding just the right amount of blush, you paused, staring at your reflection. This wasn’t just a night out. With each stroke of mascara, you steeled yourself, straightening your posture. This was your statement. Your chance to show him — and yourself — how far you’d come. A final touch of lipstick sealed it: a bold red, fierce and unapologetic. You weren’t the person he left behind, and tonight, you intended to prove it.

You reached for your die-cube handbag and slung it over your shoulder. Giving yourself a once over, you smiled. With a final breath, you turned away from the mirror and exited your room, down the hallway.

You stopped in your tracks, drawn to the painting hanging in the hall—the one Hyunjin had gifted you on one of your birthdays. It depicted the silhouette of a couple standing close, an umbrella shielding them from an oncoming storm. Their hands clasped in an intimate grip, a quiet tenderness captured in oil. The muted blues and earthy browns swirled together in a way that felt alive, reminiscent of so many moments you’d shared with him. Once, you loved getting lost in its strokes, marveling at the way it seemed to breathe. Now, the sight of it made your chest tighten, the ache a stark reminder of what you lost.

You wondered, not for the first time, why you couldn’t bring yourself to hide the painting. It hung there like a ghost, its presence both soothing and tormenting. Every glance at it stirred something deep inside you—a mix of longing and resentment you couldn’t quite untangle. Maybe it was the memory of how happy you’d been when he gave it to you, or perhaps it was the quiet defiance of keeping it in plain sight.

"I think it’s about time to put that painting to rest, huh?" The suddenness of Minho's voice made you flinch, his tone cutting through the quiet hum of the apartment.

You turned awkwardly on your heel, clutching your bag tight to your chest. The dim overhead light cast warm shadows across the small kitchen, the faint scent of dish soap hanging in the air. "It’s probably for the best," you mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

Minho stood at the sink, his sleeves rolled up as his hands moved in the soapy water. The clinking of plates stopped, and his brows furrowed slightly as he turned to glance at you. "Where are you going all dolled up, pretty?"

You shifted uncomfortably, the strap of your bag digging into your shoulder as you approached the bench. "I’m going to La Luxe for dinner."

His lips quirked into a teasing smirk as he returned to scrubbing the dishes. "You finally found someone to take you again? Don’t tell me it’s Felix."

His playful jab caught you off guard, and you rolled your eyes, forcing a laugh, though the weight of the conversation pressed on your chest. “It’s nothing like that, Min,” you said, tugging at the hem of your dress. “Just a catch-up with an old friend.”

“Would I happen to know this old friend?” His eyes narrowed, the edge of his tone sharper than usual.

“What’s with you and the questions?” You sighed, avoiding his gaze. You hated how easily he could read you.

He tilted his head, crossing his arms like a disappointed parent. “You’re getting defensive. So, I definitely know them.”

Your gaze drifted to the painting on the wall—that painting. The one you couldn’t bring yourself to take down.

“Y/N,” Minho's voice softened, barely above a whisper.

“He’s back,” you murmured, turning to face him. “He came back.” The fabric of your dress suddenly felt too restricting, like it was suffocating you. You caught the flicker of surprise on his face—and was that disappointment? Felix was right. Of course he'd be upset.

“And tonight, you’re going to tell him you don’t accept his half-assed apology, right?” Minho's tone carried a warning edge.

A silence swallowed the room. Your answer lingered there, unspoken but painfully clear.

“He can’t just waltz back into your life after three years and expect you to grovel at his feet. It’s pathetic. He should know better.”

“Min,” you said, forcing your voice to remain steady, “you know I love you, but I need to handle this on my own. Please, let me make my own decisions. Okay?”

"If you get hurt again, I won't be the one picking up the pieces," Minho huffed, tossing the dishrag onto the counter. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He left the rest of the dishes undone, wiping his hands on a towel before disappearing into his room.

The tension in the apartment lingered. The last thing you needed was him being mad at you. Although, Minho's frustration was nothing compared to the storm brewing in your chest. With or without his blessing, you had to face your tangled mess of emotions.

A buzz interrupted your train of thought, you slipped your phone out of your handbag and read the notification.

Hyune: I know I said we would meet there but I'm outside your apartment. You don't mind if I give you a ride right? If it's too weird I can just go.

Y/N: It's okay. I'll be out in a minute.

The car ride was filled with small talk and a comfortable familiarity that you hadn’t anticipated, especially considering how cold he had been the last time you saw him. An ease lingered in the air, the kind of casual chatter which made it feel like no time had passed at all. You found yourself laughing at his jokes, the same dry humor which used to irritate you, now felt oddly comforting. The tension you braced yourself for never materialized; instead, it felt like slipping into a well-worn pair of shoes—familiar, yet strange and new.

You'd almost forgotten how the interior of the restaurant, La Luxe Charm, looked. Bathed in warm, intimate glows of low golden lighting.

Hyunjin's hand ghosted your waist, his fingertips close enough to feel the faint warmth radiating from his skin but never quite making contact. His frame stood beside yours, close enough that the faint scent of his cologne— Mint and raspberry, reached your nose, refreshing and sweet.

As you stepped inside, the clicking of your heels was silenced, the plush carpet beneath muffling the sound of your steps. The walls were lined with a deep crimson velvet, embossed with intricate golden patterns which shimmered subtly under the soft light of chandeliers which hung overhead. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and the faint aroma of gourmet dishes being prepared in the kitchen.

Dark wood panels created a sense of secrecy, while gilded frames adorned the walls, each holding carefully chosen artwork that spoke of refined taste. Your gaze drew to one of the paintings, the style eerily familiar.

Instinctually, you reached for Hyunjin's hand, intertwining your fingers. His skin was warm against yours, the subtle callouses on his fingertips a reminder of the hours he spent painting. You turned your head slightly, leaning closer until your lips hovered near his ear, your voice dropping to a whisper, "It seems like they have taste too. Look at the work they're featuring."

You glanced back at him, catching the way his gaze lingered on your joined hands. His expression softened, almost as if he were entranced by how naturally your fingers fit together.

"Hyune?" The name slipped out before you could stop it. His eyes flicked to yours, surprised. "Oh. Sorry." You quickly dropped his hand, the warmth lingering on your fingertips. A blush crept up your cheeks as you glanced away, suddenly self-conscious. "Force of habit," you mumbled, the words barely audible.

"Hmm? yeah it's flattering to say the least."

You forced your gaze ahead of you. Tables were draped in crisp white linens, set with gleaming silverware and crystal glasses. But the booths were your favourite part, deep and inviting, with high backs, offering an air of privacy and comfort as patrons conversed in hushed tones. Everything about the space—every detail from the dark, rich color palette to the gleaming accents— you adored. It was the sort of place where time seemed to slow, and every moment felt like something to savor.

You were led to your table by a cute waitress, her smile genuine as she gestured toward the velvet-upholstered chair. Hyunjin stepped in, excusing the waitress and pulled out the chair for you, a warm smile dancing on his lips.

The waitress dipped, placing the menus and glasses on the table. The soft swish of her movements almost blended into the elegant surroundings and her gaze lingered for just a moment longer before she turned to leave.

"I can't believe we used to come here every Wednesday. We'd argue so much over what pasta to try and then you'd steal my desert." You sat, placing your handbag on the floor by your foot. You ghosted your hands over the menu, avoiding his intense stare.

Hyunjin tilted his head. "You say that like you didn’t always end up taking half of mine!"

"I liked seeing you get all worked up over it. You always took everything so seriously." You giggled, airy and light. "This restaurant was only my favourite because you introduced it to me you know."

He paused and you glanced up, drawn to his silence. His silky onyx hair framed his face in a way which seemed effortlessly deliberate. His lips, naturally full and slightly pouted, parted as if he were about to speak but thought better of it. Your eyes roamed down his body, the tailored suit he wore was jet black, its sharp lapels accentuating his shoulders. The crisp white shirt beneath, unbuttoned at the top, hinting at a casual defiance of formality. Definitely on purpose.

Your eyes traced the sharp lines of his jaw before settling on the small slit in his left eyebrow. Subtle yet striking—a detail that added an edge to his otherwise polished appearance. It was new.

He noticed your stare, and for a fleeting moment, his lips curved into a knowing smirk. "Well. You were always the carefree one, always able to shrug things off. I admired that. Took one day at a time."

"And you," You pointed your finger at him. "Were always trying to fix everything. Always had a plan. I never understood how you did it. I couldn’t keep up." That's why I was left behind... your smile faded. "You always knew what the next step was."

Hyunjin shook his head and stared at the menu. "I didn't. I just pretended like I knew what I was doing."

"And now look at you! Mr. Artist." You rested your chin on interlaced hands.

"Hah." He sighed, "Yeah."

You frowned at his tone—hollow and restrained. It didn’t match the warmth he once carried, the easy laughter that used to light up every room he stepped into. "So what was it really like? Paris!"

"It was great at the start. The classes were fun, I made some really good friends. I think you'd love Jeongin." The corner of his lips tugged upward. "I owned my own studio and was invited to prestigious events. All the flashy bullshit."

"It sounds like fun."

"Yeah until I grew bored. I couldn't place my finger on it. My work became monotonous. Lacking colour and emotion. My recent pieces I scrapped. I seem to have lost my inspiration." he said, his voice low as his eyes locked with yours, steady and unwavering. "So, I guess that's the reason I'm here."

Your brows furrowed. He couldn’t be implying what you thought he was, could he? The air between you thickened with the question hanging in the space, a subtle tension building that made your heart skip. You watched him closely, searching his face for any signs of a joke, any hint that he wasn’t being serious. But there was nothing. Only the quiet intensity of his gaze and the weight of his words sinking in.

"You came back to find new inspiration?" you asked, your voice edged with disbelief.

"I think I realized my very flaw," Hyunjin began, his voice faltering slightly, "My work has always been inspired by the people around me and—" He paused, visibly struggling to find the words. His gaze dropped to the table for a moment, fingers tracing the rim of his glass as if the motion would give him the courage to continue. His usual confidence, the one you used to admire so much, seemed to be slipping away, replaced by something more vulnerable.

He met your eyes again, his expression softer, almost hesitant. "I’ve spent so much time trying to capture things that weren’t mine to hold. People. Moments. You. All of my art has one common denominator," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. He didn’t say it outright, but you didn’t need him to. The unspoken truth laid bare between you, like a canvas waiting for its final stroke.

Your stomach tightened as his gaze lingered on yours, searching for a reaction. You didn’t know what to say, your thoughts tangled between disbelief, anger, and something dangerously close to longing. The realization crept over you slowly, each piece falling into place like a puzzle you weren’t sure you wanted to solve.

"Me," You whispered lowly, your chin trembled and you let out a sharp exhale.

"I didn’t expect to feel… like this, when we sat down again. I thought it’d just be some casual catch-up." Hyunjin let out an airy, nervous laugh. "I didn't plan a monologue or anything so I'm flying by the edge of my seat here."

"Yeah me neither." You hesitated, "I don’t think I ever really stopped thinking about you."

"I get it," he said softly, voice laced with regret. "I tried to bury a lot of things too. Things we never talked about. But now, seeing you again… I realize there's so much I still wish I had said."

"Like what?" you asked, the words escaping before you could stop them.

He hesitated, fingers fidgeting as he stared down at them. "I'm sorry," he finally murmured, his voice cracking slightly. "For leaving the way I did. I never gave you a proper explanation. Telling Felix and Minho, expecting that to be enough? I couldn't even stomach telling you to your face." A bitter laugh escaped him as he glanced away. "How much more of a coward could I have been?"

"Hyune. You don't have to apologise. You were following your dream and I just didn't fit into that space anymore. I understood, I just think... I think I wanted you to fight harder to stay. It's silly."

He reached over the table, his hand brushing lightly against yours. The contact sent a soft shiver through you. His hands were as gentle as you remembered them—warm, soft, and full of the careful tenderness. "It’s not silly," he murmured, his voice thick with sincerity.

You looked up at him, surprised by the firmness in his words, but before you could speak, he cleared his throat. "I—I, uh, brought a present with me," he said, his eyes flickering with something like nervousness.

Surprise painted your features as he pulled out the present, a canvas wrapped in simple brown paper, the size of a painting. Your heart skipped a beat as you stared at it. He hesitated for a moment before handing it to you. "I thought... you might like this."

You took the canvas carefully, fingers brushing over the smooth texture of the paper, the edges slightly creased from the wrapping. The soft rustling of paper echoed in your ears as you peeled it away, revealing the canvas piece by piece. Hyunjin watched you intently, his hands resting in his lap.

Your breath caught. It was a painting of you. Your body, bare and exposed, captured in a way that felt so intimate it almost hurt to look at. The brushstrokes were so delicate and shadows seemed to dance around your form, casting a softness that made the image almost too real. The lines of your body were captured with such detail, it was as though he memorized every inch of your form—your bare skin glowing, the faint curve of your waist, the gentle arch of your back.

A rush of heat flooded your face. You didn't know how to feel. Shocked, confused? maybe even angry, but none of it seemed to come together. You expected many things, but this? This wasn’t what you imagined. The intimacy of the piece unsettled you—too much of your body laid bare, too much of your soul exposed.

Your voice was barely a whisper, as if saying the words out loud made the weight of them even heavier. "My scar is there..." Your eyes fixed on the painting, not quite seeing it anymore, but instead tracing the path of the old wound that marred your skin.

The image of your body, so exposed and raw, was both beautiful and jarring. Hyunjin captured your form so delicately, but in that moment, all you could see was the mark, the jagged line, etched into your flesh from years ago. It had been a part of you for so long, hidden beneath layers of clothing and carefully constructed walls, something you rarely allowed anyone to see, let alone be immortalized in oil paints.

Your chest tightened. The scar became a focal point. It was a reminder of pain, of loss, of something you'd never fully healed from. The scar wasn’t just physical; it carried years of emotional weight, an experience you never spoke about. Not even with him.

You felt a coldness settle over you. What had he seen when he painted you like this? Did he see only your beauty, your vulnerability, your essence? Or did he see the scar, too? Did he know what it represented? Did he understand how much it hurt to see it laid bare, stripped of the protection you'd spent years building?

You wanted to tell him how you felt, to explain the confusion, the grief that welled up inside you. But the words felt foreign, like they didn’t belong in the same space as the picture before you. How could you explain his painting awakened something you weren't ready to face, something that had been buried for far too long?

Tears stung the back of your eyes, but you fought them, swallowing the lump in your throat. The warmth of the room seemed to fade, replaced by a suffocating tension. "Thank you, Hyune."

He blinked, caught off guard. "You don't like it?" His voice quietened.

You shook your head, avoiding his gaze, struggling to keep your composure. "I'm sorry. I think this was a mistake. I don’t think I can do this." You stood abruptly. The weight of the words felt like a confession.

"Y/N!" The desperation in his voice hit you like a punch and he gripped your wrist, his touch almost bruising.

Tears pricked at your eyes, blurring your vision as you locked gazes with him. In that silent exchange, a thousand unspoken words passed between you. The worry carved into his expression only made it harder to hold yourself together.

His hand, once firm and grounding, loosened its grip, hesitating as if unsure whether to comfort you or give you space. That small gesture, the faltering of his touch spoke volumes.

You left and didn't look back.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Nothing Has Changed - 16

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Warning: Angst, Tragedy.

Nothing Has Changed - Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 💖💖💖

The moment you heard the words, it felt like a bolt of lightning striking your chest.

“What happened?” Your voice was sharp with urgency.

The gallery owner sighed. “He was in a car accident. Wrong time, wrong place. He was crossing the street when a car—stolen by a thief trying to escape the police—came speeding through.”

Your stomach twisted. “Is he okay?”

“To an outsider, he looks fine. But for an artist?” He shook his head grimly. “It’s a career suicide.”

Dread pooled in your gut. “His hands?”

He gave a small nod, confirming your worst fear. “We love his work—it’s been bringing in so many new visitors.” His expression darkened. “But sadly, we had to terminate his contract.”

Your brows furrowed. “There was another contract?” This was the first time you’d heard of it. You only knew that Steve had been accepted as a resident artist for the gallery.

“Yeah. The response to his work was incredible, and we were grateful you introduced him to us. That’s why we signed a long-term contract with him. The gallery was going to act as his agency—promoting his work worldwide. In return, he was supposed to produce new pieces regularly.”

Your heart clenched. “Can’t you give him another chance?”

“We did.” He exhaled heavily. “But then the doctor told us it would take at least six months for him to recover. Meanwhile, the contract had already started, and he was expected to create at least three new pieces each month.”

Your mind raced. Four months. That was too long in their eyes—but to Steve, it was everything.

“I have to go. Which hospital is he in?”

Once you had the address, you wasted no time.

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and sterilized air, a suffocating mix. As you stepped into the room, your breath caught in your throat.

Steve lay on the hospital bed, looking pale and exhausted. His once-strong hands, the hands that had brought so much beauty into the world, now rested limply on the blanket. His eyes flickered open, widening slightly when he saw you standing there.

A weak, surprised chuckle escaped him. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I’m so sorry.”

His brows knitted together. “Why are you apologizing? None of this is your fault.” He let out a short laugh, then winced, the pain cutting it short.

Your chest ached at the sight of him like this. This wasn’t just an injury—it was a slow death for someone like him. Not being able to paint was killing him.

Steeling yourself, you stepped closer. “Don’t worry. I know a doctor who can help you.”

His expression darkened. “Don’t bother.” He turned his gaze to the ceiling, his voice hollow. “I believe this is my karma. Like the others. It’s my turn now.”

His words sent a chill down your spine.

His turn for what?

“Karma? No. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Steve let out a hollow chuckle, shaking his head. “No, Y/N. This is my karma. This is why I was always afraid to leave town. I was afraid something would happen to me… just like it happened to the others.”

A chill ran down your spine. “The others? What do you mean?”

Steve fell silent, his jaw tightening. His fingers twitched against the hospital sheets as if he were peeling back an old wound, one he had buried deep. Finally, he exhaled sharply.

“We were terrible to you back then.”

Your chest tightened at the words. Yes. They were. But what did that have to do with this?

“Yes, you guys were,” you admitted, your voice steady. “But what does that have to do with any of this?”

His eyes darkened. “Punishment. That’s what I’d call it. We got punished for what we did to you.”

Your stomach churned. “We? Punished?”

He nodded. “We—Natasha, Thor, and now me. It was only a matter of time before my turn came.”

The weight of his words pressed down on you.

“Natasha… After graduation, she got a modeling contract. Big agencies, photoshoots, runway shows—she even walked at NYFW. She was on the rise. A new star from our town.” He paused, his expression tightening. “Until her name got dragged into a scandal. A photographer she worked with was exposed for predatory behavior. She got labeled a ‘yacht girl.’”

Your brows furrowed.

“Nobody wanted to work with a model tied to a criminal. And with the whole ‘Me Too’ movement gaining momentum, she was blacklisted overnight.”

You swallowed hard, processing his words.

“And Thor?” you asked.

Steve scoffed. “That guy thought he had it all. He got into NASCAR, won a few races. But then? He crashed. Messed up his legs. Ended his career before it even really started.”

Your chest tightened again, but not out of sympathy. You knew what he was saying—what he believed. And you didn’t believe a word of it.

“And now it’s my turn,” Steve muttered, trying to push himself up in bed. His hands trembled from the effort. “Just like Natasha and Thor… in the end, I ended up back here.”

“Steve,” you murmured, your heart twisting at the look on his face.

He let out a bitter laugh. “Seems like Bucky got the best out of all of us. He’s rich. He helped your dad. Life worked out for him.”

You clenched your fists.

“Steve, that’s ridiculous,” you said firmly. “If this is karma, then does that mean I was ‘punished’ when the FBI raided me? No. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

He didn’t answer.

“And as for Natasha and Thor?” You exhaled sharply. “They got what they deserved. But you? No, Steve. You don’t deserve this.”

Your chest ached as you looked at him—really looked at him. He had finally made it out, just like you. And deep down, you had been rooting for him all along.

You inhaled deeply, steadying yourself. “Gather your things. We’re moving you to a better hospital. I know a doctor who can actually help.”

Steve blinked up at you in surprise. “Y/N, you’ve already helped me so much—”

“Shut up.” You cut him off, crossing your arms. “Steve, listen to me. I have a bad feeling about this. And I’m going to find out the truth.”

He stared at you for a long moment before sighing. “Oookayy…”

🌸🌸🌸🌸

You wasted no time bringing Steve to see Tim—the famous orthopedic doctor, well-known among A-list celebrities.

As soon as you stepped into his office, Tim’s lips curled into an easy smile. “Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite fund manager.” His tone was warm, teasing. Then his gaze shifted to Steve. “And you must be the patient.”

Steve shifted awkwardly, clearly overwhelmed. He had never expected you to go this far to find him a top doctor.

You wasted no time. “Tim, here’s the case.” You handed him the medical records. “The doctors at the previous hospital took forever to give Steve a proper diagnosis. And this is all they gave us.”

Tim hummed as he flipped through the files, scanning the information with a sharp, discerning gaze. Then, he turned to Steve, his expression unreadable. Gently, he reached out and pressed against Steve’s injured hand.

Steve winced but didn’t pull away.

“That’s strange,” Tim muttered. “According to this report, you won’t be able to use your hand for at least six months. But looking at it closely…” He rotated Steve’s wrist slightly, testing the movement. “You just need about a month.”

“HUH?!” Steve’s head snapped up, eyes wide in disbelief.

Tim barely reacted to Steve’s shock. Instead, he frowned slightly, tapping the file with his fingers. “The doctor who examined you… Hmm.” His curiosity was piqued.

A bad feeling stirred in your gut. “Do you know who he is?” you asked.

Tim let out a slow exhale, shaking his head. “This guy? He nearly had his medical license revoked. He’s notorious for fabricating patient records.”

A chilling silence filled the room. It was as if someone had dumped ice-cold water over you and Steve.

Steve let out a deep breath, tension leaving his shoulders. “So I’m not as bad off as I thought.” Relief washed over him.

You, however, felt something else entirely. A slow, burning anger settled in your chest. This was just like your father’s case. Lies. Manipulation. Someone using their position to control people’s lives.

You swallowed back the fury, forcing yourself to focus. “I’m glad I brought him here.” Your voice was firm as you looked at Tim. “Please, do whatever you can to heal my friend.”

Tim gave a reassuring nod. “Of course.”

Steve turned to you, his eyes filled with something unspoken—gratitude, maybe even something deeper. “Thank you,” he said, his voice quieter than before. “You keep helping me again and again.”

You managed a small smile. “Get better, Steve.” Then, your expression hardened. “And there’s one thing I need you to do.”

“Just tell me.”

Your next words came without hesitation. “Don’t ever go back home. Ever.”

Steve froze.

“I mean it,” you pressed. “I have a bad feeling about this. And I won’t let my father go back either.”

Before Steve could respond, your phone vibrated in your pocket. You glanced at the screen—Allan.

You stepped aside, answering quickly. “Yes, Allan?”

There was a pause before his voice came through. “I have the results.”

Your breath hitched. You had been waiting for this. The test results for your father.

“How is it?” you asked, bracing yourself.

Allan hesitated. “He doesn’t have cancer.”

For a moment, your mind went blank. He doesn’t have cancer. The weight pressing against your chest lifted slightly—only for it to come crashing down again with Allan’s next words.

“But he’s dying.”

The room felt like it was closing in on you. “…What?”

“The medication he was given—it destroyed his kidneys. He needs surgery as soon as possible.”

Your grip on the phone tightened. Your knuckles turned white.

Tony. That damn liar.

Your father was never sick. He was never dying from cancer. He had been fooled—poisoned, even. And you were too late to stop it.

Your voice came out low and cold. “Do whatever you have to do, Doc. I trust you.”

“I will.”

The call ended.

You stood there, gripping the phone so tightly your hands shook. Anger simmered beneath your skin, boiling over into something uncontrollable. You were furious—furious at yourself for not figuring it out sooner. Furious at that bastard doctor who had fed your father poison disguised as medicine. Furious that your father had suffered for nothing.

That small town has brought nothing but misery to you and your dad.

Your nails dug into your palm.

Your phone buzzed in your hand, the screen flashing with an incoming call. Ransom.

You answered quickly. "Hey…" His voice came through the line, slightly muffled by background noise. “Guess where I’m going?”

Something about his tone put you on edge. “Where are you?” you asked, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling creeping up your spine.

“To your hometown.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Why?” Your voice came out sharper than you intended, laced with panic.

“There’s a proposed hospital project there. They want to build a road alongside it, and the mayor called us. He’s interested in taking out a loan from us.” Ransom’s voice was casual, like this was just another business deal.

But to you, it was anything but.

“Ransom!”

“Yeah?” He sounded amused. “Why are you screaming?”

Your grip on the phone tightened. “Don’t go there.”

Ransom chuckled, oblivious to the sheer dread seeping into your voice. “Too late for that. The mayor already sent his people to pick me up. Even sent a helicopter.”

Your stomach twisted. “Who did he send?”

There was a pause. Then, Ransom’s voice dropped slightly, as if he was taking a closer look. “His name is James Barnes.”

Your heart stopped.

Ransom glanced over at the man already seated inside the helicopter, his presence commanding even from a distance. Bucky Barnes.

The moment the call ended, fear crashed over you like a tidal wave.

Real, bone-deep fear.

You didn’t just not want Ransom to go.

You needed him not to go.

But it was too late.

And that terrified you.

@winterslove1917

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[ratcatcher0325]

A Fraction of Justice (Chapter #35)

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

Previous: Chapter #34

Next: Chapter #36

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

CW: Physical intimacy. SO much physical intimacy.

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

___________________________________

A Fraction of Justice

Chapter #35: La Petite Aiguille

[Alexander’s POV]

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

Everything was immaculately organized, each thread having its place. 

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

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

But the best part? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It put me on edge. 

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

She was still offering her finger. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We both instantly turned our attention back to our drinks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally someone acknowledges this well-known truth! 

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

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

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

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

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

***** 

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

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

Five and half inches, exactly. 

My heart melted. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until…

Thunk, thunk, thunk. 

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

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

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

“You wanna sit down? Rest your leg?” 

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

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

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

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

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

And suddenly it was just he and I. 

He cleared his throat, pulling at his collar. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**********

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

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

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

I was finding it hard to breathe. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear god, what was she doing to me?!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What has gotten into me?? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********** 

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

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

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

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

Then, my heart skipped.

Hello there, Alexander. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***** 

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

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

I was flabbergasted. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a lovely dream this was. 

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

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

“I want you to have them.” 

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

“No, no you’re being far too kind—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******* 

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

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

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

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

“Y-yes! Thank you. V-very much!”

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

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

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

Strange little nightmare, let’s get you home.

___________________________________________

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[manhattanstrawberry]

𝘽𝙍𝘼𝙕𝙄𝙇𝙄𝘼𝙉 𝙃𝙊𝙇𝙄𝘿𝘼𝙔

Synopsis : You’ve got it cut out for you as Japan’s top model, the constant flights, fittings, photo shoots and shows wear down on you and the world loves you but the love of 8 billion people will never amount to his. After finding yourself in an unfortunate situation in Rio de Janeiro, he sees you again but you’re two different people now, but maybe time is just a catalyst.

Tags : happy ending, friends to lovers, you and shoyo don’t see each other for years, complicated reunion, yearning, mutual pining, you hate him but not really

Warnings : mdni, mild angst, sexual content

Word count : 8.3k

Series mlist

Author's note : okay so I give every person who was waiting for this chapter a free pass to pinch me. I took so long to do this chapter because I was busy with school and everything for a while and then I really wanted this chapter to be what I envisioned in my head so I went through many trial and errors for this chapter and I’m so happy with how this chapter came out. I am sorry for the wait and I’m so thankful for those supporting this fic!! I hope you enjoy! ღ

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“Add some more there.” 

Yume’s finger circled as she pointed to your under eyes. Her eyes squinted as she skimmed over your face, treating it as if it were a puzzle to be solved. “How early did you wake up this morning?” 

“Pretty early, I’d say about six.” The lie fell effortlessly through your teeth.

An anxious gaze of your eyes followed her as you felt as if she would solve the puzzle soon as she crossed the room towards another table

“Why so early you went to bed late and woke up early for a shoot at a 2’ o clock?” The interrogation began as she rummaged through a makeup bag. She walked over, handing a tube over to the makeup artist quickly before turning her attention back to your makeup.

“Isn’t that a bit much for a beach shoot, she’s supposed to look more natural.” Tatsuki turned away from the clothes rack, to look at Yume; confusion spread across his features. 

“Yes, well if she hadn’t woken up so early, maybe we wouldn't have to use so much corrector.” 

You squirmed in your seat at the slight dig. You knew you should have gotten rest last night, and perhaps not sneak out of your hotel room at 1 A.M in the morning to do God knows what. You wish that even a small, miniscule piece of your memory stayed behind for you to remember what you were doing on your little stealth trip. 

You had no memory of anything after talking to that woman on the beach and it caused fear to grow and rattle inside of your bones. How did you end up in the room of the one person you did not want to see on this earth, maybe all your luck had been thrown out the window, grown legs and ran far away from you. Well not too far as you had successfully sneaked back into your hotel room without getting caught, at 10:47 A.M at that. You're sure everyone was already up and about then and maybe the universe heard your cries because you were told later they went out for breakfast and ���left” you to get some rest. 

But your mind continued to race to piece the puzzle of how exactly you ended up there. You wondered if you went out to seek him when you were too intoxicated or did you suddenly remember the number you glanced at for 2 seconds before deleting when Tadashi sent you his new international number two days after he was gone. 

You couldn’t possibly have remembered that number from 2 years ago. Perhaps you met him on the beach, maybe the ball rolled over to your feet as you were walking along the shore, maybe he ran up to you and spewed all these heartfelt words to you, apologies and declarations of lov–-stop. 

A heavy sigh leaves you, your mind running in circles. Yume placed her phone down and looked at you as her eyebrow raised in curiosity at the sound of a sigh leaving you, “Are you still tired?” 

You straightened your back in the chair, “No, I’m fine,” you reassured her, placing your bent foot that was perched upon the chair back down until you felt the cold tile under your toes. 

“Why do you look like that?” Suspicion hinted in Yume’s sentence had you on edge, her eyebrows scrunching towards each other. 

“How do I look?” You sat up even straighter to look into the vanity’s mirror quickly, afraid something was off. 

The woman in front of you set down the fluffy brush she was just using along your cheeks, digging through the bag on the vanity in front, “You just look a bit sad—or lost in thought might be better.” She added on to Yume’s question before you heard a small squeal of excitement from her as she found the brush she was looking for. 

“Ayumi, add a bit more highlight there– are you sad?” Yume’s head snapped to your direction, her blunt tone exhausting you even more. 

You shook your head a slight pout on your lips at the sudden interrogation. 

“Okay problem fixed.” Yume clapped her hands, “Ayumi finish up quickly, we need to get some shots before sunset.” 

You walked along the sand of the same beach you had found solace in last night, you were much farther from others, the company renting out the end of the beach for the photoshoot, hidden enough to avoid any unnecessary commotion from the public. 

The sheer white dress adorned on your body had you feeling every inch of the sun rays on your skin, the white bikini underneath shined through the thin fabric.

You felt excited for the warm clear waters to wash over your skin and indulge in the sounds of soft waves against your body. 

Which is exactly what you did and you enjoyed every moment of it. 

The sun had set and the warmth from the day lingered on your skin even as the night breeze started to pick up. The photoshoot had been successful, switching through 8 different outfits of the line and modeling in the sun had done nothing but tire you out. The sight of Mr. Iwasaki’s expressions every time you had modeled his fathers line gave you the energy to keep going, remembering the pure awe in his face as he voiced his excitement during the photoshoot—“It’s like they were made just for you!” 

You smiled at his compliment, mutually expressing your awe at his pictures. The way he took pictures and directed the shoot today contributed to the success of today’s work. 

As the staff wrapped up the set you could feel the humid air of the night against your cheeks as you changed into your clothes,  overhearing them excitedly gush over the bars near the beach, leading to a decision that a celebration should occur tonight to celebrate a successful shoot. You believed they just wanted an excuse to drink but you couldn't blame them after their hard work and the fact that you had done something so irresponsible last night to end up drinking your memory away gnawed at your conscience. 

“Alright let’s go here.” Tatsuki’s finger pointed to a spot on his phone. You contemplated the idea of joining them or going back to the hotel to catch up on your much needed rest but it couldn’t hurt to join them, you decided as your shoulders were already being pushed into the direction towards the more populated area of the beach. 

Taking a longer route to the bar for the group to get a chance to enjoy the beach tired you out even further, your feet barely picking up off the sand. The familiar sight of people drinking and playing around lessened your fatigue but had you grimacing at the thought of your decisions last night and still wondering what you must have gotten up to after you had that lethal drink. 

“Wow they’re good.” You heard a voice interrupt your thoughts as the group kept walking. Your eyes followed the line of sight that the group was looking at. A large net in the middle of a drawn out court for beach volleyball, two men on each side fighting to keep the ball in the air. 

Your ears could hear the loud beats of your heart accelerating at the fact that you might run into the last person you wanted to see right now, you were afraid to run into him after you had escaped his apartment just this morning. You don’t remember ever meeting him under your intoxicated state and with a quick glance over the area, a mop of ginger hair was nowhere to be seen. Relief washed over you as your group walked further onto the beach to head to the bar on the lining of the street. 

“Beach volleyball is very popular out here.” Mr Iwasaki chimed in as the group continued to watch the game even after passing by it. 

“Wow, do you think we could catch a game while we’re here?” Tatsuki turned to his assistant stylist, and Yume. 

“I’d love to, it looks intense.” Nao nodded back. 

“Sure–which way to the bar again?” Yume turned to Mr. Iwasaki, not paying much mind to the topic at hand. 

“Almost there.” 

Hoping to get away from the constant chatter about volleyball and the men playing on the beach you headed to the restaurant bar's bathroom to avoid the conversation once the group was seated. You splashed your face with water, and rubbed your eyes hoping to rid the fatigue from your face, hoping that by the time you got back out there they’d stop with the volleyball talk and move on because you're almost sure you’ll have to hear of him soon.

“–sim, eles brincam muito lá embaixo.” [–yeah they play a lot down there] 

You sat down picking up the last bits of  what the waiter was saying to the group, internally groaning that they did not in fact move on from this topic. 

“Sim, eles são muito bons, tem um cara do Japão aqui também — ninja shoyo, eles o chamam, ele é muito bom!”

]Yeah they're real good, there's a guy from japan here too —ninja Shoyo they call him, he's real good!] His voice exclaimed as he slammed the beers on the table. The water in your throat threatened to rise and choke you, almost killing you at the familiar name running out of the man's mouth. You tried to drown out Mr. Iwasaki's translation to the group and unfortunately for you, you had already understood a good bit of what the man was saying. Of course Shoyo Hinata is loved even thousands of miles away from home. Your eyes focus on the beer in front of you, tempting you to chug it down (and many more) and forget about him and everything having to do with him. You hear Yume’s small whisper to not drink too much for tonight and you nod, deciding to just nurse a lemonade until it’s time to head back to the hotel. 

“Do you want another drink?” Taro, an intern under Mr. Iwasaki, asks you politely from the observation of your dismission towards the beers sitting on the table. 

“Oh no, I’m good thank you,” Your head shakes gently, softly laughing, “I don’t drink much.” 

The group beginning to become more loose from the non stop drinking laugh boisterously at your seemingly innocent decision, and all you could do was laugh along. You wondered how they planned to wake up for work tomorrow, feeling a bit grateful towards yourself and Yume that you didn't touch a drink tonight knowing you’d wake up feeling great tomorrow morning—the opposite of what you felt this morning.  

“We should try to catch the ninja.” Mr. Iwasaki laughs as he slurs, his drink falling over the rim of his glass as his arms raise in excitement. 

“It’s ninja Shoyo Sir and you should stop drinking now.” His assistant takes the glass from his hands and replaces it with water, “We can see him tomorrow, we should go home.” 

You watch the man protest picking up a beer resting in front of him.

“Don’t you want to see the players volley on the beach and see Shoyo ninja guy.” Mr Iwasaki turns to you as he lets the incoherent sentence fall from his lips without a care in the world. His assistant sighs at his boss's second awful attempt at saying the man’s alias. You just wish they’d get over this and stop saying his name. 

“No, I'm not quite interested in volleyball.” You smile back at him.

 Yume sets down her glass on the table to look at you, “But you have friends in the sport—you go to their games…and you seemed quite interested as a teenager.” She rebutted your previous statement. You wonder whether you should just get up and leave and save yourself from this non stop conversation about the sport. 

“I’m not interested in watching tomorrow,” You smile, trying to get away from the situation, “You guys should go without me tomorrow! I’m sure it'll be fun.” 

After a few hours by the bar, Yume decides to head back to the hotel with you, leaving the others behind. You ignore their shouts about volleyball and hoping to see a game after work, hoping that tonight is the last you’ll have to hear about it. 

Of course you’re continuously worked against by someone up there, as you overhear their chatter to stop by the beach after this fitting hoping to catch a game. You're not sure why they are all not tired out of their minds and not feeling the need to stay in their beds for the rest of the day after drinking to the point of liver failure last night. You end up getting dragged along despite your previous protests and constant reminders that you don’t like the sport and you’re not interested. All efforts are thrown away as Yume opens her mouth every time wondering if you have some sort of memory loss. You’re thankful that it seems as if she has it instead, not once recognizing his name. 

You’re disguised once again, this time with a little more effort put in thanks to Tatsuki. You don't think wearing a long sleeved shirt is the best idea as the weather is hot and there are barely any people with a shirt on around you with sleeves. A cap and sunglasses were finally appropriate for the time of day and you were hidden enough to avoid any identification. 

You’re sitting on a stone ledge, as others stand around and sit elsewhere. Your eyes catch him immediately as he's talking to a tall man towering over him. And in a second the noise around you falls flat, the world becomes silent and the sand under your feet feels like dispersed clouds. 

It’s him. It’s Shoyo. And you can feel it in your bones, you’re homesick. 

He looks well, healthy—happy. You want to see him closer. You want to see if he's been graced with freckles from the Brazilian sun, if his hair brushes into his eyes every now and then like it once did, if his lips are chapped from the constant hot weather. 

From here, you can see the smile on his lips, serious but excited for his game. He’s tan and you can see his hard work straining through the sleeves of his shirt. 

You watch him jump as he plays, that familiar feeling sneaking back into you. You hear the voices of awe from your staff and others in the crowd as they watch him jump at unbelievable heights in the sand. 

“–did you see that?” You hear Nao, whisper breathlessly to Tatsuki. He can’t take his eyes off the game as he nods, eyes wide. 

You think it’s unfair, even after all this time he’s still so beautiful and determined in a place so unfamiliar. But even so you share the same feeling as everyone else watching him, because he’s done it. 

You don’t think you've even glanced at anyone else during the game, your eyes hidden under your sunglasses are stuck to him as if he's the only one on the beach. As he jumps and moves around you watch his tousled hair from his movement and you hug your knees wondering if the strands are still as soft. 

You’re not aware of the game coming to an end, eyes still on him as he high fives the large man next to him in victory. A call of your name has you pulling out of your stupor. You look up to everyone else in your group standing up, some dusting the sand that trailed up their ankles. You stand up holding on to Nao’s hand, and you can see the excitement on her face from the game she watched. 

Beach volleyball and Indoor Volleyball have so many differences, but Shoyo Hinata will always give that same feeling to everyone who watches him. 

You’re ready to leave, if you get any closer to him you might kick sand at him or you might just cry and you have no energy to do either. 

But you hear Tatsuki’s laughter and his following right behind. You turn slowly to see Mr. Iwasaki and Tatsuki speaking to him as if they’ve known each other since junior high and you wish they'd have a little more self awareness to not speak to an athlete right after his game. To your right Yume is getting impatient, she’s ready to head back to the hotel but you can see it in her shoulders and her relaxed eyebrows that she enjoyed the time she spent out here and the game she got to watch. You turn to her wanting to ask about plans for dinner but she shouts for both men from where she’s standing, grabbing the attention of the three men. 

Out of all the times you’ve felt as if Yume was punishing you, this had to take the cake. You avert your eyes from the men and talk to Nao, hoping that he would barely spare a glance to Yume. 

But instead he looks at the woman who just shouted, catching the attention of the men in front of him and he knows that face and he knows without a doubt the woman standing beside her in conversation with someone else is exactly who he thinks it is. He can feel his knees become weak, his cheeks becoming flushed at thought that you were here, you were here watching him play and he wants to walk up to you and he wants to talk non stop now that you're sober and he wants you to talk to him even if you tell him to get hit by a bus. 

He’s unmoved as he watches you walk away with your assistant, some of the staff still moving slowly behind.  

“We’re heading to Topo Do Barril, Good Game!” One of the men he was speaking to before, shouted to him as they walked off the beach in your direction. 

“Shoyo, você está bem, você parece atordoado?” [Shoyo, are you okay, you look dazed.] 

“Estou bem, Heitor, só com sede!” [I’m fine, Heitor, just thirsty!] He laughs as he wipes the sweat and sand off of his hands on to his shorts. 

“Vamos tomar algumas bebidas!” [Let’s get some drinks!] The man slaps his back, ready to head to their usual spot to celebrate. 

He trails behind the man to the bar he was at last night, way past his bedtime. He wasn’t going to go, wanting to stick to his strict schedule of waking up and going to bed on time. He’d barely ever messed up his routine since coming here, but he felt grateful, he felt as if all of his prayers had been answered when the one night he forgoed his routine he ended up running into you, unfortunately drunk out of your mind and lost but he thought that he was dreaming once again only for you to fall in arms and remind him that you were very much so in front of him. He sits by the table he sat by the night before and waits for Heitor to come back from the bar, he’s completely out of it barely giving an answer to what he wanted to drink when asked. His mind was taken over by you. 

And once again he feels as if he's hallucinating, straight ahead further from the bar he’s at, you're standing outside another bar. You’re probably waiting for the group you were with earlier, remembering the tall man with bleached blonde hair telling him he’s going to that bar. 

Before he can stop himself, his feet are taking him over to you, his mind barely thinking but his body wanting to be near you. 

“I was looking all over for you this morning,” His voice starts off a little loud and excited before slipping to a soft tone. “Were you okay?” 

One of his hands is scratching the back of neck, the other in his pocket fiddling with a loose thread, he’s keeping his hands busy distracting himself from the thought of you in his arms once again. 

You don’t look at him, your eyes stuck on the ocean in front of you. You don’t want to look at him or talk to him, you’re afraid he'll break the poor facade you're putting up and the struggle between wanting to run away from him or into his arms. 

Your feet shuffle against the concrete under your heels, and you fix your sunglasses against your nose properly. Silence stands between the two of you. 

“Don’t speak to me.” You whisper after a minute of silence yet there’s no bite in your tone. 

“Did you have any problem getting back?” 

Your body finally turns to him and your lips are straight before they open once again, “I don't want to talk to you!” He watches as a frown settles on your lips, your eyebrows scrunching in frustration. His eyes glaze over your eyebrows, your nose, your lips, anything that you’re allowing him to see even after all this time. He keeps quiet and doesn’t say anything more and you can feel your insides churn, he’s never had the ability to shut up around you. But even after all the frustration, you still want to hear his voice as much as you hate yourself for wanting to hear it. 

“How did you know I was here—in Rio.” You ask, subtle disdain in your tone. 

Ten seconds pass before he speaks up again, “I ran into you on the sidewalk, you were drunk. I had no idea you were here, I was shocked. You didn’t know how to get back to your hotel and you forgot your assistant’s number, I just did the next best thing and made you sleep at my place until the morning. I just–I just wanted to talk to you.” His voice gets lower as he explains, hoping to ease you of your frustration. 

You stay silent for a moment before whispering a simple Ok, your voice is heavy and your head is downturned, your eyes focusing on the sprout growing out of the crack in the concrete. You feel like a teenager again, standing beside him realizing that some things can’t pass through time and distance. 

“How long are you staying here?” He asks quietly as to not bring any attention to the two of you. You don't reply, your head still downturned. He stands beside you silently before he hears you quietly reply, “A week.” 

He grins. “You can have so much fun in Rio in just a week.” 

You fight back a soft smile making its way on your lips. He sounds more mature, his voice a little older but still carrying that same spirit he had years ago. 

You're silent again before you hesitantly speak up. “I want to see more.” Your voice is still low. Very vague sentence but he understands you he always does. 

“If you don’t mind, I want to show you around. I’ll make sure you have a good time here.” 

You finally raise your head to look at him, your eyes shielded from the sunglasses. “I have work.” A frown forming on your face. 

 You've forgotten about the small disdain over seeing him, slipping back into the familiar feeling of being near him. “And I'm sure you've got other things to do.” 

“We can do things before or even after you're finished and I’ll make time during the day and night for you.” 

You want to ask what he's been up to other than volleyball, if he's been taking care of himself properly and if he's healthy. You want to talk to him and be with him and touch him. But you don't, you stay silent and you can feel his eyes on you. 

You can hear the shuffle of feet coming closer, and it seems like the group is leaving the bar. You look back at him quickly mouthing a goodbye before heading closer to the exit of the bar the group was leaving out of. He watches you walk away before turning back to head back to Heitor and he’s happy. You spoke to him and you looked at him and he knows that even if you chose to throw a stone at him he’d be glad it’s being thrown by your hands. 

The droplets of water race down your skin as you sit on the bed in nothing but a towel, you're trying to delay getting dressed. You’re afraid the moment you get up to put something on it’ll be clothes to go outside and you’ll end up sneaking out again. Your conversation with Shoyo sparks even more interest in your need to see more of Rio (and him). You brainstorm ideas to get out there without Yume stopping you, you know you absolutely cannot sneak out again and you can’t outwardly say that you’re going out because someone would have to tag along. 30 minutes pass and you pick your phone up to message Yume that you think you might have dropped something in the lobby and you're going back down to get it. That small luck of yours seems to walk a little bit closer to you again as she doesn't even ask what you had dropped in the lobby. Getting dressed quickly and ensuring you're properly disguised you head down to the lobby, your phone in one pocket of your shorts and your portuguese language book in your left hand. 

You head back to the same bar he was at the night before and today looking around for him, the sun was lowering down into the sea and you hoped that maybe he’d be here around this time. Taking a few more glances around with no sign of Shoyo, you cross the street to the other side above the beach and you can see the familiar ginger hair closer to the shore talking to the same large man he was playing with earlier. He’s waving to the man as he walks away from Shoyo heading in another direction. He on the other hand walks in your direction, looking around casually before he spots a figure dressed in unusual clothing for the weather once again and you can see a smile growing on his face, he begins to shout your name in excitement before stopping himself, slapping a hand over his mouth and instead running closer to you. He stops by the wall and looks up at you, you look back at him before walking away from his sight. 

In a second you hear deep breaths and footsteps coming closer before he appears beside you, 

“Hi, what are you doing here?” He bites his lower lip to stop his smile from growing even more, his legs slowing down from the quick sprint he just did to reach you. 

“I want to see Rio.” You look at him as you both continue to walk side by side. 

He can’t fight the smile any longer “Okay!” 

He’s a little out of breath, his Adam's apple bobbing everytime he takes a breath and his shoulders look heavy. The hair by the nape of his neck is dark and damp from his sweat and his shirt is clings to his body.

“Let me get changed from my apartment. It's not too far, want to come?” 

You nod your head, a little excited to see what you could see just from the walk to his place and perhaps the fact you’ll get a proper look of Shoyo’s life without you in the past few years. 

“Do you have a roommate?” Your voice lacked any harshness from when you had spoken to him this morning. “Yes his name is Pedro, he’s super cool and he likes one piece too. He’s still in school so I don’t know if he’ll be there— crap I hope he's not home.” 

“Why? Don't you like him?”

“Yes.” He fiddles with the strap of his small gym bag hanging behind his back. “He’s a huge fan of yours.” 

“Oh, is my disguise good enough.” He lets out a small laugh at your question and watches as you toggle with the sunglasses perched upon your nose. “Yes but he’ll probably wonder who I’m bringing into the apartment. I’ve never had anyone over before, he’ll be so confused.” 

You feel a bit ashamed over the slight relief you just got that he hadn’t had anyone over in his time here but all you do is nod. 

 Entering the apartment you had raced out of only yesterday morning seemed much different now, now that you could actually take in everything around you. It was a simple apartment, tidy and if you squint hard enough little pieces of Shoyo’s two years here were evident. He’s got an old–almost deflated volleyball in the corner of the living room and a bottle of soy on the table. There's another clothing rack near the apartment's window with beach shorts lying on it soaking in the setting sun. You follow him into his bedroom as he sets down his bag by the door. 

“I'll shower real quick, don’t worry I won’t take too long!” 

You nod at him once more, watching as he disappears from his room to head to the bathroom. It hits you for the upteenth time that it's been years since you've seen each other, and the broadness of his shoulders isn’t a hallucination but another piece of evidence that Shoyo travelled across the globe and did nothing but work hard. 

His room is now covered in rays of pinks and oranges and you look around at the room you almost went crazy over the day before and even in the shadows casted from the setting sun you can still see that Shoyo is still your Shoyo, the one you knew all those years ago. 

He’s got a stash of one piece manga on his little shelf and volleyball magazines stacked up beside it on the floor. The jacket on the clothing rack hangs down and you look away before the nights of poorly tossing him balls all those years ago invade your thoughts. 

Your toes wiggle from the cold feeling of the floor, a huge contrast from the warm beads of sand you felt last night. You walk slowly taking in his life from the past two years here before taking a seat on the edge of his bed. The sun has almost finished setting and in about 10 minutes you’ll probably be sitting in the dark. 

You reach for the lamp on the nightstand, flicking the switch for some light and right under the base of the lamp, something catches your eye. You see yourself, smiling gently, the other person in the picture covered by the base of the lamp. Pulling the picture from under it, you stare at the picture, specifically the person right beside you. And of course that smile that shines brighter than the sun is on his face and the memory of that night pops back into your head. It was a little after practice had ended late, the six of you walking along the sidewalk to go home. You can remember the way Yamaguchi's fingers fiddled with the phone he had just recently got after the last broke from an incident during practice a few days before. He had only wanted to test the camera of the phone but he’d caught a picture, important enough that Shoyo got it printed out and took it with him even across the globe. 

He’s smiling brightly, his arms raised in the air, one hand holding your bookbag (which you're sure knocked him in the head right after the picture was taken) and the other holding a meat bun. And there you stood right beside him, a soft smile on your face, your eyebrows slightly raised from the sudden photo taking and Shoyo’s flying arms. You can almost feel yourself getting overwhelmed with emotions at the picture but you hold back anything that might overspill and put the picture back down onto the nightstand before Shoyo walks back into the room. 

He’s got a shirt on that's way too tight to your eyes, his biceps training against the fabric of his short sleeves as he uses the towel hung around his neck to dry off his hair. He’s got a simple pair of cargo shorts on, his built calves contracting as he walks further into the room. 

“Wanna get something to eat before?” He continues to use the towel to lazily dry his wet hair, both his hands shuffling around his head. You try your best to ignore the way his shirt rises up a little and look at him. “Before what?” 

A wide grin overcomes his face, “It’s a surprise!” 

You wonder if you should just go back to the hotel and save yourself a fright, you trust Shoyo (as much as you like to act like you don’t) and you know he wouldn’t take you anywhere that’ll scare you or anything but he’s also very much so full of surprises and you’re afraid you might end up skydiving off the top of a mountain. 

You sigh a little, the room is mostly dark, only the lamp on the nightstand adds some light to the room, and you start to feel a little warm. The weight of the bed shifts a little as he plops himself down beside you on the bed, the small light illuminating his face a little that you can see the little shadows casted by his eyelashes on his cheek. You can feel yourself getting warmer, this feels too intimate yet you can’t bring yourself to get up and move away from him. 

You turn your head a bit more to properly face him, his hair a bit damp and dark from his shower but his shoulders look much more relaxed than when he ran up to you from the beach, you wonder if he’s starting to feel the same way as you are easing into company that he was once so familar with years ago. 

“Sure, we can eat— but we can’t go to that bar that we went to today,” You hurriedly tell him. 

“Topo Do Barril?” 

You smile a little. He’s gotten so good at the language you feel a little bashful at his ability to easily spill portuguese out of his mouth so effortlessly. You nod, clasping your hands and resting them between your thighs. 

“Today, when you saw me outside, I was kind of hiding from the man who owns the bar,” You feel a little shy telling him what you did before you ended up running into him that night but he just looks at you completely interested in whatever you have to say and you can almost hear his laughter that you know is coming, “When I snuck out, that’s the first place I went to— I bought a beer there but he would have recognized me from the night before from the way I was dressed and I was afraid he’d bring it up somehow and then Yume would find out and kill me.” 

And there it is, the sound that always had you feeling a little bit warmer when you heard it. 

“Seriously?” He laughed. 

“Yes! It’s so not funny,” You slap his thigh, biting back a smile, “He literally has a poster of me in the bar!” 

His laughter slows down a little and a bright smile is left on his face, “I would’ve loved to see how your assistant would react to a random man at a bar recognizing you.” 

You huff at his amusement of your dilemma. 

“Come on! I want us to eat on time before we get there.” He exclaims jumping off the bed before he extends his hand towards you to lift you off the bed. The warmth from his hand envelops your fingers and you pull away quickly as you follow him to the front door of the apartment. 

The rough feeling of the concrete sidewalk has your flips flops scraping against the rough surface, as the cool breeze passes the two of you.  It's darker now and youve hung your mask on to your left ear to breathe freely while leaving your cap on your head. You glance to your right as Shoyo is talking about something you're not really sure you caught any of. His hair ruffles from the wind and your eyes follow his arm that reaches up to brush back his hair.

“Your hair.” 

He stops talking to look at you as you walk side by side. 

“It’s short.” 

“Yeah, I cut it when I came here, ‘s too hot to have it as long like before.” He brushes back his hair once again from the wind. 

“I liked it when it was longer,” His eyes widened a bit, a blush threatening to creep up, he knew you liked how long his hair was in your 3rd year, he didn’t think you’d remember that fact about yourself, “But it’s still cute at this length.” A silly smile on your face has the tips of his ears red and his cheeks hot and before you know it Shoyo’s on the floor, failing to see a small hole in the ground— completely enamoured by you, latching to the straps of his right sandal sending him to the ground. 

“Oh my God, Shoyo!” Your hands fly up to cover your mouth in shock, he’s lying on his back, as you crouch down to him. He can feel himself getting hot from your hands resting on his bicep, one of them moving away from his bicep to his forehead to push his hair back and comb through his strands to get any dirt out. 

“Are you— are you okay?” You giggle under your breath as you watch an enormous grin break out on his face before he’s shaking with laughter. 

“You scared me, gosh.” Murmuring as you slap his arm lightly, “Get up, your shirt will get dirty.” He lifts his back off the ground, as his arms hold him from behind, he’s got a more serious expression on his face now as he leans closer into you. 

“Shoyo, are you really okay?” Your eyebrows scrunched together in concern as you reach out for him to sit him up straight without having him support himself. His body leans more into you and you can feel his hair tickle your neck when his head falls on to your shoulder. 

“Shoyo.” 

“It hurts so bad.” 

“Shoyo what hurts, should we go to a hospital?” A sniffle leaves him from your frantic tone. 

“My head hurts.” He moves his head from the junction of your shoulders resting on your collarbone to look up at you properly, watching your worried expression replaced by a deadpan face. 

“You fell back on your ass.” You get up from your crouching position to stand above him, resting your hands on your hips, “I seriously thought you’d hurt yourself.” 

He quickly rises from the floor, brushing off his shorts, “My back hurts!” 

“Pay attention to where you’re going next time.” You hide your smile as you walk away from him slowly, waiting for him to catch up and as always he does. 

“I was distracted.” He huffed out. You ignore the warm feeling coming over your senses, choosing to ignore his reply. 

“Right there.” He points to the bar he was at earlier in the day. You feel his hand hover over the small of your back as you two hurriedly cross the street to get to the bar. He pulls out the folding wooden chair for you to sit and you take a seat as you watch him call over a waiter, a sense of familiarity between the two’s greetings. He grabs a chair sitting a bit closer to you, his back turned away from the television strung up on the wall. You’d purposely moved to the seat facing away from the television out of consideration that he  might want to watch the game of beach volleyball blaring on the tv, or the neighboring tv playing a football match, leaving the chair facing the television open. 

“Want anything to drink?” 

You ponder a bit, and he watches you take a moment to decide. 

“I do, but what if I run into Mr. Iwasaki.” 

“What about him?” His head tilts in interest. 

Damn 

“I told him and his team I don’t drink.” You murmur almost shamefully before the man beside you laughs out. 

“You?” Giggles leave his lips as you roll your eyes. 

“Yes! I’m a model, I can’t go around drinking like that.” 

He gives you a knowing look enough to remind you of your actions the day before, you shrug with a soft smile. 

“Want a beer? You can get something with little alcohol so you don’t get lost around here again.” “I can’t get lost if you’re with me.” You nod, pushing your cap down more to secure it. 

“One beer, just one! You have to be sober for where we’re going.” 

“Gosh you’re acting like if I have a second one I'll be falling off the rails.” You mutter as he calls the waiter over asking for a beer and a lemonade. 

“One sip of soju used to have you completely off the rails.” He chuckles at the frown on your face. 

“That’s so not true!” 

“Is too.” 

“Is not.”  

He’s still chuckling at your denial before picking up the laminated menu resting carelessly on the table in front. 

“Hungry?”

“Mhm.” You continuously nod as you look at the menu he's holding in front of the two of you, your bodies leaning into each other to read the menu. 

“What do you usually get here?” Your head turns to look at him, and your breath hitches a little from the close proximity you were oblivious to the whole time. He turns his head to answer you, seemingly unfazed at how close you are to him, and for a split second his eyes glance down to your lips before going back to your eyes, the action completely unnoticed by you. 

“Churrasquinho, it’s super good!” He nods excitedly. He can feel the tips of ears getting pink from the simple fact that you’re here with him, experiencing what he has in the past few years. All those times wishing he could share certain moments with you were coming closer to becoming a reality. 

“Okay. I’ll have that.” 

He calls the waiter over again, ordering for the two of you, once again Portuguese falling effortlessly from his lips and you can hear it in his voice and the smile on his voice as he speaks to the waiter that Brazil has treated him well. 

“It’ll take like 10 minutes, so we can eat quickly and go soon.” His attention turns back to you. 

“Where are you taking me.” You ask quickly after he speaks hoping that he’d answer off the bat. 

“We’re going to the Fe– don’t do that!” 

“I just want to know…what if I don’t like it.” Edging him to slip up and tell you. 

“I know you will.” 

You open your mouth to dispute, but your words fall flat and you wonder how often he thought of you to be so confident that you’ll like where he’s taking you. And you believe him 100% percent because he’s always known you and you know deep down even one-hundred years apart from him would not take away the care he has for the people he cares about. 

--

He watches as your eyes widen, under the shade of the cap taking in the action before you. The street is lit with lamps and lanterns and fire, with tents of foods and art travelling all around. 

“What’s this?” Turning to him as you take in his orange-hued features from the lights casting a glow on him.

“Festival Noturno Criativo.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, feeling his nervousness increasing little by little. “You’ve always liked night festivals.”

It’s simple but you’re a bit speechless that he’s still making it his goal that you enjoy experiences outside of work. 

“I have always liked them.” The corners of your lips turn slightly upwards as you look at the bright festival in front. You can hear laughter and chatter over the loud festival music. 

“Come on!” He gestures for the two of you to walk into the maze of art and cuisine of Rio. Walking side by side you look around you taking in the smell of skewered meat on grills and the sound of oil sizzling from another tent. You move closer to Shoyo as people walk through the pathways, until you decide to latch your hands on to his arms to avoid losing each other in the crowd. 

“Wanna shop for something?” He moves close to your ear, earning an excited nod from you. You continue to walk past different booths, some with exciting and bold pieces of jewellery while others showcased paintings dripping with the vibrant culture of Brazil. 

Your eyes land on a woman’s booth with various ceramic pieces lying about. Titling your head towards a piece you move closer to Shoyo’s ear so he can hear you over the music and chatter in the back. 

“I like those.” 

He follows your line of sight to two mugs, red flowers littering the outside with dark green leaves and a funky swirl for the handle. They're cute and a bit wonky but the image of you drinking happily from one of them has him reaching for his wallet in his left pocket. He walks up to the woman, his hand on the small of your back lightly easing you in the direction of the woman. 

“Olá, quanto custa um desses copos, por favor” [Hi, how much for one of those cups please?] He points to the mugs you’ve been eyeing. 

She’s polishing a vase before she looks to where Shoyo’s pointing, “236 reais.” 

You watch Shoyo converse with the woman as he pulls out a few bills from his pocket, you look for a moment to see the woman only packaging one and you shake Shoyo’s arm gently to catch his attention. 

“Get them both! Get one for yourself.” You pull the short sleeve of his shirt as he pauses for a moment and then answers with a nod. He turns back to the woman asking for the other, and reaching back for his wallet to pay. He carefully folds the receipt from the woman and places it in his wallet, his eyes burning into the card pocket he placed it in. He’ll keep it forever. 

He's holding the small paper bag with the two ceramic cups carefully packaged as the two of you continue to walk through the festival. He’s hoping you’ll hold his arm again but at the realization that you both had moved on to an area with less people, he internally sulked. It seemed as if he couldn't hide his disappointment well as you noticed a small pout on his lips, maybe it was his bottomless stomach reacting to the aroma of all the foods around after walking around for two hours.

“Are you hungry?” Stopping to ask him, hoping that he’d crack a small smile at the mention of something to eat. 

He shook his head as his pout deepened into a frown instead after taking a glance at the time. “It’s 9 already.” 

“Oh.” A small frown of your own matching his and wanting to never see that on your face he gently smiles before calling your name. 

“Let’s get one last thing before we leave, something sweet maybe.” 

He’d bought about 10 of them, at the possibility of you liking them and wanting to take some back home with you. He liked them himself, having to restrict himself from buying anymore when he first came to Rio, they were a quick way to mess up his strict nutrition. 

You’re close to the hotel and you two would part ways much sooner than arriving at the lobby to avoid anyone working there or your coworkers seeing you outside so late, with the man they watched earlier on the beach at that. 

“What did you get?” You peered over at the bag holding the sweets he got for you, the breeze picked up once again as you two walked on the sidewalk, the sound of the waves crashing by the shore, harmonizing with your voices as you spoke. 

“Beijinho de Coco, I can’t wait for you to try them!” 

“Can we have one now before we get there?” 

“You can, but I can’t eat anything like this right now.” 

“Pleaase, Shoyo— let’s share one.” You offered, excited to share the little sweet with him— and well Shoyo’s never been one to deny you of anything that makes you happy, except maybe himself.  

He fishes into the bag to open the plastic container they were placed in and takes one out to break it in half. He gives you the bag to keep with the other 9 of them and you can see the receipt laying under the plastic container. You think you’ll treasure it as if it were a rare pearl.  

“There’s coconut on it!” 

He nods at your exclaim, his cheeks becoming warm as you excitedly take your half from his hands, ready to take a bite. 

“They’re called ‘coconut little kisses’ .” 

You pause for a moment, your gaze shifting to the view of the ocean, a gentle smile on your lips as you take in the last of tonight. 

And under the moon he had been looking at for the past 2 years, you share a coconut little kiss with Shoyo. 

Notes:

They both kept a receipt for keepsakes

The ceramic mug he bought them

Festival Noturno Criativo is fictional

Next chapter

Divider creds: @anitalenia @strangergraphics

© manhattanstrawberry please do not plagiarize or repost my work

[hyperfixingfr]

STOP SUPPORTING KNDBRAINROT!!! (NOW GOING BY PENCILHOLDERSILLY)

Some of you guys are still engaging with their content and liking it + following them - please stop! The only way they'll truly care about their actions is if they aren't gaining support!

They've been harassing artists in the fandom, block evading many artists and even stalking some onto social medias they never talked about having. Kndbrainrot had even done this to me, messaging me on Tik Tok despite me never giving it out!

In this same conversation, they admitted to me that them requesting an EEnE artist drawing Ed kissing Sarah (a pair of siblings) was 100% done with incest intents. (Shoutout to amazingspace-22 for not giving them incest content :)))

I've tried for HOURS at this point to get them to apologize/own up to drawing Kuki on a body pillow extremely sexualized. They refused to, and when they finally DID "apologize", it was riddled with guilt tripping and blame dodging.

They don't really CARE about apologizing for doing this. At some point they even told me they WANTED to draw this and still would want to.

They only care about harassing artists into giving them art. They only want to be forgiven so they can get unblocked and ask more people for free art. One time, they commented this under my commissions post that I made to try and get temporary fix for my extreme and unbearable pain. This is extremely insensitive and outright SNARKY. They've also had a reported instance of demanded kommandonuovidiavoli draw something despite her very clearly only accepting certain kinds of requests at certain times.

They also called gay people sinful. I tried to question them on this like I have the other stuff they've done because I understand they're young and easily influenced by indoctrinating materials, but they kept fighting me back and refusing what I was saying with things like "oh but it's okay because I'm Christian and support the community" (while still claiming LGBTQ+ people are going to hell... Lovely/sarc)

Also shows a case of them dodging blame because they don't even address my first question.

To finish it off... Compilation of them dodging blame and giving horrible excuses for why they won't apologize.

I'm done talking about them. For the love of god, please block them and cut off support from them. They're feeding off your support and it's sad to see people still don't care. We can't let a young child think this behavior comes without consequences, because they seem to think they can get away with it. Don't let them get away with it.

[cambion-companion]

hi!! binge read all your raphael stuff and i think it added more worms in my brain!! :D thank you!!!

raphael idea: artist!reader (or tav/durge) that raph commissions to paint a portrait of him. maybe how the sitting would go- would he be monologuing? would he be looking over contracts? would he be sneaking fond (in his own way) glances at the lovely little artist sitting in his foyer putting so much passion and concentration into capturing his devilish visage?

or maybe smth like he can't make it to a sitting one day so he sends haarlep to do it expecting that the artist won't be able to tell the difference. instead, his artist refuses to start working since that's CLEARLY not her patron!! his facial structure is off!! that piece of hair doesn't flow down like that!! and his gaze- clearly not!!! so raph comes back hours (or even days) later to find the little artist still in his house, waiting for his return so that they can resume work <3

I LOVE this!

Thank you for reading my work and for sending this lovely message in! This idea kinda ran away with me but I hope you enjoy this drabble!

“Where is Raphael?”  You squinted at the devil lounging on the gold embroidered cushions.

On first glance, it appeared to be the cambion you’d met yestereve. He had commissioned you to paint a self-portrait for him, showed you the many that already hung from his marble walls. You’d begun your work, sketching the lines and filling them out with practiced dexterity.

Due to time constraints, the devil was a busy man it seemed, you had to cut your painting short, determining to begin again the following day.

Now you sat again, upon the small stool, staring in consternation at the creature who would have you believe it was Raphael.

The fiend stretched, feigning a languid uncaring composure.  In all but those burning eyes, focused so sharply upon your frowning face.

“Whatever do you mean, little succulent?”  It was Raphael’s voice as well, though something was off about the cadence. “You have everything you need right here.”

You shook your head, frustrated, lowering your paintbrush from where it had been poised over the canvas. “No, this isn’t going to work. You aren’t him.”

“My, quite the perceptive thing.”  The devil straightened, looking displeased. “How very annoying.”

“What…who are you?”  You asked, a slight tingle of fear running down your spine.

“I am Haarlep.”  The devil’s long tail swished to curl around his feet.

“That’s an odd name.”

“Isn’t it just.”

Your frown deepened, an annoyed breath hissed through your clenched teeth. “Well, I cannot continue until the real Raphael returns.  When will he be back?”

“The master will not return for quite a while.”  Haarlep rolled his shoulders, looking equally put off. “I do my job quite well. What exactly is the issue?”

You set down your tools and folded your arms, still wary of whatever this creature was. “The way your hair falls, the cadence of your voice…”

“All aspects I am sure you can rectify without too much issue.”  Haarlep interrupted with a petulant gesticulation, but you spoke over him.

“And your eyes.”  Your own eyes narrowed in concentration, focusing on the burning embers within those inky black orbs. “Your eyes are wrong.”

“I’m offended.”  Haarlep deadpanned, then tilted his head with a curious smile. “Explain.”

“I cannot.” You shrugged.

“Then work on painting everything except the face.” Haarlep repositioned himself upon the sofa, his eyes rolling slightly in bemusement.

“For professional reasons, I cannot.”  You didn’t budge. “The master of the house didn’t notify me of this change.”

“The master of the house apologizes.”  Now that voice you recognized, Raphael’s.  Deeper and with more presence than the voice Haarlep used.

Raphael, still in human form, strode into view and offered you a wry smile.  He bowed slightly at the waist, his brown eyes never leaving yours. “I admit to not foreseeing your powers of insight. What a delightful discovery, my dear.”  

He turned and observed Haarlep with mild amusement for a moment. “You’re slipping.”

“Nonsense.”  Haarlep stood from the chaise and flexed his batlike wings. “You know as well as I, some things cannot be replicated.”

“Such as?”  Raphael directed the question to you.

You shifted, your behind slowly numbing from the uncomfortable stool. “Well, the way Haarlep carries himself for one.”  You said carefully speaking the other’s name. “The eyes are also completely different, not in shape or color but the nature they hold within them.”

“Fascinating.” Raphael put his hand to his chin, a slight quirk to his lips. “The eyes.  Windows to the soul.”  He laughed, short and rough.

You didn’t quite understand the joke but smiled politely. “Have you time now?  I can come back later.”

“No.”  Raphael shook his head and placed a firm hand on your shoulder, taking a moment to inspect your canvas. “This is important work. I am at your disposal.”  Raphael’s human form melted away. His hand on your shoulder grew in size and sharp claws bit through your shirt to your skin. Hellfire eyes looked down upon you, familiar, calculating. “For as long as you need me.”

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Frances Dee (Becky Sharpe, Little Women)—no propaganda submitted

Ingrid Bergman (Gaslight, Casablanca, Notorious)—Where do I even begin with Ingrid Bergman? I fell in love with her with her astounding performance in the 1956 version of Anastasia -- the best Anastasia movie in large part due to her wonderful and touching performance. She's got this amazing, fascinating intensity to her in whatever role she's in. She commits 100%, and she's got this light in whatever she's in that's stunning. She's utterly convincing no matter what she plays, from an amnesiac possible lost princess, from a nun, from a woman taking her revenge on the town that wronged her, to light romantic comedy. She's never missed in any role I've seen her in! Also she became quite the MILF.

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Frances Dee:

Ingrid Bergman:

God, she's fantastic. She's both beautiful and a compelling actor who's more than capable of putting the whole movie on her shoulders if necessary. It's worth noting that while her beauty is conventional, she was seen as refreshingly "natural" with more eyebrows and less makeup than many other leading ladies of the time. She's well known for her role in Casablanca, but in Notorious, Spellbound, (both available on archive.org ) and Gaslight (1944) she shows how immensely capable she is. [editor's note: I've seen all of these movies and I think they're fine, but it's been a minute, so I can't thoroughly tag for trigger warnings or officially "recommend"—as always, go forth with caution when a movie is mentioned in a propaganda submission, and don't take a mention as an official recommendation of this blog.]

I mean...she's Ingrid Bergman. I feel like that should be enough, you know? She's physically beautiful (her eyes!) but watching her is like a transcendent experience. Her voice, her expressions... beautiful woman, beautiful actor.

I'm a gay man but even I understand her appeal. I'll watch any movie she shows up in. Gorgeous woman.

Just try and watch her movies without sighing wistfully, then get back to me!

Choosing 1-3 movies where Bergman was at her hottest was agony because, of course, she was always at her hottest. Not just because she was beautiful but because she was absolutely willing to go up against the bs women in Hollywood were constantly dealing with. When exiled from Hollywood for having an affair with Roberto Rossellini, not only did she refuse to apologize at any point, but she went on to say that Hollywood's films had grown stagnant and boring to her. Though she said she appreciated her time working there, she wanted to try new, different techniques (hence starring in Italian neorealist films, working on stage, and acting under directors like Ingmar Bergman). She was not afraid to chase after her artistic ideals and go outside the box regardless of what society had to say about it. From her first movie to her last she killed it. There's so much more to say about Bergman's career and life, but I've already written five million words so I'll stop at that.

One of the most incredible actors I've ever seen on film. Her facial expressions are so intricate and poignant that I cannot look away. I'm either ace or straight, but damn she made me question that.

SEVEN TIME OSCAR NOMINEE QUEEN. Girl also PULLED, having affairs with famously hot men Gary Cooper and Gregory Peck IN ADDITION to her three marriages...sexy

She has a very natural beauty to her, and she's from Sweden!

She left Hollywood and only became more beautiful. You could drown in her eyes. She can look innocent AND like she's seen it all. She is effortlessly elegant. She's played Joan of Arc (automatically hot) AND was in the movie that coined gaslight as a term. And where would we be without that!

She was known for being a breath of fresh air on the movie scene at the time with her windswept hair, dreamy smile and soulful eyes. I have loved her in every movie I have seen her in - she was just magnetic!

Where do I even start. There's a neighborly quality to this beautiful, talented actress that makes her hotness one of a kind and her looks impossible to forget

With a career spanning five decades, Bergman is often regarded as one of the most influential screen figures in cinematic history. Known for her naturally luminous beauty, Bergman spoke five languages – Swedish, English, German, Italian and French – and acted in each.

She's hot, don't get me wrong, but I've always found her very approachable, like she could easily be a member of my friend group

A lot of the time hotness in a movie is just about words and framing. "You're the most beautiful person here" [vaseline lens] well I sure hope so because that's who you cast. But when, in Casablanca, they call Ingrid Bergman the most beautiful woman in the world... they were not fucking lying. And such a dynamite actor too!! I'd only seen Casablanca up until last year, and there she's confined to love interest. But in Gaslight she was maybe one of the most incredible actors I've ever seen!!!! Goddddd shes so fucking hot and cool.

[burn-before-reading]

Love in the Time of Socialism

joost klein x artist!reader

art, mush, and ramblings about life

warnings: depression (ish), burnout, reader character in some vague mental health funk

word count: 2k

a/n: slight prequel to blue is the colour of your eyes but can be read as stand alone. just same artist reader. vaguely romantic but just ramblings and getting feelings out haha. started this when I was in more of a bad mental state (lol) but im fine now so it got kinda tame by the end of it. still not proofreading anything

title from the song Love in the Time of Socialism by Yellow House

Rpf below the cut—

Normally Joost has to call you because its the only way you will actually look at your phone. Its more often that not you find yourself fixated on planning out your next project, and your friends have to force you back into reality. There was that one time no one had heard from you in over a week and thought you were dead, when you were just working. You hadn’t realized how many texts you missed and apologized for scaring your friends half to death. Especially Joost.

So now you leave your ringer on, and now they call.

Tonight, however, Joost calls and you aren’t in your studio. You are in your bed, where you have been for the entire day. and also most of yesterday. There isn’t a reason in your head specifically why this has happened. you MEANT to get up. Theres a list of chores and things to do just sitting on your desk, but you woke up late, so now nothing will get done. At some point it just became too stressful to even get up and look at it. You roll over and stare at the contact picture of him, smiling with some dumb fish eye lens he thought was funny. You debate not picking up at all.

But you can’t ignore him.

“Hi Joost.” your voice came through the phone more hoarse than intended when you answered, you don’t remember the last time you talked to someone. “Whats going on?”

“the others wanted to go out for drinks tonight, you hadn’t responded so I wanted to check you were joining us.” You could imagine him rocking back and forth on his heels in the middle of his living room while he talked, it was either that or pacing around.

“uhh..” Drinks at a bar was the last thing on your mind. In any other situation you would have loved to be around your friends, but right now you just needed to avoided as much as possible. “Not a good night, tonight. Sorry, I’ll have to join you guys next time.”

Joost felt like something was off, you sounded tired. “Is everything okay?”

“I’ll be fine I just… shit brain day. bad brain thats all. It happens.” You did your best to summarize how you felt without actually admitting anything, you weren’t sure how to explain anything anyway.

“ Oh Im sorry, would it be good, if I came over? I can keep you company, if thats okay?”

“you don’t have to, I’ll be fine tomorrow. I want you to have fun. ” you insisted, but he pressed on.

“I don’t mind, the group would understand. Have you eaten today?”

“Like… a meal? yes, or well, no. I had a soda..” You glance at the half drunk soda from the night before, now flat. “and uhhh..”

“I’ll pick something up.” You could hear him on the other end gathering things together, keys, wallet, probably his ipad.

“.. thank you. I’ll see you in a bit, I guess.”

-

Joost knocked on your door about an hour later. In that time you were able to get out of bed and make your way to the bathroom to change and make yourself somewhat presentable in front of a guest, and to the kitchen to make coffee despite it being 8pm.

You opened it to see Joost with a sheepish smile as he extends his arms out for a hug. “Hi.”

“Hi Joost.” you take the step to hug him, feeling his body heat contrast with the cold nighttime. “I’m glad you’re here.” the two of you head inside to your living room where he empties his bag of take out to reveal a couple different thai dishes and egg rolls. It was hard to not admit you weren’t at least a little bit hungry.

The two of you ate in mostly silence, making small talk about different projects you two have going on, or the fact that the two of you were in between projects. He done with touring for the time being and in the process of working on a new album. You loosely avoiding talking about any current work plans but mentioned one or two paintings you finished for a private gallery commission last month.

“ Just some paintings of animals and nature-ish symbolism. Honestly my heart wasn’t really in that one, but it payed the rent so.” you shrug and shove noodles into your mouth.

“Well now you have the time to work on your own stuff, right?” he commented, leaning back into your couch and looking down at you sitting on the floor instead of any of your own furniture. “Draw whatever your heart desires.”

“I mean I guess.. Im just glad to be done with the oil paints for now. I swear i think I was gonna die in my studio from all the chemicals. I dunno, I finished that whole project last month, I haven’t really been very productive since then.” you trail off and Joost gets a concerned expression on his face.

He sinks down from his spot of the couch to join you in the floor. The fluffy rug brushing against his legs as he adjusts his new sitting position.

“Its okay to take a break, you know.”

“I know I know, I just get frustrated. I never seem to have my energy directed towards the right thing. Whenever I have all those big projects from other contractors, I can brainstorm and think of all these interesting ideas I wanna work on, but I can’t because then I would get behind on the art Im being paid to do.”

“mhm.” he nods, to indicate he’s following along.

“ And then whenever Im done with those projects, I just get… tired. and my focus is gone. and Everything just feels…” you gesture the last bit with your hands, scrambling your fingers, to imply your thoughts. You aren’t looking at him, but you can still see him nodding in your peripherals. Joost always seemed to understand your thinking and explanations to things, even if you thought they were messy.

“Do you want to try painting right now?” he asks. you just shrug your shoulders.

“I don’t know what I would paint.”

“You can paint our dinner, or, or yourself, or your plants maybe?” he suggested and stands up. “Can I paint too?”

“Oh we’re actually doing this?” Not that you didn’t want to, but this self doubt had creeped into your mind again. That failing to produce something decent would prove that you’ve lost all your talent, your skill.

“yea we can have a little painting party!” he chimed, but he hesitated walking over to your studio to grab stuff, still giving you the space to reject his idea.

you looked away and started nervously tapping your fork against the table.

tap tap tap tap

“…sure. We can use my watercolors, Ive been wanting to use them more often anyway.”

the coffee table became a little more cluttered as you set up the paints for the two of you. Joost using an old set 24 pans and you using a newer set of watercolor tubes you were gifted last year and never opened. You watched as Joost immediately dipped his brush in water and started activating the blue paints, spreading it onto his paper in big random strokes.

“what are you painting?”

“not sure yet, maybe im painting you.” he looks up and smirks. you scrunch your nose up.

“why are you using so much blue. am I a smurf?” you joke and he just shrugs and points to your own paper.

“Just mess around, can’t be any worse than what im doing.”

tap tap tap tap tap tap

you fidget with your own brush for a few seconds lo get before grabbing a big mop brush and wetting your paper with clean water. Taking your smaller brush again, you pour out a small amount of yellow and mix it up with some more water. You hesitate for a moment longer before letting the brush lightly touch the surface, creating a burst of colour on the paper as the colour seeps onto the page. You make a few more random marks before switching to another warm colour and repeating the process, now watching the colours bleeds and mix into each other. You look at Joost paper and see that he is actually now trying to paint you, the blue fortunately was able to be mostly contained to the background.

“Do you ever think about what you would do if you weren’t a musician?” you ask.

“I dunno I think after this I could have a pretty successful art career.” he teases but sees in your face the question is more serious. “I don’t know. I started off with youtube, but if I wasn’t doing that… its hard to think about what my life would be like if I didn’t follow this path.”

“I always have this feeling deep down, that I made a wrong choice somewhere along the line. I was thinking about going to school for psychology, I also wanted to work with animals at one point, be a vet. I enjoy art, don’t get me wrong, but I just worry that in making it my job Ive just drained all the passion I had for it.”

You let the paper dry before staining the page with lines of dark burgundy, creating hands and a human heart. he hums as he listens, not adding anything, but simply letting you vent. beginning to piece together your mood from earlier. “I don’t have any jobs lined up right now, which is what Ive been waiting for, to work on my own stuff, yknow? I haven’t had the time ive wanted to make something for myself for a while. But now I just feel, I feel like ive been frozen.”

“things seem to be okay right now. I like what youve made. ” you look down and see the scribbles youve made with your paint. hands clasped over a broken heart. you shrug and smile softly, signing the bottom.

“Just a scribble, you can have it if you want.” You hand the paper over to him. “thank you for coming by, its… its nice being around you. Helps a bit.”

Joost takes the paper and studies it for a second. “I really like it, maybe I should come by more often.”

“If you bring the food we can have art nights whenever you want.” he holds up his paper. The blue bleeding into your skintone and hair since he didn’t wait for anything to properly dry. “I might stick to my ipad though, I don’t know why you like this paint.” he scrunches his nose at it. you laugh and it makes him smile.

You notice for the first time how bright his eyes look when he smiles, but you brush the thought away.

-

“Feeling a bit better?” he asks as he lingers by the door on his way out.

“a bit. like I said It was just a mood, I was gonna be fine tomorrow most likely… I still appreciate you coming over.”

“Don’t ever be afraid to call or text okay? Im always here to talk if you need. or just to listen.”

“definitely. Ive been meaning to uh, talk to someone about all this stuff anyway, you’re not a professional but ill keep it in mind.”

he grins and goes in for one last hug. you feel him slightly squeeze you and linger a little longer than usual before letting go. With one last glance he waves and head off. You see him pull out a cigarette for the walk back. It takes you a second to close the door. standing there watching him walk off until he turns a corner and disappears. Closing the door you sigh and go the clean up your living room.

You notice he left the portrait he drew of you. signed at the bottom with a smiley face next to his name.

It gets hung up in your studio above your desk.

[visceral-reject]

WRITE A STORY WITH ERIC DRAVEN PLSSSSSSS

Of course, though I am going through a bit of writer’s and artist’s block, so i deeply apologize for the quality.

A/N: Angst w/comfort, reader is depressive, something quick might expand on this later though. Eric is…eric.

Hands a bit too cold to be considered normal traced the plain of your stomach, the skin warm beneath his calloused palm. Eric was many things, a murderer, spiteful, any name under the sun one could think of, but in the current moment he was envious. Envious of you, sleeping beneath the many blankets of his bed, practically a nest for the both of you now. He was envious of your warmth, your liveliness, your mortality. There may have been a time when he’d daydream of what his life could have been like in his older years, hair graying and fading and worn band tee shirts. But those days would never catch up to him, but you still remained. Fuck if you didn’t stay glued to his side. He remembers seeing you after he was brought back, the black tears staining your cheeks as you tried to look through him, trying to rationalize the sight before you.

You sat upon the brick wall of what was once a shared apartment, bottles and cans thrown haphazardly around the creaking floors. You, a husk of the person you used to be, in the middle of the mess, eyeliner running down your cheeks and eyes hollow, eyes once so full of life and contentment, now dull, sharp even. If his heart could, it would break at the sight of you. He stalked you from his shadows, not yet ready to face you. Oh how he longed to hold you, to remind you he’d take care of you like he promised so long ago, to simply feel your skin against his would be enough. But Eric remained still, continuing to watch you gulp down more cheap vodka like it was water. Erin grimaced, he didn’t like the sight before him. He saw himself lingering within your behavior, saw his influences in your mannerisms. You, none the wiser to his position before you, didn’t even jump when his footfalls fell upon your ears. Maybe you were to drunk, or maybe it’s because you were to far gone to care.

“ Look dickhead, I don’t know what the fuck it is you want but I-“ your cold remark was cut short, far to short with a familiar laugh, a laugh you hadn’t heard in over a year, actually thats a lie. It was the same laugh that had been haunting your nightmares for so, so fucking long.

“ Such harsh words from such a pretty girl, you kiss your mother with that mouth pretty? “ Eric drawled, nearing you. You, bottle just an inch from your agape mouth. There he was, face painted a sickly white and black smeared haphazardly across his eyes and lips. It was like time stopped, only the two of you existing at once. Eyes welling with tears, you stayed silent. What could you do? You were there when they put him into the cold hard ground, there to pick up Sarah when her mother couldn’t give less than a fuck about her. You. Eric, now squatting before you, searched your face, for any sign of emotion, emotion he didn’t find. You wanted to scream, to hit yourself and down the rest of the bottle, telling yourself you were dreaming, but you couldn’t. His cologne had long since faded from everything that was left behind, but here now you could taste it. Mouth gaping akin to that of a fish out of water, the bottle fell, clattering onto the floor as your hand reached to his face. Just a touch. Just something to tell yourself this was real, that he was real. With a trembling finger, you pushed the wet stray hairs from his painted face, moving to trace his jaw. He was real this time, a tangible thing before you blessing your teary eyes with a pained smile.

That was a long while ago, he’d yet to find a real reason to pass on yet, though the Crow had quit trying to urge him now. The night was young, though the city lights didn’t make it seem that way, still, you napped, curled underneath the blankets. Eric let out an audible sign, cold fingers mindlessly tracing shapes onto your skin. He’d give anything, anything at all, just to fully feel the true extent of your warmth again, the warmth he felt when he was alive, not just a walking corpse. Eric longed to be the softer man he once was for you, but he knew as well as you did, that man was gone. But for now, he’d be content with this, relearning and healing alongside you.

[hyacinthoideshispanica]

A modern Feysand au where Rhys just took over his father's company and is trying to make it his own. So, he's creating new job titles, firing people who only work there because of nepotism, and in his free time, he likes buying paintings from CursebreakerArt.com to decorate and liven the building up.

Feyre is a struggling artist who is only able to afford rent because some random guy keeps ordering from her shop and she's not complaining, but he's bought so many, and who needs that many paintings?

One day, after mailing the latest orders out, Feyre decides to walk around the city and eventually notices the help wanted flyers for Velaris Co. everywhere she looks. She's curious. She's heard of this company before, and apparently, the ceo is an absolute prick, but the pay and benefits are supposed to be fantastic. So, she takes a flyer, and after a few days of no new orders, schedules an interview.

Rhys goes through the list of the days scheduled interviews. Normally, a ceo would be too busy to conduct interviews on their own, but he wants to show he's different from his father, and he wants to know every employee as a friend, not just someone who works for him. He scans through the list, and one name suddenly catches his attention. Feyre Archeron. He knows that name. He's seen that name elegantly signed on almost every painting on this floor and has seen it scribbled on a little thank you note that comes with each order. Feyre Archeron, creator of CursebreakerArt.com, is interviewing at his company that afternoon.

Feyre walks into the interview room slowly, suddenly self-conscious about her paint stained sweater and leggings. This place was really nice and really professional. She was way in over her head to even think of trying this! She should have washed the paint out from under her nails! She should have worn a pencil skirt and blouse!

Feyre's thoughts are cut short when Rhys enters the room and then suddenly stops. Then, their just staring at each other in silence. Feyre thinks Rhys is not only the handsomest man she's ever seen but that he must also be appalled by her appearance and it was definitely a mistake to come here.

Rhys, on the other hand, was 100% prepared to gush about how much he loves her work, that is, until the moment he actually saw her. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and he had not been ready for that at all.

Feyre gets up, starting to apologize for wasting his time, saying she'll see herself out, but Rhys stops her with only two words. "You're perfect."

Feyre blushes fiercely, then Rhys clears his throat and begins talking to cover up what he just said.

"For the job. You're perfect for the job. You see, a lot of my employees have young children who spend the day in our care center or go there after school. I was hoping to hire some new employees, people who are passionate about something like art, cooking, or music to come in to spend time with the children during the day and teach them."

"I see... and you think I'm perfect for that job from just one look at me? Without even looking at my portfolio?"

"Ms. Archeron, off all the interviews I've conducted today, you have been the only one to dress appropriately for children and not an office. You're covered in paint, so you're clearly passionate, and I already have most of your portfolio hanging in my office or in the hallways."

[wekiaam]

2D NEWSIES: What I would change

I just realised I've been making fake concept art for a nonexistent animated Newsies adaptation for four years now. Over time, I've been getting so many ideas for this adaptation if it ever became real, I thought I would share them with you guys! This includes story changes, cut and additional songs and ideas for characters and style. I would love to know your thoughts on these!

When I started making concept art for "2dsies" as I came to be called, I intended for it to be based on the Broadway version and the Broadway version only. However, stories on stage differ a lot from stories told on screen, it just doesn't work the same way. I do still prefer the storyline of Broadway Newsies, but I think the best version would be a combination of the best parts of all different versions, plus some necessary changes. I would want Newsies to be a love letter to every production we've had, to everyone who made happen and every theatre kid who's been geeking out over it since 1992, while also being its own standalone movie that can be enjoyed by anybody. I am in no way an adequate screenwriter, these are just a few suggestions I have for a better story!

Story

Like I said, the story will be based mainly on the Broadway storyline, meaning we still have Artist Jack, Katherine, and most elements from the show that aren't in the movie. It will, however, be quite different from the show and the movie, and maybe add some more of the real events from the newsboy strike. There are still some details and scenes I would like to add and some I would remove completely.

- I like the history lesson opening from the movie, it gives people just enough background information on the real historical events the story is based on. I don't know if it should be Racetrack or Jack narrating, though.

- In Santa Fe (prologue), Crutchie mentions he's afraid the other boys will find out about his bad leg, even though they all literally know him as Crutchie, and it seems to be the first time Jack tells him about his dream of going to Santa Fe, even though they've clearly been best friends for a long time. It feels off, UNLESS they only just met, which is why I love @raggedy-albert 's theory so much. I would have the scene start off with them as kids, and have them grow up throughout the song.

- I want to add a scene in the beginning of Katherine at the New York Sun to establish her character and motivations, and possibly a little foreshadowing. Just an idea for a scene; she goes to the editor to let him read her story covering the trolley strike, but he reminds her of "her place" and that she's lucky enough to be in the position she's in and that she should go review a vaudeville or something. This would not only give her a similar motivation to the newsies, but also, if we're gonna bring the women's rights movement into the story let's do it right!

- Of course I'd also like to add more romantic interactions between Jack and Katherine, to make their relationship more believable. However, I don't think they should be a couple immediately after the finale, I was more thinking of an open ending to their relationship where Jack takes his first step to staying in New York by finally asking her out.

- Maybe add the actual scene where Jack and Davey visit Brooklyn instead of having them tell the other newsies what Spot said right before Seize the Day. Show don't tell, you know?

- A scene where Jack visits Crutchie at the refuge, similar to the one in the movie, but with the sadness Jack describes it with in the show. Again, show, don't tell. Show me how Jack visits the place of his nightmares again only to find his best friend in a worse state than ever and being unable to save him.

- Katherine punches Jack after the rally. Give it to me.

- Additional scene after Jack and Katherine's song after the rally where Jack formally apologizes to the newsies. Because in the show it just cuts from "omg he's a sellout *spits on the floor*" to "yay captain Jack is back" and it just doesn't sit right with me.

Songs

- There should be an entirely new Pulitzer song. The Bottom Line is good but by far the most skippable song on the cast recording, and The News Is Getting Better (the off broadway cut song) is a little Better but not quite the evil capitalist song we need.

- Swap Something to Believe In for When I See You Again. It's such a sweet song and I think it suits Jack and Katherine a lot better. It's much more "Neither of us know what tomorrow brings but when I'm with you I know we can change things for the better, even if it's scary but for now let's be here together and forget the world for a bit" instead of "I love you but I'm still gonna chase my cowboy dreams"

- Cut Letter From The Refuge, since my idea was to have this be a scene instead.

- Some lyric changes!

In Santa Fe: "Crutchie's callin' me, he's fine, just too damn slow"

In Once And For All: add this lyric from the movie, "Better to die than to crawl".

In Seize the Day: "Friends of the friendless seize the day, raise up the torch and light the way", not in the song but in the reprise where all the working children of the city gather before the finale.

Additional: "Still it seems like the dream of a boy, not a man", from The Truth About The Moon, a cut song from the movie that was supposed to be sung by Sarah. I don't know where I would put this lyric, but it could be said or sung by Jack as he realises what he's really looking for is not actually Santa Fe.

Characters:

- I want to add more girls to the background newsies, first of all.

- Sarah still won't do anything for the plot, but Davey and Les could mention that they have a sister. She's still canon to me.

- Speaking of Les, let's make him more likeable and also more helpful.

- Snyder has two scary dogs with him at all times.

- Just and idea, maybe Denton could still be a character if we replace Darcy with him, or maybe combine the two. Have him be Katherine's chaperone and friend formally, but also her reporter bestie. They could be a fun journalist duo!

Style

- The movie will still include the iconic choreography, which means it couldn't be fully 2D, but rather a mix between hand drawn and CGI.

-I would love for the backgrounds in the movie to be similar to impressionist and romantic art styles from the 19th century, to really sell how it's a story told from Jack's perspective. Especially his dream-like imaginations of Santa Fe would be brilliant in this style.

- I want to include a lot of weather foreshadowing. Rain right before Seize The Day and the sun breaking through when Davey starts singing. Mist surrounding Snyder and sudden darkness whenever he's near. A beautiful sunset when Jack and Katherine are alone on the rooftop. And of course, partly cloudy, clear by evening. It's such a cool way of visual storytelling when you have a plot that has no magic involved, like in most Disney movies.

- The real people characters' designs (Pulitzer, Hearst, Roosevelt) can be based on political cartoon caricature versions of themselves.

And lastly, quotes from the movie I liked that could be inspiring for the animated movie:

-"When I created the World..." "🙄" and "Where was I?" "You created the World, chief?"

- "No, we'll be just a bunch of angry kids with no money"

-"What, you couldn't stay away?" "Well I guess I can't be something I ain't." "A scab?" "No, smart."

Many of these ideas are still in development. Some might work, some may not, but I will be basing any future work I'll post on here on these ideas. I would love to see you guys  discuss and add on to these!