#or she used her own mannequin/measurements to make these gowns

[praetorqueenreyna]

Why doesn't anybody talk about Rhysand's insanely obvious Oedipus complex???

[shmaptainwrites]

𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐈 [𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐎𝐍]

PAIRINGS — Violet Bridgerton x fem!seamstress!Reader

SUMMARY — Madame Delacroix expands her business with a French seamstress and Violet is the first customer.

WORD COUNT — 6.2K

WARNINGS — 18+ NSFW MDNI, it’s just gay sex guys idk what to tell you, French dialogue used throughout (minimally but context helps explain)

NOTE — I feel obligated to tell you that this fic is in part inspired by a song I listen to on repeat, although I don’t think the French guys that wrote it realized it would be the catalyst for a sapphic fanfic

Lady Violet Bridgerton was never one for last minute endeavours. That wasn’t to say she didn’t appreciate a little spontaneity every now and again, but surely she preferred when things were planned and she was prepared. 

So it shocked her, of all things, that she could be the reason for her own unpreparedness. In reality, her family’s circumstances — with Francesca’s departure to Scotland, Anthony and Kate’s travels to India, and Colin and Penelope’s honeymoon — were the real cause of her scattered brain, but she still blamed herself of course. 

It was with a very apologetic look that she entered the modiste, hopeful that Madame Delacroix might be able to fit her in for a last minute appointment so that she could have a dress made for an upcoming ball. 

“Unfortunately, I will not be able to help you, Lady Bridgerton,” the seamstress said and Violet cursed internally, “but I have a colleague who has just arrived from France to help me since business has been so-err plentiful.” 

“Oh!” Violet was pleasantly surprised, blinking her eyes a few times, thinking something was better than nothing at this point. “Would she be able to see me?” 

“She is just getting settled, but I am sure she can make some time for a very loyal customer who I am sure has been just as busy as me recently,” Madame Delacroix gave Violet a friendly smile which was bashfully returned. 

She asked Violet to wait for a moment, going to the back where Violet could hear some quiet chatter before Madame Delacroix returned with you by her side. 

“Lady Bridgerton, this is Madame Bisset.” 

Violet had to remind herself to move her head up and down in a polite nod, her eyes glued so intensely to yours. She wouldn’t be surprised if her mouth was slightly agape like that of a fish, but she could have sworn she’d never seen anything as beautiful in her entire life.

“I have a space upstairs,” you explained. “It is still a little messy. I hope you do not mind.” 

“I-” Violet’s voice came out strained and she coughed and cleared her throat. “No, that will not be a problem.” 

“Perfect, right this way, Madame,” you motioned for her to follow you, going into the back of the shop, climbing up a set of narrow stairs until you reached the top, revealing to Violet another workspace she hadn’t seen before. 

Like you had already mentioned, it was a little rough around the edges, fabric was still pouring out of boxes, a few mannequins were tucked away in the corner, but there was a nice carpeted area in the middle of the room with a raised platform and a large mirror.

“Um, Madame Delacroix said you came from France recently,” Violet found herself beginning to talk. 

“Yes, I arrived just one week ago,” you explained. “I heard there is quite the market for dress making in London and I was looking for a bit of a change.” 

“I hope you enjoy it here,” Violet smiled. “Lord knows the ton cannot get enough of a good modiste.” 

“That is what I am relying on.” you chuckled, and motioned for her to step up on the platform. “Now, what is it you are looking for, Lady Bridgerton?” 

“Just an evening gown, for an upcoming ball,” she said, finding herself unable to break her gaze from you, watching as you brought out a measuring tape and looked through some boxes of fabric. 

“Any preferences?” you asked. “We just had this lovely fabric come in, I think it would look quite stunning on you.” 

Once you had found it, you pulled it out of the box with a smile and came to drape it over Violet’s shoulder so she could see it on herself. You smoothed out the fabric along her front and she almost felt herself stagger back at the gentle and light pressure over her chest and midsection. 

“What do you think?” 

She blinked a few times, like she was trying to get her eyes to work again, taking in the blushy pink fabric with darker pink paisley embroidery. 

“Yes, it’s quite nice,” her voice came out a whisper. 

“Perfect,” you smiled. “Then I will take your measurements and you can be on your way.” 

Measurements. Violet wasn’t sure if she’d be able to make it through that. 

There was something electric about your touch, even when your fingers were simply hovering over her, she could feel sparks sending signals to her heart, beating faster until she could hear it pounding in her ears. 

Violet had always known attraction to be strong and forceful, but this was bordering on violent. 

She watched as you adjusted the measuring tape in your hands, first starting with the length from her shoulder to her ankle. You worked with much concentration and diligence, and for that Violet was grateful, because it meant that maybe you wouldn’t notice how each time she felt your hands against her she would have to centre herself and remind herself how to breathe, repeating the words in and out over and over again in her head. 

Eventually, you needed to take the measurements for her hips and bust and Violet knew if she didn’t distract herself somehow she might faint. 

“Um when will I-uh need to come in for adjustments?” she asked, just as your hands wrapped the tape from around her back to the front of her chest. 

“Currently you are my only customer,” you said. “I believe two days will be more than enough time for me to finish. After the adjustments are done I can have the dress sent to Bridgerton house if that is agreeable.” 

“Oh, um, no there is no need for that,” she shook her head. “I can pick it up. The home is quiet nowadays with most of my children off in every corner of Lord knows where,” she chuckled nervously. “It’s nice to get out of the house and get some fresh air, perhaps get some tea, go for a stroll.” 

“Yes of course, whatever suits you, Madame,” you nodded your head. “And I believe we are finished for today.” 

Violet gave you a sheepish smile and stepped down from the platform. 

“Thank you, Madame Bisset. I am not normally this-uh disorganized,” she explained. “I promise next time I will plan things much better.” 

“Lady Bridgerton, I love what I do, really it is no trouble. Come any time to see me.” 

Violet lightly chewed on the side of her bottom lip, looking down at her feet, her hands moving to her stomach, perhaps to remind herself that she was standing. 

“I will keep that in mind,” she nodded and wished you a final goodbye before walking down the stairs and exiting the modiste, grateful now for the air outside more than she thought she had ever been in her life. 

—

Two days later, Violet returned anxiously for her alterations. When she entered the modiste she was surprised to see you already downstairs, looking through some drawers for something. 

You heard the ring of the shop bell and looked up from where you were hunched over, a welcoming smile gracing your face. 

“Lady Bridgerton,” you greeted.

“Madame Bisset, it is good to see you.” 

Her mind drifted back to the image of you moments ago, bent over an open drawer. It certainly was good to see you. 

“Did I drop in at a bad time?” she asked. 

“Not at all, I was just getting some lace for the hem of the dress and around the sleeves and neckline. I thought it might be nice to try, no?” 

Violet nodded, she would simply say yes to anything that either gave her an excuse to be with you longer or to come back more often. 

You led her upstairs to your workspace again, and this time when she entered she realized it was noticeably cleaner and more organized than last time. 

Boxes were replaced by racks of fabrics and shelves had been uncovered to host a myriad of little things, all of which she was sure you’d find use for in due time. 

“Should I help with the dress, Madame?” you motioned to her outfit and Violet gulped. 

“Y-yes, I suppose that would be…necessary,” she nodded her head and you moved to close the door for the workspace and lock it to ensure privacy while Violet stood up on the slightly raised platform in front of the mirror. 

You had come to stand behind her, your fingers carefully fitting themselves between her sleeve and shoulder, helping her slip one arm out at a time before pulling it down slightly over her chest and guiding the fabric to the ground so she could step out of it. 

It was something she’d done in front of other women countless times, but never had she felt this vulnerable and exposed. She looked down and saw the hairs on her arm stand on end, only to be followed by a slight jolt when she felt your hand against her corseted waist.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized with a chuckle. “I just need…” your voice trailed off as you looked down at her feet and she realized she needed to step out of her dress. 

A rosy colour quickly made its way onto her cheeks as she stepped out of her dress so you could hang it up for her and bring the new dress for her to try on. 

She stepped into the pink fabric and tried to make sure her body made no involuntary movements as she felt your hands graze along her sides, helping each bare arm slip into a sleeve, now finally covered again. 

“Hmm,” you stood in front of her and analyzed the way the fabric fit. “It is a little loose here, no?” you asked, tightening the fabric around her chest slightly so that it was more in line with the shape of her corset. 

“I suppose, maybe, yes,” she nodded, “I-I’m sorry, but do you have any water?” Violet asked.”I-I’m feeling a little parched.” 

“Oh of course,” you nodded, letting go of her dress and walking to a pitcher and some glasses you had set to the side, filling one up for her before bringing it back. 

She tried her best to drink it graciously, but there was nothing more she wanted to do than down the whole glass in one shot. Once she was finished, you took the glass from her and set it aside, picking up the lace you had brought up with you, to present your suggestion.

“I was thinking maybe we can put it around the hem of the dress, like this,” you showed her, bending down and lifting the skirt just slightly to tuck some of the lace under it so it was peeking throughout the bottom. 

“Oh,” Violet raised her brows as she looked in the mirror. “I actually quite like that.” 

“So do I,” you nodded, standing back up, “And I thought maybe the arms…” 

You tried the same thing with the sleeves and, again, it suited the look of the dress. Lastly, you placed it around the neckline, moving to hold it up from behind her so she could see. 

Violet thought at that moment it was probably better not to breathe at all considering if she did, with the restriction of her corset her heaving chest would be quite obvious. 

“Mmm, je n’aime pas ça,” you shook your head, your voice soft and close to her ear. 

“I-I’m sorry?” 

Violet had spent most of her younger years learning French, but for some reason, the entirety of the language had escaped her. 

“I do not like the lace here,” you switched back to English, removing the lace and pulling the fabric a little tighter around her bust, pinning it in place with the pins from your pin cushion. “It is better like this.” 

“You think so?” she asked quietly, feeling herself swallow harshly after she finished speaking. 

“I know so, Madame,” you nodded. “Why would one hide such perfect skin?” 

Violet looked in the mirror at what you were referring to, her chest littered with freckles and spots. 

“I hardly think it is perfect,” she shook her head. 

“It would be like covering a starry sky with clouds,” you offered. “One cannot gaze at the stars and wonder about the universe on a cloudy night.” 

Violet chuckled nervously and looked down at the floor for a moment.

“Madame Bisset, I think you mistake how many people are gazing.”

“You would be surprised,” you gently placed your hand on her arm, rubbing up and down in a reassuring motion. 

She could feel the fabric of the sleeves move against her arm in response to your touch and it caused a warmth to spread in the pit of her stomach. 

You moved to grab a container with a few more pins and began seeing where adjustments needed to be made and dealt with the fabric accordingly. Violet felt herself easily growing restless, her fingers fiddling around with the small bits of thread sticking out of the end of the sleeves. 

“So, um, where does the name Bisset come from? What I mean to say is what area of France?” she quickly clarified. 

“Bisset does not belong to a region,” you explained. “It means one who weaves.” 

“Oh, how fitting,” Violet hummed. 

“It is not my real name,” you admitted. “Just something I picked up for work.” 

Violet bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to let her curiosity get the best of her, but when she heard your quiet chuckle from behind her, she tried to turn her head to look back at you. 

“What is it?” 

“It is okay, you want to know what my name actually is,” you said. “You can ask.” 

And so she did, and for the first time she heard your name. She tested it in her own voice, like she was savouring having your name on her tongue, burned into her mind. 

“Mine is Violet,” she said quietly. 

“Violet,” your French pronunciation of her name made her feel a shiver behind her neck, or maybe that was simply your breath against her skin. “Un nom joli pour une personne même plus jolie.”

Violet blushed at your admission, and you grinned. 

“So you understand me then?” 

She nodded her head. 

“Then what did I say?” you teased her a little, while adding a few more pins, now along the length of the sleeves. 

Violet looked at you as if to ask if you were really going to make her say it out loud, and when you didn’t seem to back down she caved. 

“You said that it was a beautiful name for a beautiful person,” she said before pressing her lips together. 

“Close,” you looked up at her. “A beautiful name for an even more beautiful person.” 

“You flatter me too much,” Violet shook her head. 

“In my experience, a dress is only as beautiful as the person wearing it,” you said. “It is always a pleasure to make something for someone who shines just as brightly as the fine fabrics and silks. Even more so when they believe it.” 

You put in the last pin and looked content with your work. 

“I should have this ready by tomorrow,” you told her. “You still wish to pick it up?” 

“Yes,” she nodded with a smile. 

“Alright, let me help you change so that you can be on your way.” 

Carefully, you helped Violet take off the dress, conscious to make sure none of the pins pricked her, and after she stepped out of the dress, you put it on your work table, getting what dress she came with and helping her slip back into it. 

“I will see you tomorrow then, in the afternoon, in case anything comes up,” you said and she smiled. 

“Tomorrow afternoon it is, Madame.” 

“Au revoir,” you gave her a small wave and again, she held her hands against her stomach. 

“Au revoir.” 

—

Violet wasn’t sure she’d ever gotten so many compliments on a dress as she had on what you’d made for her. There was something new and cutting about it and much to her surprise, it became very hard to book an appointment with either you or Madame Delacroix afterwards. 

News had spread to the rest of the ton of you and your talents, and everyone wanted a piece. 

It wasn’t until a few weeks later that Violet managed to get herself in for another appointment, needing a dress for a wedding along with a few odds and ends she thought with all this uncertainty she may as well get done now.

When she arrived at the modiste, it was overflowing with people. She never thought she had seen it so busy and she wondered if it was really all from that simple pink dress. Although the dress itself wasn’t necessarily simple, it was elegant in its style, its function, and of course, it had a certain je ne sais quoi.

“Lady Bridgerton,” you grinned, seeing Violet enter the shop. “I believe I have you to thank for all this business. Both Genviève and I do.” 

“Oh, I didn’t do any of the work,” she shook her head. “I simply wore it.” 

“And you wore it well, which is half of the battle,” you chuckled. “Come, I am always happy to see my favourite customer.” 

Violet’s heart warmed when you called her your favourite, a sense of pride overcoming her. Still out of all of the young debutantes and busy mamas, she somehow remained at the top of your list. 

When you arrived at your workspace, closing the door behind you and walking further inside and let out a small breath of air, a bright smile came over your face. 

“How can I help you today?” 

“I need a dress for a wedding,” she began, “along with a few other things.” 

“Such as?” you pressed. 

“Some clothes for the country, a few dresses for home, and some new night clothes. I was thinking perhaps a robe and a nightgown or two.” 

“Madame, you are keeping my hands busy,” you smiled. “Now I already have the measurements I will need for the dress, so we can pick fabrics, then maybe I can show you some things I have already made in case something catches your eye and we can make alterations and then fill in any gaps after.” 

“Sounds splendid to me,” she nodded. 

“Parfait,” you grinned and clapped your hands together. “What colour are you thinking for the dress you will wear to the wedding?” 

“I usually stick to blue,” she said. “It was the colour my late husband’s family used a lot, but…” she paused. 

“You’re thinking of something else,” you put your hands on your hips. “Purple.” 

“How did you know?” she looked at you a little astounded, a small chuckle coming past her lips, lacing her words with a certain playfulness. 

“A suspicion,” you shrugged with a teasing wink. “Now light or dark?”

“Light, it is getting warmer outside after all.” 

You rummaged through some things and pulled out a few swatches of fabric for her to choose from. 

“They are all nice,” Violet chewed on her lip while trying to decide. “What do you think?” 

You took a long look at the collection in front of you and then looked up at Violet, sizing up each swatch to the woman in front of you, fabricating the dress in your mind’s eye until you figured out which one you liked the most.

“This one, I think.”

You held out a simple silky fabric for her. 

“I can add something to it, a design, some beads,” you said. “But I like this colour on you.” 

“I will leave it up to you,” she said. “I am sure I will be happy with whatever you make. Surely, the rest of the ton is.” 

You chuckled and placed the fabric back down. 

“Now some of those other things,” you motioned for her to follow you. 

You showed her a few dresses to see what ones she might be interested in taking with her to the country. Some were made with simple cotton for days spent resting inside the house in the off season. Once she had decided which she liked, you set them aside to make sure they were properly fitted for her. 

“And nightclothes?” you asked. “What about something like this?” 

You pulled out a particularly sheer gown, probably meant for someone on their honeymoon, or maybe at the very least with someone to share it with. 

“Um,  I am not sure I am the right fit for that,” she chuckled nervously, knowing her resolve with you already wore thin, hoping you would accept her reasoning and move on to something more modest. 

“Why not?” you asked.

“I am a widow, Madame, I wouldn’t have anyone to wear it for,” she said truthfully. 

“You could wear it for yourself,” you said. 

Violet tilted her head and blinked, “Myself?” 

“Ben oui,” you nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Who said you have to wear something for someone else?” 

Violet chewed on her cheek. She supposed she wasn’t really wearing anything for anyone but herself at the moment. 

“It is okay to wear something that makes you feel beautiful even if you are the only one to see it,” you reassured her. “If you do not think you would feel beautiful in this, now that is something different.” 

Violet pressed her lips together. It had been so long since she had worn something other than a simple cotton nightdress, but there was something alluring about wearing something that matched her desire, even if she would end up being the only one to see it. 

“And the fitting for this?” she asked. 

“We could do it right now, if you wish,” you said. 

“L-Like for alterations?” she looked at you wide-eyed.

“Mhmm,” you nodded, draping the dress over your arm, ignoring her surprise. 

She looked between the dress and herself a few times, contemplating whether or not she should do it, or more, whether she could handle it. 

Wearing it for herself was one thing, but wearing it in front of you was something else. 

She nervously scratched behind her ear, thinking in her mind that it might be best to pass on this for the moment, but when she opened her mouth to speak, she said,

“Alright then.” 

You smiled and turned to go back to where you would do the alterations and Violet blinked hard, processing what had just left her mouth. 

“Are you coming, Madame?” 

Violet looked over at you and nodded, slowly walking over to the platform. 

Similar to before, you helped her out of her dress, and she stood in front of you again in her corset and undergarments, but this time after her dress was placed off to the side, your fingers nimbly worked on the laces on her back, deftly loosening the material and unravelling it until it was loose around her. 

Violet, not quite ready to let go, held it up from the front, noticing her breathing becoming shakier by the second. 

“I can take that for you,” you extended your hand out for her corset and she swallowed thickly. 

It took her a few moments to remember how to work her hands again, carefully peeling the material away from her chest and handing it to you, unsure of what to do with her arms before deciding her best option was to cross them over her chest. 

When you returned, you came to stand in front of Violet, the nightgown in your hands, ready to help her put it on. You looked down at her crossed arms then back up at her blue eyes and her cheeks flushed before moving her hands and lifting them above her head so you could slip the fabric over her. 

The hem of the dress stopped at her knees, much shorter than anything she was used to wearing. The slight blue colour almost enhanced the sheerness of the fabric and Violet tried to take it all in, running a hand down her midsection, noticing how she could see her bellybutton.

She tried not to focus on how she could feel your gaze burning into what felt like her very soul. 

“What do you think of the fit?” she asked quietly. 

You pursed your lips. 

“I like how it fits around here,” you ran your hands along both sides of her waist down to her hips. “Less, up here.”

Your hands migrated to the fabric barely covering her breasts and she could have sworn she let out a small squeak, feeling your fingers brush against her. Her suspicion was confirmed when you spoke. 

“Everything alright, Madame?” you looked up at her. 

“Fine,” she whispered. 

“T’es sûre?” you murmured, stepping a little closer and adjusting the straps over her shoulders. 

“Mhmm,” she almost whimpered, pressing her lips together and looking up at the ceiling. “I’m fine, it is just a little chilly up here,” she said. “You know when you get cold, you um…you feel things more.” 

You nodded your head. 

“That is not to say it was cold before, I am just cold now because-” 

“Tais toi.” 

Violet blinked. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me,” you looked up at her and placed a finger under her chin. “I said tais toi.” 

Despite Violet’s shock that you had essentially told her to shut up, she found herself speaking still.

“Really?” she began. “You won’t even use le vous poli?” she asked, referring to your less polite and more informal grammar choice. 

“Why would I use that when everything I want to do to you is very, very impolite?” you whispered, merely millimeters away from her mouth, your breath mingling with hers. 

Violet wasn’t sure what overcame her, she grabbed your hands, placing them over her breasts, her mouth agape as shaky breaths fanned over your face. 

With that permission, you brushed your thumbs on top of the fabric, over her nipples, her whimper deliciously clouding your senses, encouraging you to do it again. 

“If you are really so set on wearing this for someone,” you gripped her tighter, eliciting a surprised gasp, your lips travelling closer to her ear. “You could wear it for me, ma belle.” 

Violet hummed and leaned her head against yours, feeling you move along her until your foreheads were pressed together, noses brushing against each other. 

“We shouldn’t,” Violet breathed. 

“We shouldn’t,” you shook your head, still moving closer until you captured her lips with yours. Her hands found their way to your waist, narrowly avoiding your pin cushion, pulling you against her, your thumbs still gently massaging over her breasts, content hums and soft moans echoing in your mouth as you kissed her. 

When you pulled away, you pressed your forehead against Violet’s again, your eyes shut. 

“You have another appointment don’t you?” Violet whispered and you nodded and she had to bite back the whine that wanted to escape. 

“Come back tonight,” you murmured, your hands moving to hold both sides of Violet’s face, a reassurance. “Two doors down.” 

“W-What would I tell my carriage driver?” 

“Pick your most discreet one,” you whispered, pressing your lips to hers again in a much softer kiss. 

She nodded her head and when you pulled apart further and she opened her eyes, she could see you smiling back at her and she thought if you were so certain, maybe everything would be okay. 

It wasn’t until much later in the evening when Violet was standing outside your door, waiting for you to come and open it, that the reality of the situation fully set on her. She was caught in such a haze before, her stomach swirling with an all consuming nausea that was almost delightful. 

She felt her arms wrapping around herself tighter, nervously looking around to make sure there were no unwanted eyes watching her, until she heard the door open in front of her, bringing her attention back to the present. 

You were quick to wordlessly take her hand and bring her inside, closing the door behind you. 

“You are tense,” you remarked, holding her hand in both of yours, gently massaging its back with your thumbs. 

Violet was unsure of what to expect, but she did know wherever this led, she wanted to follow it, to chase that staggering violent feeling until she couldn’t take it any more. 

“I just didn’t want anyone to see,” she whispered. “I am fine.” 

You smiled. “Bien.” 

You helped her take off her cloak, biting your bottom lip when you saw what she was wearing underneath. 

“C’est jolie,” you hummed. “But I think I am more excited to see what is underneath.” 

Violet chuckled nervously, feeling a certain heat come to her cheeks. She let herself be pulled into you when you took your hand in hers, melting into the kiss that followed, allowing you to lead her through the hallway and into what she assumed was a bedroom. 

Her suspicions were fully confirmed when she felt the back of her legs hit a plush mattress, making her fall back, only to be gently lowered the rest of the way by you, now leaning over top of her. 

“W-Wait,” Violet whispered.

“Hmm?” you looked at her patiently. “Ça va?”

“What happens next?” she asked. 

“Do you want me to explain it to you?”

You tilted your head to look at her and she nodded. 

“First I take this off,” you murmured, working at the series of ribbons in the front of her dress that kept it tied shut. 

She watched as you undid each one, single handedly, revealing more and more of her bare skin until your hand came and fully pushed both parts of the fabric aside, leaving her exposed in front of you. 

“Then I listen,” you kissed her jaw. “Your breathing, your body, it…tells me things.” 

One hand moved to cup her breast and she sighed. 

“Like that,” you smiled. “And I follow that, I see where it takes me.”

You pinched her nipple between your thumb and pointer finger and she arched slightly into your touch. Carefully, you twisted it between your fingers, your mouth trailing its kisses down her neck and chest, until eventually your mouth replaced your fingers, tongue swirling and teeth grazing against the soft and sensitive flesh. 

Violet let out a breath of air, a whine caught in the back of her throat as she arched further into you, her hand coming to hold your head against her. 

With a gentle kiss, you paused your mouth’s movements, taking your hand from where it rested against her waist, dragging it across her stomach. 

“Next,” you began, “No, it is too vulgar in English,” you shook your head. 

“Tell me in French,” she begged. “Dit-le moi, s’il vous plaît.” 

You smiled and kissed her breast again. 

“Since you asked so nicely.” 

Your finger trailed a little lower, now tracing lines across the base of her stomach, the skin there soft and stretched from many pregnancies, and oh so precious. 

“Je prends mes doigts,” your fingers moved even lower, the blood pumping to Violet’s head so fast she thought she might faint. “Et je les appuie ici.”

“Oh!” she moaned, her head turned to the side, your thumb firmly against her, massaging in slow tantalizing and tortuous circles.

“Mais, je préfère les mettre comme ça.” 

Violet gasped, your name on her lips as she felt your fingers inside her, beginning a slow and steady pace that her body seemed to match with the movement of her hips. 

“Is this good, or do you want more?” you asked her, not stopping the movement of your hand and fingers. 

“More, please,” she breathed. 

“En Français, ma belle.” 

“S-S’il vous plaît.” 

“Bien sûre,” you smiled and increased your pace, fingers carefully searching until they found the intense response they were seeking from Violet. 

“There,” she nodded her head, eyes squeezed shut. “Mmm.” 

She pressed her lips together so tightly you could have sworn they went white. 

You listened to her instructions, continuing to work at that spot, leaning over top of her, feeling her breathing pick up with each fan of warm breath over your face. You pressed a few kisses to her jaw, your ear right next to her mouth, listening intently as breathing turned into moans that didn’t stop. 

You could feel the heat radiating off of every part of her, clouding your own senses, encouraging you further to push her over that edge, eager movements guiding her until her mind went blissfully blank, her back arched towards you while you slowed your hand, her breathing much more ragged than before until you carefully removed your fingers. 

Wiping them carefully on the sheets next to her, you then took her face in your hand, pressing a slow kiss to her lips. 

Violet hummed into your lips, like she wanted to say something so you pulled away, watching her finally open her eyes once more. 

“Can I?” she whispered. 

“Can you what, chèrie?” 

“Do that for you?” she asked. “Teach me.” 

You grinned, leaning down and capturing her lips in another kiss. 

When you pulled apart this time, she pushed herself up on her forearms, watching as you moved to sit next to her. She knew the first step, her hand brushing against the sleeve of your nightgown, pushing it off your shoulder, studying how your skin felt against her fingers. 

You took your arm out of your sleeve and waited for her to do the same with the opposite side before tugging the sides down until the fabric pooled at your hips. 

She leaned in to kiss you, guiding you to lie back on the mattress before her hands came back to the fabric, pulling it completely off of you. 

She took a moment to admire you in front of her, feeling that same intense pull towards you as she did when you had first become acquainted. 

With her lips against yours once more, she hooked her fingers around the top of your underwear, pulling it down as her lips detached from yours so she could finish the job. 

She leaned over top of you, her brown hair falling in waves on either side of her head, the soft fabric of her robe-like dress, creating a curtain around her, but her body still on full display for you. 

You couldn’t help but reach out and snake a hand around her waist, your thumb brushing back and forth in small motions. 

“Tell me,” she whispered. “What do I do next?” 

You moved your hand up from her waist tracing along her side and down her arm, until her wrist was in your hands. 

“You can touch me here.”  

You placed her hand on your breast. “Or here.” 

Your hand moved hers lower, only hovering over your core. 

“Or anywhere that feels right when you listen.” 

She nodded her head slowly, your hand finishing its guidance as she watched with bated breath, your eyes closed anticipatorily, small shaky breaths coming past your lips as her fingers made contact and you finally let go of her wrist. 

Violet tucked some of her hair behind her ear with her free hand before letting herself feel and explore you. 

She paid close attention, listening to what sounds filled the air, a small smile coming to her lips when you moaned her name. 

She moved so her thumb replaced her fingers, continuing to brush against that spot that seemed to make your face twist and contort in beautiful ways she’d never seen before. 

Violet became curious, her other hand moving to cup your breast, brushing her thumb over your nipple, noticing the new reaction it had brought, a groan and a plea for more. 

Both of her thumbs worked in tandem on different parts of your body, pulling your focus in two directions, back and forth with no end in sight.

Violet was entranced by you, squirming slightly under her touch, the fact that she was the one making you feel this way, like you had no control. The only thing possible for you to do was let her know how much you wanted, no, needed her. 

“Violet,” you whimpered. “Please, m-more.” 

Violet smiled devilishly and leaned down, her lips ghosting your ear. 

“En Français.”

“S’il vous plaît, Violet, mon Dieu,” you groaned before she increased the intensity of her ministrations. 

Her hand moved from your breast up to your face, holding it up so she could kiss you as her thumb worked against you, a warmth spreading in her stomach as you moaned into her mouth, your hips meeting her touch until you were gripping onto Violet for dear life as the only hope of reminding yourself you were, in fact, still on earth. 

She stopped a little more abruptly than you would have liked, still thrumming with pleasure, and holding her close. 

“Was that right?” she teased and when you finally looked up at her, grabbing her chin with your thumb and forefinger, pulling her down in a kiss, your last words, a mutter against her lips. 

“Tais toi.” 

TAGLIST —

@paola-carter @madde11 @thesamesweetie @cherrysxuya @philocalistwrites @mako-mermaids2021 @oh-mydarling @courtneyteal @amethyst-bitch

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Nia just needed a friend to do a hard mall trip. Trying out dresses. For a formal dance. And hey, maybe Lena and Kara are mad at each other but... She just needs Lena okay?

When Lena receives a call from an unknown number, she almost ignores it. But just enough people spread her phone number that she answers it on the off chance it might be someone who needs her.

“Lena Luthor, how can I help you?”

“Lena, please don’t hang up.”

The voice is familiar, but Lena can’t place it until the voice continues.

“It’s Nia. Nia Nal? And I know--” Lena almost hangs up right then-- not because it’s Nia, but because Nia treads dangerously close to a subject Lena is dead set on avoiding. Almost. “I know you have no reason to take my call, but… I need your help.”

Lena almost hangs up. She doesn’t.

“What do you need?”

---

The crisis, Lena learns, is that Nia has been given the assignment of her life covering the Golden Globes ceremony being hosted in downtown National City, but has nothing even remotely appropriate to wear. The mundanity of it all is so far from what Lena expects that it’s long moments before the words fully register.

“Uh, Lena…?”

“I’m here,” Lena says quickly, clearing her throat. She leans forward in her chair, rattling off an address. “Meet me there tomorrow at 11am.”

The next day, a few minutes after eleven, Nia walks up to Lena outside of Sylvie with hesitation all over her face. “Lena?”

Lena tucks her phone away and turns towards Nia with a professional but bright grin. “Nia, you made it.”

“Uhm, yeah actually… I kinda thought I’d gotten lost…”

Lena looks at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Lena, I can’t afford anything on this boulevard, are you crazy??”

Oh.

“You’re not paying,” Lena says simply.

Wide eyes blink at her in shock. “What? No! No, Lena, I can’t ask you to do that--”

“I’m offering.”

“Look, I was thinking we could just go to the mall--”

“The mall.”

Nia quails under Lena’s judgement, and Lena softens.

“Nia, you are about to be on the red carpet, covering an event that could catapult your career into the stratosphere. I think that warrants something a little more than what a department store can offer.”

“But…” Nia continues to protest, but uncertainty colors her features, and Lena knows she’s slipped under her guard. Carefully, Lena places a hand on Nia’s wrist.

“I won’t force you to accept what I’m offering,” she says gently. “But calling a Luthor for help means calling for a Luthor solution-- and nothing says Luthor more than shopping at the best boutique in town.”

Nia nods, but she ducks her chin with a swallow. “It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“I don’t want you to think that’s why I called, you know?” Nia expels a sigh, working a harried hand through her hair. “It’s just that Kara was supposed to come with me for moral support, but she’s had to cancel four times and the ceremony is in three days and if Andrea hears one more time that I don’t have a dress, she’s going to kill me…”

“Nia,” Lena says softly. Nia stops, and meets Lena’s gaze with a hesitant one of her own. “I would never think you were calling for a hand out. I’m offering.” Nia still looks uncertain, but Lena holds her gaze. “You asked for help… so let me help.”

Nia considers her words, studying Lena carefully. Finally, she wraps her arms around herself with a steadying sigh. “If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure.”

Nia follows a few paces behind as Lena turns and approaches the door to the shop, lingering to let Lena be the one to press the buzzer to be allowed in. But as they near, the door opens for them, ready and waiting to admit them.

Luthors don’t use buzzers.

“Welcome to Sylvie.” A pair of well groomed attendants relieve them of their purses, exchanging their bags for a couple flutes of champagne offered by a third.

“Thank you,” Lena replies easily, well versed in the practice. Nia fumbles a step behind, her movements stiff and uncertain. Instead of moving directly into the belly of the store as she usually did, Lena lingers, allowing Nia the chance to take in the shop for the first time. The showroom looks much like any other, as could be glimpsed through the windows, styled with clean lines and immaculately dressed mannequins. The true Sylvie experience, however, happens further in, beyond the curtains that separate the dressing rooms from the rest of the store.

“If you’ll follow me, ladies, I’ll show you to your dressing room.”

Lena wonders what Nia expected as they approached one of the curtained off areas. Perhaps a cramped alcove like the hollywood thrift stores shown in coming-of-age films, where your elbows knocked the walls as you changed and you’d be lucky to find a stool to put your own clothes. Certainly it isn’t the plush, spacious room that awaits them, if Nia’s wide eyes are anything to go by.

Charnelle waits for them at the curtain. “Welcome, ladies,” she greets, parting the curtain so that Lena and Nia can slip inside. “Lena, lovely to see you again.”

“And you,” Lena returns.

“I’m Charnelle,” she introduces herself to Nia. “Wonderful to meet you. I’ll be assisting the two of you today.”

“Thankyousomuch,” Nia says in a rush, her shoulders tight as she shakes Charnelle’s offered hand.

Charnelle allows the curtains to close behind them, isolating them in their own little pocket of divine luxury. Lena settles herself on the central chaise lounge, folding her legs elegantly before her. Nia perches on the edge beside her, her gaze flicking to the small boudoir in one corner and another curtain that shields the actual changing area. Inside there, Lena knows Nia will find a plush bench to sit on as she undresses, and gold hangers to hold her clothes while she tries on various gowns. It’s designed to be beyond comfortable, a place where one could spend hours-- and lots and lots of money.

“So, what do you have for us today, Lena? Another benefit gala to dazzle?”

“Actually,” Lena replies, “Miss Nal here is covering the Golden Globes this week for CatCo Worldwide.”

“How exciting!” Charnelle rounds on Nia. “And what are you looking for in your gown?”

Caught with a mouthful of champagne, Nia freezes, then swallows audibly. “Um…” she coughs out. “Something nice? I probably shouldn’t be outdressing the stars or anything, so nothing too crazy?” She shrugs. “I don’t know, exactly.”

“Charnelle,” Lena intercedes, “could you bring us some formal options in black, maroon, or blue? Floor length, of course.”

Charnelle nods, beaming. “Absolutely.” She gives Nia a wink. “She has your colors nailed, honey. What are your measurements?”

Nia stares at them both. “Uh. A six, usually?”

“They’ll need your measurements to ensure a proper fit,” Lena delivers gently. “Do you mind if Charnelle--?”

“I’m trans!” Nia blurts, her chinks coloring a solid ear-to-ear pink. “Sorry,” she adds quietly. “But-- yeah. Just so you know.”

Lena stares, surprised more by the outburst than its content, but Charnelle takes it in stride. “So am I, baby girl,” she responds smoothly. “That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to have a dress that fits.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Nia finally, finally relaxes. She offers a shaky grin. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do this.”

Charnelle gives Nia’s wrist a squeeze on her way to the boudoir to pull a tape measure from the top drawer. While she’s busy, Lena catches Nia’s eye and lifts her glass in a silent cheers of support. Nia rewards her with a small smile, before Charnelle returns and makes quick work of measuring Nia’s bust, waist and hips.

“All right!” Charnelle chirps, wrapping up her tape. “I’ll be right back with some options. You two stay here and get comfortable, all right? I’ll be right back.”

She disappears, and Nia all but collapses onto the chaise next to Lena. “I can’t believe I did that,” she groans.

Lena pats her on the knee. “You’re all right. Sylvie only gets my business because they know the value of discretion.”

“Yeah.” Nia lifts her head with a hum, surveying the dressing room once more. “This is nice. Thank you for talking me into it.”

Lena smirks. “Just wait.”

As if on cue, the curtains part to admit not Charnelle, but the woman who’d offered them their drinks. This time, her tray holds an array of small finger sandwiches. “Refreshments?”

“Oh, wow!” Nia exclaims, quickly helping herself to three. “Okay, yeah. I could get used to this.”

Lena grins, snaring a cucumber sandwich for herself. “Thank you. And another round, if you could,” she adds, seeing Nia’s empty glass.

The woman nods. “Of course.”

When she has disappeared again, the dressing room fills with quiet, and Lena realizes that she doesn’t have a clue what to say. She’s gone shopping with her mother, and with Andrea, and in both cases the conversation flowed easily, for better or for worse. But she’s never been shopping with a girl several years her junior, and never one in the middle of Lena’s biggest heartbreak.

“It happened the last time I went shopping for a dress too,” Nia says, breaking the silence. “The anxiety about… you know. I guess something about formal wear brings out the worst of it.”

Unsure of how to respond, Lena looks at her. “When was the last time?”

Nia sighs. “Prom. I’d transitioned by then, and most people were used to me, but I didn’t have a date, and part of me just internalized it as a fixture of me not being girly enough, and not, you know, the fact I didn’t know how to talk to boys, let alone date them. I didn’t even know if it was worth it to go at all, and I just-- started crying, right there in the dress shop.”

“What happened then?” Lena asks gently.

Nia smiles fondly. “My mom. She just hugged me, and told me how proud she was to have such a beautiful, confident daughter. It was sort of embarrassing at the time, but… it was something I needed to hear, you know?”

She pauses then as the server returns with their champagne. Afte the woman dips out again, Lena nudges her. “And did you ever find a dress?”

Nia snorts, nodding. “Yeah. Like, two minutes after I calmed down I found my dream dress. And my friends and I had a blast at prom, so I’m glad I went after all.”

“Good,” Lena murmurs, sipping her drink. “Well, I can’t promise anything about a dream dress, but I’ll call it a win if we get out of here without any tears.”

“Cheers to that,” Nia concurs, lifting her own glass for a deep sip.

In that moment, Charnelle returns, wheeling a short cart of long dresses along with her.

“All right, ladies-- who’s ready to see some gowns?”

---

Nia settles on a bias-cut gown of sky blue, accented with beaded embroidery at the bust and straps. It may not have qualified for dream status, but it’s perfect for the Globes, and Lena can tell Nia is excited by the time they step back out onto the street, garment bag draped over her arm.

“Thank you, again,” Nia offers, hiking her purse higher on her shoulder. “You really didn’t have to do all this, especially with how weird things are right now. I know it probably wasn’t easy to say yes when I called last night.”

Lena blinks. It honestly hadn’t occurred to her to say no. “Nia?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you call me?” It’s her turn now to shift uncomfortably on her feet. “I’m always happy to help, but… as you say, things are weird. Why me?”

“Honestly?” Nia asks. Lena nods. “You remind me of my mom. I can’t begin to tell you how or why, but you do. And the thing is… my mom was probably the kindest person I’ve ever known. So-- if you reminded me of her, I figured you were a pretty safe bet. And the worst you could do was hang up on me, so…”

Right.

Lena nods, her throat locking painfully around a sudden lump in her throat. Forcing a smile, she clears her throat. “Okay. Well… I’m glad I was able to help. Are you okay to get home?”

Nia nods easily. “Yeah, I’ll just catch the bus. Thank you again. This was really nice, and it was really good to see you.”

Lena nods, but before she can turn away, Nia catches her by the wrist.

“I mean it, Lena. I owe you one. If you ever need anything…”

Lena turns her wrist, allowing her hand to settle into Nia’s palm. Giving it a squeeze, Lena offers her a smile.

“I know who to call.”

// prompts are closed

[its-deputy-caleb]

i love the sadie fic sm THANK YOU!!!!!!!! and a part two doesnt sound too bad 🧐🧐🧐 that is if you arent busy! <3

as promised anon! i bring you apart two for your sadie fic. For anyone that is new, part one is here and i suggest reading that first. this one is a little shorter but i wanted a sweet and simple date this time around. And yes i did my research the word klutz was used in the early 1900's 😌😌

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

“Get your ass up missy, the day’s gonna be over before you leave the bed.”

Sadie comes storming into your bedroom, a large grin on her face as she draws the curtains back with one hand. The other is holding her shotgun over her shoulder and her typical oversized brown coat and unkept shirt looks weirdly out of place in your polished bedroom that is littered with gold and white trim along the walls.

You covered the sun from your eyes, pulling the pillow over your face as you groaned from being woken up.

It had been a few months since you’d first met Sadie and she’s become something of a close friend. Okay you did occasionally sneak kisses and hold hands when no one was looking but to everyone else she was no more than a companion and bodyguard who’d been welcomed into your family estate.

She places the worn shotgun onto the wardrobe and comes to sit on the bed, prying the pillow from your fingers before smiling down at you. She leans down and gives you a soft kiss.

“Good morning.”

She pulls you up and shoves you into the bathroom, giggling and making fun of the amount of products you have for just your hair alone lying on the cabinet. You nearly trip on your night gown and tells you to get ready for the day while she waits in the garden for you.

You did your hair, waiting for one of the maids to help tie your corset and pull your petticoat over your head. Once you were fully dressed in a lighter, more casual summer dress you made your way to the garden. On the way you grabbed one of your hats, tying it under your chin as the door was opened for you.

The carriage was waiting for you with Sadie already waiting in the front seat beside the driver. She noticed you, smirking down before playfully addressing you.

“Where to Missy?”

“Why Blackwater of course— the tailor is finished with my new dress!”

Sadie hopped down, helping you get comfortable inside the carriage but as she went to leave again you grabbed her wrist.

“Sit in here with me, please?”

You gave her the biggest most innocent look you could muster, pouting as she laughed softly and shook her head.

“Now who’s gonna be guarding the carriage hmm? Wouldn’t want a doll like you getting damaged unlike last time.”

You gasped dramatically, holding your hands to your chest in mock offence.

“If I remember correctly the carriage tipped because of you Ms. Adler and it ended with mud all over my dress!”

You couldn’t stop the giggles that left you as Sadie rolled her eyes.

“All the more reason to be up the front and make sure nothing happens to that bodice of yours!”

Huffing, you slumped into the carriage chair as you called out to Sadie

“Fine. But you’re coming dress shopping with me.”

-

An hour later you were standing on the streets of Blackwater, your heels clanking along the pavement as the two of you scurried to see the tailor.

The bell rang as Sadie held the door for you and the tailor Mr. Kretzschmar perked up to greet you. He was a kind gentleman who always gave you extra discounts and added dresses as you were a regular customer to his service since you were young and considered you a dear friend. Often on your birthday an extravagant ball gown is delivered to your families estate.

“Hello Ma’am, it’s so lovely to see you back on such a fine day. Who is your companion?”

He gestured to Sadie who as staring at a teal blue dress hanging on a mannequin and grimaced at the thought of wearing such a thing.

“Oh this is Ms Sadie Adler, she’s a dear and close friend to me. She’s going to help me decided if the yellow or the lavender dress will suit next weeks dinner party.

Before Sadie could protest about having to watch you play dress up, you grabbed her arm and dragged her to one of the changing rooms which had been reserved for you.

“What’s wrong with the blue one you have at home?”

You rolled your eyes as you heard Sadie shuffle about and take a seat on the chair outside to the curtain. You fumbled for a minute, trying to pull your dress over your head but couldn’t manage to get the thing undone. You stumbled over your own feet for the second time today as you feel through the curtain and blushed as Sadie burst into laughter.

“For a lady you sure are a klutz sometimes— common I’ll help you with the yellow one first.”

Sadie lifted you from the floor, helping you untie the dress and putting the new yellow one over your fitted corset and petticoat. She fixed the ribbon in your hair and moved you to stand in front of the mirror as she stood behind you.

“There see? The yellow makes your eyes shine.”

She placed a soft kiss to your neck before you turned and shoved her out of the change room gently. Fussing over needing to see all your options, you were spoilt after all.

“Now get out! I want to try the lavender one.”

Sadie laughed, walking over to a wooden chair as she sat on it backwards with her hands holding her head. It was much more to her appeal than the plush ottoman in the room.

“Whatever you say Missy.”

Sadie’s playful tone died in her chest however when she saw you come out in the lavender dress. It looked beautiful on you and it took her breath away.

She stood from the chair, slowly inching towards you as she took in the sight of you. Eventually her hands landed on your waist, staring into your eyes as she pulled you close.

“Well I’ll be damned, never knew purple was your colour—“

“Its lavender—“

Sadie rolled her eyes again, laughing and bumping your noses together as her eyes trailed down to your lips. Your hands came to hold her jacket as she kissed you gently.

Your hand came to tangle in her hair and for a moment you were completely captured in her lips on yours and her hands protectively around your waist. That is until you heard someone cough awkwardly as if to get your attention.

Pulling away you tilt your head to see Mr.Kretzschmar holding the accessories that went along with the dress as well as a tape measure around his neck and a shoe box tucked under his arm.

“I hope I’m not interrupting something?”

Your dear friend gave you a soft but accepting smile as he placed the box down on onto the ottoman, nodding and turning to leave.

“I’ll leave you two alone for while, just call if you need anything.”

Before he could leave the both of you thanked him. Sadie gave him a silent nod which must have shown her appreciation while you on the other hand matched his generosity with words.

“Thank you Mr. Kretzschmar, I’ll have father invite you for dinner sometime.”

You watched as his face lit up, knowing that your father and him had been close friends. He was often eating dinner with your family, sometimes inviting his own and you certainly knew that your father supported his business. He left the room shortly after, leaving you and Sadie to giggle like you were children caught with too many lollies.

-

The two of you spent longer than you thought, trying on an array of different outfits and sharing kisses in between. You were however unsuccessful in getting Sadie to find a dress of her own but you always had more time to work her up to the thought of a corset and stockings.

Without wanting to ruin such a good day out with her, you left the tailor and visited the pictures. The movie was some silent film about long lost lovers but you weren’t really paying attention when your head was resting on Sadie’s shoulder and your hands were intertwined under the blanket of darkness in the room.

When you finally returned to your families estate, Sadie took your hand to help you down the stairs of the carriage, although this time she didn’t let your hand go.

“Stay for dinner?”

Sadie contemplated the thought for a moment before nodding softly and following you inside for a nice warm meal. She never thought she’d fall in love with a rich girl like you but once she met you she was smitten.

The whole night at dinner she held your hand under the table and looked to you for help at how to use the six different forks in front of her.

[theartofimagining13]

“PERPETUATE BEAUTY”

A Jeremy Irons | Tom Hiddleston | Timothée Chalamet Halloween story.

Synopsis: Jeremy is the owner of a very successful tailor shop he runs with his daughter and his two sons Thomas and Timothée. When a dark secret comes to light in the lives of the three siblings, the family is sent down a very macabre road.

Written by: A.Wölf.

Ambience & music: Victorian era / Gothic music

*NOTES/WARNINGS: This is loosely based on a Mexican legend. I can’t say more without spoiling the story.

This is a work of fiction and the actors mentioned in this are just portraying my very own characters. I don’t mean to disrespect anyone.

Also, this is a personal note for posterity; I cried so much when I finished writing this and I blame my tears on self-inflicted terror and a bit of proud astonishment at what my brain had just created after a long silence. I only felt I was truly back when this was done.

 Enjoy.

Happy Halloween!

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

Jeremy adjusted his glasses as he carefully finished embroidering another lace flower on the skirt fabric of the wedding gown his daughter was wearing.

The gold acorn tape measure was draped around his neck and he held a few sewing needles between his teeth as he worked on what would be his most beautiful and bold creation yet. Every soon-to-be bride from all over the world wanted to wear one of Jeremy’s dresses. Rumor had it that he obtained most of his unique and elegant fabrics from France, and soon enough, his little tailor shop was one of the most visited places in all of Europe.

The owner had his passionate helpers; his oldest son Thomas William who basically ran the business and dealt with the monetary aspects so his father could concentrate on the dresses. His daughter who he could always count on to use as his lifelike tailor dummy, and his youngest son, Thimothée Hal, who was basically Jeremy’s assistant in order to learn a little about everything. He served the costumers and organized the sewing supplies, all while perfecting the art of mannequin making during his free time so his father’s creations could be displayed behind the shop’s glass windows.

The daughter looked in the mirror before her, admiring the beautiful dress and her own reflection. She was used to looking like a bride, but there was something about that dress that infused her eyes with a different glint.

“This truly is your best work, father.” She mused.

A mischievous smile spread at the corner of his lips.

“You think so?” He inquired, still crouching behind her and working on the skirt.

“Oh, absolutely.”

Jeremy stood up and watched as she twirled the same way she did when she was a little girl trying on a gown for the first time, emulating royalty.

“Well, it isn’t finished yet.” Jeremy clarified.

“No but I can see it already.”

Jeremy stared at his daughter, the apple of his eye, and how the dress became her. He made the silent promise of finishing it and saving it for the day she married.

Timothée appeared from the storage room in the back at the same time when the hanging door bell rang and a couple of costumers walked in. Jeremy glanced at them out of the corner of his eye, knowing that they were there to pick up a gown he had altered.

“Timothée, take over, would you?” He said while taking the sewing needles out of his mouth. “The corset’s missing a button.”

“Yes, father.” The obedient son nodded as Jeremy joined the costumers.

Timothée stared at his sister and showed her a warm smile as he motioned her to join him in the back. He began going through every little drawer in the storage room looking for the perfect button while his sister walked into the dressing room.

“A waltz in such beautiful dress.” She murmured to herself thinking she was alone.

But Timothée had heard her when he walked in and proceeded to offer her his right hand.

“Milady,” He said. “Would you do me the honor?”

She grinned and played along by taking his hand and accepting his invitation to dance in the small dressing room, and with a soft piano melody playing in their heads and it didn{t take long for them to start giggling.

“Turn around now.” Timothée ordered to take over his father’s task.

He swallowed hard when she did as she was told and he looked at her bare delicate shoulders. He took a deep breath and kneeled down behind her to sew the button on the back of the corset. He cleared his throat.

“I’m afraid it’s not the beauty of the dress alone but your own that makes it perfect.”

She grinned but frowned as she caught a glimpse of his shy glance in the mirror before he looked at the needle and thread in his hand.

“Timothée Hal…” She sang and teased, “Was that a compliment?”

She couldn’t help but turn around, and her little brother rose up unable to read her expression. She was in awe, eyeing him slowly from head to toe.

“I keep forgetting that you’re all grown up now.” She said. “You better not be this silver-tongued with all the lady costumers.”

Timothée let out a chuckle and shook his head.

“Never.”

Timothée had grown up indeed. He had become a fine young man who felt things he had never felt before and others he had yet to discover. As he stood behind his sister again, he wondered what it would feel like to caress her beautiful skin with his fingertips. They almost tingled at the thought. He tried to keep his mind busy on his work but the smell of rose water in her hair invaded his nostrils and caused a trembling hand.

“Ow!” He exclaimed when he pricked his index finger.

A drop of blood came out.

“Are you okay?” She asked.

He just nodded but she noticed the blood through the mirror. She held his hand and gently brought the pricked finger to her mouth and stared at his reflection as if asking for permission but her brother was just frozen in place. She kissed his fingertip and wiped the blood away with her lips. Timothée swallowed hard with a fastened heartbeat when her eyes wouldn’t leave his.

“Better?” She asked.

He blinked a few times and gave a nod. As he resumed his activity in silence, he replayed the moment in his head a million times.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” She interrupted his train of thought. “I’ve been trying on wedding gowns for years and yet…”

“Don’t.” He cut her off.

“When do you think I will I marry, brother?”

Timothée clenched his jaw and glared at her.

“Never, if I can help it.”

She looked at him through the mirror and quirked an eyebrow.

“Are those your wishes upon your sister, Timothée? I can’t die a spinster. It wouldn’t be such a cruel joke if we didn’t own this shop.”

“Father is a widow and Tom’s not married either. We’re profoundly ironic as a family in a business like this, don’t you think?”

“What about you?” She asked. “Have you fallen in love yet?”

Timothée looked her in the eye just for a brief moment before glancing away again.

“I d- I don’t know.” He stuttered. “This isn’t really the most adequate place for that.”

She sighed absentmindedly.

“It’s all the same. Forbidden love will leave you unmarried too.”

Timothée furrowed his eyebrows for her before echoing her words.

“Forbidden love?”

“Falling for someone you shouldn’t…”

The younger brother stared into her soul. He was afraid to ask but did so anyway.

“Like who?”

She forced a smile and shook her head.

“I think I’m being a little dramatic, brother. Forgive me.”

But he studied her in silence for a complete minute, feeling something indescribable within him. He shook his head and forced himself to pay attention to what he was doing and diverted the subject moderately.

“Look at Thomas. He is the oldest.” He began. “And I don’t see him worrying about marriage, so why should you?”

She turned to face her little brother again and he could see unspoken distress written on her face.

“No man out there deserves you anyway.” He added.

Timothée inched closer to her and made sure they were locking eyes.

“And if you never marry, then I won’t marry either. Ever. We will stay together and be infinite you and I.”

She didn’t understand how both sadness and happiness could fill her heart at the same time. All she could do was press her forehead against his and get lost in his green eyes and their hint of hazel. Timothée loved his sister more than words could explain, and protecting her sometimes made him feel older than her. The three siblings had been very close while growing up but there was something about his big sister that he gravitated towards and couldn’t explain, apart from the deep admiration for her fragile and undeniable beauty.

She had grown with him and turned into a woman in front of his younger eyes. A transformation that Timothée kept close to his heart because he felt that it was something Tom had missed since he grew up before them.

The youngest’s workshop was filled with half-made mannequins and some of their parts were scattered on the floor.

Realistic torsos, arms and heads could be found everywhere along with endless leather bound books and encyclopedias; plastic arts, anatomy, taxidermy, medicine. He had read them all. His sister quietly entered the room and glanced around mesmerized while he worked on a mannequin’s face. He was and had been so immersed in his activity all afternoon that he didn’t even notice her until she got closer to him and rested her chin on his right shoulder, looking at the dummy.

He tensed up.

“You really are quite the artist, you know?”

Her low voice near his ear, the proximity of her lips, and her body warmth were making him rather nervous. He stood up and showed her an expectant look. No one really bothered him when he was working so she clearly had something to say and he waited.

“We’re having dinner in an hour. Tom will be here any minute.” She announced.

“Is that why you’re all dolled up?”

Timothée folded his arms across his chest, feigning jealousy, and she ignored him. He thought she would leave but she picked up a book and flipped through the pages until she gasped and it fell to the ground with a loud thud.

“What is it?” He asked.

But his answer came crawling on top of the book pages.

“You mustn’t be afraid of them.” He said picking up the book and letting the spider on top of it crawl towards his hand.

She observed and made a face of disgust.

“Aren’t these creatures dangerous?” She inquired.

“They’re harmless, really, unless provoked.”

She witnessed as Timothée carefully put the spider inside a glass jar.

“Only then… they’re deadly.” He added while staring at the creature with fascination.

She came running down the stairs when her older brother Tom arrived.

He had barely crossed the threshold when she crashed into his chest for a hug, and he didn’t even waste a second before putting his arms around her. Timothée watched from the bottom of the staircase, and drummed his fingers impatiently on the wooden railing seeing just how effusive she was with him and how obvious it was that she had terribly missed him for the couple days he had been gone. It made him wonder if she had a favorite brother, and if she did, the answer was obvious to him.

Had he ever feigned jealousy or was it always real?

How he wished to be Tom.

His older brother finally looked at him, still embracing his sister, and gave a single nod with a demure smile.

“Timothée.” He greeted.

“William.” The youngest said, not moving from the staircase and without returning the smile.

Thomas loved his siblings. As the oldest one, he was undeniably protective of them. His beautiful sister had his heart, and in Timothée he had high hopes. As for his father, Tom had nothing but respect and a peculiar resemblance in manners. Jeremy had been a great example for them while growing up, especially after their mother had passed and he raised them on his own.

“I’ve brought you something” He announced while letting go of his sister.

Out of his coat pocket, he pulled out a small jewelry box. His excited sister opened it to find a unique gold ring with a purple stone, and she instantly knew that it had cost a fortune. Timothée detested the glint of pure elation in her eyes as she tried it on and gave Thomas a thankful kiss on the cheek.

The family enjoyed a delicious dinner and wine while reminiscing but business had to be discussed after Tom’s latest trip.

He was back from Paris and had persuaded his father to open a second tailor shop there for its convenience, and after so many years of hard work, it was a possibility for them.

“The place is in very good shape, I must say.” Tom said, “It only needs decorating which my sister can help with, I’m sure.”

“Bring her with you on your next trip.” Jeremy said while cutting a piece of meat on his plate. “If she approves, then we’ll set everything up and inaugurate in a few weeks.”

“Actually…” Tom hesitated and glanced at his sister briefly. “We don’t want you to worry about it, father. We could run the place ourselves.”

Timothée stared at both with a confused look on his face when Tom motioned at his sister and his very own self.

“You want to move to Paris?” Jeremy asked.

“It seems…”

“Adequate.” The sister finished Tom’s sentence.

“Yes. We could be in charge of the new store there and you and Timothée can stay here.”

The youngest glared at his brother.

“Oh, really?” He chimed in while slightly leaning against the table to make sure Tom met his eyes. “Why do you get to decide who leaves and who stays?”

Tom sighed. He had anticipated his little brother’s stubbornness to be a guest at their table.

“Timothée,”

“Whose idea was it to open a second shop anyway?” He cut Tom off. “And, why Paris? It’s unnecessarily far.”

The oldest sibling and the sister exchanged glances.

“On the contrary.” She said. “We already buy most of our fabrics there, so it’s a smart place for a second shop, and well… we’ve been discussing it, Tom and I for a while now.” His sister explained. “The shop here is doing very well and you’ve learned enough to stay and help father. Maybe even take over one day.”

Timothée gripped his cutlery a little too hard. His hand began to tremble slightly.

“You want to move to Paris and leave me here?” He asked through gritted teeth.

“I don’t understand.” Tom jumped in. “First, you hate on Paris and now you want to go?”

“No one is speaking to you, William.” He snapped.

“Timothée, you’re being positively foolish.” Tom complained.

“And you’re being a complete-”

“Children!” Jeremy warned before his youngest could insult his eldest.

“Answer me.” Timothée desperately demanded while looking at his sister.

The young woman remained silent which only made Timothée feel worse. His blood was boiling and his eyes were welling up with angry tears for they say silence is an answer too.

“Is Tom making you do this?” He asked.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Tom exclaimed.

“If you love it so much there, why don’t you leave Tom?” He spoke while pointing at him with his knife. “Nobody wants you here.”

“Timothée!” Jeremy scolded.

“What do you want, Timothée?” Tom challenged. “Because I am still not understanding this little tantrum of yours.”

“William!” Jeremy chided.

“What I want is for you to stop making decisions for others.” Timothée raised his tone.

The argument heated up as the father forcefully joined in after being ignored for a while, but once their tones elevated and sentences overlapped, the sister rubbed her temples and spoke up.

“Thomas is not making me do anything, Timothée.”

The dispute came to an abrupt stop as the youngest shushed everyone with a hand gesture and stared at his sister with his heart on the verge of breaking.

“What did you say?”

She delivered the coup de grâce.

“I want to go to Paris with him.”

Timothée’s silence turned awkward in no time. He was frozen, thinking that perhaps he hadn’t heard her but the look on her face confirmed it. He gave a disappointed nod trying to hold back the tears, rose up from his seat and grudgingly threw his napkin on the table before walking out and leaving the rest of the family sharing glances.

“They’re joined at the hip those two.” Jeremy said. “You know that.”

He and Tom were sharing a moment in the garden with cigarettes after the far from jolly dinner. Jeremy blew out the smoke.

“I’m surprised they weren’t born twins.” He added.

“Timothée needs to grow up.” Tom said. “He needs to stop acting like a child and get more involved with the serious aspects of the shop. He spends most of his time in that horrendous workshop of his.”

“Well, he’s quite the mannequin maker now.” Jeremy defended him with raised eyebrows. “Each of us has a role to fulfill and that keeps the shop up and running, William. You shouldn’t be so hard on your brother. You know he’s always been a very sensitive kid.”

“He’s not a kid anymore.”

“I know.” Jeremy said lifting his hands in front of him as if trying to excuse an old habit with innocence.

He threw the cigarette butt on the floor and stepped on it, claiming to be exhausted and saying good night to his eldest son with a pat on the shoulders before leaving. Tom studied him as he took the last drag on his own cigarette.

Timothée was restless.

He couldn’t sleep knowing that he had quarreled with his sister. The thought of her leaving town would probably give him horrible nightmares anyway. He had to persuade her not to leave. Beg if he had to. He got up and walked out of the bedroom, determined to spoil Tom’s plans.

As he reached her bedroom door, he thought he heard something and froze.

The door was ajar. Timothée’s sister giggled inside but then she let out a suffocated moan. Timothée’s heartbeat faltered at the noise. He felt curious. He wanted to watch. He heard a second voice, just as familiar as hers. When he carefully peeked inside, his whole world came crashing down and he forgot how to breathe. He thought that finding out she was leaving had broken his heart but that was nothing compared to what his eyes were seeing.

Their earlier conversation made sense now. Forbidden love, he remembered in her voice as he witnessed how Thomas passionately kissed his sister’s lips while being inside of her and how she enjoyed it. This was why she wouldn’t marry. Why neither had Tom. Why they wanted to move to Paris. To play their sick games freely, their perversion, without getting caught but it was too late. Timothée stumbled backwards stunned and deaf, and feeling like he’d possibly go into cardiac arrest.

For a moment he thought she had implied someone else.

For a moment he had hoped it was him instead.

It was always Tom.

Timothée pressed his back to the wall but it wasn’t enough to keep him on his feet and he slid down to the floor and buried his face in his arms to hide the tears that finally came out as he heard his sister and his brother in the room. A while later, when he heard Tom’s footsteps getting closer, he managed to quickly get up and run to hide in the hallway. He watched him walk to his bedroom, and all Timothée could do, was move towards his sister’s for he needed an explanation.

When he walked in, she was startled and gasped his name as she tried to cover herself with the bed sheet even though she was already wearing her nightgown. Confused Timothée didn’t make a sound. He just shut the door behind him and walked up to her. She eyed him from head to toe and he just grabbed her and pressed his lips to hers but she pushed him away.

“What are you doing!?” She exclaimed.

The rejection made Timothée see red, so he cupped her face in his hands and forcefully kissed her one more time. She slapped him hard across the face. So hard he had to wipe the blood coming out of the corner of his mouth using his thumb, and he let out a chuckle when he looked at it. She swallowed hard bothered by a pinch of guilt.

“Am I not allowed to do that?” He asked with an ironic tone.

“What is wrong with you, Timothée?”

“You’re such a hypocrite.”

He was scaring her. All she could do was stay there with her feet glued to the floor.

“Do you love him?” He asked.

“What?”

“Do you love him?” He repeated in less collected tone. “Is that why you’re leaving with him?”

Her stomach churned as she began to understand what her little brother was implying.

“Answer me, Goddamn it! I just saw you both, you…” He trailed off.

“Timothée…” She breathed out. “Timothée, I don’t know what you think you saw but…”

“Don’t even!” He cut her off. “Why?” He asked with a broken voice. “Why him?”

She knew she couldn’t lie anymore. Her darkest secret was out.

“I don’t… I don’t know. It just… it just happened.” She stammered nervously.

“How long?” Timothée inquired. “How long has this been going on?”

She hesitated as embarrassment crept in. She knew Timothée looked up to her and now she couldn’t even fathom the horrible things he was possibly thinking. She looked at the ground instead.

“A year or so…” She admitted in almost a whisper.

Timothée clenched his jaw and looked away, letting it sink in.

“Are you in love?” He managed to ask.

The fear, the shame, and the adrenaline of the moment caused tears to stream down her face as her whole body trembled.

“I love Thomas.” She confessed. “And he loves me.” She paused with nervousness. “Timothée, you can’t tell father about this. It will kill him.”

“No. You’re wrong.” He whispered. “It’s killing me.”

The sight of her little brother, completely broken and disappointed was crushing her heart. She approached him slowly when she saw the tears running down his face. She cupped his face in her hands but he turned his head to the side; a sheer sign of rejection.

“Tim-” She sobbed.

He gripped her wrists and stared into her soul. His eyes traveled to her lips. He was longing for another kiss and for her to allow it this time.

“Why can’t you love me like you love him?”

She wanted to touch him but if she moved an inch, he’d grip her even tighter to stop her again. He caught a glimpse of the ring Tom had given her on her left hand. She would even wear it to bed. He also realized that she was trying to find an excuse, so he let her go at last and put distance between them. He finally allowed his whole body to go completely numb.

“Timothée.” She wept.

But he didn’t even look at her. He just turned around slowly and walked out of the room without uttering a single word.

Timothée plopped down on the wooden stool with a bottle of wine in his right hand, his second one of the long night, and stared at the unfinished mannequin before him.

His tears of rage had dried but his eyelashes were still halfway. With bloodshot eyes and an exhausted soul he tousled his hair with his left hand and grabbed a paintbrush to dip in red paint. He brought it to the mannequin’s mouth and did its upper lip. This mannequin would never hurt him. On the contrary, he thought finishing it would keep his mind distracted from the pain. But it was too much. He took a big swig of wine to dull it some more before continuing with the bottom lip, but he didn’t stop at the corner and instead dragged the paintbrush all the way to the jaw ruining the mannequin’s face with a red line as the frustration caught up with him.

The more he stared at it, the more he blended the image of his sister with it, reminded of how badly she had hurt him. And Tom… he hated Tom. He detested his guts. He didn’t want to see him. He felt like murdering him for getting in the way and taking his sister away from him. For a moment, he even wished she was betrothed to someone else so that it would be a losing game for the both of them, and only then, it would be fair.

They would have to swallow their sins.

He sniffed loudly and stood up with wobbling knees. The alcohol had finally taken its toll on him. It was time to go to bed. But then, something caught his attention on the table; the spider he had trapped was still in the glass jar. Timothée stared at it for a very long time, looked at the ground, sipped on more wine. The spider demanded his attention again.

He took the jar with the most horrid thoughts in mind.

“Darling?” Jeremy said while knocking on his daughter’s bedroom door. “Darling, I finished the dress. I’d like you to try it on.”

There was no answer from the other side so he opened the door slowly.

“Good God, child. It’s almost noon.” Jeremy complained when he saw his daughter still asleep on the bed.

But she hadn’t even heard him, and something wasn’t right.

“Are you indisposed?”

But when he approached the bed and gently placed his hand on her forehead, she was cold as ice. Jeremy felt his heart in his throat.

“Young lady, wake up!” He said in a demanding tone that was betrayed by his nervousness.

Jeremy gently shook her, finally recognizing the rigor mortis. His daughter was dead. He stared frightened and thinking that perhaps he wasn’t even awake himself and it was only a bad dream. But when he pulled the covers off, he let out a quiet gasp as he saw a deadly spider crawling over her. His eyes widened with terror and loud sobs began to pour out of him.

Tom was having breakfast in the dining room when he heard his distressed father yelling with a broken voice upstairs.

He was immediately up on his feet and following the heart wrenching sound. Tom walked into his sister’s bedroom to find his father kneeling down next to her bed, cradling her lifeless body, completely devastated and with tears streaming down his face. It sent shivers down Tom’s spine as his lips parted with horror and his blue eyes welled up with tears. A suffocated sob escaped him as he rushed and his knees fell to the floor next to his father, unable to understand what had happened.

He had felt her warm skin the previous night. He had made her laugh. He had held her in his arms and kissed her. He had been inside of her.

But now, the forbidden love of his life was gone.

Everything slowed down and the days that followed were unbearable.

Jeremy had fallen sick in bed after burying his daughter. Seeing her corpse in the dress she had loved and he thought she’d marry in one day was too much for him. The apple of his eye had withered and died at a very young age, and a third of his heart had died with her. Tom even feared his father wouldn’t make it. And he, on the other hand, had to force himself to put his own pain aside to take care of everything including his father.

Everyone in town knew about the tragic and timeless death of Jeremy’s daughter. The tailor shop’s front door was filled with flower arrangements and all sorts of condolence gifts for the grieving family. The sky had filled with gray clouds and the rain hadn’t stopped since the day she died. The funeral and the burial were brutal. Jeremy felt like dying right then and there so he could be with his daughter again. Tom still couldn’t believe it was her inside the coffin, and his heart kept on breaking into a million pieces as he thought about how life had taken it all away from him.

They were about to get a little freedom in Paris where they could even pretend to be husband and wife since no one knew them there. The possibilities they had discussed were endless. In the back of his brain, nevertheless, mild relief could be found for the dark secret they shared, had been buried with her.

The two men were deeply worried about Timothée who hadn’t uttered a word since his sister’s death and seemed absent. As her coffin was lowered into the ground, he watched without evoking emotion. His body was there but his mind was stuck in limbo. Jeremy and Tom knew that it hadn’t really dawned in on him perhaps and that he was a ticking bomb.

Timothée took a stranger’s right hook to the nose and staggered backwards before being thrown out of a pub.

He was in bad shape and in the denial stage of grief still. He spent his evenings drinking and wondering where all the pain had gone. So he’d randomly pick fights until someone hit him. He imagined that the physical pain would somehow help and bring back the emotional spectrum in him. And when he got home, and Tom saw the horrible bruise on his eye, he lost it. He yelled at Timothée who could barely pay attention with so much alcohol in his system.

“I am here, keeping father alive and swallowing my own pain while you’re out there drunk beyond reason and getting into fights!”

Timothée was just sitting at the piano in their living room, with his back to Tom and leaning on the open fallboard, tinkering with the highest key, playing it over Tom’s complaints over and over again like a spoiled teenager.

“The shop isn’t going to run itself. You’re opening it first thing in the morning.”

Timothée just uttered one word.

“No.”

Tom sighed with desperation emanating from his every pore.

“You need to stop.” He said. “Whatever this is, Timothée, I am begging you. You’re not just hurting yourself, you’re making it harder for all of us.” He got closer to his little brother and crouched in front of the piano bench. “Sh-She’s gone, brother.” He stuttered, choking back the tears.

When Timothée finally turned around and faced Tom, he was experiencing a moment of clarity.

“Our sister’s dead.” Tom muttered.

When he looked into his little brother’s eyes, he knew that he had finally listened, and he could see how his soul crumbled and heard it in the sob he let out. Timothée held onto Tom, crying inconsolably with raw sentiment at last, but he suddenly pushed Tom away and stood up.

“This is your fault.” Timothée accused between gritted teeth.

Tom rose up with a semblance of profound confusion.

“You wanted to take her from me.” The youngest wept. “I loved her… just as much as you did if not more.” He widened his eyes as he came to a realization. “I had to make her stay.”  

Tom didn’t understand a thing his brother had said, and before he could ask any questions, Timothée ran out into the garden and got lost in the rain and didn’t return home until the sun was about to rise.

Although Jeremy seemed to be getting better, the nightmare wasn’t over for Tom.

Timothée spent the next couple days locked up in his workshop, dealing with his grief. Tom knew knocking on the door was useless. He’d never open and Tom could hear him working inside. The older brother kept on leaving food out the door only to come back to find it untouched. One early morning, he finally heard his little brother around the house. He decided not to disrupt him and stayed in his bedroom until he heard him in the garden.

Tom peeked out the window and saw a very dapper Timothée.

He assumed that he had finally gathered the strength to clean up and go to the shop.

Curious Tom entered his little brother’s workshop after he left.

The place was a complete mess and Tom could tell that Timothée had deposited all his grief into his art. Dozens of sketches were scattered all over the floor and the table along with his books and tools. He picked up the one pencil drawing that caught his attention; it was of his sister’s face without any emotion in the eyes but a little side smirk that made her look mischievous.

It made Thomas smile even though it hurt like hell knowing that he’d never see that again in the flesh. He was impressed at how perfectly Timothée had captured her essence and beauty. No wonder his father allowed him to immerse himself in his hobbies. He excelled in them. As he put the sheet on the table, something else caught his attention there, resting next to a pair of scissors and slightly covered in dirt like everything else; the gold ring he had gifted to his sister.

Tom had to touch it to know he wasn’t mistaken but it was the same ring. A deep sense of anguish invaded him because she was supposed to be buried with it but, in the midst of mourning, his mind couldn’t be trusted. He must’ve forgotten. He couldn’t explain it, but something came over him. That ring was hers, she needed to have it. Was it totally mad to give it to her now? She had loved it so much. It was hers and hers only.

Had he gone mad?

He didn’t care.

In a strange trance, Tom went to the cemetery.

Perhaps his sister was asking him to do it. Perhaps it was his time to grief. He didn’t care about the rain. He had to put the ring on her finger so he’d sleep at night. With a shovel in hand, he stood in front of her grave waiting somehow for a sign not to do something so macabre but it was as if something was compelling him to do it instead. Tom dug and dug until the shovel hit her coffin. Drenched in the rain, he removed the remaining dirt, now mud, from the coffin lid. Tom took a deep breath to ease his nerves. He had come this far, it wasn’t the time to stop.

Tom felt the worst of shivers coursing down his spine when he opened the casket and his dead sister wasn’t there.

Was he losing his mind?

Tom stumbled dizzy through the town’s streets covered in mud and unable to utter a word. Only quiet yet distressed noises kept escaping his mouth from both the cold rain and his frightened heart. He thought he was dreaming. He had to be. His feet kept moving forward somehow, and before he knew it, he was in front of his father’s tailor shop. He could see Timothée behind the counter working on a very peculiar flower arrangement. What Tom saw next would’ve driven anyone completely mad.

Timothée got closer to the display window from inside the store, carrying the bouquet. He finally locked eyes with Tom and froze for a couple seconds. He then proceeded to place the flowers in the mannequin’s hands. As Timothée stood up straight again, he stared into Thomas’ soul on the other side of the glass.

The youngest showed his brother an evil smirk.

With every inch of his body trembling, Tom looked up at Timothée’s newest and most morbidly glorious creation; his dead sister, turned into a bride mannequin made of her very own flesh and eyes.

[kittinoir]

Echoes of You ch. 21

Read on Ao3

Marinette stared at her gown.

It was time for the final fitting, she knew. It was due in three days, and if it was going to be ready, she had to try it on now. It was perfect, just how she’d imagined it would turn out, the green accents stunning against the dark background.

But after the events earlier in the week, the last thing she wanted to do was put the dress on. 

The angry, embarrassed part of her wanted to take the money she’d saved for the fabric and throw it at his feet, if only to make the gown feel like her own again. The rational part of her knew that it was his right to choose, and even if the truth had hurt to hear, it was still the truth. She’d worn the mask, and though it was temporary, the idea of Hawkmoth discovering her identity - or targeting someone she loved because of it - had given her nightmares before.

A small part of her just wanted to cry, but she hadn’t been able to. So she’d worked instead. She’d added decorative beading to the bodice, put together a glittering gold hair stick with pink flowers from the tip, added full lining to the skirt. It was truly one of her best pieces. Anyone that looked at it would be able to tell that it was made with love.

Marinette bit her lip as she spun in her chair to her box of scrap fabric. It wasn’t too late to make a new outfit. She’d worked under shorter deadlines. Maybe she could salvage some of the black fabric, do something Ladybug or Rena Rouge inspired.

But…

Marinette looked back at the dress. She didn’t have it in her to take it apart. She didn’t want to. No matter what had happened between them, her reasons for making this dress hadn’t changed. Chat Noir was still a hero of Paris, still sweet and kind and funny and brave, and she still loved those things about him. She still thought he deserved to be the subject of her project. She still wanted to give recognition to him with it.

The only thing she didn’t want to do was put it on.

But, since the photos for the project were to be taken in three days in order to complete the assignment, she didn’t have much of a choice. No matter how stunning the piece was, an ill-fitting garment meant mistakes made from the get-go and she would lose marks. 

Well, better get it over with. 

Marinette sighed as she climbed to her feet, wishing her mom was home to help her get into it, but they were catering an event for the Mayor. She tried to remain analytical as she got changed. The structure of the bodice seemed firm due to the stiff strengthening layer of duck canvas between the layers. She’d decided to forgo boning, both for comfort and maneuverability, but it had made the skirt much heavier than she’d thought it would be. 

Once she’d done up the clasps along the front, Marinette kicked off her flats and, lifting the skirt, slid on a pair go black kitten heels she owned for special occasions. She’d specifically left the hem long with the intention of the heels adding about two inches to her frame.

Marinette glanced in the floor length mirror by her desk and her breath caught. 

The silhouette of the dress was stunning. The added height wasn’t much, but she’d anticipated it just right in her measurements and the hem landed just centimetres over the floor. The mermaid style was everything she’d hoped it would be. Chat Noir had been right; the extra drama was so him.

“It’s just a try on,” Marinette reminded herself as she fingered the green piping, but she found her hand going to the hair piece she’d designed. She hesitated for just a moment before committing to it. “Might as well see the whole thing,” she reasoned as she pulled out her pig tails. 

She carefully pulled her hair back into a bun, sliding the hair piece in carefully by the band and leaving the cherry blossoms to dangle. They, of course, were her personal signature, in lieu of her name anywhere on the gown - and a small, unrecognizable nod to the very short time she’d been his friend. Altogether, the look was…

“Purr-fect.” 

Marinette slapped a hand over her mouth, shocked the pun had even slipped out, and then she was bent over at the waist laughing. She gasped for breath, but every time she started to calm down, peals of laughter would overtake her again. It was too much. She slid to the floor, clutching her stomach as the fabric pooled around her like she was sitting in the middle of a black puddle. 

“Oh, god,” she gasped, leaning back against her chaise. “How? How do I always manage to find myself in the middle of these things? …then again….”

Maybe ‘find herself’ was being too generous; no one had forced her down this path. She’d made choices, too. She’d left the window open. 

Marinette sighed as her phone chimed with yet another alert. It had been dinging periodically for nearly an hour now, but she’d made herself promise she wouldn’t look at the notifications until she found the will to try on her dress. She’d hoped the possible messages from Adrien would have been good motivation to get it over with, but it had only really made it harder; he was just as unattainable to her as Chat Noir.

But, the dress was on, and even though she hadn’t made notes yet, she supposed her own requirements had technically been met. Besides, if it was Alya, it would only be minutes before her friend showed up at the door afraid she’d tripped and fell off her own balcony while her parents were out. 

Marinette pushed herself to her feet and snagged her phone off the chaise as she began to make for her notebook by her empty mannequin, but became perfectly still as her screen lit up.

‘PARIS’ HEROES FALL’

In the empty quiet, Marinette found herself falling off that precipice again. This time there was no one there to catch her; just the endless sensation of falling, and knowing that any second now she was going to find the bottom.

She couldn’t even see the rest of the notifications. The headline glaring from the Parisian alert system blotted everything out. Her thumb shook as it hovered over the screen, as if if she just didn’t open the alert, it wouldn’t be true.

In the space between breaths, she opened it. A blurry photo she barely recognized as Salem in front of the Louvré glass pyramids was displayed over the article.

‘In a shocking turn of events, both Ladybug and Chat Noir were defeated today by a villain the likes of which Paris has never seen before. The newcomer’s intentions are unclear at this time, as he stopped only long enough to issue a challenge to Hawkmoth directly. While the identities of Paris’s saviours remain shrouded in mystery, authorities have been unable to recover their bodies. Though nothing is certain, it appears unlikely that the duo Paris owes so much to will be found alive.’

Unlikely they will be found alive.

Marinette heard her her phone slip through her fingers onto the floor, but she couldn’t feel it. It sounded so far away. She couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t she breathe?

She felt something warm on her cheeks. She reached up to her face. Her hand came away wet. Crying. She was finally crying. Finally.

And then she was screaming as her knees hit the floor. Sobs wracked her body. Her chest heaved. She had finally reached bottom. It was desolate. It hurt. Why did it hurt so much? Why? Like she’d lost part of herself. Like she could have done more. Like she was responsible. Like her heart was being ripped in two, over and over, and over.

“I never…I never got to…apologize,” she gasped out, wrapping her arms around herself. Cold. She felt so cold. “I’ll never… get to….for any of it.”

She didn’t even know his name. She never would. She’d never seem him traversing the Notre Dame again. She’d never leave her window open for him again. He’d never joke, laugh, or flirt with her again. He’d never save her again. She’d never save him.

Maybe she’d never been able to. Maybe that had been the point all along.

Marinette never even noticed the little purple butterfly drift through her skylight.

And so, she never stood a chance when it buried itself in the cherry blossoms on her hairpiece.

It felt like being struck by lightning. Every muscle in Marinette’s body locked. She gasped as her spine arched with the agony of it. Her grief and guilt multiplied until she felt like she was drowning in it.

Anyone can be akumatized, Marinette. Anyone.

The warning echoed briefly through her mind, and then it was gone, along with everything else that had ever made her who she was, until all that remained was the despair.

‘Zouyu, I am Hawkmoth.’

The words ricocheted through her head like church bells, both deafening and terrible. She seized it like a lifeline. Anything that would make this horrible misery survivable.

‘I understand your pain; the loss of a loved one is unbearable.’

“I can’t…stand it,” she managed. “I can’t…”

‘I know. Ladybug has cost us both the lives of our dearest ones. It’s too late for her, but I can grant you the power to destroy the person who took everything from you. All I ask in return is your aid in securing the Miraculous.’

“Salem.”

Agony swirled through her. She breathed it in, embracing the power offered to her. She wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything before. She wanted to make the murderer pay. She wanted revenge.

“Yes, Hawkmoth” she said. Black smoke began to billow around her. “I’m in.”

She felt his smile more than she saw it, but the sensation was obliterated as the transformation took hold of her.

‘Excellent.’ 

[bugaboosandbees]

Duchess Noir Part 5

So... I know it’s a short update. (Clocking in at a little under 2000 words.) But, I’m traveling and I wrote this between trains. I just really wanted to get something out there. There’s nothing like being noticed by someone you admire to give you a kick in the pants to keep writing! So, @angelofthequeers , this one’s for you. :)

As per usual, all of you lovely people who have asked to be tagged are listed at the end. If for some reason you are not tagged and you asked to be, please send me an ask/message/reply and I shall fix that post-haste. 

Thank you all again so much for your support. I really can’t say how much that means to me!

I hope the Adrien bits don’t seem forced... I’ve been reading a lot of fluffy Adrinette lately, so it was a bit hard to channel the salt, lol.

Chloe

Chloe lay back in bed, hand raised above her, fingers splayed as she looked at the deceptively plain ring she now wore. Her new kwami and partner, Plagg, had sullenly sequestered himself in a far corner of her large room with the cheese plate she’d called up from room service on his request. Her head was still spinning.

Tikki had left after she’d finished explaining the situation. Chloe could see how upset the whole matter had made her, and Plagg for that matter, who had hardly said a word except his weighty declaration upon giving her the ring. When the two kwamis moved to a different corner of the room, speaking in hushed voices and exchanging a tight hug, Chloe had awkwardly turned away. Even in this situation that was so difficult for the two of them, something about the way they seemed to gravitate toward each other made Chloe’s heart clench. After a few minutes, they’d finished their goodbyes. Tikki had nodded once at her and then turned back as she flew towards the window, eyes softening. “Thank you, Chloe. It will be nice to know that someone has her back.”

Chloe had stared at her determinedly. “I won’t let her down.”

“I know.” Tikki had smiled and then vanished into the night.

Chloe wasn’t quite sure what to make of Plagg. He was very different from Pollen… Pollen was kind and quiet. In the few moments Chloe had had with her, she seemed pretty content to cave to Chloe’s judgment. Plagg was gruff and reticent. Although he was a physically small when he’d issued his conditions to her taking the ring his presence had almost choked the air around her. She had no delusions. Plagg might have been tiny, but he was a god. She knew that this was a kwami that wouldn’t let their wielder get away with the kinds of things she’d done as Queen Bee at first. She wasn’t going to lie, as frightening as she felt he could be, that was reassuring.

Plagg didn’t seem to want to really talk with her, but he’d explained the powers of the black cat miraculous to her in as much detail as she could wring out of him. She was going to be the best damn superhero partner Ladybug could ever dream of having, and she couldn’t look anything short of competent her first time out.

“The power of destruction must be wielded carefully,” he’d sighed. “Each miraculous needs a certain type of person as its wielder. The Ladybug needs a strategist, first and foremost. The Bee needs a strong, direct will, the Fox an individual who knows the damage a lie can wreak. The miraculous of the Black Cat…” he paused, looking pained, “needs a wielder possessing kindness and pragmatism in equal measure. The power of destruction is not to be wielded lightly. Although destruction can be necessary, it must never be used in excess. This power is chaotic by nature and can be difficult to control. You’ll need to have a steady head -- need to know when it is necessary for your power to be used, but you also need to have an unparalleled respect for life, for light, and for creation, and to only use your powers when they are key to upholding their opposite. Do you understand?”

Chloe’s shoulders had curled in as he’d spoken, losing part of their usual pin-straight cast of confidence. “Plagg… I don’t know how much you saw when you were with the previous Chat Noir but…” She clenched her eyes shut. “I’m… I haven’t been a very good person in the past. I know that. It just seemed that every time I tried to let someone in… it didn’t end well. After my Mom… after everything else, I didn’t want to give anyone else enough of me to break. But… Ladybug, Ladybug is the only person I’ve ever met who looked at me and saw someone that was really worth something. She trusted me with the power to save Paris, but also to feel stronger on my own. I… I don’t know if I can promise to be perfect, or even really kind, right away.” Her eyes opened, blinking around tears that had suddenly appeared. “But… I promise to try. For right now… well, I love Ladybug more than I love myself. She saved me in more ways than one, and there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do for her. I’ll support her as best I can, and I’ll listen to you. I’ll learn anything you want to teach me. I -- I just want to be good at this. I want to help Ladybug, and I want to help Paris. I want to be a hero that she can be proud of.”

One moment stretched slowly into another as he stared at her with an unreadable gaze, before nodding softly. “That’s enough for now, kid.”

Marinette

Marinette awoke to sunlight streaming over her face. She stretched, still half asleep, and curled her toes into the soft blanket. She felt so relaxed...  She turned her head and slowly opened her eyes to find Tikki sitting on the small bed she’d fashioned for her, eyes closed as a shimmering red glow emanating from her, covering the entire bed.  

“Tikki? What’s going on?”

Tikki slowly opened her eyes. “Good morning, Marinette. I… I thought that after last night, you deserved a really good night’s sleep. Just think of it as a bit of kwami magic.”

Marinette smiled softly. What had she done to deserve Tikki? “Thank you, Tikki.”

The red glow dissipated as Tikki rose into the air, hovering over her charge. “And, it’s Saturday, which means that you should be able to work on the dress you’ve been meaning to finish!”

Her eyes lit up. “You’re right! I’ve been so busy, but all I have to do this weekend is the history report, and I’ve already picked out my sources, so that shouldn’t take too long!” She rose out of bed, clambered down the ladder to the floor, and stretched, arms raised high over her head.

“... Marinette,” Tikki sounded almost hesitant. “There is something I should tell you before you get to work.”

Marinette looked up at Tikki questioningly. “What is it?”

The tiny god sighed. “Last night… after you went to sleep, I was just so worried about you, and about everything happening with Chat Noir… I was so angry. I decided to go to the Guardian to choose a new hero that you could rely on, but… on my way there I ran into Plagg -- Chat Noir’s kwami -- and… well, he’d decided to leave Chat Noir.”

“W--what?” Whatever she’d been expecting, that was not it.

Tikki barreled on. “We agreed that things had gone too far. The Guardian was so unwilling to believe that he could have made another mistake despite what his last error cost us all.” Marinette had never heard her usually sweet kwami sound so strange and bitter and powerful, but she wasn’t afraid. Her heart warmed knowing the extent to which her kwami had sought to protect her.

“Plagg told me that he’d been trying to counsel his kitten for months, but that every time he’d try to get through to him, he’d either threaten to renounce Plagg or transform! He’s wreaking havoc on the balance between creation and destruction, and, frankly, if we hadn’t done something soon, you’d both be facing side effects from our domains being out of sync. I couldn’t let that happen to you.” Tikki’s voice, which had risen higher and more forceful in her anger suddenly quieted. “I know that it was difficult for Plagg. Despite everything… he loved his kitten. He said that he needed him, that he needed someone…” The anger returned. “But no matter how cold his life is, it doesn’t justify what he’s done!”

“Tikki, Tikki, it’s…  okay. I… with everything that’s happening with Chat lately… as much as I wish that I could go back in time to when he was my friend… ” she quieted. “I’ve been messing up in battles. Our dynamic is off, and I’ve been getting really scared that he’s just going to up and quit one day because I turned him down again… I feel like an awful person, but I’m so relieved Tikki.”

Tikki flew down to rest a comforting paw on Marinette’s cheek. “It’s okay, Marinette. Everything’s going to be okay. For now, why don’t we get to work on that dress?”

Marinette nodded and turned towards the half-finished gown on her mannequin with a determined smile. Her kwami was on her side, and, as bittersweet as it was, she had someone new that she could trust to watch her back. For now, Tikki was right -- it was time to do something she enjoyed, and she wasn’t going to let anything taint that.

Plagg

He’d stared at his new kitten… no, simply his new wielder, (he couldn’t let himself care this fast) as she’d cried. Her opulent room felt just as empty of love as Adrien’s had… and he’d seen her display some of the same selfish behaviors as his previous charge in the past. Why on Earth had Tikki said that this spoiled selfish girl would be a good fit? Gods, he couldn’t bear the thought of another holder going the way Adrien had. Despite all of his faults, Plagg had allowed himself to love Adrien. He’d had many chosen throughout the centuries, and there were a fair few times that he had been misused even as Noroo was now. When he’d first met Adrien, he half wondered if there had been a mistake. The boy didn’t resonate with the ring particularly well, but he was so lonely and so fragile… He’d awakened parental instincts Plagg hadn’t even known he’d had -- and Plagg had let him get away with far too much for far too long. He could not make the same mistake again.t

But… beneath it all, and despite everything he knew of the new blonde sitting across from him, he could sense the way that the ring had taken to her -- energy already coiling like steel in her soul, drawing out the heart that had been long buried. Against all odds, this Chloe was a chosen, just like Tikki’s bug.

For the first time since Adrien had made the decision to let the people of Paris drown over secrets that were not his to know, Plagg felt something loosen within him where he hadn’t known there had been tension. Maybe, just maybe, everything would turn out all right.

Adrien

Adrien woke to sunlight streaming through the window onto his face. He groaned and glanced over at the Ladybug digital clock next to his bedside. 10:00? That was strange… Normally Plagg woke him with demands for cheese before 8:00 on weekends… Well, he wasn’t going to complain about the extra sleep! He ran his left hand through his hair, pushing back the inevitable strands that fell across his face during the night. Then he froze.

Slowly, and with mounting horror, he lowered his hand in front of his face. The ring. It was gone.  

Tags: 

@demydreamer-otaku-and-book-lover , @anastasian-dreamer, @donegonewrong , @twinkletoes-rp , @asandygraves , @fatimaabbasrizvi , @im-here-for-the-content , @theorangelizard , @captainrose35 , @pleasefollowmeuwu , @the-ice-goddess , @ofpassionsandobsessions, @starberry-mina, @mikantsume, @bloody-no-kissu , @chocolatemilk52 , @angelofthequeers, @bluelioncupcake, @ml-cartoons, @thelifeofmely, @shadowberrybinch, @creativetwit, @lordsmeldingtonthethird

[luckyspike]

The Trouble with Nocturnal Ambush Predators - A Good Omens Fanfiction

when I went to post this on AO3 (found here), turns out Crowley’s weird statue has its own tag

shit’s wild guys

anyway crowley and aziraphale make a bet about how shitty crowley’s vision is

nobody but also everybody wins, in a way

count the parks and rec references. also of course i had to make someone a doctor because i live at work i guess idk

-

Everyone was rather surprised when Brian announced that he would be going to school with plans to become a doctor. Brian, who reveled in dirt and grime, Brian that even at twenty would wear clothes more than once if he thought he could get away with it, Brian that ate food out of takeaway boxes and still left them in the sink. It was startling, the image of Brian, that Brian, standing in a sterile operating theater, scrubbed and gowned and as anti-septic as possible. And yet, this was also Brian that was always there for the Them, who would come the moment he was called if help was needed, who swallowed his pride and rebuked his filthy habits if only for a few minutes, to help his friends and save the world.

It was surprising but, the Them and friends reflected, not entirely shocking. It did make sense, in a sort of way. “I’d really like to study infectious diseases,” he said one night over dinner at the Pulsifer’s, while everyone was still gathered around the table for drinks. It was late, and Anathema had gone an hour or so ago to put her little daughter to bed, even over the child’s protests and desperate clinging to Crowley, who objected much less firmly than any self-respecting demon should have. Well enough then, he told Aziraphale, when the angel had pointed it out, that he was only still a demon in technicalities only.

Pepper looked amused. “You should see him in classes,” she said, for she was in the same class as Brian, with her sights set on psychiatry as a specialty once she’d graduated. “He sits right up front, a real gunner, and every time they ask about some weird bacteria, boom! He’s right there with the answer.” She rolled her eyes, but she was laughing, too. “I think it was all the dirt he always had on him when we were kids - he communed with the germs and they accepted him as one of their own.”

Brian flushed. “I don’t talk to germs. I just think they’re jolly interesting, is all.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Adam Young said, leaned back in his chair with his hands folded behind his head. “Someone ought to, right? Otherwise we’d all die of cholera or something.”

Aziraphale frowned into his wineglass. “Nasty illness, cholera. I remember the pump outbreak …” He shook his head, putting an end to that reverie, and smiled at Brian instead. “It is fortunate you have such an interest, Brian - the world needs doctors, certainly.”

“So what’s medical school like these days?” Crowley asked, a mirror of Adam, leaned back in his chair with his feet on the table, idly swirling the scotch in his glass. “Last time I tried was, oh, the sixteenth century I think. Thereabouts.” He winced. “Pretty sure it’s got on since then. Hopefully.”

“Oh, yes,” Brian nodded. “Yes, I’d imagine it is. Very structured now, and there’s labs and independent study and practicing skills and all kinds of things, not to mention all the lectures and exams.”

“So many,” Pepper agreed mournfully. “Endless exams.”

“D’you practice on mannequins then?” Crowley looked thoughtful. “I’d imagine they do a good bit with mannequins.”

“Some yeah. And then some - the safer stuff - we practice on each other. Y’know …” Brian thought, waving his hands vaguely. “Listening to lungs and hearts, eye tests, that kind of stuff.”

Aziraphale looked up at that. “Eye tests, you say?” He looked across the table to Crowley, a grin slowly spreading over his lips. “Crowley, dear, we could finally settle the debate -”

“No. No, we can’t.”

Newt, who had been washing up in the kitchen, returned, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Debate? What are we debating, then?”

“Nothing,” Crowley griped. “Angel has been insisting for the past decade or whatever - since you kids were eleven, however long ago that was -”

“A decade,” Wensley confirmed.

“Right, so that long, I’ve had to hear about how I really shouldn’t be driving because snakes don’t have good visual acuity.” Crowley spread his hands. “To which I make my point: if I really couldn’t see, you think I would’ve gone this long with the Bentley without crashing it? Armageddon notwithstanding, that was extenuating circumstances.”

Aziraphale muttered into his wine, “Only thanks to occasionally-gratuitous use of miracles.”

“Occasionally, angel! Occasionally doesn’t count. Not like it’s a daily occurrence.

“And anyway, my vision’s better than a human’s at a distance and in the dark,” Crowley said authoritatively. “Horizontal planes an’ light refraction and all that. Saw a film about it.”

“Listened to a film about it,” Aziraphale mumbled. Adam snorted.

“Wasn’t very nice,” the boy said, although he was grinning.

Pepper laughed a little too, while Crowley presumably glared at Aziraphale - the sunglasses, as ever, made it difficult to tell for sure. “It’d be easy enough to test, if you really wanted to.”

“I don’t.”

“Not even for a wager?” Crowley looked at Aziraphale at that, and a long silence stretched out. The Them and Newt watched, rapt, because they’d only ever seen the two supernatural entities bet on something once before, and that was whether or not either of them could, after two bottles of wine, climb to the top of the biggest tree in Hogback wood without using miracles, wings, or shapeshifting*. They had, if memory served, wagered an entire years’ worth of song-selection privileges. It was, perhaps, fortunate that neither had won the bet, because in retrospect Adam considered it a distinct possibility that an ultimatum like that could only have ended in some kind of argument**.

[* They couldn’t, but no one had paid attention to that, because the entire spectacle was so hilarious that the end result was fairly irrelevant, and Crowley turned into a snake when he thought no one was watching and cheated anyway. ]

[** Crowley and Aziraphale, after the Nahpocalypse, argued very seldom, but being that neither liked to do anything by halves, arguments were usually intensely dramatic, if short-lived. The last argument had resulted in Crowley living in the garden at Jasmine Cottage as a snake for a weekend, and only ended because Newt threatened to call animal control on him if the two didn’t reach some kind of agreement about whether or not Tom or John Barnaby was the better detective .]

The demon was tempted. “What are the stakes?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Something.” Aziraphale shrugged. “Let’s say … oh, alright. You win, and I turn a blind eye to whatever you want to do to your plants for a month before the flower show next year.”

The Them and Newt, like spectators at a chess match, breathed out. “Oh, that’s a good one,” Brian mumbled.

“But if I win, which I will, of course, then …” Aziraphale considered it. “Then …” He thought harder, and then beamed. “Then next time the neighbors want to take a week holiday, you have to take care of their smallholding by yourself .” There were assorted gasps from around the table.

Crowley barked a laugh. “Absolutely not.”

“Because you know you’d lose.”

“No, because I always end up taking care of the smallholding by myself anyway, bloody goats.” Crowley leaned his elbows onto the table and tapped his chin with steepled fingers. “Right, when I win, I’ll … or you …” He brightened. “I get to yell at my plants, and you have to let me move the statue into the living room for an entire year.”

Aziraphale groaned. “Not the statue. No, just the plants.”

“No, the statue is a part of this.”

“When I win,” Aziraphale soldiered on, pretending they were not arguing about Crowley’s infamous Angel Statue that served as a crucial part of every argument and poorly-concealed threat in their relationship, “you have to put the blasted statue in a storage unit somewhere, and you take the speakers off that abhorrent vacuum cleaner."

Crowley looked appalled. “You’d cut out DJ Roomba’s tongue for a bet?”

“I’m hardly -” He looked to Crowley, and then relented, with a sigh. “Alright. No speaker on DJ Roomba for three months. Then you can put the speakers back on.” He seized Crowley’s hand the moment the other extended it, and they shook on it, both with equal enthusiasm and smugness. “I look forward to my three months of peace.”

“Can’t wait to put my statue in the living room and kill those bloody fittonias at last.”

Pepper and Brian exchanged a look, while Adam, Newt, and Wensley were trying to hide their laughter behind their hands. “We should print a Snellen chart,” Pepper said solemnly.

“Definitely need a Snellen chart.”

Newt nodded and stood from the table. “The printer is has bluetooth. Wait for me to be outside before you connect to it.”

Once Newt had vacated the building briefly, it was easy enough to print the eye chart. Adam found a measuring tape in a cookie tin full of sewing supplies***, and they solemnly marked out the ascribed distance. “Never done one of these before,” Crowley said, sobered-up for the endeavor. “What, you’re just supposed to read it?” Aziraphale was standing over his shoulder, arms crossed, looking so smug he might as well have already won. Perhaps he had.

[*** “ Why do you need it?” Anathema had asked him as she rocked Millie to sleep on her shoulder. Adam had explained, and she had nodded. “Oh, definitely,” she’d said. “The sewing kit is still in the linen closet in the bathroom - there should be a tape measure in there. Wait until I put Millie down to bed. I want to be there.” ]

“Yeah, you cover one eye,” Pepper instructed. “Right, and then you read the smallest line you can see. Ready?”

“Easiest bet I’ve ever won,” Crowley said, motioning to Brian to flip the corkboard he’d pinned the chart to. “Right, go for it.” The board flipped, and Crowley blinked. “Well, there’s the big ‘E’ at the top.”

“Everyone knows the big E,” Anathema said, dismissive. “He said read the smallest line you can.”

“Right. Ah …” There was an uncomfortable pause. “Can I try the other eye?”

“I knew it,” Aziraphale hissed triumphantly.

Brian swallowed. “Uh. In a minute. Um. Which … which direction is the ‘E’ pointing, then?”

Crowley frowned. “Whatever way ‘E’s usually point. What kind of stupid question is that?”

The assembled humans and one angel looked at the ‘E’ which was, very clearly, printed backwards. Aziraphale raised his hands to his mouth. “Crowley, you drove us here.”

“So? Didn’t crash, did I?” He switched eyes. “Oh, yeah, the other one’s better.”

“You’re serious?” Brian asked, craning his neck around to stare at the chart. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, so what’s that mean, then?” Crowley stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back onto his heels.

Pepper grimaced. “You’re legally blind?”

“No, that can’t be right.” He shrugged. “I drove us here, didn’t I?”

“He drove us here at 100 miles per hour,” Aziraphale added, in a mix of astonishment and terror.

“Right, and didn’t hit anything -”

“This time,” Anathema muttered under her breath.

“And made great time, all here, safe as houses.” He smirked. “Could a legally blind guy do that?”

“Maybe Daredevil,” said Newt, unhelpfully.

“Anyway,” Crowley went on, turning away to stalk across the room, past his horrified angel, and flick off the light switch, instantly plunging the room into darkness, “you’re not looking at this the right way. Move the chart around a bit, med student,” he instructed, the last part said with some disdain.

“You’re not at the line,” Brian protested.

“Just move it.” There was a whisper in the dark as the corkboard started moving in irregular figure-of-eights, Brian waving it around. Had it been light enough to see, his confusion would have been plainly evident on his face. “Right, so you got the ‘E’, which is backwards, then F, P, ah … T, O, Z, er … right, faster, okay, L, P, E, D, and then … Hm. Yeah, not sure after that.” The lights flipped back on, and Crowley put his sunglasses on. “So there.”

All the others looked from Crowley, to the eye chart, and back. “How?” Adam demanded. “You didn’t mess around -”

“Nocturnal ambush predator,” Crowley replied, as if it were obvious. “Plus, the ink’s still a bit warm from the printer. So even easier, really - I’ve got a whole extra sense, even, unless humans can see infra-red.”

“We can’t,” Wensley assured him.

“Right, so what’s that make me, then? I win, obviously.”

Aziraphale jumped in then. “Oh, no, no you don’t. Under human standards -”

“That was never specified.” Crowley grinned, and showed his teeth. Nocturnal ambush predator indeed. “Don’t try that with me, angel, remember which one of us is the demon, here.”

“It was inferred.”

“No such thing in a bet. Has to be expressly specified.” Crowley made a fist. “The fittonias die tonight.”

Since the lights had come back on, Anathema had been frowning, her lips moving occasionally as she clearly puzzled something over. She spoke, finally, slowly, and said, “But … but when you hit me with your car … it was night. And I was moving. And you were moving.” She looked at him, frowning. “You should have seen me, then.”

Crowley shrugged. “Wasn’t paying attention. No harm done, anyway.”

“Not after Aziraphale fixed me!”

Crowley scoffed. “Right. Like I said.” He pointed to Aziraphale. “I’m making an entire pop playlist for DJ Roomba just for this, angel.” He grinned even wider. “And I’m moving the statue as soon as we get home.”

“Really, dear boy, I don’t think this is as clear-cut as you say.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” Crowley pointed to Brian and Pepper. “Med students, stop me if I’m wrong -” they wouldn’t “- but the definition of visual acuity does allow for corrective devices, yes?”

“Yes,” said Pepper, while Aziraphale groused, “A moving chart and total darkness do not count as corrective devices, you know they mean glasses -”

“So there you go.” Crowley crossed the room and tore the chart from the board. “With corrective devices I’m … 20/50. So there. Not perfect but I still win.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were narrowed. “That’s cheating.”

“Again, if it’s not specified in the terms then technically it is not cheating. I’ve got books about this somewhere^, Aziraphale.” He spread his hands. “I’ve made a few bets and bargains in my life, believe it or not.”

[^ Books that were, he would not add, written in blood and bound in human skin.]

Aziraphale scowled. “You’re not putting that statue out.”

“Oh, but I am. I won the privilege.”

“You didn’t win anything.”

“Oh, but I did.” Crowley rubbed his hands together. “I definitely did. By the laws of betting.” He clapped Brian on the shoulder. “Thanks for moving the chart, kid.”

“And not letting the ink dry all the way,” Adam added under his breath with a poorly-stifled laugh.

Aziraphale was still scowling at Crowley, arms crossed over his chest. “We’ll discuss this further in the car.”

Crowley made a noise that might have been a chuckle, if there wasn’t just so much infernal glee instilled in it. “You sure you want me to drive home?” The angel’s wine glass miraculously filled itself. “Oh, so you’re going to be like that?"

“That statue is going out over my discorporated body.”

“It’s a very expensive statue.” He wilted a little under the blue fire in Aziraphale’s eyes. “Alright, we can talk about it in the car.”

The angel swallowed the wine in one gulp. “Capital.”

[phaedrecameron]

House of Fraser, Chpt 4- Un Dono

“Jamie! The Randall fiancée is here.”

“Her name is Claire, Marsali. Send her back would ye?” Asked Jamie.

Jamie turned back to his table. He had several fabrics laid out in various colors. He began his mental checklist as his eyes scanned his workspace: satin, taffeta, silk, charmeuse, brocade, sheer, lacy, ivory, light gold, neutral.

His fingers tapped a tattoo on the table as he sought to calm his nerves. He hadn’t been this nervous since his first runway show. He fiddled with his collar. He was wearing well worn jeans, a burnt red v neck sweater atop a white Oxford, both rolled up at the sleeves, and his lace up boots. He was sporting a few days stubble.

After several minutes, Jamie looked toward the entryway.  He walked into the foyer. Marsali pointed to one the siderooms.  There he saw Claire speaking on her mobile. Her back was to him, but from the set of her shoulders and the movements of her arms, he knew she was angry.

Her hair was in a low ponytail. She was wearing a leather jacket, a fuzzy knit beanie and light weight wool trousers. He knew he should leave and give her privacy, but he felt rooted to the spot. Abruptly, she turned and saw him. He meant to apologize, but he caught sight of her face.  Jamie pushed the door fully open and was at her side in an instant.

“Claire, are ye alright?”

“Ah, Mr. Fra—“

“Call me Jamie.”

Claire brushed an escaped curl from her face. She looked up at him, smiled, and slowly backed away. Jamie realized he was all but on top of her and had lightly gripped her elbow.  He immediately took two steps back. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didna mean.. I thought…”  

“It’s alright,” she readjusted her cross body purse, “my job.” She shrugged. Claire expected him to drop the matter, but he stood his ground, waiting to see if she truly was okay. “I…one of my patients is very sick,” she explained, “his only hope is an expensive experimental drug, not approved in the U.K.”

Her face was like quicksand, he could read all her emotions as they formed, coalesced, and dissipated. He saw her fear, hopelessness, anger, and determination.

“The hospital is trying to convince the family that conventional treatment is the best course, but they’re wrong.  Just bureaucrats more interested in cutting costs and forms in triplicate!” Claire’s fists curled.

Jamie took one step closer. He noticed a small cluster of silver hair near her right temple; the strands threaded through her curls, hiding and peeking through like a swirl of cream through coffee.  “Dinna doubt yerself, I’m certain ye’ll persuade them.”  

She looked somewhat shocked by his statement.  “You have a lot of faith in someone you just met,” Claire replied.

“I know things and I’m a good judge of character,” he gave her a half smirk and bumped her shoulder.

She couldn’t help but smile as she looked into his face. He smelled earthy…sandalwood maybe. He’d grown a bit of facial hair. He really could model his own clothes. She quickly looked down when she realized she was staring.

“Have ye always wanted to be a doctor?”

“Yes. Always. It’s the only thing of which I’ve ever been sure. And to help children…. to see them endure such horrible pain when their lives have just begun,” she shook her head, “I was born to it I suppose.”

Jamie watched as the same stubborn curl fell to her eyebrow. He fought the urge to brush it from her face. “It must take a lot out of ye, to give so much of yerself to help. The bairns are lucky to have ye.”

“Well, it’s my job. No different than anyone else’s, really.” Claire tried to brush off his implication.

Jamie scoffed, “the skill to save a child‘s life? ‘Tis a gift Claire, truly.”

Her face seemed to light up at his words. Jamie realized, inexplicably, that she wasn’t used to being complimented. She smiled and looked away. When she looked back at him, Jamie knew he had been staring longer than could be considered polite. He turned and grabbed a clean sketchbook and pencil that was sitting on a table. Seeing Claire’s curious gaze, “I keep em lying around. Ye never know when inspiration will strike,” he gave her one of his half smiles.  He sketched for 30 seconds or so while Claire tried in vain to see his work.

“Shall we?” Jamie moved to the door.

Claire began to follow. “Will I see those?” She pointed to the now closed sketchbook he held in his hand.

“Possibly,” he teased. Jamie couldn’t show her the sketches. The sketches were designs for the spring line, not her gown. Looking at her had dislodged him from the rut he’d been in regarding the line’s direction.

Claire shook her head at him, freeing more curls, “Alright, this will be a good distraction,” she said without thinking. “Oh god.” She cringed and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean that this,” she motioned to his studio, “isn’t important…that what you do—?

“Dinna worry. I understood yer meaning. I may not be saving children’s lives, but I’d like to think I bring a bit of joy into the world.”

He turned and Claire followed him down the hallway.

Claire was soon distracted by his studio. It was enormous. There were huge windows and skylights. She saw long tables covered in fabrics, scissors, measuring tape, pins and that was just what she could identify. There were large standing boards covered with clothing designs. Some were hand drawn, others computer generated. There were mannequins and cameras. The back wall contained a row of large screen desktops.

“Claire, you remember John? He and Marsali will be assisting periodically.”

“Um, yes, hullo.” Claire’s head continued scanning the studio.

Jamie felt an unexpected pride at being able to impress her. She started to wander between the tables, Jamie carefully following behind. “Did you design all…of this?” She waved her hand in the air, her engagement ring glittering in the natural light.

“Mostly, but it’s a team effort. I oversee everything. Set the theme.”

“It’s amazing.” Awestruck, she turned to face him.

It was the first time he’d seen her true smile. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, “thank ye.”

She stopped at the table where he had laid out the fabrics.

“Is this..?” She looked at him for confirmation.

“Aye, feel them.”

She ran her fingers along the fabrics. There was the cool smoothness of satin, the rough snag of embroidered lace, and the uneven bumpiness of an embellished bodice.

“I don’t know where to start,” her voice low.

“That why I’m here. Come.” Jamie winked. Or she thought he winked, it was more like he blinked both eyes.  She laughed as he directed her to a wooden step placed before a floor length mirror.  

She stepped up and Marsali removed her jacket, revealing her plain black t shirt.  Jamie came by her side.  While on the step, they were at eye level. His deep blue eyes swimming with mischief.

“I think the color is the first decision,” Jamie stated as he brought the fabrics near her arm, “look at these.” Claire looked at the fabrics in the mirror as he brought each close.  “Yer skin is fair…almost pearl like. This would suit ye best.”  

She shyly touched her neck. “Oh? And which color is that?”

“It’s a shade of ivory, called ‘forever’.  Though... light gold and champagne are also options.” He stepped back to grab more fabric. She peeked at him in the mirror. With his jaw set in concentration, he was completely in his element. She could easily imagine him spending his days and nights here, lost in a frenzy of creation. That passion and calling to a vocation was something Claire understood well.

“Also yer quite tall,” he was saying. He was walked behind her and raised his hands.  “May I?”

She nodded. He gently grabbed her ponytail and deftly pinned her hair up; his fingers grazing her neck as he did so. Claire felt the hair on her arms raise at his touch and wondered how many models he had done that for.

“Ye’ll want to show off yer neck, maybe?” He didn’t wait for her answer, but grabbed a sketchbook and began scribbling.  He’d look up every so often, furrow his brow, and keep on scribbling.

Claire thought she would dislike being stared at and fussed over like a toy doll, but she felt…excited. A sudden energy hummed throughout her body. She twisted her hands and sighed with relief. She knew Frank worried about her lack of enthusiasm for the ceremony. She assured him she wasn’t a ‘big wedding ceremony’ type, but secretly she worried also. The pressure Frank was under was enormous. He needed her to be present for him on their wedding day; be what he required. She owed him that. Perhaps with Jamie’s help, a little piece of the wedding would be hers also. That would make it easier.

Jamie held out his sketchbook. “What do ye think? Would these suit ye or…Frank?”

She gasped as her hands swept over the pages.

“Yes, yes, they’ll suit.

[renee-writer]

From a Knight to a Laird Chapter 11 Victoria Secret and Lallybroch

Claire Jamie Tianna Raymond

Claire

"Would tomorrow work?" I ask Jennifer as she prepares to leave.

"Tomorrow is perfect. Say around ten in the morning?"

"That is good. Not to early. We are still adjusting to this time." She nods in understanding.

"Time jumping plays hell on your sciatic rythmns, doesn't it?" I laugh and the sound draws Tianna to us.

"Hey Tianna, perfect. Jennifer is going to take us shopping tomorrow morning for stuff we really didn't wish to buy in front of Merlin."

Tianna

"Such as."

"Well, fancier knickers, things to sleep in besides our shifts. Stuff like that."

"Fancier? Why would we need fancier knickers?" I ask them. They look at each other and start laughing again.

"Oh my sweet child, you will see." Jennifer gets out between the laughter.

"Okay," I say," then we best go warn our husbands."

Jamie

They are three approach and, I know they are up to something.

"What are you about now, Sassanech?" She flushes and I steal myself for an argument.

"Jennifer is going to take Tianna and I out shopping tomorrow." She informs me.

"Alone! Without a man?"

Yes, it is perfectly safe."

"I think not." That is when Raymond walks in.

Raymond

I need to get ahead of his fear before it grows and causes more problems. I walk up and touch his quivering back. "Jamie, Paul," addressed because I see the same look on his face. "You can trust Jennifer. I have known her for years. She knows more about this time then Merlin and I together. They will be perfectly safe." He takes a deep breath and nods in acknowledgement of me before heading upstairs. Claire sighs .

"I will go see to him."

Claire

I find him standing in our room, facing the window. I walk over and wrap my hands around him. He relaxes some under my touch.

"I must see you safe."

"Jamie, do you trust Raymond?" He sighs and I feel it against my cheek.

"I do but...ye dinna wish to shop with him. But a stranger!" He turns and meets my eyes. "A stranger. Ye must ken how that scares me?"

"I do. But, she isn't a stranger to Raymond. He has know her for years. And, is trusting his own daughter to her care."

"What need you that you must buy without a man?" He tries a different track.

"Women's things."

"Women's things?"

"You will see."

Jamie

I lay and watch her sleep.. She and Tianna are heading off to go shopping with Jennifer in a few hours. I am trying to be brave. But, it terrifies me. So, I watch her sleep and silently pray.

Raymond and I are taking Paul out of the house while the lasses are gone. They thought of it is enough to distract me some from my fear. Raymond has tasked me with keeping him calm.

"Jamie, how long have you been awake?" I smile down at her.

"Just a bit. Was just thinking."

"It really will be okay." I smile again and gently kiss her.

"Ye need up Sassanech. Jennifer will be here soon."

Claire.

We head down for breakfast. Tianna and Paul soon follow. We all sit down for a full English breakfast.

"You ladies need to hurry. Jennifer has a habit of being early." Raymond comments. I finish first and go to answer the door a few minutes later.

"Tianna is just finishing breakfast." I tell Jennifer as I lead her in. "Thank you for doing this."

"Not a problem. What is it that we are shopping for?"

"Knickers and night clothes."

"Ahhh. I see. I know just the place." We enter the kitchen and see Tianna is almost done.

"Would you like some breakfast? Maybe a bacon sandwich?" Raymond offers her.

"No thank you. I ate before I came."

"Jennifer?" She and I turn towards Jamie. "She is my whole world. I am trusting her to you. Please keep her safe. And Tianna."

"I will. I swear it."

Jamie

I watch them walk out. Raymond comes up behind me. "Are you ready?" I nod. I am desperate for a distraction.

"Where are we going?"

"To a small pub down the street."

"A pub?"

"You would call it a tavern. But, it has more food choices."

We walk up to a building called the Red Lion Pub. Paul had walked beside me with wide eyes. They get wider as we enter the building. Merlin takes us to a table in the back as Raymond goes to get drinks.

Claire

Victoria Secret, the sign above the store says. The front is full of mannequins wearing tiny strips of lace and cloth.

"It seems she doesn't have to many secrets, this Victoria." I murmur. Jennifer laughs.

"To true. You wanted fancy. This is as fancy as it gets." We walk in with Tianna holding tight to my hand.

"Can I help you?" The sales lady asks. We turn to Jennifer.

"Thanks. We are just going to look around."

"Call out if you need me?"

"They are designed to drive your men mad." Jennifer explains as we looked through the selections of knickers that were naught but a bit of clothe and lace. I smile and pick up a pair that is cut quite low in front and high in the back.

"Jamie likes my bum." I explain to Jennifer."

"Brilliant. How about you Tianna? What is Paul's favorite part of you?"

"My," she gestures to her chest as she turns bright red.

"Ahh. Come this way." We walk over to the bras. "What is your size?" She looks blankly at her. " Of course you don't know. How stupid of me. We will just get you measured." She calls the sales lady over and explains the situation. She sents another lady over.

Jamie

Raymond returns with four glasses of whiskey. He passes them out.

"I will switch to coke--a-cola after this." I tell him.

"Why?"

"Weel, I promised Claire I would cut back on my drinking as we are trying to make a bairn." He nods in understanding.

"Should I do the same?" Paul asks.

"Probably. Seems that as they are not drinking, at all, we can cut back."

Tianna

The lady took me and the others into a curtained room. "I will measure ye. First under then around yer breasts." She explains. She then does it.

"36 C." She tells us. And we head back to the strange bras.

"You see, right here is the sizes.," Jennifer shows me the tag.," we are looking for the ones marked 36 C."

I catch on quickly. Their are so many. Some that are more lace. Some that are thicker. I pick out a couple that I think are pretty. One of the lace ones. One of the thick ones. Claire also picks out a few. We both choose some of the fancy knickers.

"Now, you need at least one nighty from here." Jennifer says. She tales us to what looks like to fancy shifts. Some with what looks like bras built in. Some very short. Some as long as the floor.

I pick out a pink one that reaches my knee. It is cut low in the front. Claire picks one that reaches the ground. It is right. "To show off my bum." She says with a laugh.

Claire

We leave Victoria Secret and head back to Woolworths. Jennifer explains we will need some everyday night clothes too. We pick out heavier gowns, made of soft flannel. We also pick out some for our men. Flannel tops and pants.

"Thank you so much for doing this. We just couldn't take.."

"No. You couldn't. It is my pleasure. A privilege to help you adjust to this time." We are back in her auto, unheard.

"You can tell your sisters you meet us. Just don't tell them where we live."

"I would never."

Raymond

"I have something to show you," I say to Jamie. He looks up at me and I slide the paper across to him. He looks diwn at it and then back up at me.

"What?"

"It is the deed to Lallybroch. I have purchased it. As a home for you, Claire, Tianna, Paul, and I. And any grandchildren you gift me with."

Jamie

Lallybroch! We can return home to Lallybroch. My bairns can play where Jenny, Willy, and I did! They can grow up free. Breathing in the fresh Highland air.

"How?" I choke out.

"It was Merlin's idea. He mentioned it when he came through to get the supplies. I went right to work. I hoped to have the deed before you came. But, got it yesterday."

I am speechless and hug both men as tears run down my face. I can take my bride home, to Lallybroch!

[filmista]

Phantom Thread (2017)

“What precisely is the nature of my game?”

That Phantom Thread would become Daniel Day-Lewis’s last achievement is no longer hot off the press. Reviewers also shouted out their praise about his performance as Mr. Woodcosck, so the brilliance of his performance is probably not news either. 

Yet I’ll say it again: Phantom Thread is the icing on the cake of Day-Lewis' oeuvre, the lace finish on a sublime dress, the final button on the perfect sleeve.

But let’s be honest: he plays a complete and utter asshole. Woodcock is the type of man who already on the first date tells a woman that her breasts are too small. And when she replies "I know. Sorry," he responds without flinching:" No problem. It's my job to give you breasts ... if I feel like it. "

Mr. Woodcock is one of the most prominent fashion designers in post-war London in the 1950s. Following a common, but quite often true cliche about artists, Woodcock is also a tortured artistic “genius” who is willing to tinker on his countless sublime creations day and night, in eternal chase of perfection even if hurts himself and those around him.

Woodcock, not only makes high demands on his dresses, but his entire household also has to conform to his many rituals. Nothing can deviate from the normal course of events: tea is brought to you at specific times, asparagus is made with butter - not with oil and salt - and if you dare to disturb him during breakfast by too loudly spreading your butter, you can expect Woodcock's merciless, destructive anger. 

This is the most likely fate for Alma (Vicky Krieps): angry glances at breakfast, painful, awkward silences and finally the intervention of Cyril (Lesley Manville), who will tell her to leave the house.

After all, this happens every time Reynolds Woodcock (Daniel Day-Lewis) takes a woman home. The rigid Reynolds is an incurable bachelor who never lasts long with any of his conquests. His work stands above everything else. Together with his sister Cyril, he runs the fashion house House of Woodcock; he is a couturier, she the business brain.

Alma meets Reynolds in a hotel by the sea, where she works as a waitress. Her interest is awakened by his *cough* “appetite”, he sees her as a muse with the ideal measurements. Alma is certain that Reynolds is not the strong man he pretends to be. She only needs to find and assess his weak spots.

Reynolds is a genius in his work, but also the biggest nitpicker in the world and not only in his work: he also expects pure perfection from the people who love him. Anyone who dares to deviate once he punishes. 

His last name does perhaps not by coincidence coincide with Tom Cruise's battle cry from Magnolia: "Respect the cock!" Because Woodcock is also an alpha male in his own way: he thinks himself the center and master of the universe, at least his universe. But fortunately, his new muse Alma (Vicky Krieps) has arrived to change that - in a deliciously kinky way.

Until now there was little room for love in Woodcock's house. Girls came and went: they acted as a mannequin and companionship, but they were routinely dispatched by Woodcock's sister, Cyril, once he got bored with them.

The only woman in his life is his deceased mother, who taught him his trade and whose lock of hair he wears in the lining of his vest. That a romantic relationship still develops between the idiosyncratic Alma and Mr. Woodcock is, therefore, a surprise for everyone. 

Somewhere halfway through Phantom Thread, something truly interesting happens: when Woodcock is about to get rid of Alma, once the magic has ended for him, the girl reacts differently than the women who came before her. She fights back, she protests, something that was unthinkable to him as for him a woman had to look pretty and preferably be quiet while she does that. 

She transformed from a passive girl into a rebellious woman. And just like the caterpillar that turns out to be a graceful butterfly, her perspective also becomes a lot more attractive and interesting to us. Where she used to do everything to desperately please her lover, she gradually claims a place in the spotlights for herself. The roles are reversed. And as Alma had rightly assessed,  Woodcock is really not that unwavering at all. 

I wanted to have you to myself. You have me all the time. No! What are you talking about? I don’t! I… there… There are always people around. And if not, then there’s something between us. Something between us? Yes. What? Some… What? Distance! When did this happen? What happened to make you behave like this? Is it because you think I don’t need you? Yes. I don’t. Why that’s very predictable of you. Don’t act so tough. I know you are not

With Phantom Thread, Paul Thomas Anderson works out what he started with The Master (2012), his film about sect leader Ron Hubbard. And just as The Master didn’t deal with Scientology, Phantom Thread isn’t about fashion. Reynolds sketches at breakfast jots down a bust size and that's enough.

How vulnerable is a guru, is his question. To what extent does he put his own soul at stake? Just like in The Master, Phantom Thread a deviant follower presents themselves: the young woman Alma.

Different is that she has no history, not a hint of a background (we only know for sure she is from Eastern Europe) She meets him by chance. Moved by his own emotion, the fashion king decides to keep her as the umpteenth throw-away beauty. Or so he thought. But he is mistaken, as 'the master' was mistaken.

Reynolds gets his charisma from actor Daniel Day-Lewis in what is supposed to be the last film role of his career. I hope not, but let's assume that he means it. Then this is a farewell with a bang. Of course, he took sewing lessons for a year and can now make dresses like the best, that’s the sort of thing he always does.

More exciting is that he plays Reynolds with a subtle, fragility and vulnerability that is hidden behind a facade of what seems like impenetrable toughness, but can be broken through by the right woman.

When Alma tells him that she finds him a beautiful man, he rewards her with a smile. His narrow lips tremble as if they suddenly remembered what that was like, a kiss. That he keeps their relationship carefully platonic, is not surprising.

Luxembourgian actress, Vicky Krieps, who plays Alma, does anything but disappear as femme fatale in Daniel Day-Lewis’s shadow.

Just as she turns Woodcock's life upside down, she also knocks the viewer out with her mercilessly unpredictable, refreshing performance. Alma challenges Reynolds, threatens to knock him off his pedestal, punctures his swollen ego with his own needle. And strangely enough, that’s exactly what he was looking for.

Thus Anderson conjures up an immensely fascinating power game between man and woman on the screen. A sort of SM without whips, a hundred times more exciting than all the three Fifty Shades movies together.

It mainly takes place indoors and apparently little is at stake. Yet Anderson knows how to bring grandness, to this rush-driven power struggle between two stubborn lovers. He shows that sometimes within every relationship there’s a war, complete with attack tactics and shifting lines. 

And all that with a sense of pure beauty that Reynolds Woodcock himself could learn from. Phantom Thread is the epitome of elegance, an endless succession of stylish costumes, decors and camera movements. Sewn together by the enchanting music of Jonny Greenwood.

The phantom thread is the phantom pain of the fashion designer. it’s the “ghost thread” the connection between him and Alma, that means the end of his power. That ghost image threatens every guru - in 'thread' 'threat' is also hidden. That threat will soon become real he knows it and we feel it. But how?

The key that Paul Thomas Anderson gives us is the green bridal dress. Reynolds designed it for an old heiress who is marrying probably for the seventh time or so. At the wedding party, the drunken bride falls with her head into her plate and no one pays her any attention, no one has even seen it. Except for Alma. She watches and cries. 

You’d think out of pity for that overly rich woman and her heartbreaking redundancy. But no. Alma is crying for the dress. She is not worth it, she wails, we have to get it back! Moments later, in a merciless scene, she takes the dress off of the lavish bride and runs off into the London night with it. Reynolds runs after her. His answer? One of the only passionate kisses of the entire film.

Call me cynical, but that’s calculation (which indeed makes her a femme fatale, as I previously called her, nonetheless one that acts out of true love). Through this seemingly hysterical action, Alma finally has unlocked what she wanted all along his love: permanent access to his bed, heart, and mind, in other words, all of him completely. 

But she also entirely gives herself to him in return. So if their love resembles a war, which I’ve previously compared it to the balance or ceasefire they achieve, is through each, in turn, surrendering to the other. 

Through the trick with the green wedding dress, Alma conquered his body. Now his mind is still left. Another ruse, also with a wedding gown, a white lace one that pushes her breasts up, in almost strategic seduction, as if they were lying on a tray like the food Reynolds is such a lover of. 

A mistake. Reynolds becomes very ill. His time is over and he knows it. He faints, takes the dress down with him, the powerless sleeves don’t catch him in his fall.

Alma is ready and plays with him a sinister game, hide-and-seek with death. This is horror without blood and Alma determines the rules. He knows this woman has him twisted around her finger. But what’s more, Reynolds is willing to play. They’re absolutely each other’s “sickly” match. 

Who is she? The only thing we know about her, we realize, is that she likes to cook with mushrooms.

[b0blegum]

Redamancy [Five]

Author: b0blegum

Pairing: CEO Yoo Kihyun x Reader

Rating: G

Genre: Romance, Drama

Status: On Going

Part: Pilot | One | ch. 2 TEASER | Two | ch. 3 TEASER | Three | ch. 4 TEASER | Four | Five | ch. 6 TEASER | Six

Words: 3.2k+

Summary

He was so broken and afraid of Love. Never thought he would return one’s love in full anymore.

a/n In this chapter, the song i’d like you to listen to is Hurts Like Hell by Fleurie.

You flipped through the pages until you found today's date written at the upper-right. Tracing your fingers on the schedule to get everything in your brains, preparing what to tell to your boss once he was back at his room.

"Right. The Gala dinner." You said what's written on the paper.

Seeing a shadow walking on the hallway, you fixed your attire before following him and knocking on his office once he was inside.

He cleared his throat before he answered, "Come in."

Pushing the door slowly, you entered his office. As always, he already looked busy with his work when it's just 11 am.

"I think I should remind you that you'll have a Gala Dinner at 7 tonight." You said confidently. He stopped typing for a mere one second before he continued.

"We're leaving the office in five, I should get this done first. Is it enough for you to get ready?" He asked without leaving his eyes from the monitor.

"Get ready?" Your eyebrows furrowed.

"You're coming to the Gala, as well. Didn't you read the invitation? It clearly is written for two person." He replied coldly.

"Uh, yes. But–"

"Can you think of a name, whom should I go to the Gala with?"

"Uh..."

"Then you it is." He finished what he was typing with a hard click on the keyboard.

His sudden invitation left you speechless than you could only managed said a confused ‘yes’ before you left his office, back to your room, finishing your current saved work on Excel before shoving everything inside your purse and followed him down.

As always, he asked his driver to close the glass partition and stay quiet with his eyes focused on his phone. Probably replying all the important e-mails that sent straight from the higher ups to him.

The car was moving in constant speed through the shockingly empty road, heading to the shopping area where you could spot pretty much all of the high-end brands and sport cars parked comfortably at each side of the road.

“We’re taking my suits first. Then we’ll see what you’ll have.” He told you once the car stopped in front of three-storage tailor shop.

It was built with a classical architecture façade with two big windows merged into one, displaying two beautiful bespoke suits. A word ‘House of Alexander’ was stickered on the window with a deep green color and gold outlines.

You followed him out of the car, entering the shop that had a manly woody scent, which was perfect for a shop that was made for men who’d spent their time here to be measured and tried on some suits.

Another couple of suits were displayed along one side of the store once you’re inside, while the other was where the racks with loads of fabrics were lining up side to side.

“Mr. Yoo.” A girl with a perfectly ironed ivory suits called his name with a smile. “You’re here early. I thought you’d come at three, like what we’ve promised.” She said as she coming closer to both of you.

Kihyun responded to her smile. “My partner has to get ready, too.” He glanced at you. He said it rather casually, meanwhile you’re a bit startled by the word ‘partner’.

Well, partner could also mean work-partner, right?

“Oh, that was very rude of me.” She looked serious for a bit as she landed her eyes on you. “Welcome to our store, Ms,…” She squinted her eyes.

“Yoo.” Kihyun stole your lines, before you could even spill your own last name. Both of the woman there, you and the worker, looked as startled.

“Right, Ms. Yoo.” She acted polite again. The basic formality of working in such place.

“So, my suit?” Kihyun broke the weird atmosphere above the three of you.

“Right, Sir. I’ll bring it for you in a second.” She then disappeared behind the curtain.

“I didn’t know my last name is Yoo.” You said sarcastically. He scoffed and turned himself to you.

“It’s easier that way.” He scanned you. “And you have to get used to it.”

“To… what?”

“Your suit, Mr. Yoo.” The assistant came back with the suit still attached to the mannequin. “Let’s try it on.” She unbuttoned the suits and ready to help Kihyun wore it.

It was a black suits with a velvet swirly pattern allover the single-breasted jacket suit. Kihyun wore it carefully with a bit of help from the assistant. He adjusted his shoulder to fit it perfectly and buttoned the jacket.

He turned himself in front of the mirror, to take a better look of himself wearing the suits. “Perfect. Exactly like I wanted it.” He smiled as he tilted his head and brushed his hair back.

“I’m glad it turned out just like what you wanted, Mr. Yoo.” The assistant repeated. Gently, Kihyun took the suit off and gave it back to the assistant to get her put it into the garment bag and brought it to his car.

“Thank you.” Kihyun gave a smile from inside the car.

“You’re very welcome, Mr. and Ms. Yoo.” She replied before Kihyun closed the window.

“Where would you want me to take you now, Sir?” The driver asked.

“The dress shop.” He said.

“Wait… what?” You whispered.

“You don’t have any dresses at home, do you?” He squinted his eyes at you with his hand already occupied with his phone.

“N-o.”

“Then, you know why we should head out there.”

This had been your fifth dress you tried on at this store. So far it was either too revealing or too much for your liking and this one was the same. It made you look shorter than you actually are.

“I… don’t think so.” You turned around.

“Next.” He said to the assistant who already had the sixth gown on her hand. Sipping on his complimentary drink, he watched the assistant carefully helping you with the gown.

“Wow, beautiful.” You complimented as the gown already hugged your figure.

It was an off-shoulder black dress made with unbelievably comfortable fabric with the arabesque pattern that matched perfectly with the one on Kihyun’s jacket suit. The skirt was so wide but it doesn’t make the dress looked too much, in fact it balanced the simple bodice.

“Turn around.” You heard Kihyun’s voice behind you. Sounded as intimidating as always.

You did as he told and found him already standing just steps away from you.

“Beautiful.” Slowly a smile arose on his face. “You like this one?”

“Uh… I,”

“No sentence. Yes or no?”

“Yes, but-“

He turned to the assistant. “We’ll take this one.” He pointed at you before he proceed to the payment. You followed him after you were done taking off that beautiful dress.

“That would be Fifty million won, Sir.” Unhesitant Kihyun handed his credit card to the woman behind the marbled desk.

“Sir, I don’t think I need that dress.” You whispered, which sent him to give you a questioning look. “It’s… the price, it’s too much.”

“It’s my card. Not yours.” He scoffed and signed the small paper.

“When do you want us to deliver the dress to your house, Sir?”

“Mr. Yoo, can you just cancel that?” You whispered again.

Ignoring you, he tilted his head to the side, “Around… five.”

“Five it is, Sir.”

You were looking at the mirror in your room. Your hair was done and so was your make up. The dress was already attached to your body, hugging your figure perfectly.

The penthouse was quiet. Kihyun was probably getting ready in his own room. Matching his suits to expensive plain shirt he owned and perfectly polished shoes to complete his look.

Suddenly your door was being knocked. “Are you ready?” He said behind the door. Standing up immediately, you walked carefully to the door.

Slowly, you opened the door, revealing yourself to Kihyun who was currently fixing his cufflink.

“I… am.” His eyes started scanning you from the very bottom to the very top. Looked astonished by the way you look, he involuntarily smirked.

“You look… amazing.”

All eyes on the room were on you and the guy beside you. The room was full of people playing dressed up as a rich. Diamond rings on her finger and expensive watch around his wrist. Hands circling on women’s wrist lightly as the woman held up the glass of Möet gracefully. The grand room was decorated beautifully in black and deep purple, just the right color combination to gave out an intense yet elegant vibe.

It felt awkward for you to be there, in between all those riches and people who had the powers of this country, some of you really want to just ran out of the room and get home, but it’s too late now.

“Arms.” He said with his eyes focused to the far front. You glanced at him and realized that he already had his arm bend, waiting for yours to link with his.

Hesitantly you linked your arms before he led you walk in the middle of the room, catching even more eyes to scan you completely, making you even more uncomfortable.

“Mr. Yoo. Is there something wrong with me? Why are they looking at me like that?” You whispered without looking at him.

“You’re stunning. That’s why.” Your cheeks turned into a rosy red in respond to his blunt answer. “Champagne?”

“Uh, no thanks.”

“We meet again, Yoo Kihyun.” A woman dressed in black satin v-neck dress with the side slit up to her thigh, stopped in front of you and your partner. She crossed her leg, to reveal a lot more of her skin, thinking it was not enough with revealing much part of her upper part.

“No, Yoona. Revealing your beautiful leg doesn’t make me want to sleep with you tonight.” Kihyun smiled.

“Oh, this is not an invitation to get into what’s between my legs, Kihyun.” She smiled and rolled her eyes.

“We both know what you were doing.” Kihyun replied quickly.

“Anyway, you’re here again with… her.” She looked at you with an underestimating look. “The secretary.”

“She’s my partner tonight, if you haven’t realized that.” Again, you were startled at his blunt statement, plus, he pulled you closer to him, hip met hip.

She then burst into a forced scoff. “Partner?” She scanned you. “You never took your secretary to a party like this before.” She looked rather upset and surprised.

“I never.” Kihyun smiled. “I realized you have nothing to converse with me, so will you excuse me?” Without waiting for her response, Kihyun walked pass her, leaving her looking dumbfounded.

“You never brought your secretary to a party before?” You questioned as you followed him to the table.

“I always had my lover.”

“She was your lover, but she acted like she never asked to go to a party like this.” You carefully asked. He looked at you and smirked.

“You have a lot of questions inside your smart brain, don’t you?” She let go of your arm and stood in front of you. “Me and her, is complicated.”

“As complicated as my life that you suddenly ruined because I kept showing in front of you?” You spat out just everything inside your brain, without any intention to offend him, actually.

He put his hands into his pocket. “I always have reason for everything and there is also one why I dragged you into my life.”

“Yeah, you told me that I should help you, so is bringing me to this party a part of any ways of helping you?”

“Yes.” You blinked. He looked more serious than before. “It is.”

“So, you will not tell me on why I should help you with? You will keep dragging me into things and then telling me later that it was the way to help you?”

“I’m surprised you don’t know what you should help me with after all the pathetic love story I told you the other day.” He looked away for a second.

He scooted closer to you and gently put his hand on your waist and pulled you closer to him. His head was positioned right beside yours before he looked aside. You could feel his warm breath touching your ear.

“Help me to forget her.”

Both of you stayed still for seconds. Thoughts were filling your brain. Yes, he always had reason for everything like he just said and yes, you knew so well what’s his reason for this.

“Excuse me, Sir.” A voice broke your chain of thoughts and startled Kihyun that he had to took a step back. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but Mr. Kim was expecting you on his table.” A man in black suit, looked more like a bad guy rather than a businessman sat at the table he meant, sipping a glass of something dark.

Kihyun sighed deeply before he let go of his hand from your waist. “Stay here.” He gave you a nice brush on your shoulder before he headed to Mr. Kim’s table.

You looked at him from behind. Still thinking about his reason.

“You sure are something.” Someone snickered behind you. Turning around, you met a familiar woman. It was her again, Yoona. “Hiring you as his secretary, moving you into his house, buying you that dress, bring you to this party. What next?” She smirked. “The last time he acted like this was when he was with that poor girl—oh no, the rich who turned into a poor in just one night. The girl who tragically died in front of his own eyes.” She continued. “A sad story isn’t it?”

“Uh, I’m sorry, but-“

“I knew her. We were best friend—no, our fathers were best friend.” She started spilling everything she knew even though you didn’t ask. “She was a nice woman, no wonder he fell into her arms.”

You weren’t interested at this story at all, but some molecules on your body can’t help not to go and stay to hear the full story of this. Starting to become curious of where this story was going.

“I was the one who introduced them to each other, actually, but look at him now—look at how he treated me. No saying thanks. So I tried to separate them, doing everything I could, but well oh well, they still ended up together anyway until her death—oh, by the way, shouldn’t we talk about this at the balcony? I think it’s better with some light air.”

“S- ure.” You followed her to the nearest balcony, where it had the view to the pool at the 10th floor.

“Here.” Casually, as she leaned on the solid railing, she handed you a glass of Wine, which you didn’t realize since when it got in her hand.

Saying thanks, you sipped it down a little bit and joined her on the railing as she began to continue the story about the woman Kihyun used to love.

“I went to his penthouse. Once.” She swirled her glass. “He hates people coming to his property. That’s what surprised me when I knew he let you move in into his house.”

“But I only occupied the floor where my room is.”

“Of course. I bet he forbid you strongly to go to his floor.” She nodded.

“Yes.”

“He stored all the secrets he has on his floor.”

“Secrets?”

“I don’t know all of his secrets or what he has up there, but when I was at his penthouse, I got into a room without his knowing.” She scoffed.

“What’s inside?”

“Junk.” She sighed. “Her dress, her photographs, her… anything that related to her.”

“He must’ve loved her so much, that he didn’t throw them all away.”

“He’s stupid that’s all.”

“It’s a lovely night, is it not?” It was Kihyun’s voice. Startled, you turned around and bit your lip. “I asked you to stay where you were and look where I found you.” He stretched his neck and quickly grabbed your wrist, pulling you over to him. “Stay. Close.” He whispered.

“Look at you. Being all possessive towards a girl who’s not even your… lover.” Yoona laughed sarcastically.

“A lover or not. I don’t want to find her standing side by side with a girl you are.” He scoffed.

“I am jealous.” She walked slowly towards Kihyun, dragging her dress and tracing her finger on Kihyun’s chest up to his cheek. “You were not possessive towards me.” And just with that, she left. “Enjoy the night, lovebirds.”

“Why did you follow her?” He let go of your wrist, walking towards the railing. Following him, you swirled your glass. “Is that from her?”

🎧  Fleurie – Hurts Like Hell

“Yes—“

“Throw that away, she could put a poisoned in it.” Shocked, your jaw dropped and you looked at him. “She’s crazy. She hates seeing any girls get close to me.” He hissed. “What did she say to you?”

“Nothing. Just… she talked about your… late ex.”

“My late ex.” Kihyun repeated.

“She told me she was pretty, kind and everything that girls want, she had it.” You told her what Yoona told you earlier. “She was the one who supported you to run your company, wasn’t she?”

Kihyun didn’t answered.

“I’m sure she was really an amazing woma—“

Unexpectedly, Kihyun turned you around and pressed his lips on yours. His arms slowly snaked on your back. He closed his eyes and just stay there for a while. Probably waiting for you to get used to what he just did and to see your respond.

You felt something weird in your system. It was like you had lots of butterfly in your stomach. Part of you wanted to break the kiss so badly, but another part of you was longing for something like this. The feeling of kissing someone, having his lips pressed on yours gently.

Defeating the weak part of you, you began to kiss him back. Giving a slight press to his lips and with that one move, he skillfully sandwiched your lower lips with his and pulled you into even a deeper kiss. Heart beat faster and you felt warmth filling in your body as the kiss got more intense. Biting lips every once in a while and he even moved down to your jaw, giving it a small peck before back to your lips.

You put your palms on his chest and began to catch up to his pace. Tilting your head to the other side, he bit your lip, making you flinched a bit before back to savoring the sweet taste of his lips.

After a while, he pulled you off and rested his forehead on yours. “Stop talking about my late ex.” His warm breath touched you, sending shivers down your spine as his breath collided with the cold air. “I want you to help me.” He gave you a single kiss. “To forget her.” His hand slowly moved from your back, tilting your face up.

You slowly opened up your eyes to meet his pair of dark eyes.

“Be my lover.”

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MASTERLIST

[punkpoemprose]

Siege Of Arendelle- Chapter Two

I have yet to come up with a better title, so this one sticks for now! I’d like to say thank you all so very much for your comments on the first chapter! Your excitement has me excited! The plan, as of right now, is to update every week on Friday. Anyone who knows me will know that this will probably only last a couple of weeks, but fingers crossed that I manage to keep up this schedule!

Art for this chapter here created by the amazingly talented @minnothebunny <3 Thank you so much! I can’t even tell you how much I love this because there aren’t enough words!

Universe: Canon- Post Film Rating: T (Teen and Up)- For now Words: 3320

Chapter One Chapter Three

           A month had passed, and Anna sat alone in her bedchamber. She hadn’t expected for the time to pass so quickly, and she felt as though it had barely been the blink of an eye since she had first heard the news of her arranged marriage. She brushed her already straight and knot-less hair, simply to have something to do.

          It was night, but the moon and stars were bright enough to light her room through the window. She couldn’t avert her eyes from the mannequin beside her dressing table that was illuminated by the moonlight. It was headless, and she couldn’t help but wonder if it would like to trade places with her. At least then she wouldn’t have to think about anything. She smirked at her own joke, but her face went flat quickly. The stuffed dressing doll wore her wedding gown, the one she had no say in the style of. It had been out of her hands, just like everything else about her wedding, from China patterns, floral arrangements, and every other decision right down to the groom.

          The gown was too tight at her waist, too large in the chest, and too frilly everywhere else. They had to tie her so tightly into her corset that she could hardly breathe when they had laced her into it for her final fitting. To fill out the more than ample chest, they had sewn tear drop shaped pillows full of feathers into the bust. They would have been fine it it weren’t for the way in which the feathers worked their way through the fabric and found their way to her skin. They poked, prodded, and scratched against her breasts to the point at which she thought tearing the entire top off and baring herself to the world would be preferable.

          It was hard to believe that it had been made for her when the only thing of the proper size was the shoulders. Even the skirt was too long, requiring her to wear very high heeled shoes below the layers upon layers of fabric. She was still uncertain of whether or not she’d actually be able to walk in them, but maybe she’d be lucky enough to break her neck when she fell. Everything about her wedding was about fuss in the name of looking regal.

          She had met her groom for the first time at breakfast. He was quite a bit older than her, and he looked nearly identical to his younger brother. He was the third in line for the throne, one of Hans’s elder brothers. He’d already been married once before, but his wife had died in child birth. She couldn’t laugh about it, having too much reverence for the dead and just enough respect for the grief her fiance must have felt to keep herself from doing so, but there was some sort of humor she found in the fact that the only thing they appeared to have in common was that neither was the other’s first choice in a partner.

          He had no children, and that, at least, gave Anna some small measure of peace. She was not ready to be a mother, particularly not to children that were not her own. She liked children well enough, but even now she still felt like a child herself. Therefore she counted his lack of offspring as a blessing. However, whatever small peace there was in the thought of him not having children, it was overshadowed by Anna’s knowledge that both kingdoms were expecting her to give him some, and soon.

          She tried not to squirm at the thought. He wasn’t unattractive in the conventional sense, but she hated the thought that in less than twenty-four hours she would be expected to go to bed with him. For what it was worth he seemed kind so far, not that it meant anything when his brother had been the same way. She shivered at the thought, dropped the brush she was holding, and then fell back onto her own mattress, wondering if it were the last time she would sleep on it.

          She looked straight up, the ceiling was a far more comforting sight than her wedding gown. She wished that she could lay outdoors on the grass and stare up at the stars. She wished she were up in the mountains again, surrounded by trees and nature. She’d much rather have a troll wedding than the one she would have when the sun arose.

          For the first time in a month she allowed herself to think about Kristoff again, and with the thought came a month’s worth of tears that she had refused to shed. She didn’t make a sound, she didn’t sob. The tears escaped from the corners of her eyes and flowed across her skin in thin lines. They tickled her skin, but she didn’t move to wipe them away or scratch the itch they left on her skin when they dried. She let herself cry, if only to feel something.

          She thought about the way it felt to have strong, calloused hands at her waist, guiding her through the trees. The last time she had seen him before this whole mess had arisen he had done just that, teaching her the names of plants that were just beginning to pop through the freshly unfrozen soil. She had threaded her dirty fingers through his and kissed his lips in the embrace of the wood where no one could see. She remembered the way he had whispered to her that he loved her when he left her in the front hall with promises that he would come back soon.

          He hadn’t.

          Her fingers went to her lips, as if she could feel the remnants of a month-old kiss there. Her body ached to be held in his arms again. She imagined what it would be like to marry him. He wouldn’t expect her to be regal, he would simply expect her to be his. She already was. She would always be. This Prince from enemy lands might have her body, only because there was precious little she could do to stop that, but Kristoff had her heart and he always would.

          She closed her eyes, replaying her troll wedding in her mind. She wished that she would have said “I do” that day. Now she was stuck, back where she started, marrying someone she had only just met. She took a deep breath when she ran out of tears to shed, and pushed herself from the bed to walk over to her window.

          She looked out at the stars. The night was cloudless, and she wanted desperately to reach out and touch them as they glittered away in the sky. Ships filled the Fjord, waves knocked gently at their sides, and despite her fear of the open water that had taken her parents from her, she wished she knew how to sail. For as much as her head told her that she was doomed to follow the fate that had been decided for her, her heart told her to run away, far away, and as fast as her legs could take her.

          Sails would take her even faster. Or even a horse. On her horse she could ride as fast as any man.

          She lifted the latch and her hands pushed out on the glass. The cold spring air struck her face. She breathed it in and stared up at the stars. Kristoff had taught her things about them, the constellations, the way they could be used to navigate and find your way home. She wondered if she had learned enough from him. She wondered if she managed to leave the castle unnoticed if she could find her way somewhere else by the stars. She had dreamt of it. Maybe she would follow the north star and try to find her way up into the mountains. She wasn’t sure if she would be able to survive long enough to make it anywhere at all, but for freedom it was worth a try.

          She tried not to dwell upon it, but her head and her heart agreed that they would both rather she died free than lived as a pawn in a game of international political chess. She was reminded of the thinness of her nightgown as she sat on her window sill, the breeze cooling her skin as she closed her eyes and dreamed of escaping. Maybe if she found her way to the trolls they would allow her to stay with them. Maybe Kristoff would find her with them.

          It was too much to hope.

          “I hope you’re not planning on jumping from there.”

          Anna nearly tipped out the open window in her fright, but she was able to grab the wooden sill in time to keep herself from falling. Her eyes opened, and she sighed in relief despite the pounding of her heart.

          Her sister stood before her, wearing her own nightgown covered by a thick robe. She didn’t look like the Queen of Arendelle like this, with her hair down and her face somber.

          “Elsa!” She said with relief, bringing the hand that was not clutching the windowsill up to her chest, “What are you doing here?”

          “I might ask you the same thing,” the elder sister responded, gesturing with her hand to insist Anna keep her voice down.

          “What are you talking about?” Anna asked, her voice lower now as she swung her legs over and brought her body back into the room.

          Elsa quirked her brow and held out a simple leather satchel. Anna blushed in response and lowered her line of sight to the floor as her sister tossed it gently to her feet. It barely made a sound, stuffed mostly with cloth.

          “I found this hidden in the stables. I wouldn’t have thought twice, but when I opened it there was a gold necklace.”

          Anna sighed, knowing that she was caught, and her eyes went back up to her sister’s face, “It was just a precaution. The necklace was to trade for food once I was out of the city. I was hoping no one would miss it. The rest I bought in the market or taken from the laundry. As you can see my sense of duty outweighed my will to run. I’m not going anywhere. Don’t worry about it.”

          Elsa shook her head and sighed, “Well then I guess replacing your door guards with my personal guards and making sure you had a clear path to the stables was completely unnecessary.”

          “What are you–?”

          “You know exactly what I’m talking about Anna. I can’t let you go through with this. Not for me. I’ll never be able to live with myself.”

          “I’m not doing this for you!” Anna shot back, nearly forgetting to keep her volume down. Since the wedding had first been announced the walls not only had eyes, but also ears. Sometimes she wondered if they had noses too, if the guards and royals from the Southern Isles could smell trouble or a single hair out of place.

          “Then for who?” Elsa asked, the hurt from her sister’s words showing on her face, but only for a moment.

          Anna paused for a moment, looking at her sister and taking in a deep breath. She wasn’t certain how she should say what she meant, but she tried her best.

          “For our people. For the ones who never asked to be involved in this game of cats and mice. For the good ones who just want to live their lives and be happy. For…” she stopped herself before she could say it. She could feel the tightening in her own throat and the wetness returning to the corners of her eyes.

          “Kristoff,” Elsa said with a sad smile, “You’re doing this for Kristoff.”

          Anna looked away, unwilling to make eye contact with her sister. Her eyes fell upon her dress instead and she thought about ripping it to shreds with her bare hands. How satisfying to would be to do. It was comforting enough to even picture it.

          “I love him,” she managed to choke out, “And I love you. So, I should have said not just for you. And not just for him either. I’m doing this for everyone. I’m a Princess and this is my duty.”

          Elsa shook her head and approached her sister, “Your duty is to no one but yourself.”

          Anna tried to find the words to respond, but she found herself first in her sister’s arms, being held in an embrace that felt like a goodbye.

          And it was.

          “Are you sure no one will know I left this way?” Anna began cautiously, her voice betraying both how much she wanted to go and how terrified she was to do so, “What will they do come morning?”

          Elsa pulled back from the hug, eyes as wet as her sisters, but her lips were twisted into a mischievous smile. “Don’t worry about that.”

          “How can I not worry about that Elsa? I think you give my calm much more credit than it’s due.”

          “You won’t have to worry my dear sister,” Elsa, wiping away her tears on the sleeves of her dressing robe, the look of mischief taking over rapidly, “Because you and I are about to drown the bride.”

                                                            ***

          Anna could hardly believe what she was doing. She had dreamt of it for a month, but actually putting such an idea into practice was beyond her wildest dreams. She would have been gleeful if it weren’t for the fact that she feared that she had just hugged her sister for the last time.

          She was dressed in servant’s clothes, plain, but warm and comfortable. Her telltale red hair, that her husband-to-no-longer-be had complimented her on, was in a braid hidden beneath a cap. She snuck through the halls of the only home that she had ever known, careful to keep her footsteps quiet. Elsa had been spectacularly helpful, replacing the guards that should have been protecting her bed chamber with two of her personal guards. They were strong and well-educated women who were loyal to a fault and entirely unbreakable. Elsa had assured her that even if questioned they would say nothing about seeing her. The younger of the pair, a plain looking but strong woman named Kari, had given the sisters a sad look as they left and walked their separate ways down the hall. Anna had always assumed that she and Elsa had more than a professional relationship, but even before the “invasion” of the Southern Islanders, the castle walls had eyes and ears and lips for gossip which prevented Anna from ever knowing fact from fiction.

          Before they had parted, Elsa had given her another gift, one in line with her proclamation of drowning the bride, and one which Anna approved of greatly. They had undressed the mannequin in her room and sent the gown, garter, veil, and horrible underthings on a frigid wind straight into the Fjord. She had been thrilled to watch them enter the cold dark water, and she was grateful that she would be gone by morning’s first light when the mess of white fabric and lace was sure to come back ashore.

          “I don’t know if I want to be remembered as the Princess who drowned herself before her wedding.” Had been Anna’s only complaint on the matter, Elsa’s reassurances of the safety of their people being enough to quell her other concerns.

          Elsa’s comforting reply had been simply that, “If you think that would make you seem over dramatic you didn’t listen much in your tutoring lessons about family history. Write me soon and I’ll tell you about our many times Great Aunt Sigrid.”

          Anna walked through the servant’s quarters with great ease. Her adventurous childhood years now proved useful in her remembrances of the castle’s layout from corners that she should have never known. She carried her bag beneath a mess of tablecloths and walked with a purpose towards the exit closest to the stables. If anyone had seen her, they might have found it odd that a maid was bringing dirty tablecloths out to the stable, but with the wedding preparations having been in full force throughout the day, they would have been unlikely to question her and quick to assume that she had forgotten or messed up an earlier task that necessitated her late night movements. Or at least that’s what she was counting on.

          She was on a mission as she exited the castle and went to the stables. She was to take a horse that was not her own and ride to the wood’s edge. Elsa had promised that she would take care of the rest. Anna had faith in her sister’s abilities, despite how vague she had been on the details.

          She entered the empty stables and peered into the darkness around her. She could see little, her eyes not ready for the pitch black of night without the guiding brightness of stars. She couldn’t hear anything, but she sensed that she was not alone. Before she could move, she felt something cover her mouth.

          She jumped back, and hit something solid, still having her senses about her, despite the fright, she tried not to scream. Even if she did, the sound wouldn’t have traveled very far from her covered lips, and yet she knew she couldn’t alarm anyone. She struggled, but another hand pulled her back into the solidness that she now recognized as a body.

          “Shhh,” the voice in the darkness warned. The grab starting to feel less restrictive around her.

          Anna calmed, and relaxed back into the figure’s chest, the energy that flowed through her body, the anxiousness that made her feel like a coiled spring abated, and she let out a sigh of relief.

          The hand fell from her mouth, but not from her waist. She wished that he would wrap her in both and never let go.

          “Did Elsa order you to do this?”

          He let out a sound that was almost a laugh but came out more like a sigh, “We both know that you’re the only one that can order me to do anything Princess.”

          She turned around, her eyes more adjusted to the darkness than they had been moments before, but still not well enough to see his face as well as she wished. She reached her hand up to touch his face. He was growing his beard out, and the hairs felt rough across her palm when she touched him, but she was not about to complain. She simply couldn’t believe that he was with her again.

          “But did she ask?”

          He shook his head, she couldn’t completely see it, but she could feel it. “No. She found me after they… she found me and I told her that I needed to get you out of the castle, and she agreed. We planned on coming for you, but only if you wanted to. Then Elsa found your bag, and well… I hoped.”

          “I couldn’t–”

          He cut her off, “We’ll talk later. I promise. But first we have to get out of here.”

          “Were you who I was supposed to meet in the woods?” she asked quickly, unable to help herself.

          He shrugged, and while she couldn’t see his smile, she knew him well enough to imagine that it was akin to sheepish. He didn’t say it, but she was sure that he was supposed to wait there for her, but he had gone against the plan out of anxiousness.

          “Where are we going?”

          He pushed the stable door back open, and despite the return of the light, she still could not see his face clear enough to tell for sure if he was blushing or not when he answered her.

          “Home.”

[purrincess-chat]

To Tame a Queen CH 15

So, if you’ve been keeping up, I said this would be the last chapter, but I decided to split the monster that I was writing for this one, so I will be adding two more chapters, so chapter 17 will be the last chapter, not this one. So enjoy some mutual pining fluff! I’ll see you on Thursday!

FF | AO3

Chapter 15

It was a well-known fact that everything Marinette owned was pink. Every design she made for herself was pink, and pink dominated every inch of her bedroom. It’s why when she sat to design a dress for the upcoming school dance, she found it increasingly odd that she kept reaching for yellow. Every dress she sketched somehow ended up yellow instead of pink, and she realized after several pages that these dresses weren’t meant for her at all. In fact, as she designed each one, she found her mind wandering to a certain blonde who would look excellent in them. Cinched waist-lines, ball gowns, flowing skirts all tailored to fit one girl’s shape, and it wasn’t until she flipped back through her work that Marinette realized this and felt her cheeks warm.

It was silly of her to do. Chloe had likely already bought a designer dress to wear to the dance, so she wasn’t even sure why she was wasting her time with them, but once she started, she couldn’t exactly stop. Because she wanted to design a dress for her which wasn’t out of the ordinary. She designed outfits for her friends all the time, so it was only a matter of time before she designed one for Chloe. It meant nothing, though picturing Chloe wearing her dresses did bring a blush to her cheeks that she couldn’t quite explain. Chloe was pretty, a fact she used to resent when her behavior was so ugly, but now that things had smoothed out between them, it was a fact that often kept her distracted.

Ever since their sleepover two weeks prior, Chloe had been acting strange around her. Her hands lingered just a little bit longer over Marinette’s when she passed her a cup of coffee - which made her extremely flustered each time she realized, and more often than not, Marinette caught her staring at her from across a room… Something had changed in her that night, and Marinette had to wonder what she’d wanted to say before they went to bed. She hadn’t pressed the issue because Chloe seemed nervous about it, but she often wondered if it had to do with her new behavior. What was running through her friend’s mind?

When she arrived at school, Chloe was waiting by her locker, and she turned to Marinette as she passed, clasping her hands together in front of her and rocking slightly on her heels. It was evident that something was on her mind, so Marinette finally decided to ask as she opened her locker.

“What’s up?” She cocked a brow as Chloe shifted her weight a little.

“Well, the school dance is coming up, and I was wondering if…you wanted to go dress shopping with me,” She said carefully, cheeks lightly flushed, but she quickly cleared her throat and added, “I like having second opinions.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” Marinette pursed her lips as she removed her sketchbook from her backpack and eyed it thoughtfully. “Actually, I was planning to make a dress for myself, and I may have made a few designs for you. If you’re interested…”

“You’re making a dress for me?” Chloe gasped, eyebrows shooting up in surprise as Marinette averted her gaze down to her feet shyly.

“I thought you could wear it to the dance, but you don’t have to if you’d rather buy a name brand.” She winced, tracing circles in the ground with her foot.

“I’d love to wear your brand, Marinette,” Chloe said, placing her hands over Marinette’s and offering her a warm smile. “I’d be honored.”

“Really?” Marinette glanced up, a smile spreading across her face.

“Absolutely. Can I see the designs?” She asked, nodding at the book in her hands and Marinette fumbled to flip it open to the proper page. Chloe’s eyes scanned over them thoughtfully for a moment before they flicked back up to meet her gaze. “They’re all so pretty. You really designed these for me?”

“Y-Yeah.” Marinette nodded, admiring her art. “If you pick one you like, I can take your measurements after school and get right to work.”

“Thank you,” Chloe said, sounding sincerely touched. “They’re really all great, Marinette, but I think I like this yellow and grey one the most.” Marinette followed her finger to the dress in question and smiled.

“I like that one too,” She said before shutting her sketchpad and shoving it in her locker. “I’m so excited! I can’t wait to get started!”

“Don’t overwork yourself. I’m not worth it,” Chloe chided as they headed for class.

“No way! We’re friends, so I’m going to finish it in time,” Marinette vowed, and Chloe let out a breathy laugh.

“If you say so.”

Something about Chloe’s acceptance put her in high-spirits, and her hands were itching to get to her sewing machine and start on the dress. She’d make sure it was her best work because Chloe would be wearing it, and she wanted it to be perfect. She glanced down to where Chloe was sitting next to Sabrina on the front row and felt a small smile curl on her lips. The school dance couldn’t get there fast enough.

-           -           -

Chloe was on cloud nine as days past knowing that Marinette was hard at work on a dress just for her. Every day she glanced anxiously at her phone awaiting the call that it was finished so she could see it. Not that she was worried because Marinette always made quality work, but she spent her time waiting and wondering what Marinette thought of her. If she designed her a dress, that meant she liked her, right? But did she like her in the same way that Chloe did was a question that often kept her up at night. Since the sleepover, Chloe had been a nervous wreck, constantly afraid that Marinette was going to discover her true feelings and reject her, and in thinking about the dress, she agonized over what it meant for them. After so many years of torment, becoming her friend was already a miracle, and Chloe wasn’t counting on another.

A few days before the dance, Chloe’s phone finally rang, and she rushed to Marinette’s house eagerly. Her friend seemed surprised by her swift arrival but ushered her up the stairs to her bedroom where the mannequin with her dress stood concealed beneath a single sheet. Chloe glanced at Marinette, bouncing impatiently as she carefully pulled back the cloth to reveal Chloe’s very own custom, one-of-a-kind, Marinette-brand dress. Her jaw slackened, and she cupped a hand over her mouth to hide her gape.

“Marinette, it’s beautiful!” She croaked as a hard lump wedged its way into her throat. “Thank you!”

“Would you like to try it on?” Marinette offered after Chloe pulled her into a tight hug. Unable to speak, she simply nodded against Marinette’s shoulder and pulled back. She felt a little embarrassed as Marinette helped her into the dress, but it fit like a glove, and Chloe spent five whole minutes admiring herself in the mirror.

“So, do you like it?” Marinette asked nervously, rocking back on her heels.

“I love it,” Chloe breathed, shaking her head and turning toward Marinette. “It’s the best dress in the world.”

“I mean, I’m sure you could have found a better one in the store, but I’m proud of it.” She adjusted some of the tulle, unable to keep her hands still until Chloe took them in her own.

“It’s the best because it came from you, Marinette,” She murmured, gaze softening as their eyes locked. They each looked away quickly, cheeks rose-tinted and lips curved into shy smiles.  Chloe glanced back up, heart beat threatening to pound out of her chest as she sucked in a deep breath. “Marinette, I want to tell you something…”

“What is it?” She asked, eyes searching Chloe’s wildly as if she already knew the words she was about to say next.

“I-”

“Is everyone decent? Can we see?” Mrs. Cheng called, cutting her short, and Chloe ripped her hands from Marinette’s to cover her burning face.

“Uh, yeah, Mom,” Marinette replied, clearing her throat.

“Oh, look how beautiful!” Mrs. Cheng gasped as she made her way up. “You’ve really outdone yourself, Marinette.”

Chloe glanced back down at the dress and ran her hands over it delicately, spinning when asked, though her mind was dizzy enough already. She’d almost said it. A few more moments, and Marinette would have known how she felt. The thought of it made her chest tighten, but in a strange way, she wanted it to be said. But it wasn’t the right moment, so she would just have to wait.

[airoasis]

Plus-size? More Like My Size | Ashley Graham | TEDxBerkleeValencia

New Post has been published on https://hititem.kr/plus-size-more-like-my-size-ashley-graham-tedxberkleevalencia-2/

Plus-size? More Like My Size | Ashley Graham | TEDxBerkleeValencia

Translator: Romina Meffe Reviewer: Denise RQ you might be bold, you might be exquisite, and you might be beautiful. There’s no different lady such as you. You are in a position. Back fat, I see you popping over my bra at present, but that’s alright. I’m going to select to love you. And thick thighs, you are in order that attractive, you are not able to discontinue rubbing each other. (Laughter) that’s all right. I’m going to keep you. And cellulite, i’ve no longer forgotten about you. I’m going to prefer to love you despite the fact that you need to take over my whole backside half of, however you’re a part of me. I love you. It can be actual, truthfully. I felt free after I realized I was under no circumstances going to fit the narrow mold that society desired me to fit in. I was once by no means going to be perfect enough for an industry that defines perfection from the external in. And that’s ok. Rolls, curves, cellulite, all of it. I like each a part of me. My title is Ashley Graham, and i am a mannequin and physique activist.Over the last 15 years, I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s no one excellent physique. When you consider that I, such as you, possess a superbly distinct and numerous physique. Now, the fashion industry may persist to label me as "plus dimension", but I wish to suppose of it as ‘my size’. Correctly, do you know that the plus measurement fashion enterprise clearly begins at a US measurement eight? And it goes up to a US size 16. So basically what i am saying is that almost all of this room proper now is viewed plus measurement. How does it make you think to be labeled? I really consider like we need to start looking beyond the plus measurement mannequin paradigms to what it actually approach to be a mannequin in 2015. My journey starts in Lincoln, Nebraska.I was once 12 years historic and scouted in a mall. At thirteen, I signed with a foremost modeling agency and was travelling the world. I was once taking pictures huge campaigns, and before I even graduated excessive tuition, I had been to multiple distinct countries. At 17, I graduated and moved to the big apple, and while most youngsters are going by way of their self-discovery stage in college, my self discovery stage was in the course of catwalks, catalogs, and casting calls. I was once working as a full time plus size model. Again in Nebraska, I was once referred to as the "fats mannequin". The girl who’s lovely for a enormous girl. I always hated answering that query: "What do you do for a living?" i would see that individual’s eyebrow raise as i’d reply: "i’m a mannequin!" i would have to speedily qualify with: "good, i’m a plus size model." correctly, here is my very first editorial for YM magazine.And, you are reading it effectively, "cantaloupes-big breasts". I was serving to females throughout america at the age of 15 gown their enormous boobs. But you realize what the very first thing that anybody in core school pointed out to me apart from– well, besides the obvious? Was once that fold above my knee. That fats fold above my knee. As a younger model, my self assurance was once tugged at and pulled in all one of a kind instructions. I struggled to reap authentic self belief. I’d go house and look in entrance of the reflect and simplest hate what I noticed. And to fill the void on the inside, i started to cave to all of the vices being thrown my manner. Between the parties, the men, the alcohol, I was once looking for self love, for affirmation from a person, when clearly, I didn’t love who I was once, and i couldn’t look to get a manage on regulating my possess weight.I started to face my insecurities head on. And alternatively, I was once filling my lifestyles with transitority fixes. I, like so many younger women, have struggled to like who i’m. And Dove’s international document on attitudes in the direction of beauty genuinely did a survey with 1000’s of females in ten specific nations. And you already know what essentially the most placing result was? That handiest 2% of women to find themselves gorgeous. 2%! We must work together to redefine the global imaginative and prescient of beauty. And it begins with fitting your own function model.As a curvy lady it was once the idea that I must seem up to Marilyn Monroe or Jennifer Lopez mostly considering they have been two of the most great curvy females within the public eye that were being praised for his or her curves. But these weren’t my position models. Actually, the woman I regarded up to essentially the most was once my mother. She instructed me I was once attractive, and she or he under no circumstances devalued herself. So why would I? She told me and taught me that proper beauty comes from within and that validation and self valued at need to also come from within.In my lowest moments of insecurity that is after I realized that I had to reclaim my body and its photograph as my possess. Plus-size trend is an 18-billion-greenback enterprise. And now IMG, the arena’s number one modeling company, has signed me and different models that aren’t outlined by their measurement. My body, like my confidence, has been picked aside, manipulated, and controlled with the aid of others who failed to necessarily appreciate it. I had to learn to reclaim my body as my own. And in reclaiming my body as my own, I understood as a lady that I had a greater reason. I had a higher cause to redefine magnificence. The feminine magnificence. Curvy items are fitting increasingly vocal concerning the keeping apart nature of the term plus size. We’re calling ourselves what we wish to be called: women with shapes which might be our possess. I believe beauty is beyond size. With a lot emphasis on the body and external, it is no wonder that all of us undergo so much internally.However you know, persons within the trend industry in reality told me that i’d not ever be in magazines let on my own the covers of them. Well, i guess we’ve got demonstrated them fallacious. Five covers in somewhat over a year. And i was one of the very first curvy units to be featured in sporting activities Illustrated Swimsuit edition. (Applause) thanks. Certainly not let any one inform you that you are not able to. I have completed, and i am still reaching what was once seemingly impossible. My intention is to offer a voice to young females. To offer a voice to young females who struggle to find anyone they can look as much as. For women who battle to appear inside the mirror and say, i really like you. For women who believe uncomfortable expressing their self belief they’ve locked away inside of themselves. For ladies who have relinquished their rights to someone else. It’s crucial that both men and women create a body optimistic atmosphere.Uplift the main females in your lives. Create a riskless space for them to specific their physique and their magnificence for who they are not due to the fact that of who they’re now not. Be you. Be real. Be reputable. Be your favourite style of girl. Do not let someone else take that job. And don’t forget this is the new release of physique range. The present is altering. I now invite all of you to #TEDxBV15 along with your own self-putting forward words. There will not be a full-length reflect in front of every of you today, but I need to undertaking you to think about what you could want to say to yourself in the replicate along with your own self-maintaining phrases.Thanks. (Applause) .

[batterymonster2021]

Plus-size? More Like My Size | Ashley Graham | TEDxBerkleeValencia

New Post has been published on https://hititem.kr/plus-size-more-like-my-size-ashley-graham-tedxberkleevalencia-2/

Plus-size? More Like My Size | Ashley Graham | TEDxBerkleeValencia

Translator: Romina Meffe Reviewer: Denise RQ you might be bold, you might be exquisite, and you might be beautiful. There’s no different lady such as you. You are in a position. Back fat, I see you popping over my bra at present, but that’s alright. I’m going to select to love you. And thick thighs, you are in order that attractive, you are not able to discontinue rubbing each other. (Laughter) that’s all right. I’m going to keep you. And cellulite, i’ve no longer forgotten about you. I’m going to prefer to love you despite the fact that you need to take over my whole backside half of, however you’re a part of me. I love you. It can be actual, truthfully. I felt free after I realized I was under no circumstances going to fit the narrow mold that society desired me to fit in. I was once by no means going to be perfect enough for an industry that defines perfection from the external in. And that’s ok. Rolls, curves, cellulite, all of it. I like each a part of me. My title is Ashley Graham, and i am a mannequin and physique activist.Over the last 15 years, I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s no one excellent physique. When you consider that I, such as you, possess a superbly distinct and numerous physique. Now, the fashion industry may persist to label me as "plus dimension", but I wish to suppose of it as ‘my size’. Correctly, do you know that the plus measurement fashion enterprise clearly begins at a US measurement eight? And it goes up to a US size 16. So basically what i am saying is that almost all of this room proper now is viewed plus measurement. How does it make you think to be labeled? I really consider like we need to start looking beyond the plus measurement mannequin paradigms to what it actually approach to be a mannequin in 2015. My journey starts in Lincoln, Nebraska.I was once 12 years historic and scouted in a mall. At thirteen, I signed with a foremost modeling agency and was travelling the world. I was once taking pictures huge campaigns, and before I even graduated excessive tuition, I had been to multiple distinct countries. At 17, I graduated and moved to the big apple, and while most youngsters are going by way of their self-discovery stage in college, my self discovery stage was in the course of catwalks, catalogs, and casting calls. I was once working as a full time plus size model. Again in Nebraska, I was once referred to as the "fats mannequin". The girl who’s lovely for a enormous girl. I always hated answering that query: "What do you do for a living?" i would see that individual’s eyebrow raise as i’d reply: "i’m a mannequin!" i would have to speedily qualify with: "good, i’m a plus size model." correctly, here is my very first editorial for YM magazine.And, you are reading it effectively, "cantaloupes-big breasts". I was serving to females throughout america at the age of 15 gown their enormous boobs. But you realize what the very first thing that anybody in core school pointed out to me apart from– well, besides the obvious? Was once that fold above my knee. That fats fold above my knee. As a younger model, my self assurance was once tugged at and pulled in all one of a kind instructions. I struggled to reap authentic self belief. I’d go house and look in entrance of the reflect and simplest hate what I noticed. And to fill the void on the inside, i started to cave to all of the vices being thrown my manner. Between the parties, the men, the alcohol, I was once looking for self love, for affirmation from a person, when clearly, I didn’t love who I was once, and i couldn’t look to get a manage on regulating my possess weight.I started to face my insecurities head on. And alternatively, I was once filling my lifestyles with transitority fixes. I, like so many younger women, have struggled to like who i’m. And Dove’s international document on attitudes in the direction of beauty genuinely did a survey with 1000’s of females in ten specific nations. And you already know what essentially the most placing result was? That handiest 2% of women to find themselves gorgeous. 2%! We must work together to redefine the global imaginative and prescient of beauty. And it begins with fitting your own function model.As a curvy lady it was once the idea that I must seem up to Marilyn Monroe or Jennifer Lopez mostly considering they have been two of the most great curvy females within the public eye that were being praised for his or her curves. But these weren’t my position models. Actually, the woman I regarded up to essentially the most was once my mother. She instructed me I was once attractive, and she or he under no circumstances devalued herself. So why would I? She told me and taught me that proper beauty comes from within and that validation and self valued at need to also come from within.In my lowest moments of insecurity that is after I realized that I had to reclaim my body and its photograph as my possess. Plus-size trend is an 18-billion-greenback enterprise. And now IMG, the arena’s number one modeling company, has signed me and different models that aren’t outlined by their measurement. My body, like my confidence, has been picked aside, manipulated, and controlled with the aid of others who failed to necessarily appreciate it. I had to learn to reclaim my body as my own. And in reclaiming my body as my own, I understood as a lady that I had a greater reason. I had a higher cause to redefine magnificence. The feminine magnificence. Curvy items are fitting increasingly vocal concerning the keeping apart nature of the term plus size. We’re calling ourselves what we wish to be called: women with shapes which might be our possess. I believe beauty is beyond size. With a lot emphasis on the body and external, it is no wonder that all of us undergo so much internally.However you know, persons within the trend industry in reality told me that i’d not ever be in magazines let on my own the covers of them. Well, i guess we’ve got demonstrated them fallacious. Five covers in somewhat over a year. And i was one of the very first curvy units to be featured in sporting activities Illustrated Swimsuit edition. (Applause) thanks. Certainly not let any one inform you that you are not able to. I have completed, and i am still reaching what was once seemingly impossible. My intention is to offer a voice to young females. To offer a voice to young females who struggle to find anyone they can look as much as. For women who battle to appear inside the mirror and say, i really like you. For women who believe uncomfortable expressing their self belief they’ve locked away inside of themselves. For ladies who have relinquished their rights to someone else. It’s crucial that both men and women create a body optimistic atmosphere.Uplift the main females in your lives. Create a riskless space for them to specific their physique and their magnificence for who they are not due to the fact that of who they’re now not. Be you. Be real. Be reputable. Be your favourite style of girl. Do not let someone else take that job. And don’t forget this is the new release of physique range. The present is altering. I now invite all of you to #TEDxBV15 along with your own self-putting forward words. There will not be a full-length reflect in front of every of you today, but I need to undertaking you to think about what you could want to say to yourself in the replicate along with your own self-maintaining phrases.Thanks. (Applause) .