#those white trousers were glorious

[nounaarts]

Wukong in all his S3 fits. I love his choice in colours lmao

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

To the Other Side

Spontaneous fic I decided to write because I want to witness Fellow and Rollo interact (outside of fan art) 💕 I took a lot of inspiration from The Other Side and The Greatest Show from the same musical, and this fan comic and this fan art.

There’s just something so fun about Fellow’s happy, playful vibes mingling with Rollo being deadly serious and hateful 😂

***SPOILER WARNING: Glorious Masquerade and Stage in Playful Land!!!***

Imagine this…

The nearby town was the only reprieve Rollo had from Night Raven College. Magic was school-sanctioned (in theory), but the rule did little to curb the spells fired off in spontaneous spats between classes, pranks, resolving minor inconveniences, and—this made his lip curl the most—for fun. He turned the other cheek in the presence of instructors, chided classmates when catching them in the act, and vented his anger in private.

Soon, he told himself. Soon, this loathsome school exchange program would be over, and Night Raven College put behind him. But one man can only take so much sin before his patience threatened to give, irritation spilling over his carefully constructed walls.

Out here, a bus ride away from campus, he was free from those vile villains, however fleeting it was. The air cleaner, his mind clearer, as he breathed in the salt-kissed, balmy air. Waves lapping against the pier, the town’s comfortable hum as time rolled by, a soothing song.

He looked out at the waters, blue tipped with the white of sunshine dappling a painting. It was alive, yet at peace with the world. Knew its place.

Rollo's eyes drift shut, and he allowed the sea to envelop him. Quiet, calming, completely—

“Oya? Oya oya oyaaaaa?"

An exaggerated drawl invaded his ears. It was an unfamiliar man’s voice, slick with overly honeyed friendliness.

“You there, sir!” he called out. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

Ignore him, Rollo coached himself. He is not referring to you. There are many people in the town he could be accosting.

The crack of a clap on his shoulder suggested otherwise.

Rollo’s tranquility splintered and shattered, like glass dropped. His eyes snapped open again, alert and irritated.

A man had emerged on his left, and a small boy on his right. They stood too close for comfort, and seemed to be leering at him. From up, from down, encasing him in a web of excited stares.

The man had ginger hair in a widow's peak, the rest swept aside to make way for sharp eyes. His suit was fine at a glance, olive vest and neat cravat, violet coat with golden details and tassels cinched over it—but upon closer inspection, there was a hole in the pinkie finger of his long white gloves, and a miscellaneous diamond patchwork of patterns running down his trousers.

Something about him screamed “showman". Perhaps it was the jaunty half cape that hung off his left shoulder or the knee-high spats over shoes that clicked loudly, calling attention to him, with each step. Maybe it was the sparkle-studded top hat upon his head, nestled between two twitching ears, or the cheery flicker of his bushy tail, or the cane in hand, topped with a golden fox. (... Rollo suspected it was his boldness, the sheer audacity to insert himself where he wasn’t needed.)

The boy with the showman was a cat beastman, shorter and disposition shyer. His hair was a red-brown rat's nest even clamped under a smaller, brightly colored top hat, his fur just as unkempt. The only thing that seemed to fit on his slight frame is a lilac shirt and a small bow tie. His mustard yellow jacket looked as though it has had its body sheared in half, then the fabric stuck back onto the oversized sleeves, the pants attached to his overalls saggy and patched up with the wrong patterns. Even his boots were wrong—untied—and socks mismatched.

He blinked at Rollo through eyes that sloped downward, his expression lax. His mouth was steady beneath a spray of dark freckles. The boy held onto a comedically large hammer, hands still trapped in his enormous sleeves as he gripped its handle.

Suspicious, Rollo concluded. They are highly suspicious individuals.

“… May I help you?” he asked, not out of kindness but as a courtesy.

“Ohoh!!” The man grinned broadly. “That composed stride! That stern, solitary gaze! Those extravagant robes! So sensible, so conventional. There’s no doubt in my mind! You, my good man, must hail from THE Noble Bell College!”

Rollo’s mouth was quickly forming a frown. A fan of flattery he was not. "What of it?”

The stranger chuckled, the coy hand on Rollo's shoulder not budging. The warmth of it made his skin crawl in spite of the layers of fabric separating them. "You've come a long way from the Shaftlands then! Tell me, how do you find Sage's Island? Is it everything you’ve dreamed it to be—or, dare I say, more?”

“I was beginning to enjoy it, right up until you and your companion happened upon me,” Rollo grumbled, jerking his shoulder away from the stranger’s touch. “I do not have many opportunities to steal away into town.”

“You have my humblest of apologies!” The man bowed deeply. It took a few seconds of lag, but the boy clumsily followed suit. “Gidel and I, we’re the curious sort, you see! We come across many wary souls on our own travels, and we want to get to know them. Isn’t that right, Giddie?”

Gidel nodded eagerly.

The fox beastman stuck out a hand, taking Rollo’s before he was given the chance to reciprocate or decline. He shook firmly, with enough strength to rattle around Rollo’s bones. “Fellow Honest’s the name! And you, my esteemed gentleman?”

“Rollo Flamme.” His reply was curt, intended to cut the conversation short with its bluntness. He tried to sidestep the man, but failed as Fellow slid to block him.

“Rollo—may I call you that? Great, greeat!!” he gushed, again not pausing for a “no” to potentially slip in. “From just a glance, I can tell you’re an upstanding, diligent student. You’ve been hitting the books so hard, you’ve barely gotten in a wink of sleep!”

Rollo’s mouth pinched. It was not an uncommon comment for him to hear, but he wasn’t the least bit delighted to have it spun as a compliment either.

“You poor, poor boy! You must be a nervous wreck!” Fellow sighed, sympathetically stroking the back of one of Rollo’s hands with his own. The student shuddered and pulled away with a slight glare. Rather than taking note of the displeasure, Fellow brightened, snapping his fingers. “That’s it! You are a nervous wreck!! We must diagnose this case at once.”

To Rollo’s bewilderment, Fellow produced a pair of spectacles from his breast pocket and slipped them onto his face. Gidel whipped out a notebook and a pencil from his overalls, poised to take notes.

“Let’s have a look at you!”

Fellow circled the dazed Rollo, poking and prodding at the boy’s lean frame with the butt of his cane. It bit into his ribs, his cheek, his thighs, as Fellow rattled off nonsensical phrases, Gidel reverently scrawling them down. Rollo swatted at the fox as if dispelling a pesky bug—but Fellow was too fast, too slippery, to land a clean hit on.

He at last stepped back, snatching up the notes from Gidel. (Rollo caught a brief glimpse of the writing—it was nothing close to what could pass as language.)

Fellow raked a hand through his hair as he seriously took in the report of scribbles. With each passing second, his features increasingly crinkled with concern. "Oh me, oh my, oh dear!! Alas, it's just as I suspected!"

"... What?"

The glasses and the notepad were promptly discarded. Props made meaningless now that their purpose was fulfilled.

Fellow snaked an arm around Rollo. Firmer this time, not something to be shaken off. "You, my boy, are allergic! To this drudgery! This cage, these walls!" He wildly gestured with his cane to their surroundings. "This life you're trapped in! You're stressed, depressed, mad, sad, miserable, all of the above!"

Each adjective thrown out drew Rollo's brows closer and closer together until there was no hiding his grimace. “I do not appreciate the unwarranted judgments being made of my character.”

"You see! My hunch was right!" Fellow flicked at a corner of Rollo's frown. It deepened. "There's only one cure for what you have: a vacation! And luckily for you, I have exactly what you need right here…!”

Reaching into his sleeve, Fellow retrieved a single ticket, sandwiched between two lithe fingers. The sepia image of an amusement park wreathed in flags was frames in crimson, blue, and gold. Admit One, trumpeted the ticket, to Playful Land.

“It just so happens that I, Fellow-sama, am the manager to the fabled amusement park of wonder, hopes, and dreams... Playful Land! Have you heard of it? It's a magical place with a plethora of rides, games, song and dance! Why, there's even a big stage where any member of the audience can be a rising star! The food, all free and ample!! You can gorge yourself on fun!! Doesn't that sound like a swell dream?"

Rollo deadpanned. "If by 'dream', you mean dreadful. To encourage casting aside one's inhibitions to indulge in all manner of vices... Your establishment is no paradise. It is a den of depravity, hell masquerading as heaven.”

"Eh?"

The strong hostility seemed to throw Fellow for a loop, gave him pause. He fumbled for a moment before finding his words again.

"My, my! Your allergies are worse than I thought...! Every kid needs to kick back one in a while, and you most of all! Since we're such good friends now, I would be more than happy to gift this prized ticket, good only for tomorrow, to you free of charge!" He winked, giving a theatrical twirl of his cane. Stars and sparkles exuded out from it. A small charm, a harmless trick. "No need to thank me!"

Rollo's eyes flashed, instant recognition setting him on edge. Similar items infested the City of Flowers every Topsy Turvy Day—enchanted handkerchiefs, tambourines infused with meager magic.

Disgust roiled through him.

"We have no such friendship," Rollo snippily corrected him. Is this man delusional? "Furthermore, tomorrow is a school day. It wouldn't do to miss it in favor of gallivanting."

“Now, now, I insist!!” Fellow pressed. “Please accept this ticket and take a load off, enjoy yourself. Live a little, laugh a little! The last thing I would want is for you to miss out on this once in a lifetime opportunity!! Skipping a single day of school wouldn't be too harmful for a star-studded scholar like yourself."

His gaze flicked to Gidel. The two shared a keen glint, a subtle signal, then broke out into a show, a flurry of tap dancing along the pier.

"Trade in your typical for somethin' magical!” Fellow cried with the tip of his top hat. “Where it’s covered in all the colored lights!! Where the runaways are runnin’ the night!”

Gidel fished out a party popper from under his own headwear. When he tugged on its string, crackles filled the air, the popper letting loose a shower of glittering particles. Fellow belted out a hearty laugh, swinging his cane to catch confetti.

"Come on to the theater!!” he urged—mostly likely reciting some park motto, Rollo ventured. “In Playful Land... Life is Fun!!"

Fellow struck a pose with his arms thrust out, punctuating the performance. Gidel was less dexterous, and settled for an awkward approximation of the same pose.

Expectant for applause.

“… Charming display,” Rollo remarked dryly. He picked out a limp streamer from his hair. With a huff, he blew the remaining confetti off of him. “However, only a blithering fool would accept such a dubious offer. Is that what you take me for, Mr. Honest? A blithering fool?”

Fellow recoiled, his ears flattening, and his bravado faltering. Gidel glanced at the older man, soulful eyes full of worry.

"You must have fantasized about a day off before! Don't you want to get away and forget about your work and worries? Don’t you crave freedom?”

"No."

"What of the desire to chase thrills? To see and to experience what few others have before, or to relive a childhood you've perhaps never had? Don't you want to cut loose? Go crazy? Party all day?"

"Never."

"How about stardom? Play a different role? Have you a longing to stand upon a grand stage, hundreds of thousands of adoring fans applauding your passionate performances?"

"Not once."

His patience wore thin like a braided rope down to its final connecting threads. Rollo tapped a finger against his folded arms. "Are you finished? I tire of my precious time being wasted. If you will kindly excuse me."

He turned back toward the town. Rollo was a few steps along a shop-lined street when, suddenly, the odd duo reappeared. They skidded to a panting stop before Rollo, walling off his path. Well, more Fellow than Gidel.

A look of annoyance ripped across the fox’s face. “HOLD ON!! What kind of person plays hard to get and then walks away from a conversation like that?! Would it kill you to stop and just listen to me, you bra…”

Fellow petered off midsentence and backpedaled, smoothing out his spite into a smile. "...aaave soul! I've yet to meet someone as assertive and as self-assured as you are.” He reached out and brushed off an invisible fleck of dust from Rollo’s robes. Simpering. “You're a man that knows exactly what he wants!”

Rollo bristled. He hadn't missed the sudden shift in his chummy behavior. All the more reason to suspect them. They’re very clearly up to something.

"Yes, yes, I can see it now!" Fellow continued, stroking his chin in contemplation. "What you seek is not amusement! You’re longing—no, aching—for something far greater, more ambitious!"

He leaned into Rollo's ear, cupping a hand to it. Gidel came from the other side, staring up curiously. Fellow’s voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Power, perhaps? The magical kind, even.”

Rollo visibly stiffened.

“Oh, have I got your attention?” The curve of Fellow’s mouth cocked, going crooked. A triumphant smirk. “You’re interested, I know it! Buried in those bones of yours, there's an ache, a thirst, for knowledge that you can't ignore!"

The fox wiggled a finger, his words rapt with wonder. “Playful Land is the product of maaany wise and talented mages! If you pay us a visit, you might be able to learn a thing or two from observing how we run the show. It's a valuable learning opportunity for a student of an arcane academy! How about it, kid? This surely is a deal you wouldn't want to pass up!!"

There was no indication of any feeling in Rollo's face. His eyes had glazed over, as though haunted, a veil shrouding his vision. He stared at Fellow as though he were a distant phantom.

Spin, spin. Fellow's cane did a little dance of its own. "Think of it: the fire, the freedom, the flood of magic. Blinding and outshining anything that you could know!"

Fire.

Rollo blinked. The veil lifted, and the man was rudely roused from an awake slumber. Neutrality replaced with a kindling emotion, sparse embers that did not yet know they would converge into flames. "... What did you say?"

"Everything you could ever want. Everything you could ever need," Fellow tapped the waiting ticket, "is here right in front of you. This is where dreams are made, where the impossible comes true: Playful Land. This is where you want to be—"

The fire flared, bile rising from his throat. Beneath his skin, blood came to a rapid boil. Hot, screeching, an intense fever pitch. The heat like a knife slashing through strings.

Hands lashed out, fervently seizing Fellow's arms. Rollo clutched onto him, a desperate parishioner to a priest preaching at the pulpit. But there was no such blind devotion in his expression, only something wild, untamable, twisted.

“What did you say?!” Rollo hissed, low and dangerous. Threatening.

Gidel jumped and skittered behind Fellow, hiding himself from view. The fox's hand found its way to Gidel's back to support the trembling boy.

"You've been mouthing off for quite some time, and I've been far more patient than you deserve." Rollo cut to the mustard yellow sleeve clinging to Fellow's leg. "You have a child with you. Refrain from spouting such ridiculous vulgarities in front of them.”

“Wh-What…!!”

“Is this the game you play?” Rollo’s grip tightened. Voice hoarse, a pained shudder threading through it. “Tempting children with the promise of whimsy and fun, encouraging them to be intoxicated by magic...!"

While you stand by, doing nothing.

An untimely demise by magic, a fate he knew all too well.

Consumed alive in a hellish inferno. Only a curtain of smoke and ash remaining. Slipping through his grasp when he was standing right there.

Brother...

Hot tears stung his eyes—but they dissipated near instantaneously, staved off by his burning fury. Anger and upset rapidly overtaking him.

Not again. He would not stand for it to happen, would not surrender. This, he swore, with a resolute breath, and cried out with all of his seething soul.

"Hmph! I thought you witless before, but it seems you are not a clown," Rollo spat. "You are the entire circus."

Fellow gave a light, cumbrous chuckle—but his eyes narrowed. Gone was his cheer, his merrymaking. What remained was serious, astute. "... Hey now, that's a scary face you're making. Is this really how you want to spend your days? Let's lighten up a little."

A bitter scoff sounded.

“Continue this farce, and I will not stop at raking you across the coals," Rollo warned darkly. Fire licked his fingertips, close to bursting free. "I will show you just how scary I can be. The righteous flames of judgment are cleansing. They will purge all sin, reducing the wicked to mere specks of ash."

He released Fellow with a slight shove. The older man fell back a few steps, finding his balance again when Gidel pushed him upright with a silent grunt.

“If you understand, then I will be on my way. Good day to you.”

With the path cleared, Rollo stormed right by them. Robes billowing in a passing sea breeze and austere face to the town, he almost looked the part of a hero emerging triumphant from battle.

Back to his everyday life, the same side as always.

Fellow gaped after the boy’s retreating figure. At the prey slipping away from every carefully placed trap he and Gidel had laid out for him.

"Well, I never...!!" he groused. A fresh, foul mood ripe like a rain cloud over his head, Fellow discarded his smile for a sneer. "HIIIIIIE~ What was up with that arrogant brat?!”

Gidel shrugged, his comedically large sleeves flopping as he threw his hands up.

"Damn it!!" The curse was out before Fellow could cut it off. "Next time I see that guy, I'll teach him a lesson for looking down on us!"

He angrily kicked at a soda can on the ground—abandoned by a wayward townsperson. With a CRUNCH, the can launched into a nearby lamp post, ricocheting off its base and bouncing back. The can connected with Fellow's kneecap. He yelped and seized his injury, trying to contain the pain.

Eyes blown open in alarm, Gidel rushed to him. The boy was waved off, Fellow's whimpers eventually dying down.

"My sulking worried you? … You're seriously too good for this cruddy world, Gidel," Fellow muttered, shaking his head. He ruffled the cat beastman’s mane of hair, the roughness of it grazing the unguarded pinkie poking out from his one damaged glove. "Never change, got that?“

Gidel bobbed up and down in agreement.

“Good.” Fellow drew himself up and adjusted his jacket. “Tch. Kids these days sure are spoiled rotten. You promise them the world and they still blow you off."

His thoughts settled on the boy from before. The remarks they had traded, the resistance the target had put up.

I thought a bit of magic would help loosen the kid up—but Life is Fun didn’t work on him, Fellow mused. I cast it so many times too. Between my magic and charisma, they usually cave so easily.

Yet Rollo had regarded him like a man possessed, had regarded him with such hatred. The mad, tormented look in his face. An iron barrier against the fluttery, champagne laced lull of his spell.

"... Must be somethin' wrong with him," Fellow concluded. All kinds of fucked up in the head and in the heart. "Yup, that's gotta be it! This Fellow-sama's way too cool to be outdone by any old student.”

Again, Gidel nodded enthusiastically.

“It’s alright, there’s bound to be flops! We’ll have to pick out our next mark much more cautiously.” Fellow shaded his eyes and squinted. “Let’s see…"

Gidel trailed after his gaze. Combing through a crowd for easy pickings was child’s play for Fellow, but the young boy struggled to hone in on the monotony of minute details. Little nervous tics and hesitations, chinks in armor to exploit. They were present, but Gidel’s eyes were like a broken camera. Zooming in, then out, blurring, never able to fully focus.

His attention strayed, slowly meandering back back to the piers. The sea was a simple thing compared to the town—natural, unrestrained. So easy to understand.

“Maybe that one… no, no, that would never work,” Fellow mumbles to himself. “They’re in too large of a group to comfortably break through. The girl over there? Tsk, the parents are hovering, can’t risk that…”

His eyes ran along the bustling town and along the docks. Like fingers along book spines or piano keys, a quick, light caress. Effortless.

Then he came to a full stop.

Did a double take.

And stared.

Hard.

There, lazily parked by the piers, was a small gang of boys, each dressed in the same smart black blazer and trousers, vests and armbands an assortment of colors. Tucked into their breast pockets were fountain pens topped off with magestones. Their style, those emblems, famous.

Fellow smacked Gidel’s back, snapping the boy to attention.

“Look alive, Giddie! You see that?” He pointed with his cane. “Those uniforms are…!”

His face lit up with understanding. Mouth ajar, eyes wide, brows raised.

“We’re in luck today!” Fellow snickered. He tugged on Gidel’s sleeve, yanking the youth to him. “Hurry, let’s get in front of them! We’ll cut them off, pretend as though we’ve bumped into them by accident. Then, we pounce…!!”

Gidel lifted his hammer—a cheer.

The duo scampered down the street, hearts drumming in their chests and adrenaline pumping. In that moment, they brimmed with all the hope and the excitement that Rollo had failed to exhibit. They were children racing to a dream destination, fools wishing upon stars.

Elsewhere in the town, someone sneezed.

Rollo pressed his handkerchief to his nose, retreating further into his robes. “… The weather suddenly took a turn for the worse. What an ominous omen.”

[revisitingfandoms]

Idea prompt 12- A midsummer night's longing.

(Based kinda off the project bud by @luvielolol. Go check it out!)

(Honestly- I don't know if this more prompt or story blurb, lol.)

It was largely understood. Faerie cookies were created to be the right hands and servents of the virtues. Of course, not all Faerie cookie were this way, but that was their choice and shadow milk would be a fool to begrude them.

Afterall, a number of them when to seek themselves and that was knowledge on its own. Part of him almost wanted to join a few of them- wanting to see their growth, their change and watch them shift and change and-

Shadow Milk shook his head, "Ah- I shall have to put that off, the festivial is important." Part of him looked forward to the festivial- the other half hated having to attend.

The Joy on cookies face was a delight, but dealing with the formalities? The planning? The worshipping? Shadow Milk would rather not.

He had very little problems with planning- infact planning quite often a mental test he quite enjoyed, but the more... formal aspects he could do without.

But of those formalities, their was only one he truly enjoyed. Performed by the very faeries who served under him.

The Faerie Soiree.

A celebration in the form of dnace. A colorful, beautiful enchanting dance. A glorious movement of storytelling, of speaking in beautiful riddles and twisting truths.

Of all things; Shadow Milk loved the Soiree.

Althought he hated the aftermath.

The Soiree had been almost the same as last years which was.. dissappointing at first. But- It was different.

He couldn't stop his eyes the moment he spotted the blonde dancer with closed eyes.

The blonde hair had been what first caught his attention. Faeries didn't typically have blonde hair- in fact he has never seen a Faerie with blonde hair until now.

Yet after a moment after he had quickly noted the lack of Faerie wings. Just considering that fact the blonde Faerie was more then likely only half-Faerie. Which although uncommon, wasn't impossible. Just an oddity.

Yet he couldn't keep his eyes off that dancing Faerie.

He couldn't tell the direct gender of that Faerie- if they had one. They looked danity, each step was in tune with the rest- but yet mixed with a slow movement at the same time. Mere half seconds off, they adjusted well to the rest but they still moved slow.

A delicate step forward in line, the moving green silk ribbion ends flowing their moves as they enter a twirl and as they come back to face the audience- shadow milk can feel his breath being stolen.

Unfocused but so very gorgorous eyes. His right glittering like the sun had given part of itself to shine in eye, his blue like the soft tides of the ocean as they crashed softly against a beaches shore.

His mind as so stuck on this- Witches he doesn't have the correct word for them.

The green long loose sleeves that lose green ribbons were held onto were like dancing willow leaves. The white under shirt and dancing trousers- not even mentioning the twisting jewelry of white vines on the green robe- only made them seem to glow.

They weren't even one of the main dancers- merely a backup. Yet, he was unknowling stealing the show and planting them at shadow milk front thoughts.

"Them," He mindessly says to his nearby attendent, "I want Them."

Its after a moment before he spots the Faerie look upon blonde dancer and then bow with a tone of hestiantance speaks, "It shall be done by lord."

He silently mourned the loss of the blonde dancer upon the end, before remembering what he had mindlessly spoken and felt conflicted.

The Aftermath of the Soiree typically ended in one of two ways. Either a Faerie would be picked from the performers over the course of the festivial by himself or one of the other beasts or none would be picked.

The picked Faerie would end up on of three ways; Typically only the first two had happened, the third had yet to be used.

The first would be spending the night as a, in better words, bedpartner. The second, would be as a compainion, to simply be there for comfort or as a call upon for things of other natures.

The third was for a lifetime partnership. For the Faerie to be seen as a true partner and to be wedded to that virtue.

He understood for Faeries it meant quite a bit for their social standing yet he never quite felt comfortable with just picking a Faerie as a partner- muchless a bedpartner! In fact this was the first time he ever picked a Faerie from the festivial!

Throughout his time waiting, he was a mix of impatient, eager and apprehensive. Just what- or rather who was this blonde half-Faerie who had taken over his mind.

His mind was interuptted with a knock at the door, his festival attentent bows to him, "My lord, the... Faerie has arrived." He notes the hestiance at the word Faerie- only more evidence to his half-Faerie theory then.

Witches, Faerie cookies are so prickly at times with their own kind. Some cookie doesn't act a certain way? Outcasted. Isn't good at what are considered standard Faerie skills? Mistreated. Not completely Faerie- or not even raised in their general culture?

Well. Almost always they never go into Faerie society and if they do, they typically leave it.

His eyes linger on the blonde with closed eyes as they enter the room and bow to him, "Greetings, my lord." Gentle, yet warm. Quiet, yet can easily fill a room.

Something in his mouth is dry as he looks upon the new outfit the other was in. He wore a similar outfit to the one on stage. The same white pants and undershirt, but with a green leaf like top with wrapping vines around his wait and those leaf overtop sleeves meeting right at the edge of his long white sleeves. There seemed to be an odd live yellow flower with a- is that an eye thats blinking?

He chuckle aloud, this halfling just gets more and more interesting.

He waves his hand to his attentant, "Leave us, I call if needed."

The Faerie nods- but he notices they look they give the blonde Faerie. He can't stop the frown that forms on his face at that action. He turns back to the still bowing Blonde. He motions for them to rise- but they don't seem to immediately act. Shadow milk is a bit confused before he speaks, "Rise please, and take a seat on the chair to the next of me."

The other raises without question and slowly making their way to the chair- he notes closed eyes and the blinking flower, but also the way the other feels the room as they walk to the seat. As they take their seat, they sit, hands in their lap, looking the picture of manners.

He offers a tea cup to them, "I am quite curious about you, would you answer my questions, perhaps?" After a good moment the other takes the tea cup and takes a small hestiant sip- no, not quite hestiant. Cautious.

The other speaks in that soft, yet ringing tone, "I am Pure Vanilla Cookie, My lord. It would be an honor to answer your questions."

Pure Vanilla Cookie, he thinks with a smile, what a lovely name. Flows right off the tounge. He hums, "Well then, my dear, I hope you are perpared, I am quite the curious one."

Pure Vanilla, he thinks in the aftermath of the festivial, is a spirited, knowledgable, kind and lovely cookie.

He comes from a small farming village as a sherpard. He was taken in a baby by a sherpard named Brown sugar cookie. He learned he was good with healing magic at an early age when he healed one of the herd. He loved reading, although he struggles to read most things with his poor eyesight. His blinking flower was something he funneled magic into to be able to see temporarily. When one of the younger cookies of the festivial bumped into him, he immeditaly made sure they were okay- healing their scraps as he did.

Yet, he was distant, he was hestiant and he was careful. Perhaps he held an ex-lover? Or even with an even higher likelihood the other Faeries were giving him problems. He even confirmed the pure vanilla was half Faerie as he thought.

Yet as twirls the green flower in his hand that pure vanilla had caught during the festivals flower throwing. He can't help his mind.

Pure vanilla, he thinks.

I want him to be mine.

[im-sew-curious]

Isn't it glorious?

It’s here! I finally tackled my analysis of Key’s gold Gasoline era costume, worn in his music video for the song, photoshoots, a stage performance at the Inkigayo show, and a live performance at SM Town 2022. I’ll discuss everything from the fabrics used, the gloves, the shoes, complain about the zipper, talk about whatever the heck jumps are, break down all of the tiny little types of ornamentation (including the things I don’t actually know the name for) and more.

It’s scary in the best way. Buckle up. Grab some coffee or tea or vodka and a blanket.

I want to preface this by saying that this is going to be VERY long. I’ve polled my followers and nearly everyone said they want me to get as granular as I want. So I’m doing that. If that’s not your thing, here’s your exit ramp now. I get it. This is absurd.

You can also read it on my Twitter here. It actually has a LOT of bonus photos because they only allow me to have 30 on here, if you’re interested in seeing more. It may help clarify some things, as well.

Now then. Welcome to those who are left. Let’s begin!

Costumes by Dénicheur by Seo Seung Yeon

For his Gasoline era, Key has had four costumes designed and made by Dénicheur by Seo Seung Yeon, a Haute Couture Designer House that, among other things, makes elaborate costumes for Kpop performers. They’ve got an amazing Instagram portfolio to check out. They made him a gold and black costume for his G.O.A.T in the Keyland concert, the blue and white one for the Gasoline MV, this gold one, and a cream and gold beaded jacket for the 2023 SM Town Concert.

This fashion house’s trademark is intricately beaded, appliquéd…encrusted…costumes. I was able to get some high quality photos from some of you (thanks so much!) And the more I looked, the more I discovered.

If this were a piece of art (well, it is, but not in the same way) “Mixed Media” is what I’d call it. There are literally over twenty different types of beading techniques, appliqués, various types of sequins, trims, braids, rhinestones, chains, and more.

First, I’ll do an overview of the garments themselves, and then I’ll move on to the ornamentation.

The top (it’s not a jacket, it’s not really a shirt, it’s not a tunic. So I’m going with “top”) has a very boxy torso with exaggerated wide, padded shoulders. They’re completely squared. There are straight sleeves—not too slim, not too bulky. There’s a heavily ornamented oversleeve that reaches down to about his elbows and a “nude” colored full length under sleeve. It also has heavily ornamented cuffs at the bottom the sleeve. It has an exposed zipper up the center back that goes up into a short turtleneck collar. The collar and a portion of the lower neck back region are sheer with some beading and appliqués. There are sheer spirals around his arms and in chevrons on his front and scooping around to his back.

Just LOOK AT that masterpiece

The trousers are closely cut through the waist, hips, and thighs but become a bit wider at the knee. It looks like they were made full length but are always worn bunched up over knee high boots. They close at the center front with a very beautifully set fly zipper and flat trouser hook and bar. It’s so low profile that it wasn’t until I got some 4K images that I was even sure of where they closed. It was like he had been sewn in. I wrote a whole thread about it on Twitter that reads like a mystery novel, though I already spoiled the ending for you. Sorry.

The top is made of what is probably a “nude” (aka specially dyed to his skin tone) base fabric to hold the structure, with the ornamentation stitched over top. The external stabilizing fabric is what appears to be some sort of jacquard, possibly silk.

Jacquard is a type of weave, where the fabric is made of long and short “up and down” stitches of sorts, to make a pattern. Because some of the time it uses longer “stitches” on top, it becomes more vulnerable to the fiber breaking and makes it become kind of “fuzzy” looking. This can be especially true if it’s a natural fiber that usually has less structural integrity than a synthetic one. I initially thought this had started to happen on Key’s rear, but after a very close zoom in, I think that’s just a bit of appliqué edge pulling up. I think maybe one of his mic packs is down there too, but I’m really not an expert in that. I did the research so you don’t have to, folks.

Left: A type of jacquard fabric. The shine comes from the longer top threads, contrasting with details of shorter threads. Right: Is it an applique or is it some snagged fibers? Ultimately, I think it's an applique edge.

Perhaps the most interestingly nerdy thing about jacquard is that it was originally made on a loom that led to the creation of computer programming by utilizing a sort of “binary code.” There were punchcards that showed the strands of fibers when to go up and down. Like “holes and not holes” in which to weave.

A Jacquard Machine Loom with punchcards that create the desired design on the fabric

It’s important to note that this fabric needs to have some stretch because it is also used to make his very tight fitting trousers. If it were not a stretch fabric, he wouldn’t be able to do this like THIS or…most things, really.

Even though the jacquard is stretchy, it has some structure to it. It’s used as a stabilizer in between the “flesh mesh” on the outer layer. (aka power net, stretch mesh... There are many names!) It forms the base on which the majority of the ornamentation is stitched.

Flesh mesh is a stretchy mesh fabric dyed to the performer’s skin color and is used to give the illusion that you’re seeing their skin, but it gives much more strength than just a cutout. I wrote a thread about flesh mesh and the importance of taking into consideration the performer’s actual skin tone when building them a costume here

In this case, flesh mesh allows for adornment of these areas, as well. It’s important to note that, even though it’s a separate layer over the base, it is “tacked” through all layers in a regular fashion so it doesn’t droop with the weight of all of the ornamentation.

There are also some parts that have metallic gold applied pieces. This was probably made of a beefy metallic spandex applied on top of the base rather than some solid pleather, due to way it behaves on the body. The latter would have been way too rigid in comparison to the rest of the fabrics.

Heavy gold stretch spandex, forming a chevron on which to affix beads and other trims

Okay. Range of movement time. You know how I love discussing this. That’s because it’s the single most important aspect of costumes for dancers.

Let’s talk armpit gussets. They’re an American football shaped piece of fabric that is stitched in the armpit partially to the sleeve underarm, and partially to the torso underarm. It’s often made of a stretch fabric, but sometimes it’s out of the original “fashion fabric,” which is what we call the main garment fabric.

Gussets out of different fabrics under each underarm. You can see the gold bunch under his arm when it's at his side

It allows the performer to more easily move their arms above their chest and head to help keep the top from riding up. You can see in this photo, though, that it does bunch up a little when his arm is down, because of the extra fabric. It has to go somewhere when it’s not taut.

With this particular top, it’s interesting to note that, due to the asymmetrical decoration of his arms, one gusset is the gold stretch fabric and the other is the jacquard. That means that, either both fabrics have the exact same stretch, or his arms may be SLIGHTLY more limited on one side than the other. That’s fun! I really geeked out about this observation.

Often with jackets for dancers, they’ll have what are called “commodity pleats” around the center back shoulder area. They’re a sort of sneaky hidden accordion-like bit of fabric that stretches out during movement that may otherwise split the back open. Taemin uses them a LOT. But, since this top is so boxy, Key doesn’t need them in this instance. He already had the room he needed without any other accommodations.

They put commodity pleats in the back of most of Taemin's closer fitting jackets. I wish they'd make them the same color as his jackets, though!

With Key’s trousers, we’ve already established that they’re made of a fabric with a decent amount of stretch. But since I can’t find many good photos of his bottom half, I’m unsure about if he also has “crotch gussets.”

By this point, I’m kind of notorious as being the “crotch gusset person.”

The following posts explain them in much more detail, but basically, they’re long triangular wedges that start in the trouser crotch and taper down to nothing in the inseam. These are often put in trousers of dancers when people need a better range of movement.

I wrote about this in detail regarding Taemin’s pleather pants he wore in his Metamorph concert, as well as all of SHINee in the Your Number dance video. You can find my posts on the subject here:(Metamorph) (Your Number)

Jinki rocking a black crotch gusset in SHINee's "Your Number" Performance Video (Black Version)

Gussets allow for extra room and movement when one is trying to do extreme leg movements like squatting. Unfortunately, I don’t have many good photos of his inseam. There’s so much going on with appliqués and piecing of mesh vs jacquard, it’s hard to tell. Part of the front half of his trousers is flesh mesh, swirling around them. The other parts are the jacquard, whereas the back is all jacquard.

I saw one photo which made me begin to wonder if the inseam is a little further forward than it could be, though. That could mean there IS a gusset. I’m really not sure...I don't have official visual confirmation, but now you know more about crotch gussets either way. You’re welcome.

That seam line is up a bit more forward than usual. It really has me wondering, because that would happen if there was a gusset installed. Hmmmm.

Okay. Zipper education time. I apologize in advance. Things get spicy but I tried to tamp it down. The center back (abbreviated as “CB” in the industry) of the top has an exposed zipper. This means exactly what it sounds like: it’s exposed. You look at it, and it looks like there’s a zipper right there. It’s not hidden. Sometimes it’s a perfect match, and sometimes it’s “featured.” Exposed zippers actually become a trend every once in a while in everyday fashion.

I thought it was extremely interesting that, on this elaborate costume, they chose to use a zipper with metallic teeth on white “tape.” (The fabric on the sides of the teeth.) It was a huge disappointment for me, actually. I would have loved to have seen the zipper more carefully hidden like his fly was.

Hello, zipper. I see you loud and clear!

I have to comment a bit on what I view as the one flaw in this otherwise perfect costume. I will preface this by saying that I was not in the fitting room where this was conceived, and I don’t know about any extenuating circumstances and the reasoning behind this decision. But there a few things that I would have done differently regarding the zipper and back collar of this top if were to have made it.

But first: some zipper education. Besides exposed, there are center lapped, as well as regular lapped zippers. With the center lap, it’s like the fabric covers your zipper but you can pull the zipper down through it. Your hoodie probably has one. The regular lap zipper is more like your trouser fly in that there is one flap of fabric that covers the whole zipper, hiding it.

Top: Exposed. (Though it has a matching zipper and zipper tape.) Bottom Left: Center Lapped. Right: Regular Lapped.

Either of those types could have been used to make the zipper more discreet. I personally would have chosen to use a regular lapped zipper, which is less likely to get snagged than a center lapped zipper.

People have defended the exposed zipper by asking if it’s because it’s less likely to get caught. I very much get this argument, and, technically it’s right.

But, in my extensive experience, I don’t think I can recall a case of an exposed zipper in the back of a costume, quick change or no. It’s unattractive. (Not to mention a dead giveaway in a period garment!)

If it’s sewn well and tested, with the correct size lap and no loose fabric, it will work just fine. There should be a hook and eye at the top to make sure that it stays secure while dancing.

Part of being a good dresser is being methodical and purposeful, not frantically zipping something up in a way that is more prone to snagging. They keep their cool, perhaps taking a couple more seconds but ensuring that they pull it up smoothly. They use their fingers to block the overlap as they guide the zipper up.

(Random side note: I met a dresser once who preferred zippers be installed upside down for their quick changes. Hey, whatever works best for them! I wonder how they discovered that…)

I will also note that, as far as I’m aware, the only times he’s worn this costume, he didn’t need to get in or out of it quickly. I know that he wore it in the MV, the Inkigayo performance, and the photoshoot. He also performed at SM Town Tokyo 2022, though he had 11 songs during which to change between Bad Love and this. He never wore this look at his G.O.A.T. in the Keyland concert. Oh, and the collab with the Jinro frog. I’ll talk about that later.

So ultimately, all of the zipper quick change talk is for nothing. There COULD have been a chance that this was going to be worn during his concert, I suppose. But if not, in the end, I can find no reason that there needed to be an exposed zipper other than: they wanted it that way.

Sorry for that rant. I know that it was intense. I just…wish it were pretty. That’s all. I know it wouldn’t have bothered most people, but I personally think that the costume deserved better!

Well then. They arranged the symmetrical beaded appliqué motifs so they didn’t interfere with the center back line, so it wasn’t an issue being all chonky around the zipper.

Unfortunately, since the zipper was built into the neck with just the “stretch mesh,” it moves very differently than the rest of the top. It has a substantially weaker structural makeup and it can’t support itself the same, so it stretched at a different rate than the zipper on the solid fabric on the bottom. It kind of “bubbled” when he moved and it rode up.

Showing the neck bubbling, and, on the bottom left photo, you can see that there is some sheer stabilizer to ensure that the zipper doesn't just tear out of the sheer net.

It couldn’t have been helped unless that whole back neck area had been backed with the solid nude base fabric. That’s what I would have done, personally. But using the stabilizer helped a bit. Without it, it may have not lasted a performance.

I don’t know why they did it that way, but the result was rather disappointing to me, especially considering the care that was taken with the rest of the garment.

Okay. End rant. The rest of the costume is EXQUISITE.

One more thing to note is that the zipper terminates about 4” above the top’s bottom hem. It is right around where his waist is. It was built that way to ensure that he was able to move his legs and hips comfortably without getting hung up anywhere.

His knee high boots were covered with the same peach jacquard as his top, as well as utilizing the gold fabric to serve as ornamental buckled straps.

The stretch element of the jacquard is further showcased by the fact that it pulls over the boot toe smoothly, with little issue. A completely stable fabric wouldn’t be able to do that.

Now for the ornamentation. Oooooh boy. There are around twenty types of various adornments on this costume, and I thought I’d highlight some of them.

I can spy about 15 different types of ornamentation here alone.

Beaded appliques at the neckline

Heavy chains

Rhinestone appliques and/or individual rhinestone pieces

Bugle bead chevrons

Gold round beads

Yellow individual small rhinestones

Grey beads in between bugle beads

Gold and silver flat braid trim

Gold stretch fabric

Round flat decorative chain

Hanging paillettes

Dark seed beads with some of the paillettes

Gold dangling lil dudes

A sequined applique peeking out from behind a chain

Utilizing the main fabric as a chevon stabilizer as a design detail

About paillettes: these might actually be my favorites. They’re like “floppy sequins” that only have one hole at an edge. They’re made of a very lightweight plastic, so they’re virtually silent. If you wear a dress completely covered in paillettes, you’ll just hear a little rustle. In this case, his were mainly attached via dangly wires as fringe around the upper sleeves. There are a few other random instances throughout the garment where they’re stitched on individually. You can read more about paillettes in my post here.

Appliqués: There are at least three different types of appliqués in this costume:

Beaded

Lace

Sequined

Rhinestone

Appliqués are premade decorative pieces. It looks like someone hand beaded everything on the costume, but they were able to take a shortcut by using these. So no, contrary to what you might believe, there wasn't someone laboriously hand beading every single thing on to this costume.

It still takes FOREVER to invisibly stitch each motif on to the costume as well as, in this case, sometimes layer upon layer. A lot of them are attached to a net base, and in closeups, I saw how they trimmed the net away closely around the motifs.

On the top, we have the gold paisley sequined appliques. On his trousers, you can see the low profile lurex embroidered lace appliques. Bottom left, you can see the beaded and rhinestone applique. And on the right, beaded appliques. You can see that they're over flesh mesh so, when it's on Key, it just looks like he has a beaded collar.

The sequined, beaded paisley motifs are the most prominent and plentiful form of appliqués, focusing around the top’s cuffs and lower edge. They’re also heavily featured spiraling around the trousers. There are even some appliqués stitched across the seams of the trousers and top.

There are some huge, gorgeous bead and rhinestone appliqués, like this one on his right bicep that you can see in the photo above.

There’s also the Lurex lace (metallic threaded) embroidered appliqués that concentrate mostly on his trousers' waist and hips. It’s low profile without any bits that might snag the top while moving. They added a few jewels to it further down once it was no longer posing any danger to snags. There are also a few flat appliqués on his rear, so as to not make sitting uncomfortable but still be adorned.

Beads and gemstones: There are also individual beads and jewels both sewn and what appears to be discreetly glued on as accents. A popular adhesive we use for that sort of application is called E6000. It bonds pretty much everything from plastic, leather, metal, rubber, and wood. It’s like a slower acting super glue, but is more flexible.

You definitely need to use this in a ventilated area or, ideally, with a respirator. The fumes are no joke! There are little chevrons made out of long tubular metallic bugle beads that were probably glued instead of stitched on. There are also round bronze beads and gold rhinestones glued to the edges of the metallic fabric.

There are little dangling gold dudes, though I don’t know what they’re officially called. There are individual sew on rhinestones. There are circular decorative flat chains. There is gold beaded fringe at the wrists of the sleeves.

Top left: gold braid, beads and chains are heavily featured. Top right: the dangling gold dudes. I don't know what to call them. Bottom left: Paillettes, hanging on gold wires on the upper sleeve hem. Bottom right: Gemstones highlighting the center of the chest, with a whole organized, beautiful mess of braid, beads, etc.

There’s gold flat “braid” trim that also looks like it has a bit of silver in it to add dimension. It’s basically like a braided ribbon, often in metallic colors. It’s used a lot in military uniforms.

And there are a few other various random beads and trims that show up amongst the circus of adornment.

The layout of the overall design is asymmetrical, with left and right arms and legs that don’t match. However, the front of the top is completely symmetrical (which is extremely impressive) except for a few rampant rhinestones that intentionally deviate a bit. Here’s an abomination I made of the sleeves next to each other to see the asymmetry more clearly.

I THINK (not based on this photo but others that aren't Frankensteined together with different perspectives) that the sleeves are actually different lengths as well.

Something that I should cover is that with garments made out of a stretch fabric, like Key’s trousers in this case, stitching on something non-stretchy (like some appliqués) can be fraught. The appliqué can keep the fabric from stretching as much as it needs to accommodate a body in it, and it might tear off.

Sometimes, we need to stretch the fabric a bit as we sew on the motif so it will look normal when a leg is in it. It may look a bit puckered when it’s not being worn. The good news is that it appears that most of the motifs in this costume are on what is most likely a mesh backing, so they probably didn’t have to deal with that headache here!

Since the motif on the Jacquard fabric is pretty small, as well as the fact that some of the appliqués wrapped across the side seams, “pattern matching” wasn’t a big priority on this. However, it’s always preferable to keep the motifs at the same horizontal height. This is a REALLY small pattern, so it wouldn't matter terribly, plus the fact that it was so covered it can hardly be seen. There WAS a point on the right side seam where the pattern did match, but the fabric slightly torqued on the left so it didn’t. All in all, it wasn’t a big deal whatsoever. If it were a bigger print though, it could have been. I made a thread about pattern matching here. It's a subject I'm pretty passionate about!

This side seam was cut so that, at a fixed point, the motif was all at the same level horizonatally at there was a part where the motif perfectly matched up to create one complete one. Because there are curves in the seam, it can't do that everywhere.

Now for a bit of a departure: SHINee and its members have done a few collabs over the years, dancing with the frog mascot from Jinro soju. SHINee did one for Don’t Call Me, Taemin did one for Move, and Key did one for Gasoline.

They dressed the frog up like Key, complete with jewels and chains! It was precious. SO GOOD. Watch it now. I also bring this up because that video was the resource I used to figure out where the gold chains on Key’s top were “tacked” (AKA stitched to keep it held down strategically.) It was a nice close-up view. Thanks, Jinro frog!

(Side note: I have made mascots before and it's ironic because they freak me out. I also refurbished a hot dog mascot that had gotten too gross after public appearances over a decade. My life is weird.)

I love how scaled-back but accurate the frog's costume was.

Through the magic of the Jinro frog, I found the answer to the question “where were the chains tacked?” Here. Enough that they still have independent swing and look natural, but frequent enough to keep them from smacking him in the face. Based on the way they move, I think that is metallic coated plastic and not actual metal. Also, for safety's/comfortability's sake! You don't want to be thumped in the chest with every move.

Here's where the chains were tacked

Someone asked me how much they thought this costume weighed. My answer?

I really have no idea…but probably not NEARLY as much as it looks? I'm like 99.9% sure the chains aren't actual metal. I’m not sure if the “jewels” are glass or plastic. The tiiiiiny “seed beads” and "bugle beads" are glass, but there aren’t enough that they would weigh a significant amount. There's a lot of gold braid on there that's very lightweight. A lot of what you see are layered appliqués with sequins and seed beads, which weigh nearly nothing. The dangling paillettes are just a light plastic.

For the garments themselves, as we’ve established, the are a few layers of fabric and mesh, which aren’t very heavy. Because of the “encrusted” nature of the ornamentation, of course, it still weighs a bit more than just a regular top, and is probably kind of rigid on the front. However, it’s not like he’s dancing around in chainmail.

Lastly, there are his gloves. His left one is made out of that heavy gold stretch fabric that was incorporated into the rest of his costume, and his right was also made out of a flesh mesh. From the way it behaves in this photo, it appears to be a much heavier mesh than the top and trousers.

The right glove has thicker mesh that almost appears to have a natural fiber content that is getting snagged. It doesn't completely conform to the skin like a tight flesh mesh would.

The gloves are heavily ornamented with appliqués and beads. I’m going to guess that these were actually custom made for him, which is a big deal. I know very little about glove making, except it involves a TON of pieces to be done right. Gussets in between the fingers to make them slim and elegant and such. No Mickey Mouse hands here.

Stitching the ornamentation on to gloves is pretty difficult work. You either need a hand form and a curved needle or a very brave stitcher who uses their own hand as a form (palm up.) I haven’t done that for gloves, specifically, but I have been a “sacrificial hand” for other situations. I’m so calloused in most places, I don’t really feel much anymore!

There’s one more aspect to this costume that was seen in the intro for his Gasoline Inkigayo performance: the cloak. He didn’t wear it for very long, but it appears to button across his chest to the other shoulder with snaps underneath. The snaps keep the underlap from peeking out from…under the lap.

It looks like they might have had a wardrobe emergency here, because you can see that two of the three snaps were hastily stitched on with red thread. The ornamentation is asymmetrical, mostly focused on his right side. On his left shoulder, there is a decorative beaded “epaulette.” Those are the ornamental shoulder pieces you often see on military dress uniforms.

Left: The full cloak. You can see the facing on the inside edges, made of the same fabric as the outside. I'll write about that in a bit, and I'll show you a closer view later. Top right: The red thread holding on the upper snaps. Bottom right: Metallic epaulette.

It’s hooded and made out of the same jacquard fabric as the rest of his costume, and it has a satin lining the same color as the “fashion fabric.” It appears to be about calf length. One of the photos I found actually has a shot that shows the facing, the lining, and how the hem is done. Of course, I nerded out. It’s “self faced,” which means that there’s the same fabric that’s on the outside making up the “facing.” The facing is the first ten inches or so of the inside edge of the cloak. It makes a pretty transition from the outside to the inside, without a harsh switch to lining.

Then, there’s the hem.

While attached at the top, the hem of the lining and the outer fashion fabrics are allowed to “hang out” separately while on a dress form. Because fabrics stretch out at different rates (and it also changes by the direction they’re cut from the fabric, but that’s a whole different lesson…) it’s ideal for something like this to hang on a dress form and do its thing for a day or so.

In an ideal world, you’d have a fitting with your performer and you would mark a “level line” on them while they’re wearing the cloak (and also the shoes they will be wearing. Different shoes can change a lot!)

There are several different ways you can mark a hem. You can safety pin it up the way you want it, using a ruler measuring up from the floor to keep it even. But this can be awkward and clunky.

Or you can safety pin a “level line” and say that it’s, for instance, 18” off the ground, and you’d like the hem to be 16” off the ground. You’d draw a new hemline 2” down from the pins. It's the easiest way to know what's level and then decide exactly what you want to do later.

OR you can use what I call “the poofer” which is a little measuring stick on a tripod with chalk and a rubber squeezy ball that poofs chalk into a line at a set height, instead of dealing with pins. But sometimes the chalk doesn’t like to brush away, so that’s a bit of a risk in exchange for convenience.

First, let’s talk about hemming the outside cloak fabric. Because it may have stretched out unevenly, you may have wildly different hems lengths now that they’ve been “leveled.” Let’s say we’ll leave 6” of “hem allowance” to fold up into the garment so it can be lengthened later if we need to. You’ll trim the rest of it away. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve altered hem lengths on cloaks over the years! I'm always grateful to have extra.

You may want to finish the hem with a “serger” or “overlock” machine, which is the sewing machine that uses 3-4 threads to sew things, often stretch, together and kind of seals off the edges. It’s probably what stitches together the side seams of your t-shirt or hoodie or lounge pants or basically anything stretchy. It’s used to keep hems and the edges of fabrics inside garments from fraying. Sometimes people don’t do it, especially since it's inside, but it’s nice if you’re planning on altering it or if the fabric is really prone to fraying.

The cloak fabric is then thoroughly pinned and hand stitched up. There are many different sneaky stitches which grab a few threads at a time from the front of the fabric and are virtually invisible. Everyone has their favorites. My personal favorite is the “vertical hemming stitch” or “vertical blind hem.” I like it because it holds the inner hem and the outside of the cloak more tightly together than a lot of other styles. The “cross stitch” which is called the “blind catch stitch” here in this diagram is one of the most popular methods. However, I feel it can be a bit too loose some times and is more likely to be caught on something. The one downside of the vertical blind hem is that, if you pull it too tight, it’s more likely to show from the outside. It takes a very sensitive hand to get it right. The lining is usually slip-stitched to the cloak hem.

Once you’ve got your level line of your fashion fabric, it goes back on the dress form. I’m…not entirely sure I’ll do a good job explaining this because I work best with showing things with points and grunts. My apologies.

You mark the lining to match the level where the hem of the fashion fabric ends. You decide how far up from the bottom of the hem you want the lining to end (in this case, 4”.) So normally, you think you'd fold it up 4", right? Ha! You subtract two inches from that number. This means you’ll be folding up only two inches of lining. But, since we will be stitching it 4” up from the hem, that means there’s a floppy extra two inches. (Cue Advice.) What’s that for? Now I have to tell you about “jumps.”

Jumps are a sneaky trick. This method is used in suit coat hems and sleeve linings as well. Basically, they’re a way to give a little bit of wiggle room with the length of the lining to hem interaction.

After the fashion fabric is hemmed, you hand stitch the lining 4” up from the hem. You have two extra inches of lining. One extra inch of lining is pressed down so there’s an extra inch of “underlap". This photo (top right) showed me that they had done this to Key’s cloak. You can see it stretched out with the pressed line on the left, and it is folded over on the right.

Left: The "self fabric facing" at the center front inside of the cloak. Top right: The cloak hem showing the underside of the "jump" (left) and it down in its "resting" position (right). Bottom right: the "poofer." They're marking a level line.

If you want to get even MORE granular, that is considered a “soft press”, which means that the iron steams and very lightly rests on the fabric. A “hard press” is what it sounds like. Squish that lil dude and steam the heck out of it. That line is never gonna come out.

Okay. Enough of that. I can’t believe myself.

I could literally discuss this costume inch by inch, but I think I’ve covered it enough that you can peruse it yourself if you’d like and kind of know what you’re looking at.

I deeply admire and respect the, perhaps, 100+ hours of craftspersonship that it took to make this stunning costume. Don’t even ask me what it cost to make!

Do check out the Instagram of @denicheur.official where you can see other costumes they’ve worked on for groups like IVE, Enhypen, Stray Kids and more. They’ve got an amazing portfolio to drool over.

I hope you’ve gained an even greater appreciation for this gorgeous look, and the knowledge you’ve gained here can go forward with you as you enjoy future costumes! And thanks so much for sticking with me. I hope it was worth it!

[abfabsweetiedarlings]

Ab Fab ended after five series in 2003 and while fans are still praying for a reboot, they’ll soon be able to enjoy the next best thing: Absolutely Fabulous: Inside Out, a documentary spilling the beans about how the show was made. Featuring Saunders, Lumley, Julia Sawalha (Saffy) and a slew of clips, it’s a glorious reminder of how groundbreaking the show really was.

Eddie, Patsy and Saffy were its stars, but so too were the clothes. Six years before Sex and the City catapulted Fendi Baguette bags and Manolos into the mainstream, Ab Fab made designer labels a talking point in a more irreverent way. Rather than existing to gild their wearers, clothes were often the butt of the joke, with Edina’s “It’s Lacroix, sweetie” sending up her obsession with labels in a way that viewers found relatable.

For the costume designer Rebecca Hale it was a dream job. “Jennifer [as the show’s creator] gave you freedom and creative licence. Nowadays you’re more constrained — there are so many points of view.” Although the job wasn’t without its stressesos famously worked close to the wire, frequently editing lines at the 11th hour. “I would often be on a motorcycle coming back from Selfridges when they changed the script, and I’d be running around Selfridges trying to find more shoes. You’d sometimes get the script on Thursday and be shooting Friday. I’d be sitting outside Harvey Nichols waiting for it to open, laughing and thinking, ‘Wow, I can’t believe she’s written that.’ ”

Not only did the script go close to the wire but also sometimes close to the bone. “But satire is what makes comedy so fantastic,” Hale says. “If you compare Ab Fab to something like Emily in Paris, [Emily] is more like a runway show than an observation on society. It’s very two-dimensional. It doesn’t take the piss out of itself.”

At the time gossip mags were the equivalent of Instagram, and Hale remembers looking through Hello! with Saunders for inspiration. “We’d see Katie Price getting out of a car in a Juicy Couture tracksuit and a G-string. What I loved about Jennifer is that we’d be telling stories and [showing] the complexities and insecurities of being a woman. We’d always make everything tight. Trousers would be extra small so there’d be a camel toe. You’d relate to the vulnerability, and show [the audience] that vulnerability is OK. Everything now is so pure and clean. Nobody wants to offend, but there’s got to be a bit of offence in order to observe.”

By the time Hale joined the show in the early Noughties (the earliest series were wardrobed by Sarah Burns), it was firmly established and most designers were keen to lend. “Gaultier and Dolce & Gabbana were always generous. The rest we’d buy at Harvey Nichols and Alexander McQueen. Betty Jackson made all of Patsy’s things, so we paid for it at cost. She was also generous and had a very big say in the way that Patsy looked. It was such a great contradiction to Eddie — very pure in its line and not so messy visually. Patsy was much more messy physically because Joanna’s such a great comedic actress.”

Decades after the final series of Ab Fab aired, Patsy is still a popular fancy-dress costume. What, for Hale, is her most iconic look? “There’s a white Betty Jackson coat that she wears with a black tight-fitting dress underneath — I think it was vintage Yves Saint Laurent. The tones were important — she’d wear cream, white or black, and occasionally red, whereas Edina would wear anything.” Indeed, the latter would be slavishly latching on to the hottest names and trends of the day. “One of my favourite Edina outfits is the Burberry look she wore in the early 2000s. She’s got the check bucket hat, jacket and three-quarter-length trousers.”

If Edina’s looks were outrageous, so too were those of her secretary, Bubble (Jane Horrocks). One of her more memorable outfits is a padded dress printed with Teletubbies, inspired by the popular children’s TV show of the time. “I was a single parent and had just come out of that period when you’re watching Pingu and Teletubbies. My brain was frazzled but I loved the imagery of it.”

By contrast, Saffy’s wardrobe was deliberately wholesome and drab, as befitted a girl who was chastised by Patsy for “dressing like a Christian”. Hale says: “We’d go to a shop and pick the cosiest jumper or the ugliest item of clothing. Anything that looked like it was a walking contraceptive pill, I’d put on her.”

Such was the show’s popularity that famous faces lined up to have cameos, meaning that Hale also had the fun of dressing its numerous celebrity guest stars. “We had a whole room of supermodels once. Elton John turned up in his own fabulous outfit. I remember dressing Anita Pallenberg and Marianne Faithfull. Anita turned up with these amazing lilac silk flowers, one for her and one for Jennifer. I put Marianne in a tailored white trouser suit by Bella Freud.” Hale also worked on Absolutely Fabulous: The Movie (2016), which featured a cameo by Kate Moss. “Kate was delightful. We were going through some ideas and she pulled out this dress that Johnny Depp had given her — black sequins, made by a very famous costume maker in Hollywood. Because the scene required her to come out of the River Thames, I copied that dress, remaking it in green sequins so that she emerged looking like a mermaid.”

Hale says that if Saunders ever did decide to do a reboot, she would look at influencers for inspiration, and dress them in labels such as SS Daley, Balenciaga and JW Anderson, adding in vintage pieces by Vivienne Westwood and Stella McCartney. “Fashion is so eclectic now. I’d have to find something that was extreme. Edina would have to wear a Kim Kardashian bodysuit like she did on Saturday Night Live.”

Hale is interested in the power Kardashian wields. “She’s a fashion icon. Although you haven’t got those fantastic people who really used to cultivate their own looks. Nobody takes risks any more. They’re all too concerned about how they’re perceived. In the Nineties you’d have these very famous fashion people — Anna Wintour, André Leon Talley, Suzy Menkes — each with their own image, and they’d stick to it. Now people just go to a designer and get plonked in it rather than curating their own style. Money kills creativity. You get paid to wear a brand and it takes away your identity. I think that’s sad.”

It’s the antithesis of Hale’s approach to fashion. She got involved with Ab Fab after initially working with Saunders on the comedy series The Comic Strip Presents … in the late 1980s and early 1990s, followed by the sketch show French and Saunders in the early 2000s. “We’d banter with each other about what was going on in our personal lives, and I’d often regale them with stories about my mother,” she says. “She was exuberant, to say the least — a great beauty, a great intellect and something of a fashion icon. On holiday in Greece she’d rise in the morning wearing some kaftan and a turban and ceremoniously walk on to the beach, waving at the Greek fishermen before swimming off in the nude.”

If she sounds uncannily like Edina Monsoon, that’s because she is. “Part of Edina is based on my mother. Her name was Crystal Hale and she was an inspiration to many. She’d take me to school dressed in a cape decorated with great big lions’ heads and a huge fur hat. She was extremely loving but very alternative. Her various stories and antics would be relayed back to Jennifer and Dawn, and they would give each other a sideways glance. So, yes, she was part of the inspiration for Edina.”

Ever since Ab Fab aired, fans have been guessing who Edina was based on, with the most popular theory being Lynne Franks, a well-known fashion PR who shared some of her traits. The name Crystal Hale has never been mentioned. She was the daughter of the novelist and MP AP Herbert, and indeed, some of her parenting sounds like it would put Edina’s to shame. “On one particular day, when I was terrified of [doing] my GCSE, she gave me a type of amphetamine called a purple heart to calm me down. It did the opposite.”

Never mind Edina being based on her mother: was Saffy based on Hale? “She might have been in the way I relayed my stories, but I was equally outrageous in my twenties,” she says, laughing. “My mother encouraged me to be expressive. At school I was into punk fashion and she’d allow me to wear a Vivienne Westwood cobweb-knit angora mohair sweater with no bra underneath, a miniskirt and rubber stockings.”

Hale has just finished working on Kaos, the Netflix black comedy starring Jeff Goldblum and Billie Piper. “I’ve rarely felt as happy reading a script as I did reading [the writer] Charlie Covell’s — it’s the closest to Absolutely Fabulous in terms of being laugh out loud.”

And she’s not surprised by the lasting impact Ab Fab has had. “The relationship between a mother and daughter is a theme that’s never going to die. It’s light-hearted, hilarious and there’s nothing else like it. I think it needs to be reintroduced.” We’d drink (the Bolly) to that.

[alicewhitesblog]

Chapter 3

Toby turned around, all about him the slate grey facades of the rides and sideshows suddenly came alive in a glorious explosion of technicolour. The once still large plastic lifeless decapitated clown heads, started to swivel broadcasting their mechanical laughter.

Toby was so mesmerised with the sudden burst of flashing coloured lights, that he didn’t feel the bony fingers of the stranger rest on his shoulder. He also didn’t feel the stranger’s other hand prise his own hand off the handlebars of his bike and whisk it away.

Just when Toby had thought the light show was over, a volley of fireworks erupted over head. Unlike the fireworks Toby were use too. These didn’t open like a giant umbrella showering the spectators below with sparkles. These fireworks raced across the sky spelling out in red and green lettering;

‘Mr Grimesludge’s Wonderful Carnival of Horror’

The word ‘Horror’ was spelt out in glittering ruby red, each letter giving the impression it was dripping blood in the dark grey sky. Normally, Toby would be excited like any other twelve-year-old in seeing this and anticipating the ghoulish delights within a carnival. But Toby knew this carnival was not ‘normal’. Normal carnivals didn’t appear out of thin air. Normal carnivals come on trucks and were put up by loads of people.

“Well Toby Jennings. What do you think?”

Toby had forgotten that the creepy tall man was beside him. He almost jumped at seeing the pale white skeletal fingers of Grimesludge resting upon his shoulder like a large albino spider.

“What will you go on first Toby Jennings?” continued Grimesludge.

That was the third or was it the fourth time Grimesludge had called him by name? Toby looked down at himself. Had a large badge with his name printed on it suddenly appeared? He wouldn’t be surprised if it had. But, no he was clean of such a thing.

“How do you know my name?” Toby asked, now looking for the first time at Grimesludge in all his colourful glory. When the man had first appeared, he’d been the same monochrome colour scheme as the rest of the carnival. But now, he was dressed in an array of colours.

Starting at the top was his purple top hat: then down to his orange waistcoat, light green overcoat, finished off with his red trousers and yellow boots. The dress code was far too cheerful for a man whose face looked like he had been dead and buried for a week.

“It’s my business to know all those who come to the Nothing Hill Carnival Toby Jennings. So, I’ll ask you again. Which ride would you like to go on first?”

Toby was feeling a little uncomfortable now. He didn’t like being at a carnival with no other people around. And he didn’t like the fact, that he couldn’t shake Grimesludge hand off his shoulder.

“I just want to go home!” Toby pleaded, bordering on crying.

“Home!” Grimesludge said, sounding surprised. “Why! Toby Jennings you can’t go home. Not until you survive all four of your chosen sideshows.”

A lump formed in Toby’s throat. The grip of Grimesludge bony fingers became tighter, Toby looked up at the sky once more, the word ‘Horror’ still shone down on him, he was now officially - scared!

Toby didn’t like to admit it to himself, but he had walked into a trap and now he found himself at the mercy of a child snatcher. All that ‘stranger danger’ warning pounded into him by his parents and the teachers at school, now amounted to nothing.

Toby then thought of his parents and older sister making lots of handmade posters with a photo of him looking out to anyone who read it, as they were plastered all over town. Then there would be the TV interviews and the police search. After some time everyone, including his family, would give up looking for him.

He had seen news reports on the internet about kids being locked away for years in someone’s house only to be found some time later in their twenties. That was going to be him, hidden away from the outside world in a mysterious carnival, that’s of course if he lived that long!

Toby wondered to himself if he would be able to kick Grimesludge in the shin. Then, ride through the carnival on his bike finding a way to go back down the hill. He didn’t care now if he found himself at the bottom of the hill from where he started. Anywhere was better than here on top of Nothing Hill!

But he couldn't make his escape because he wasn't holding on to his bike anymore!

“Hey!” He shouted to Grimesludge. “Where’s my bike?”

Grimesludge just shrugged his shoulders in a mocking fashion. “Perhaps, the goblin bike thieves took it?”

Toby was trying really hard not to breakdown, he choked back the tears and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

“I’m still waiting Toby Jennings, still waiting for you to pick your first sideshow.”

Toby, turned his face away from Grimesludge, he couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. Then, his eyes fell upon a sideshow in front of him, the coconut shy.

“Ah! At last Toby Jennings,” said Grimesludge sounding delighted. “And may I say a worthy sideshow for your first trial.”

Toby quickly turned back to face Grimesludge, “Hold on! I was only thinking about it. I haven’t actually chosen properly yet!”

“Too late Toby Jennings, too late. Look, your opponents are waiting for you!”

Toby looked back at the coconut shy to see that the four coconuts that were originally sitting on their poles were now replaced by four clown heads. Every head was made of hard plastic and brightly painted. Each one, had its own frozen smile and the bare poles they sat on were draped in a red cloth.

“Roll-up, roll-up,” said a large clown head. “Roll-up Toby Jennings. See if you can survive sideshow number one.”

Toby walked up to the counter, where a bucket of silver balls lay at his feet. Most fairs he went to in the past only gave him a limited number of balls to knock down the coconuts. This carnival, didn’t seem to mind how many attempts he had at knocking these clown heads off.

Toby bent down to pick up his first ball, that was when the sides of the tent enveloped themselves around him. Toby was now cocooned within the sideshow.

He ran back to the tent entrance trying to claw his way out, but it was useless. There was no opening for him to get out of. Then, Grimesludge voice came over the tannoy. “The trial, Toby Jennings. You need to survive the trial before you are set free!”

With no choice, Toby shook as he picked up his first sliver ball. He was determined to give it his best shot. He hurled the silver ball towards the first clown head. It missed as it thumped into the back of the tent. Toby, took a deep breath to steady his nerves. Then picking up another ball he threw that at the same clown head. Success! He hit the clown head bang in the centre and watched as the head tipped back. One down.

Onto the second head. This ball again went wide, but the next one smacked the second clown on the forehead and, like the first head, that too tipped back. The next ball, hit clown head three in the mouth and the ball after that, hit clown head four just off centre but the momentum was enough to push it over.

All four clown heads were down, but the tent flap still wouldn't open for Toby.

One by one, starting with the first, the clown heads began to rise back up. Except this time, the heads were not plastic, but were made of flesh and blood. Their brightly coloured paint, replaced with smeared make-up. The heads this time were not smiling but were growling, showing their razor-sharp needle teeth.

[idadragonheart]

Not your average Joe, Giovanni (Gio) Giovannangelo-Stellari is a medical school dropout and second generation immigrant known for his somewhat eccentric style and loud personality. Son of an Italian father and unknown mother, he was taken into custody by his aunt after his father, Giorgio, passed away when Giovanni was ten years old. He took over his aunt's surname Stellari, both because he wanted to distance himself from his father's legacy and because he regarded his aunt as his true mother. Bonus points, his aunt's surname was easier for Americans to pronounce.

A bright student, Gio used the inherited money to pay his tuitions and enrolled in medicine school right after graduating from college. He never took school too seriously, but appreciated the knowledge and training he was receiving and knew that in spite of him and his adoptive mother living quite comfortably now with his late father's savings, the money couldn't last forever, so his goal was a well paying, respectable job. He wanted nothing to do with his father's somewhat dodgy history.

Unfortunately, Gio dropped out of school due to an incident that happened about six months ago - he got into a fight on school grounds and ended up expelled as he almost beat the life out of a student hailing from a rich family that made huge donations to the school in the past. The two had history, as the rich student beat Gio to a girl he liked and made a point of dating her in spite of making it obvious behind her back that he actually thought she was just a dumb ugly wench. This enraged Gio but he kept his temper at bay. He put up with this and other attempts at triggering him, but in the end, what got him had to do not with himself, but his best friend. The rich guy's gang would harass less well-off students - childish demeanor at their age - and their favourite target was Gio's friend Will. Will was a dainty, well groomed creature, who despite his lack of funds cared for his appearance and was ridiculed because of this. He was rumored to be gay and often carried bruises that came with that. One day Gio stumbled upon a three-against-one standoff between his nemesis, two other thugs and WIll, the latter already being held at knife point. Gio ended up in a fist fight with the knife wielder, beating him unconscious after breaking his jaw with a brass-knuckle-powered uppercut.

Repercussions were severe - Will had fallen unconscious just the fight and was thus overridden by the two other witnesses who claimed that Gio attacked them with no apparent reason and with little warning. In spite of some teachers believing Will and Gio's story, most harbored a dislike for gays and sided with the son of their beloved patron. Gio ended up expelled just a couple of months before graduation.

This event exposes his rashness and also his sense of justice; he is compassionate and will go out of his way to protect those in need. He often uses medical skills to heal stray animals and sometimes to help those who cannot afford a doctor - he keeps his trusty bag well supplied. A scholar at heart, he tries to find a scientific explaination in everything and dismisses the paranormal as merely unresearched phenomena.

Aside from his medicine bag and brass knuckle dusters, which inspired his nickname, "Knuckle",  he is most recognizable by his jet black hair coiffed into a glorious pompadour. He claims this hairstyle will take the world by storm one day. He dresses in a long black coat, white shirt, black vest and trousers and fancy leather shoes - an old-fashioned look, most of his garments being passed down by his father, who was and still is Gio's role model. This is why he will not tolerate smartassing about his look - disrespecting his outfit means disrespecting his father. An even worse idea is making fun of his hairstyle - he's prone to fly into a rage if anyone mocks his pompadour and has used his signature knuckles to settle such disputes before. Nobody really knows why he is so defensive about his hair and he keeps his reasons a secret - just don't talk about it, okay? Endearingly enough, Gio will pop his coat's collar when trying to look cooler.

[axl-ul]

The Flight of the Western Crane: Chapter Four

(A reupload/repost of my fic/dark retellingof Journey tot he West because the whole AO3 site, where I originally posted this, got taken down for now)

(General info about this fic/wip/retelling is here)

****

Cold breeze playing with thick fur woke him up. He opened his eyes. They were sore, heavy. His head was aching. The simian could feel his veins pumping wildly with each movement. The drought in his throat was beyond endurance. Monkey’s back hurt and his bones cracked as he dragged himself over the nearest remains of a table. The piece of furniture was covered in dark liquid and burnt by a good half. There were holes after some sort of a sharp object, most probably a knife. Somebody had to have been thrown on it as there were such dented areas that the blunt force almost broke the wood. Wukong carefully slid down the rough surface with thin fingers, his mind still foggy. He needed to find a jug of water. The sooner, the better. Last time he was this thirsty it was his junior…Bajie, Ol’ Sha and then…

Everything around him stopped.

“Shifu…“

Still squinting and coughing, he dashed through the smoke in the direction of his Master’s room. Not paying attention to the fact that a potential danger could still lurk behind a corner, the Monkey King burst in. Nobody was there. No Shifu, no Sha Seng, no Daizi. Only a broken bed and tattered curtains remained after the catastrophic events of the previous night. The inn wasn’t completely burnt down but the damage was done to a good third of the place. This room was, sadly, a part of it.

Fists clenched so hard the knuckles turned white. Wukong sank to the floor covered in a thin layer of ash. The burning itching woke up under the eye sockets. The wound from the venom started fully healing. Despite the process not being the most pleasant one, it could never compare to the hollowness that resided inside. The mightiest king of all demons and yet he was just a fool in torn trousers. Why did he listen to Bajie? Daizi had never had any good ideas to begin with. The monkey should have gone to bed like Ol’ Sha. After all, Sha Seng hadn’t ever possessed the same strength as his Senior. He only carried their luggage and helped occasionally. Wukong was the one protecting them. Then, why did he fail once again?

Bam! Wukong punched the wall beside him so hard he left behind a gaping hole with thousands of cracks around it. He was fed up with himself. The glorious Handsome Monkey King pitying himself?! What was it good for? A protector chosen by Bodhisattva Guanyin letting a simple rogue demon best him? He crossed oceans, achieved immortality and faced death more than once. During his youth some dared to call him a weakling. Those who tried it later paid for such insults dearly. Doesn’t matter who the person is. A demon, a human or a god. The Great Sage Equal to Heaven won’t ever succumb.

With painful moans the eldest disciple stood up and began his investigation. 

The ceiling was caved-in in the middle. Through the hole the cold sunless morning invited thick fog. Its gaunt arms slithered down the hole by four low walls that were still standing. One of them, however, differed from the rest. A black smudge with golden brown edges emerged on it. In front of the scorched panel was the table beside which Wukong woke up. Before he had the chance to make his way towards his sniffing nose caught onto a gut-clenching mixture of soy sauce, sweat, urine, blood and mud. A squeaky sound spread around. Heavy thumps soon followed after which an unnerving silence came.

Certain it was no hinges or the wind, Wukong creeped over the departed door of the neighbouring kitchen. His eyes were met with a horrifying discovery. On the floor, there was the innkeeper lying in a puddle of red liquid. Next to him was his wife and their little son. The expression written on their features perfectly described the last moments of their lives. Their swollen faces, bare arms, necks, legs, it didn’t matter what part of the body Wukong closely observed. The snake bites were all over them. Breathing out for the last time, the throats of the family must have been filled with sobs and dreadful cries. The same venom which burnt Wukong’s face circulated in its victims’ veins. Creating an excruciating suffering, the torture resulted in the twisted contours.

He turned around. Though the stench from the corpses was undeniable the one he tried to track down came from a different direction. Bare feet stepped over the tragic find. He strode to the bead curtain and swiftly drew it back. In the darkness of the pantry the sobbing grandmother with the younger child in arms crouched in the corner. In the same moment, something massive rustled behind Wukong’s back.

“Aaargh!!!“ At the last second the monkey pilgrim dodged the long tines of a rake. A rotund person swished by the furry demon. Stretching out the slender arm without moving further aside, Wukong grabbed the attacker’s long ear.

“Nice circus, idiot…“

“Big Brother?!“ Bajie whimpered. Soon, the nine-toothed rake dropped down. Pigsy forgot everything about the painful squeeze and whooped with joy,“It’s you! I thought those snakes had returned. But no. It’s everyone’s favourite monkey!“

“Bajie, shut up!“ Wukong cut him off abruptly. 

“Nah,“ the pig demon waved his hand with lighthearted laughter, seemingly completely forgetting the weight of the current situation, “Madam, you can come out. You’re safe, now.“

“I wouldn’t do that.“

“What’s wrong, brother?“ Pigsy wondered. Soon he realised what resided in the elder’s mind once the monkey motioned with his head towards the three corpses. The gloomy expression replaced the jolly gaze. His pig snout dropped.

“I doubt there are any more survivors, am I right?“

“Sadly yes. You are. We should bury them.“

At first, Wukong wanted to object. For him, all life must once flee and though the dead should rest in peace, those alive are more important. His Master needed him. He can’t waste time with rotting humans. But then, he remembered the teachings. Monks should spread compassion. He looked over the woman with her last family member. The boy tightly clenched onto her, not daring to gaze upon the scary-looking disciples. The image evoked something that’d been in a deep slumber inside. “I agree. Let’s go.“

Both brothers did as they promised. Around twenty to thirty graves grew from the soil in the yard in front of the house. During and after the ritual, not a sound was heard around the two men. Not a single leaf moved, not an early lark chittered.

“Bajie? When I was knocked out, did a candle fall to the side?“ Wukong asked while they walked away from the marked grounds.

“Sorry,“ the pig demon shook his head,“I can’t recall anything like that. Before you lash out, in my defence, I had slightly different concerns to take care of.“

To Bajie’s amazement the monkey demon kept his cool. The only thing he actually did was pat the former general’s back.“I know, brother.“

****

“What are you doing?“

The man with big ears cast a curious look over his shoulder. He saw his senior crouching by the table and delicately running fingers on the scorched remains. “Observing. Investigating. Do the same.“

Zhu Bajie snorted,“As if we were one of the officials…“

“Bajie, if we want to find Shifu, Ol’ Sha, the Princess and the Wolf Witch…“

Another snort,“Whoah, you title her properly all of a sudden?“

Sun Wukong sighed and paid no more attention to his brother. Instead, he focused on clues. Images of potential scenarios rushed inside his mind. Picture after picture. Still, it wasn’t enough.

There was a candle. Although the item was broken in half, it was fairly long and its wax nearly intact. The wick was in the same condition. Calmly, he crossed out the candle as the possible cause of the fire. To gather new resources the hairy fiend sniffed. A well-known floral scent came to him. The aroma tingled his sense and forced him to use his keen sight, as well, once he was sure he was on the right track.

Eyes lit in smouldering flames and the Monkey King entered the world of patterns so fantastic no ordinary human could ever imagine. The floor seemed to get into a flowing motion while the thirty to forty streaming ribbons marked the space with various spirals and figures of red and gold. Wukong stood up and followed the most prominent shape which happened to possess a feminine look.

Without facing his fellow disciple, the former warlord asked,“Bajie, will you do me a favour? Check the stables. Maybe Bai Long Ma ran away. Still there might be something useful.“

“On my way, Big Brother.“

“One last thing,“ he stopped Zhu Bajie while approaching the wall itself,“if the dragon-horse is alive and well, saddle him up. He’ll take the woman and the child back to the woodcutter’s shed once they wake up. Then, he’ll wait there with them.“

“Understood, Brother Wukong.“ The boar creature exitted the low building and left the monkey alone.

Wukong remained in the centre of absolute silence of the gloomy hall. He followed the tracks of Márgerdra’s remains. Her presence was still quite strong which allowed the fiend to easily detect details of the fight. It was her who collided with the surface of the thick wooden board. She might have been strong and swift. But it was no match for the attackers who easily outnumbered her. They restrained her the same way they managed with Wukong. In contrast to him, she wasn’t poisoned and still maintained her powers. For someone with such a stubborn and proud nature as herself a quick retribution was inevitable. A blinding lightning had to be followed by a bursting fire. At least, he based such deduction on the witch’s much earlier attempt to gather enough strength for the spell. The fact that several of the attackers’ imprints dispersed in various directions seemed to confirm the theory. Others collapsed on the spot. Which, of course, had downsides, as well.

To the Sage’s annoyance, too much foreign energy concentrated around his clue and consumed it. Frustrated, he started observing the wall once more. There he found something peculiar. Deep grooves were carved in. As if someone lost their balance and tried to avoid the hard fall. Wukong thought of the second possibility. The person was desperately trying to escape the grasp of danger. Because they didn’t have a weapon the poor soul used what was left and most natural to them. Claws. The marks they left behind were remarkably long. Wukong carefully caressed them with his finger pads. Snakes and claws didn’t go hand in hand quite well. They had daggers with needle-like ends. Not to mention their infamous venomous teeth. Maybe these weapons were responsible. On the other hand, there were five of them right next to each other. At the same time the marks were quite thick in comparison…

Weapon. A word which became another kick for Sun Wukong.

His cudgel. He dropped it last night. Nervously reaching to his right ear clawed fingers didn’t touch the cold metal a single time. Panic rushed all over his body like a deadly fever.

Where is it? His powerpole. His Ruyi Jingu Bang! His dearest weapon which had been accompanying him for so long.

A frantic look quickly grew into a furious flame. Backing away from his findings he tried to take a bigger picture when he tripped over. Agilely rolling to the side to soften his unfortunate fall a golden glow caught his attention. There it was covered in ashes and a silk veil. Rich floral embroidery painted itself over the cloth. The luxury, partially covered in the dried mud, was surely in the possession of the Lady Wolf Witch. It was the very same blue-grey piece of fabric decorated with red peonies and magnolia flowers which lured out Wukong seconds before the meeting with the woman.

He carefully picked it up. Caressing it with a thumb a memory flowed around like waves washing the shore. Tall grass brushed against the pink cheek. Later on, with equal loveliness the strange woman put a hand on the little princess’ forehead.

‘I’ll make sure you’re safe…’ Why didn’t he say it outloud?

A loud yell made its way inside the ruined inn,“Big Brother! Come here! You better see this!“

“On my way!“ The Sage dusted down both himself and the found cloth and rushed outside. Pigsy’s calling navigated him to the stables where the pig was reviving the knocked out stallion. Beside them there was an unmoving body lying flat on its stomach covered in a large cape. It was soaked wet in blood just like the hay around. Similar to the family Wukong found earlier the fluid also seemed to begin drying up.

“Is that it?“

“Do you see anything else mildly interesting?“ Bajie responded with a snarky undertone in his voice.

The demon with a fiery gaze squatted beside and turned the dead over. His decision made the fabric move aside and reveal a feral face with bulging yellow eyes. 

“A wolf demon. Seems like your pack didn’t appreciate you much,“ the hand in a yellow sleeve uncovered the wound on the wolf’s neck. Wukong eyed both his right and left yet something still bugged his mind. Picking up the deceased’s paw he closely observed it.

Pigsy couldn’t help but curiously raise his gaze and ask,“Big Bro, what are you doing? Why are you murmuring under your nose?“

“The claws. There were wolf claws on the wall inside the inn.“

“So what?“

“Idiot! I’m looking for their owner.“

“Well, you can lie your head to rest. The culprit’s here. But I doubt he’s gonna tell you where his accomplices took Shifu.“

“It wasn’t him.“

Bajie wasn’t sure whether it was the sudden cold in Wukong’s voice or the certainty in his words which drew out a confused stutter,“W-What? What do you m-mean?“

Seeing Bai Long Ma slowly coming back to senses the Monkey King waved for Bajie to come nearer. “Look, The blood’s nearly as old as the one around the corpses inside. He either died before or shortly after the attack. There’s no way he got that far inside the building and scratched a wall. Now this - he’s got two of his fingers missing. There were five claw marks I found. Not only that. These are much larger.“

“Are you sure? Listen, I know your sight is beyond belief. But yesterday one of those fiends wounded your eyes. Maybe it’s still deceiving your true senses…“

“No, Bajie. Go inside and check them. Once you’re done you can only agree with me that it wasn’t him. Again, the wolf was either killed before or after the attack. I believe in the first option. I recall smelling fresh blood from the snake fiend.“ Wukong being logical was nothing new to his junior. After all, they’d travelled for a long time together and he was a witness to many occasions on which the Great Sage showed his quick thinking despite the usual initial impression. Contrary, the former general hadn’t seen the monkey be so collected in a long time. His tail rested on his sash and no longer painted chaotic drawings in the air. Shoulders visibly raised only occasionally.

The extraordinary tranquillity woke up the boar’s slumbering trust,“Who do you think it was, then?“

With an empty expression the elder lied,“Not sure.“ Soon he added,“But I guess that if we manage to find them we’ll find Shifu and Ol’ Sha, as well.“

The monkey looked over his shoulder back to Ao Lie who in the meanwhile pulled his miserable body together. “Brother, saddle Bai Long Ma. He’s gonna take the woman and the child to the woodcutter as quickly as possible.“

“What about us? What’s our destination?“ Pigsy rushed behind Wukong. They stopped and looked forward. The duo found themselves in front of the image of colossuses. The high peaks seemed to have reached the celestial arch aeons ago. Yet, countless black dots didn’t escape the grasp of a watchful pair of brown eyes. They were caves. And they were staring back at Wukong, equally fearlessly and impudently.

In response, the golden-black pole hit the ground. Long tail took out the damaged veil. It brought the item up to the monkey’s nose. Wukong sniffed and picked up the trail. “The mountains.“

****

When Mei woke up with an atrocious headache her protector was already crouching by the cell bars. Although the princess’ chapped lips quivered and her chest clenched tightly her swollen eyes were the reason behind her miserable expression.

“Márgerdra, where…where are we?“ The painful whimper was all the young lady could gather her strength for.

Márgerdra’s frustrated growl stopped her nearly immediately. A silver-plated wooden hairpin flew across the cell. The flight ended with a distinct clinging as the item collided with the stone. “Foremother’s bones! This is supposed to work every time!“ Wolf Witch sank down, yellow waves from the undone bun flooded the floor. She wrapped her hands around her knees. Otherwise striking the world with her radiant beauty, the magnolia was in her wilt. Pink cheeks withered away. The youthful spark hid itself behind the dark curtain.

The Princess of the Great Tiger Kingdom crawled closer. She leaned against the woman’s shoulder. “Why are you trying to open the door with a hairpin? Can’t you use your magic instead?“

“They’re going to notice some kind of usage. Snakes are particularly good at this.“

“They’re just a bunch of thugs. I mean, they’re pretty disgusting and sleazy. But that’s all. Just simple thugs.“

“That’s how they present themselves. But I’m not so sure.“

“What do you mean? What’s going on?“

Blue eyes flashed in the gloom. They looked over the room as Márgerdra scented the air. “Something around here stinks. And it’s not the dead rat in the corner.“

They sat in the lingering silence for a while. Only the two of them in the unknown room. Wet walls seemed to come closer to them with each breath. Their steps were slow yet sure. Those massive bodies with deep scars are going to crush two women. They’re going to break their bones, their skulls, they’ll make sure two helpless bodies will merge with them for the rest of eternity. No-one’s going to discover the little secret of the cave. The sleeping mountain giant will collapse and nobody will bat an eye. 

Only the malicious dripping of water accompanied Márgerdra and Mei. The distant murmur thrummed in their ears. Mei looked to her right. No matter how much the sole torch in the narrow corridor tried to deter the proceeding shadows. The same way they ate the rat alive, those hungry beasts of dread and hopelessness were going to cut the prisoners’ throats, too. It was only a matter of time until they’d break even the Wolf Witch herself or the Tiger Princess. After all, Tripitaka ended up in their claws, as well.

When Mei and Márgerdra started feeling like sleeping again a sharp metallic noise brought them back.

Keys and boots approached their destination rather quickly. The prisoners didn’t even manage to take a breath when a scaly bald head shot in the gap of the cell bars. The forked tongue flickered. Soon, half a dozen dark figures emerged behind the snake with a low hissing.

The snake motioned to his minion and the door opened widely at once. A tall man in light clothing was thrown inside. He was covered in bruises. “Venerable monk!“ Mei couldn’t contain herself and knelt beside him. Although weak, there was a strong hint of a great willpower and determination once he grasped her hand.

The snake almost tilted his head in laughter. Márgerdra, however, protectively stood in front of the couple,“Nice to see you being all easy-going. Say, where did your bravery go when you met Sun Wukong? To your pants?“

“Sorry. Didn’t catch that. Say it again.“

“Dumb, deaf and a coward. What a nice combination. That’s quite rare these days.“

“Coming from a filth who needed a monkey to fight for her.“

Suddenly, Mei shouted at the demon,“Hold your tongue, you brute! You’re speaking with the royal protector Lady Wolf Witch. Not to mention you deserve spanking for the heinous beating of venerable Tang Sanzang.“

The fiend narrowed his eyes. The slit in his pupil was barely discernible. “Spanking?“ Smiling vindictively, he stretched out the long arm, whip hanging in between fingers. “Like with this?“

Márgerdra’s pupils dilated. “You wouldn’t dare…“

“Would I, witch? I’m the lord of this cave. Not you,“ hand with Márgerdra’s whip pointed at the young girl and the wounded monk and in a low and malicious voice he added,“nor them.“

As fast as a lightning, the biting tail slashed. Sanzang and Mei screamed in horror of the upcoming blow. They shut their eyelids and waited. But nothing came. The witch caught the tip with her bare hand. The cut was deep, sending striking pain up and making the woman shiver. Yet, she didn’t loosen the grip. In fact, the zeal only rose from the depth of her soul. Lightnings sent from her petrifying gaze shot her opponents as if she had brought back the thunderstorm from the previous night. Contrary, her angelic voice turned into an icy threat. “Only over my dead body.“

“Don’t worry. I wasn’t aiming at them.“ 

The demon pulled the whip and sent the witch flying into the nearest wall. Two snake fiends surrounded Márgerdra and pinned her against the cold rock. Similar process was done to the monk and the princess who they separated into opposite corners.

The rogue stepped in the direction of Mei and proclaimed,“Since there was barely any mention of you two in my deal I guess it’s my time to shine.“ Hunger mirrored in his face, tongue licked thin lips. His hand slid down as he undid the knot on his trousers. Two of his vipers stripped down Mei’s skirt and pants thus revealing a good portion of her legs. The girl started shaking uncontrollably and cried, the monk prayed and vainly bargained with the leader.

“Sir, please! Have some sense!“ Sanzang cried his eyes out,“This doesn't lead anywhere! She’s an innocent soul!“ Otherwise pleasantly warm voice became croaky and wobbly. Not one of the kidnappers listened to the begging. 

The scaly figure knelt down. When his henchman failed to restrain the black-haired girl the leader hissed and forcefully spread her legs. Poor soul whimpered and sobbed. Tears poured down her swollen cheeks. Her fists clenched hard and her bare legs were prepared to kick in any direction when given a chance. Alas, slim limbs only trembled as soon as the ice cold fingers began sliding up and down and massaging the sensitive areas. The snake skin was so rough that the foreign pressure not only bruised the soft skin but also scratched her badly.

“Leave her alone, you filthy bastard! You hear me?! I swear I’ll pluck your eyes out and feed you to vultures! Not even your mother will recognise you once I’ll get my hands on you!“ The witch shrieked for the last time it shook the stone skeleton.

The shrill sent shivers down everybody’s spine. “Fine. Since you’re asking for so much attention I better give some. I can have the younger one next time, anyway. Or is anyone else here interested in this…exoticism?“ The treacherous gang leader spread his arms in a welcoming gesture and patiently waited. It didn’t take long for the biggest of his minions to step out.

The volunteer resembled his master too much. His manners, the confidence in his steps, everything about him caused a tremor inside Márgedra’s chest. Unmistakable stabbing pain built up in her throat just as he offered a ravenous stare the moment he tore open her dark blue vest. Her shallow breaths ceased to be. A single sweatdrop streamed by the ear down. Despite a great shadow enveloping her the witch swallowed hard. Keeping her face straight, her long spine leaned back unnaturally calmly.

“Step aside, Dong. I want to see the quality I’m about to receive,“ the rogue demon intended to say out loud. However, his voice muffled in the middle of the sentence. Instead of cobalt sparks an endless abyss yawned within the flat expression.

What followed surprised everyone including the unmoving Mei and frozen Sanzang.

A smile drew on the angelic face,“Finally you’re showing me you can be a man. Why don’t you come closer, then?“

“W-what?“

“I demand,“ she continued in a honeyed voice,“that you come closer. I know what your heart desires the most.“ The witch let a few strands fall over her left eye. 

At first, the snake refused to believe his own ears. How can she offer herself this easily? It hasn’t been a minute ago when she yelled as if she had been possessed.

Looking closer and observing her naked abdomen and breasts wrapped only in a thin tight cloth he lost himself and walked over. The provocatively stuck out chin was all too tempting for the gang leader. The fiend caressed her soft frame as soon as his head fell in the curve of her neck. Needily, he planted several rough kisses there.

“Lady Wolf Wi-“ Sanzang didn’t manage to finish.

A blood-freezing yell ruptured eardrums of everyone present. In front of the young Buddhist, the fiend’s body uncontrollably twitched in excruciating pain. After several more seconds, which felt like an eternity, he collapsed to his knees. Blast of slurs flooded the cell while the leader held onto his neck. The torso shook fiercely and angry hissing seemed to have poisoned the air itself apart from the spat venom.

Sanzang audibly gasped upon the horrifying view. A wrathful look shot from the witch whose mouth and chin were smeared with the reptile’s dark blood. As if it weren’t enough for the Buddhist’s fragile heart the Wolf Witch spat something pinkish over the suffering demon. Though she might’ve been enraged beyond belief, a satisfied expression replaced the hellish fumes.

“Dong! Dong!!!“

The henchman hesitated before carefully approaching. Crouching figure pulled his master aside before the rest could jump in. Of course, the punishment was inevitable.

One, two, three mighty punches landed into Márgerdra’s stomach until she vomited. Her attack had its lasting effects and no other restrictions were undertaken.

Soon, the kidnappers took away and left the locked trio alone. A miserable void filled them.

“I…I’m sorry, Your Highness, Venerable Tripitaka. That…I didn’t do more. I should have…“

A body dragged across the floor and a bruised face of Sanzang drew near. “You’ve done more than enough. No need to apologise for anything, loyal advisor.“ Although the Tripitaka was still shaken by these events it couldn’t be denied the witch acted in self-defence. So, he partially unwillingly turned blind eye to her ferocity. 

He helped her to stand up and walk over.. As soon as the women met he threw a layer of his robes over them.

“Venerable monk, what about you? It’s cold here. Surely you’ll be freezing.“

Tranquillity and compassion resonated within the man.“Don’t worry about me. I’ve been on a journey for several years now. Living in nature under the sky…this is nothing.“

Márgerdra insisted,“I mean it. Did you forget when I mentioned I come from the land of ice and snow?“

“Truly, do not worry about my well-being.“

“Venerable monk, please, get under with Her Highness. You’re just a human…“

“And you aren’t?“ Sanzang offered a sincere smile.

Strangely, the witch froze on the spot. For a moment, she resembled a statue. Quickly standing up, her hands clutched the damaged jacket as tight to the skin as it was possible. Urging the monk she added,“That’s enough. Don’t be childish…“

For the first time, the gentle girl spoke up,“Márgerdra…thank you so much.“ Mei took her protector’s hanging hand in hers,“but you should be under the jacket with us, you silly.“

“There’s enough room just for two, Mei.“

“You sure?“ A shy smile replaced the dried out tears.

“My Lady, please,“ sitting Sanzang pleaded. No matter how much the young couple offered an aid the advisor was simply too strong-minded for them.

Sanzang was first to doze off. On the other hand, Mei couldn’t even find a good enough position to begin with. Though, the uncomfortable stone was the last on her list of worries.

“Márgerdra…I’m sorry I wasn’t stronger…“ she whispered after a while.

“What? What are you talking about, little tiger?“

“You stood up to him. Me? I just cried again…Like a stupid, foolish child that I am-“

“Don’t you ever say this again, little tiger. I’ve already told you - you’re strong. You’ve always been. And you’ll continue to be. You have the spark, that spirit millions of warriors dream about,“ Márgerdra took the round face in her hands. “They dream yet they don’t dare to wake up and face reality. That’s why you’ve achieved so much. That you faint a little bit more often than others? No. That’s not childish. If only it shows how pure your soul is. How much you value life itself. The ruler with no respect for the living is no ruler at all. Such brings only death and doom. The never-ending winter. You, on the other hand, you are going to bring the spring. And I’m so proud of you. Even today. Because you actually told the fiend the right thing. You showed him his reflection. He hurt the defenceless. While my little tiger roared and didn’t allow for the injustice to simply fly away…Now come here, my little plum.“ Márgerdra soothed the sobbing Mei,“I love you, alright?“ With a kiss on her forehead the protector tucked the large cloth under the princess’ chin. 

“Thanks, Márgerdra,“ Mei beamed at her, the bright taking over the gloom. “One day, when I have children of my own, I’ll make sure I’ll be just as a good mother to them as you’re to me.“ Soft silence slowly washed the cold stone walls. Then, the plum girl looked over the cell door with a growing fear. Under the large jacket, she subconsciously crossed her legs.

“Rest while you can, Mei. You need to gather some strength. Soon,“ blue eyes shot a mistrustful look behind during a short pause,“we may get out. Now, go to sleep. I’ll be on the watch.“

Before moving onward she added with a wink,“If anyone ever gets close to you again I’ll bite their head off,“ the Wolf Witch chattered with her teeth.

At last, a ringing chuckle escaped from the Tiger Princess. “Wow, you really deserve the title of ‘Wolf’ Witch.“ The moment she ended her amused remark the princess entered the land of dreams.

Márgerdra sat down and faced the dark corridor. The single torch got significantly weaker. Yet, miraculously, it was still burning and offering a little light. She smiled under her nose,“Yeah. ‘Wolf’ Witch…“

****

“So? Found anything?“ Wukong brushed off a thick layer of dust and tiny pebbles. He turned to arriving Zhu Bajie who was soaked wet and covered in strange roots and leaves. A large bulge was emerging on his snout.

“Yes! My boot in your a-“

“Alright. Idiot got tricked and finally washed himself. Check,“ Wukong casually threw Ruyi Jingu Bang over his shoulder and continued on his way upwards. 

The first half of their tracking could be described as pretty easy. Trace of kidnappers and their victims was still somewhat fresh and thus strong. The further up the mountain they went and the more caves there appeared, the more confusing the mountainous labyrinth became. The hardship showed on both demons equally terribly - Bajie not only wailed, he started to throw pebbles and rocks into every darned tree and bush he saw. In addition to Pigsy’s anger, Wukong’s tail twitched uncontrollably while he pursed his rough lips. Mentally, the simian was counting down and waiting for a moment to smash Bajie over his head.

Thankfully, the duo decided to sit down for a while before reaching the final cave. The pig demon stretched his neck and shoulders. Bones cracked and he felt as light as a feather, again.

“Still thinking about her?“

“About who, idiot? If you want to talk nonsense, be more specific.“

“Wolf Witch. She’s getting onto you, isn’t she?“ Bajie smirked.

Wukong rolled his eyes before snorting,“As if. The only thing she's getting onto is my nerves. So are you.“ He took out the veil and observed every detail for the hundredth time that day. “What are you hiding, blondie? Why are you sealing yourself away?“

“Did you say something?“

“No.“

“C’mon. Be a brother and talk to me.“ Simultaneously, Pigsy noticed the cloth piece in the monkey’s palm,“You’ve seen it already…“

“I know. But it seems like there’s more to it. Or rather to those damned claws…“

“Brother,“ Bajie hugged his senior amicably around his shoulders,“the wolf demon must’ve gotten inside. Somehow. Then he fought you and maybe the witch, too. She wounded him. He died. The end.“

“That’s not it. The disgusting fleabag had his throat sliced. He died before. The size doesn’t match, either. And the surroundings…“ A pleasant sweet, slightly citrus, fragrance filled his nostrils.

“You still think it was her?“

“I’ll prove it.“

The boar snorted once again in amusement,“Good luck with evidence, then.“

He intended to ascend to higher parts of the peaks. After a few steps he paused and faced the monkey once more,“You really think she’s not just a human witch?“

Answer was dry and anticipated as usual,“Yes.“

“So what is she? Why does the princess keep her close?“

The trickster thought hard. An image of their first fight and Márgerdra’s despair to keep Mei as far from the danger as possible struck him. “I’m not sure.“

“A fairy? Couldn’t she be that one? ‘Cause if she’s reporting to Heaven…“

“No. She works on her own,“ Wukong stepped out and resumed the search after their Master.

“Plus, she’s smarter than that. At least I hope so.“

Demons ascended higher and higher. Initially, Zhu Bajie thought they entered the Heavens and they were going to get struck by lightning for the insolence. Clasping his big ears and his rake, he followed Sun Wukong close behind. Fog was no more promenading in the web of mountain paths and needle thin passages. However, the earth’s spine curved and splitted in various places. So two disciples now wandered around aimlessly. Everything was grey and red but no entrance of a cave arrived to greet them. Only vultures watched them warily far from the cloudless sky where the heavenly wheel was getting back to its summer prime.

No matter how hard he wanted to hold his tongue, a taunting question forced its way out,“By the way, a ‘fleabag’, hm? Ain’t you yourself kinda hairy, Big Bro?“

It nearly took one dreadful look over the shoulder to silence the pig. This time, Bajie remained interestingly obstinate. “What? You wouldn’t scratch that cute furry belly?“

“Shut up, Daizi.“

“Say, Brother, a wolf, a dog - they’re all so adorable when they give those big puppy eyes,“Bajie made sure to highlight every word spoken,“when they tilt their heads to the side and their ears just, y’know, follow? Big plus if their paw’s lifted. They look so dumb but cute,“ Bajie softened his voice until it became unnaturally thin.

“I said shut up. Those disgusting beasts aren’t at all ‘adorable’. One look away and they gut you out with their teeth and claws. Dogs, wolves…they’re even worse than cats. Or even more than foxes and snakes combined.“ He waited for Bajie to catch up when he pressed him against the nearest rock and spitefully explained,“First, they select the weakest one of the group. The sickest, the youngest, the fattest. Simply the one who’s got the minimal chance to escape the inevitable. When they choose their target those beasts create enough chaos to get that idiotic victim. You, as the prey, don’t want to be eaten, understandably. So what are you going to do? You either run until you’re so tired of the endless chase that your legs give out and those ‘adorable’ monsters get you and tear you apart. Or you can fight. You fight and fight and fight. But you know what?“ His husky voice lowered. The rock formation crumbled under his fingers clawing into it.

Firstly, Pigsy didn’t want to continue in Wukong’s terrifying game. In the end, the burning look made him give in. “W-What, B-Big Brother?“

“It’s all up for nothing. You’re cornered. The whole pack surrounds you and you have no more space where you can put up a good and fair fight. You kick, you whimper, you try to shake those fleabags away. And then, there always must be that one certain single bastard who not only bites and scratches you like the others…“

“Is it the one that bites into your neck?“ the junior asked. His body was completely shivering.

“No. This one’s much worse. It’s the one that enjoys the hunt all too much. The wolf, or a dog - all are just the same savages, jumps and bites into your leg. The pain makes you howl. You feel your bones being crushed. You feel how your strength is leaving you. But you can do nothing. You’re completely restrained, lying on the ground so the next bastard can sink his teeth into your throat and finish you off. So next time you want to scratch a stray cat or a dog, think of it.“

Furious Wukong bounced back and eyed Bajie who in return was left speechless. After gathering some courage, an even bolder remark slipped from him,“Just admit you’re afraid of dogs. Am I right? You have no problem with any other animals…“

“...cats, too. Also bats and…“

“Nope. You’re trying to be all scary and stuff,“ Bajie laughed in Wukong’s twitching face,“but in the end your shin was chewed on by a mere puppy. That’s what you’ve been just addressing.“

“You got some nerves, Brother Bajie, don’t you?!“ the monkey clawed onto the pig demon’s ear until the lobe turned white. “Since you’re in such a good mood, say, what was in that potion that got me poisoned and where did you get it?“

Pigsy’s laments stopped. A strange bird cawed in the distance.

“Answer me, idiot. Where did you get the flask and why did you give it to me?“

Wukong’s menacing tone had its effect. Tiny eyes widened. Instead of a coherent reply, a puzzled stammering only added insult to injury,“I-I don’t know. I just happen-ned to find it one night. When we were a-at the woodcutter’s. Thought to myself m-maybe Ol’ Sha l-lost some of our medicine. I wanted to return it. Really. But it looked…I don’t know…not like the usual sort of potion. M-more l-like a confidence booster-“

“How did you arrive at that conclusion?!“

“Only Ol’ Sha carries our luggage. He’s the shiest of us, too. Maybe he bought some to aid himself a b-bit. When I saw how mis-miserable you became upon angering Shifu I wanted to h-help…“

The Monkey King barked back,“Or to entertain yourself, huh?“

“No! I swear! Although, looking back, something weird occurred. Like something has stung or bitten me…“ He started pressing onto the monkey’s back and showing the fat fist into the painted face.

The massive weight created too much impact and the Sage almost lost his balance. Annoyed, he wished for the situation to pass as quickly as possible. “Fine! Shut up and get on with it! Let’s say I believe you and your idiotic mouth that you poisoned me by accident while you yourself got poisoned. Now keep your eyes open. I think I can smell Shifu. But…“

Bajie intended to demand the rest of the unfinished sentence. However, a rustling and crumbling rocky path made the boar turn around and attack whatever made its way towards the two disciples. A pig squeal and a warrior yell bounced against the tall peaks meanwhile the cudgel and rake rose up.

Sprinting towards the danger, the men stroke. Just by a hair before terrible blows landed hands gnawing on the weapons stopped. In front of them, there was good old Sha Wujing. Bare feet were covered in bulges and bruises, a large cut on top of his head was of the same colour as his beard. Both his knee-length trousers and green vest were tattered and in need of severe repair. Although the look at him was lamentable Friar Sand limped further towards his found brothers. Being only an arm’s length away he decided to ditch away the risk and threw himself forward. His seniors caught him with a worry in their eyes. On the other hand, all three of them couldn’t contain themselves.

“Ol’s Sha!“ Wukong and Bajie yelled out happily.

“Big Brother Monkey! Brother Pigsy!“ Wujing hugged them tightly. “Quickly! Let’s hide here before they find us.“

“What are you talking about, Sha Seng?“

“Don’t worry. I’ll explain everything.“

Right after they hid a group of seven viper demons passed around. Snakes were yelling and tracking the runaway. The mountain trembled under their feet and the ringing of spears and swords deafened the surrounding area. Only those vultures curiously looked down on them. Glass eyes didn’t miss a single detail of the havoc below. When the kidnappers of the Mysterious White Cloud Cave disappeared, Wujing launched a great monologue and described his own escape and everything that happened in the Sage’s absence. Carefully listening to his lucky junior a plan formed in the monkey’s head. The mist in front of his eyes was beginning to dissolve and the brightness of the summer sun shone through. Not one of the three demon disciples noticed they became new targets for the vulture flock which observed them. Soon, the flock lost interest and returned to the corpse of a crane. It was time to continue in their feeding. After all, the heat’s approaching and the food in the mountains is running thin.

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Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added): @vanessaroades-author @rubywrite @aohendo @rbbess110 @jgmartin @outpost51

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List of chapters:

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Epilogue

[nicolanoodles]

Wash Day

Short piece on canon Levi hanging out washing with Petra to ease me back in to writing shit

Words: 417

A cool breeze heralded autumn’s return as Levi heaved the wash basket out the door. The glorious summer days filled with sunshine and warmth, perfect for drying the mountains of washing the scouts amassed, were fast drawing to an end.

‘Tch, time for damp windows’ he thought darkly, hoisting the heavy basket more firmly onto his hip. Bees buzzed around in their final attempt to find the last of summer’s flowers, the morning dew coating the brown leather of Levi’s boots as he made his way across the grass towards the rows of washing lines.

His thoughts turned to work as he set to his task. Expeditions would tail off in the cold weather, daylight hours dwindling in line with opportunities to gather decent information due to the dismal weather. Levi’s mood further sombered. He reached down for the wooden pegs and began hanging out the damp laundry. He picked up a shirt, absent-mindedly pulling at the collar and his mind turned to old comrades. Of the laughter and chatter haunting the barracks. The families they had left behind. Of winters huddled round the fireplace. Of empty chairs and mugs sitting in cupboards that should be filled…

A cheerful hum broke through his darkening thoughts. His fingers ghosted the edge of a large bedsheet as he tugged it across, peeking round the edge to find the culprit.

Petra stood on tiptoes as she secured the clean white linen onto the line, auburn hair tied back with an equally spotless cloth. A faint smile graced her face as she reached down into the basket. Levi wondered what she was thinking about. Maybe that new tea that awaited them in the kitchen cupboard (he should make them both a cup after they were done here). Or perhaps she was mulling over the latest chapter of one of those pappy romance novels she always had her nose in. Maybe she was thinking of writing a letter home. Or to a lover…

Or perhaps, he thought as she shook the creases out of a pair of trousers, she was just enjoying hanging out the washing on the last of the summer’s days. The air was filled with the comforting smell of detergent. Far away, birds sang. Bees buzzed. And Petra smiled.

The wind rustled the leaves on the trees, a single orange leaf floating down to the ground, bright and crisp against the white washing.

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

Maybe the sun would shine through after all.

END

[light-yaers]

Fools in the Darkness: Chapter Three

Darkling x Reader

Warnings: Death, violence, drugs (Parem), NSFW and sexual content. This content is explicit and 18+ at some points.

A/N: I keep saying to expect a slow down soon and I MEAN IT. I can’t sustain this any longer and to be honest, be ready for fic writing to come to a halt for a few weeks time in the next months-- I have a university dissertation to be writing, but instead I’m doing this! PRIORITIES. Thank you all for reading, fr.

Fic Masterpost

Word Count - 3.6k

Chapter Three

“I thought he was a respectable General,” Inej whispered, finishing the last of her whiskey with a small frown.

“He plays the role well,” You replied sadly, before looking at Brekker. He was deep in thought, a scowl constantly present on his thin lips. “I’m only one person who knows the truth,”

“Then why tell us?” Kaz spoke suddenly. “Why share this with people you’ve just met?”

You took a moment to ponder your reply. Why were you telling the lackies at the Crow Club? The Dregs of the Barrel? Kaz Brekker and his band of un-merry men and women? Growing up in Kerch meant you already knew their names, despite not living in the country for most of your adult life. News travelled fast, especially when it concerned Ketterdam.

Maybe it was intentional that Inej found you that night, wandering the lush establishments at Fifth Harbour and riling up bouncers because of your appearance and obvious lack of kruge—or maybe it’d been fate.

“Why do you believe it?” You asked in return. “Why do you believe the word of a woman you’ve just met?” Kaz’s jaw clenched in response. He looked down at his desk, probably beating himself up over his prior question, even though it was a good one.

“Your Kefta,” Inej spoke up softly. “From afar, it looks like common dress, but up close, behind the mud and dirt, you can see the intricate embroidery,” She raised her tiny hands to your Kefta, placing her fingers on the stitched details—the winding winds of a Squaller, white threads against a deep black.

“You said you weren’t Second Army,” Kaz spoke up once more. “Yet you were in the Little Palace, being trained by the Darkling himself,”

“I never went on an army mission in the many months I was at the Little Palace,” You replied. “I was grateful at first, until I realised it was simply another way for me to eventually trust Kirigan, to worry about him,” Inej frowned at you then, showing you large and caring eyes. Kaz, however—he looked pained.

“But, what about—,”

“Do you wish for me to continue, Mr. Brekker?” You interrupted him, hearing the want and confusion in his voice. He swallowed down his words, forcing his gaze onto your eyes. He nodded once. You smiled slightly, readying yourself. “My sister’s funeral was held two days later...”

The Little Palace, 1 Year Later

The flames licked at her skin at first, until she was a light—bright, a star, burning so ferociously in a way that mimicked her personality when she was alive. Your sister, your last remaining family, the last love of your life.

She was burning. And there was nothing you could do but watch.

The funeral was a silent and small affair, but you hadn’t expected it to be anything more. If you were still out in the cold, harshness of Fjerda, it would have been even smaller than the reception she had at the Little Palace—

You stood on your own, closer to her burning flames. Behind you stood two Inferni; twins, a brother and sister. They looked at your sister solemnly, despite not knowing you or her. Maybe they felt your pain. Maybe they didn’t want to ever feel your pain. Beyond them stood the Heartrender, Ivan, the one who’d put you into a death state two days prior. And finally, behind him—

General Kirigan of the Second Army.

He donned his Kefta today; a menacing black and grey that only emphasised the broadness of his shoulders. His hands were clasped in front of him, his expression blunt and eyes reflecting the raging flames of your sister’s pyre. As much as you didn’t trust him, refused to trust him, he’d put all of this together.

He’d brought her back from those frozen wastelands. He’d arranged for her body to be cleaned and donned with lavish silks. He’d gathered the Inferni to light her pyre, after you’d denied wanting to light it yourself with a torch.

You stayed perfectly still as you watched her burn, too afraid that moving would only cause you to fully break down. You didn’t want that; you didn’t want another reason for those here to look at you oddly. Kirigan strolled forward then, slowly, gently, as you stayed facing the pyre.

“Let us leave you, now,” He whispered into your ear, so close it made you shiver. You nodded once, but not at him; at your sister. Slowly, one by one, the Grisha left you and your sister, until you were completely alone.

You don’t know how long you stayed out in that acre for, watching the acrid smoke rise into the air and the flames begin to die down, searching for her face within piles of ashes.

It was hours, most likely. The sun had been high in the sky when the pyre was lit, but now it was descending down, down, down the horizon, casting a pink glow over the lavishness of the Little Palace grounds.

And then, the fire went out.

The flames dissipated into nothing more than black smoke.

Then, it seemed almost pointless to stay standing there, frozen like a statue and looking at the last remaining substances of who your sister was. You glanced up at the sky for the first time in hours, indulging in the glorious sunset on the last eve of your sister’s presence on this Earth.

You kissed two of your fingers, placing them above the once flaming pyre. It was still incredibly hot, her ashes retaining the heat of the fire. And then, you left. You didn’t cry, you didn’t collapse, you simply walked back to the Little Palace, entered through the main doors, and then stopped—

And when you stopped, you almost couldn’t take it. You almost couldn’t stand the quiet, the air, the feeling of eyes watching you wherever you went, so close to falling to the ground where you stood and just giving up—

General Kirigan’s door clicked open as you stared at the floor. He rounded the corner of the frame, landing his eyes upon your slumped shoulders and laboured breaths. He took a few timid steps forward, but you hadn’t even noticed him yet, not until he cleared his throat.

You flinched immediately, hitting his eyes as a spike of anxiety was rammed through your heart. He’d scared you, and it seemed he knew he had. He frowned at your reaction, stepping forward once more. “It was a beautiful ceremony,”

You didn’t know what to say to him, nor did you have the energy or will to want to speak to the Darkling that stood before you. But there was a part of you that was grateful for his words—for his company amongst the winding corridors and scowling faces of the Grisha here at the Little Palace.

The only thing you were holding onto was Kirigan’s earlier promise.

“Tea?” He spoke again, this time prompting you to scoff involuntarily. You looked at him with an odd expression, one that was trying to work out his motives. From the small glimpses you’d got of Kirigan around other Grisha, you knew it wasn’t customary for the General to share tea with them.

“I could go for something stronger,” You said breathily, though you weren’t being entirely serious. Kirigan didn’t seem to get your joke, however, as he gestured to his chambers.

“Will Ravkan rum suffice?”

You’d lost count at the fifth, or maybe it was the sixth, but it was easy to just keep topping up your glass when Kirigan placed the bottle on the table between you. Sometimes it was him refilling the glasses and sometimes it was you, but neither of you particularly cared.

You were on the brink of being too drunk to stand, too drunk to know what you were saying, but perhaps—too drunk to care. It was the perfect relaxation tactic after the funeral. You’d almost needed this, even if General Kirigan wasn’t the person you’d imagined being sat opposite you.

“Where do you go all day?” You asked, your words not yet slurring, but getting close. “A few Grisha have said it’s unusual for you to attend training,” He smiled at your question, tapping his rum glass.

You’d had one day of training so far, put on hold for the funeral today. Kirigan had attended, but it’d been obvious that other Grisha were on edge by his presence. All except one—a Sqauller like yourself, by the name of Zoya.

“I don’t just oversee training. I’m in charge of many aspects of the army. Tactics, movements, squadrons,” He sipped his drink. “But you already know my reasoning for wanting to shadow your training,”

You nodded once, humming to yourself without realising. You looked at your hands then, twisting them out in front of you and pinpointing the various lines and indents, the length of your fingers, the curve of your nails.

“You didn’t wear your Kefta today,” Kirigan said, almost in a whisper. You flicked your gaze to his eyes. You’d woken that morning to a knock upon your door—a guard had handed you the intricately designed blue Kefta and then left, leaving you almost speechless.

You’d decided against wearing it, however, sticking to your usual clothes of a blouse and woven trousers, kept up with braces.

“I don’t feel like a Squaller yet,” You replied. “Not a proper one,” It was sad, the way that Kirigan looked at you. It almost made you move your gaze away from his deep eyes, but you couldn’t make yourself do it after alcohol was swimming in your system.

“It’s the blue, isn’t it?” He said, and the smile on his lips was an indication of his joke. You reciprocated his expression, feeling a small bubble of giggles in your gut.

“The blue is lovely,” You replied sarcastically, causing a laugh to burst from the General’s lips. You didn’t realise this man could laugh, could chuckle, could—well—feel.

A comfortable silence fluttered over Kirigan’s chambers. This was the second time you’d been in his room. His décor was so much different than the cream and gold walls of the Little Palace itself; with all dark wood furniture and stained walls. In the centre of his office sat a large circular table, topped with a map of the countries. In the middle—the Fold was indicated with an intricate wooden structure, painted a matte black.

You fluttered your eyes around the room, taking everything in. You inhaled, smelling the wooden scent of the furniture and the musty leather of the chair you sat in, mixed with something sweet that resembled an aftershave. You stared at the paintings and skimmed over his trinkets. Everything seemed to suit him perfectly.

When you turned back, the General was already looking at you.

“I’ll commission you a different Kefta design,” He said it so smoothly that you were reminded of the annoyance it had given you before, but with rum running through your veins all you felt was relaxed. “One that’s more suited to you,”

“You don’t have to do that,” You replied, feeling small under his colossal gaze. He smiled at your reddening cheeks.

“A glorious Kefta for a glorious storm summoner,”

Saints, the way he looked at you was almost too much. His eyes skimmed your skin, traversing your jaw, your nose, your lips, before falling back to your wide eyes. He was regarding you openly and you weren’t looking away—you were taking it full on, perhaps spurring him on to continue.

This was just the rum, it had to be. This wasn’t the General Kirigan you’d ever imagined.

Saints, stop.

“I should go,” You said then, rising yourself from the leather armchair. Kirigan copied you, exhaling at the same time he dragged his eyes off of you.

Your goodbye was as unceremonious as the walk back to your chambers. You staggered a few times, needing to clutch onto the spiral staircase for dear life, but by the time you were back at your room, you were ready to fall asleep immediately.

You lay in bed, your eyelids prepped for immediate rest, but your mind wouldn’t be quiet. In fact, it was yelling at you—screaming, crying, pelting you with warnings—

Stay away from General Kirigan. Do not indulge him.

All you could was laugh at your cautious mind, telling it that it was overreacting, before you were drifting off into much needed sleep.

You still didn’t don the Kefta the next day, sliding down to the training courtyard silently, as if hoping that no one would notice you being there. It was useless to want that, however, considering you were a face that Grisha here didn’t recognise, dressed in clothes instead of your respective Kefta.

You stood to the side while everyone gathered, chatting away before the instructor came forward. “Hand to hand combat is just as important as your abilities,” He said bluntly, flicking his eyes around the colourful group. “We’ll focus on that today. On strengthening your hits, your blocks, your stances,”

You almost smiled to yourself—you knew hand to hand combat. Very well, if you said so yourself. Growing up in Novyi Zem, defenceless and out in the open, you’d adapted quickly to being stealthy, as well as having a mean hit. Hand to hand was something you knew better than your own Grisha abilities.

“Get in pairs,” He continued, and that’s when your face dropped. You glanced around helplessly when everyone started pairing off, giggling and chatting and knowing each other after so long. You felt like a sore thumb; someone who wasn’t wanted.

Suddenly, she bombarded before you—Zoya Nazyalensky. She’d made herself known on your first day, most notably with her dirty looks and the scowl on her jaw, but now? She was beaming, smiling so wide and happily that you almost didn’t recognise her. She gripped your bicep excitedly. “Let’s pair up together, two Squaller’s against the World,���

You had a feeling Zoya wasn’t usually this chipper, but you had no choice but to accept her as your partner.

“Zoya,” The instructor prompted. “You and your partner, front and centre,”

Oh. So, that’s what she wanted.

There was no way to back out now, as Zoya dragged you to the centre of the courtyard. She removed herself to stand opposite you, and that’s when her face changed—back to the dirty looks she’d given you before, the obvious dislike and want to crush you just for funzies. You got the feeling that Zoya felt she was the only Squaller worthy for the Little Palace.

You simply had to prove yourself, then, in front of the other Grisha.

“Fight to defend yourselves, not to attack,” The instructor said, his eyes mostly on Zoya. She dipped into a stance and you followed suit.

Saints, please make this fight the least amount of humiliating that it needs to be.

Within seconds, she was moving. Her first swung through the air swiftly, but you jutted your elbow up to stop her forearm, whacking back with all of your force. Zoya gasped from the interruption, but it allowed you to jab your knuckles into her ribs.

You punched forward, hitting her right in her ribs and causing her to stagger back slightly from the hit. Her brows only furrowed more as you continued your back and forth, a hit—a block—a stance—a hit—a block—it was endless and incredibly draining, but the more you fought, the more Zoya became frustrated.

She’d been wanting a quick fight; something to show that she was superior. Little had she known that you were a fighter, more so with your fists than the winds.

You stepped back to the edge of the circle, breathing deeply, arms out in front of you ready to block her hits. Your hair was in your eyeline, the braces of your trousers slipping from your shoulders, but you wouldn’t stop for a second to pull them back up.

Zoya’s cheeks were blotched with colour, her mouth ajar as she inhaled and exhaled deep, long breaths, trying to get oxygen back into her system. You could see the anger creeping onto her face with every second that passed. You were reluctant to storm forward to hit her, knowing that that would give her the blocking advantage, so you stayed put, counting down the seconds until you’d be free of this pointless and embarrassing fight.

At that second, the doors to the Little Palace were pulled open. Zoya and yourself took a few seconds to peer towards the creaking doors, as General Kirigan strolled towards the training session strongly, with a purpose, no hint of a hangover on his stubborn jaw.

Zoya’s face upturned into a smile at his arrival, but you were a few seconds too late at returning to the fight. Zoya’s hands were brought together immediately, summoning her power as you were helplessly bombarded backwards by winds—

You landed on your back with a thud, hearing the subtle laughs and chuckles of the observing Grisha. You didn’t care though; if you cared about every small battle, every time you fell, then you would have died of humiliation by now. You simply got yourself up again, glancing upon the questioning face of Kirigan as he stared at Zoya—

Then you brought your hands together—

And you summoned the storms that you were used to summoning. Maybe it was overkill, as the entire courtyard was encased in circling winds, or maybe it was needed, just to get Grisha like Zoya off of your fucking back. You spurred the winds on, tightening the funnel and tensing your muscles to keep it contained, even if it was large.

Zoya’s hair whipped around her as she watched your storm appear from nothing. Her eyes landed upon your own, sending you a clear and precise message—fear. She’d never seen a storm such a this, not even by her own hand.

“How?” She yelled, frustration laced within her words. But, you weren’t done with her yet.

You attempted a move you’d never done before, summoning the winds to your hands instead of the surrounding courtyard—you struggled against their power, but when you felt confident in your aim and execution, you let them loose.

Winds rushed forward, hitting Zoya directly in her gut and slamming her backwards; just as she’d done to you. She hit the floor harshly, laying there for a few moments as she fought against her winded lungs.

You allowed your storm to dissipate then, flicking your eyes over the shocked faces of the other Grisha, before allowing yourself to land upon the face of General Kirigan—

He was already staring at you, the way he’d done the night before. His lips were curled into a small smile, his eyes peering into yours and only yours, as if he didn’t care about the ruckus that you’d just created during the training session. He looked just as speechless as your fellow Grisha, but with a higher level of understanding and appreciation—

He looked like he’d never tire from seeing you summon these storms.

Zoya curled herself up from the floor painfully, grunting through the discomfort as she forced herself to standing once more. She went to storm forward, her face twisted with red rage, but the instructor came between her and yourself.

“Enough,” He said, eyes skimming over the prying gaze of the General.

“Do that again and I’ll send you above the cloud-line without a parachute,” Zoya threatened openly, but you couldn’t help but smile.

“I don’t think Squaller threats work on other Squallers,” You replied, gaining a few scoffs and huffs from the Grisha who surrounded you. You weren’t expecting one of them to be Kirigan, however, as his gently bobbing chest hit your peripheral. He was silently chuckling, moving his gaze between yourself and Zoya like a tennis match.

Zoya was wounded, that much was obvious. You would have felt bad if she hadn’t effectively asked for it. She’d been looking for a fight, and that’s exactly what she’d got—it wasn’t your fault that you fought better than she thought you would.

Kirigan regarded you then, getting your attention by raising his hand out before him. He motioned you over with two curling fingers. You shot a look at Zoya and the instructor once, before obeying the General’s orders. He tilted his head down as you approached him, keeping his expression light and soft.

“I see you’ve met Zoya,” He said, amusement certainly on his lips. You stared at him bluntly.

“We’re the best of friends. Can’t you tell?” You replied, but you kept your voice quieter. You were all too aware of the prying eyes of the Grisha in the courtyard, muttering to each other as to why the General had made another appearance at training.

He smiled wider, glancing back at the Squaller and then back to you, letting out a small huff of laughter. You were once again astounded that this man could laugh; every time he chuckled or the bob of his shoulders was shown, you found yourself paying too much attention to the boyish way he sounded, the soft curve of his jaw as he was smiling, the carefree way his hands flinched as he chuckled.

“Can you ride?” He asked then, changing the subject. You nodded at him once. “Good. We ride tomorrow, together. I want to show you something,”  

He strolled off then, without giving you a chance to reply. You watched as his arms draped by his sides and his broad shoulders were even broader as they arched across his back. You swallowed to cut off your thoughts, choosing to focus too closely on the sound of your heartbeat beneath your ribs and the subtle ache of your limbs after fighting Zoya, instead.

You watched until the General was back inside the Little Palace, the black glint of his uniform still etched in your peripheral— even when he wasn’t around.

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Once again, I’m sorry if your tag doesn’t work-- I really don’t know why they don’t work!

[nononsenseladies]

When Christine Baranski’s character on “The Gilded Age” looks out her window at the mansion across the street, she sees the equivalent of a Trump casino.

“She’s absolutely appalled by what money is going to do to her world,” Ms. Baranski said. “It was just wretched excess. But it was a glorious time that celebrated the new American aristocracy.”

Attending the Met Gala for the first time in her 50-year career, Ms. Baranski expected to see some parallels between that “age of rampant capitalism” and now — but from a slight distance.

“I’m wearing big Thom Browne sunglasses so I can ogle people without them knowing I’m looking at them,” the actress said, laughing. (She has a notably excellent laugh.)

Ms. Baranski also wore a full Thom Browne look: a floor-length tailored cape with a floor-length skirt, both covered in matte black sequins, which were made in Switzerland especially for Ms. Baranski. Beneath the cape, she wore a white bow tie and corset tied over a white shirt with a wingtip collar.

When she heard the gala’s theme was “gilded glamour,” Ms. Baranski’s initial fear was, “Am I going to have to drag some gigantic train up the stairs?” she said. “Most of the ladies who will show up might not ever have worn a corset, or heavy velvet, or brocade, or beading. I’ve spent 15-hour days in costumes like that,” including the week before the gala when shooting began on the second season of “The Gilded Age.”

“But when I saw Thom’s sketch, I said, ‘Oh, that’s so elegant and stately and sleek, but it’s modern, and I don’t have to drag anything around,’” she said.

Ms. Baranski also enjoyed feeling “more like a gentleman in the Gilded Age than a lady,” she said. “I always preferred men’s tailoring in fashion to women’s.” She likes to shop in London at Turnbull & Asser — “oh God, those shirts!” — and said the happiest she has ever been in black tie was at the Emmy Awards in 2010 when, instead of a gown, she wore a vintage Yves Saint Laurent jacket and Ralph Lauren satin trousers.

Yet there is still a “Cinderella feeling” about the whole affair — “a magic about it,” she said — in part because Monday is also her 70th birthday.

“You know, most people freak out about entering a decade, and I’m like, ‘OK, bring it on,’” she said. “I’ve never been busier.” (The day after the Met gala, she will shoot “The Good Fight” for two days, then travel to Newport, R.I., to shoot “The Gilded Age.”)

“I think I’ll celebrate it over the course of many days or many weeks or maybe just for a whole decade, who knows.”

(©New York Times)

[sunflowerstache]

the one where you’re Harry’s tailor

@theasstour​ and I have been stewing in this idea for nearly a year and it’s finally come together.. we hope you enjoy x.

Word Count: 25.6k | Warning(s): explicit language, alcohol, sexual content

NORA’S MASTERLIST  |  SARAH’S MASTERLIST

There were few moments in life that would equate to being backstage at a fashion show, simply because it was impossible to string together the specific words needed to describe the feeling. Journalists tried, quickly scribbling down thoughts and plans for their future articles in small notepads, while the professionals around them danced about in unspoken, yet somehow synchronized, movements. How would they be able to accurately depict the feeling of fabrics rubbing together between your fingers, in the most comforting way? The almost deafening sound of sewing pins carelessly being dropped on the table, after fixing a foot sized hole in a pair of trousers moments before showtime. Or how, with the amount of people crammed into the room, mixed with the humid Roman air seeping through the open windows, had sweat continuously dripped from your forehead. Yet, there was still a constant shiver running up your spine with nerves. No matter how valiant of an attempt, unless they were watching their own tailored outfits walk down the runway, their written words would never be exactly right.

Even after four years working for Gucci, perfecting hundreds of articles of clothing, clothing that was held on such a high pedestal in the fashion industry, the nerves never settled. Not when Alessandro immediately hired you at the end of your University placement, or when you were asked to accompany him in the closing walk during last year’s Cruise Show. But all of those monumental achievements paled in comparison to the fluttering of butterflies in your stomach when you were crouched in front of your current canvas, Gucci’s newest runway model for the 2020 Cruise Fashion Show; Harry Styles.

He was making his runway debut wearing Look 51, something you’d taken notice was not too far away from his new wardrobe when you first opened his folder. The wide legged pants were crafted from fine dots patterned blue wool, a single red pin stripe running from the hip, all the way down to the ankle. They were finished with minor details, ones not many people would take notice to, but ones that made your heart race with excitement; hidden horn buttons, front slash pockets, viscose inner lining, and an interior silk belt, all of which were hidden by his coat. Green, red, and blue stripes defined the knee length coat, appearing to crease where the four pockets sat; two at his groin and two more just at the breasts, the left pocket holding Lyre ‘Pas de Rumeur’ crest patch. Barely visible under the wool coat, peaked out a blazer identically matching the pants, only the buttons and red piping could be seen, but you knew what would be hidden to onlookers; an orange lion embroidered onto the upper left breast pocket, the hand stitched word ‘Gucci’ sitting under it’s paws in black thread, and a baby blue silk inside - a fabric that no doubt felt great against Harry’s white tank top covered torso. The rest of his look consisted of minor accessories that brought the look together; a red barrie that had the signature double G’s embroidered in green thread, a pair of crocheted black fingerless gloves, and maroon quilted leather slide sandals, complete with the interlocking G horsebit. The subtle jewelry on his body was a stark contrast to his usual ring clad fingers, now only having a few delicate necklaces rest against his bare chest. He was a sight to be seen, someone who would surely grab attention as he made his way through the dark museum runway.

“Quit moving, or you’ll end up with a pin in your bum.” you mumbled, on your knees behind Harry and quickly fixing a tear in the rear left pants pocket before he was ushered out onto the runway.

The two of you were in the farthest corner of the back dressing room, away from most of the hustle and bustle of all other models, so that you could grab the emergency sewing kit, filled with all colors of thread, baby scissors, hundreds of pins, and even super glue, from your bag. Out of the corner of your eye, Alessandro could be seen weaving through the room, triple checking that each and every outfit was completed in the exact way he had envisioned. There wasn’t much time before all models were set to step foot on the Musei Capitolini floor, and the last minute nerves were finally setting in.

“Sorry, can’t help it. Never done this before, you know.” his voice was muffled by not only the chatter of the room, but also the constant picking of his lip.

“Still can’t believe you’re actually doing it, if I’m honest.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” you chuckled, giving the bum pocket a couple tugs to make sure it wouldn’t come undone again, before moving to stand directly in front of him. “You cut yourself the first time we met, ripped your trousers at the first shoot, and fell off a stone wall in the new campaign. You’re not exactly the most graceful lad at times.”

“In my defense, no one told me not to get on that wall.” Harry paused a moment, holding his hand out for you to place the pin cushion while you reorganized your bag,  “Can’t believe we only met a few years ago. Feel like I’ve known you forever.”

Without any hesitation, you nodded in agreement.

You couldn’t really remember the exact date you first met Harry. All you remember is it had been February 2018 and raining - very hard at that - and when you entered the Gucci store on Bond Street in London, your umbrella had been torn to shreds because of the wind, and your hands felt like ice after having been attacked by the raging storm outside. Alessandro had been upstairs in one of the offices, three huge white boards before him with the different campaigns he was planning at the time. Humming along to Malafemmena by Roberto Murolo playing from the speakers on his desk, Alessandro traced a finger over the fabric hanging from the wall beside the boards. You knew those were the fabrics you were going to be using today, your boss having hung them forth so it would be easier for you to work.

“Morning.” You had said, taking your jacket off and placing it on the hanger. “Absolutely horrendous outside.”

“Hmm,” mused Alessandro, tilting his head to take the grey fabric in before he looked over at you making your way over. “Always like that in England.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, looking at the different colours, materials and patterns you were going to use for the new looks. “You’re not wrong.”

Alessandro giggled, looking over his shoulder for a single second.

“Either pouring rain or it’s drizzling.” You said, studying the different designs of each of the suits you would be making over the next few months. “Right annoying when you don’t even want to be here.”

He laughed again, turning around to look at the boards you assumed.

“I’m being serious.” You reached for the fabric your boss had been checking out when you arrived. “Who would choose to live in a country where it constantly rains?”

“Didn’t really have a choice most of my life,” came a voice from behind you and you instantly stopped dead in your tracks. “Can’t really control where we are born, can we?”

Slowly, you turned to see one of Alessandro’s dearest friends: Harry Styles. He was sitting in the brown leather sofa right behind you, a sofa you knew was there from having been in Alessandro’s London office multiple times before, but hadn’t thought to give a second look. You would assume Harry would have someone there with him, like some assistant or manager or… anyone, but Harry was sitting there all alone, looking over at you with this cheeky grin on his face that had your cheeks heat up. It wasn’t a shock for him to be here alone, you thought after a second, as Harry and Alessandro spent loads of time together usually so this was just another normal hang-out for them. You, on the other hand, had never met Harry Styles before. This was your first time being in his company. And so far – you had to be honest with yourself – you weren’t looking very good. Grumpy, soaked through, and with a dash of dishevelled everything, you no doubt looked like a person no one wanted anything to do with. Harry clearly found it very amusing how little you liked being in England. Also most definitely found it funny how startled you were at his sudden utterance. You watched as he got up from the sofa, walking over to you as Alessandro also came to sight again.

“Il mio amore,” Alessandro said. “This is Harry.”

You zoned out entirely, the whole situation too surreal. Though you had been born and brought up in England, there was just something about the constant rain that made not only your mood drop, but your skin sticky and hands clammy. So when Harry reached a hand out to shake yours after Alessandro had told Harry your name and introduced you, red lights and a loud alarm started going off in your head. He would have to feel just how bad the effect of the bloody terrible English weather had on you. But not shaking his hand would be weird and impolite. His hand was between the two of you, open and ready for yours. It stood there for a few seconds. And you just looked at it. Quickly realising that not shaking his hand would probably be more awkward than doing so with a sweaty palm, you took his. A breathy giggle left Harry’s lips as your hands met. You let his go, looking over at Alessandro who was giving you a weird look while you heard the slap of Harry’s hand against his thigh in the background.

“Measurements.” Alessandro said, trying to move on from the awkward situation you had just caused. All the blood in your body rushed to the surface of your skin, instantly heating you up. You glanced to the ground, hoping Harry didn’t notice how flustered you just got. Walking to your bag, you took out your notebook and measurement tape. “Glorious, mio caro.”

Getting your pen, you walked over to the board for the Gucci Autumn/Winter Campaign. There were five different suits for this one, a couple of more for the next, and then three for the last one. From the way Alessandro had left some space at the bottom of the last board, it was clear he would be working even more with Harry in the future, they just did not know exactly what or when yet. Someone cleared their throat beside you and you whipped your head to your left to see Alessandro pointing to the different suits on the board.

“These today.” He said, pointing to the specific details he wanted and instructions on where they would be loose and not. “I need to go to a meeting, but you two will be fine on your own. You have a lot in common.”

You frowned, watching as Alessandro walked toward his desk, picking up a huge binder and resting it under his arm. “Have a lot in common?”

“Yes,” he grinned. “You do.”

“Like…?”

Alessandro only gestured with his hands for the two of you to get talking, and then he disappeared out the door, shutting it behind him. Dettagli - Detalhes by Ornella Vanoni played lowly as the quiet between the two of you filled the room and made it troublesome to breathe properly. A great stream of anxiety suddenly took over and you suddenly felt very awkward. Obvious from the way Alessandro had left in such a hurry and the way he had left with that grin, you knew there was underlying expectations to this encounter. There were multiple reasons why Alessandro had called you to come help him. You didn’t want to think about that, though, because that only made absolutely everything ten times more embarrassing.

“Lovely,” Harry looked over at you from staring at the door Alessandro had kicked closed, standing confidently in his green and white striped tee shirt over his loose light denim jeans. “Likes a dramatic entrance and exit, that one.”

You huffed through your nose, walking over to the board to look at the details once more. Harry only watched you, a bit unsure of what to do next. The rain fell against the windows, creating a lulling sound to go with the Italian music still swaying through the room. The white walls, tall ceiling, and Victorian look of the room only made it feel like you two were actually in Italy. His phone vibrated from the sofa with an incoming text, only giving it a quick look over his shoulder until you wandered over to your bag again. Whipping your glasses out, you hung them from the collar of your white tee shirt before walking back over to Harry.

Quickly, and maybe a bit too loudly, you cleared your throat. “Are you ticklish?”

Taken a bit off guard, Harry blinked twice. “Only armpits and backs of my knees.”

“Right.” You nodded your head, hooking your measurement tape around your neck. “Stand still, back straight.”

Harry listened to you, biting the side of his lip as you pressed your ring and index finger to your sternum in concentration. Eyes following you as you started walking around his figure, getting a good look at everything before you stood before him again.

“Clothes too loose?” He asked, genuinely concerned.

“No, it’s fine.” You said, taking your tape back in your hands again. An instrumental version of ‘O Sole Mio by Jack Jezzro started playing just as the rain outside threw itself more forcefully against the windows, but you tried not to pay notice to anything but what was going on before you. You had no idea why you were nervous. Plenty of times before, you had worked with other celebrities; tailoring their suits, dresses and whatnots. For some reason, however, this felt different. Harry was so close to Alessandro, so the notion that the two of you would get along just as well filled you with anxiety, and a hint of awkwardness. Bringing your tape up you took a step closer to Harry as you lifted it above his head and around his neck. Before doing anything else, you put your glasses on, wanting to actually be able to see what the measurements were. Resting the tape on the tops of his shoulders, you put your finger between the tape and his neck to allow for some room for Harry to breathe in his suits. You felt him swallow against your finger. Her heart skipped a quick beat.

“So…” he said, dragging it out. “Where are you from?”

Instantly, your eyes whipped up in the direction of his, staring at you patiently. You glanced down at the measurements again, whispering them to yourself under your breath and doing so continuously till you wrote his numbers behind the ‘neck’ in your notebook.

“You can tell I’m from England?” you asked, knowing your parents had made it very apparent to you how much of your accent you had lost over the four years you had spent constantly traveling.

“Know a Brit when I hear one.”

You huffed through your nose, walking back to him. “Lift your arms, please.”

He did.

You sneaked the measurement tape from where it hung from his shoulders and wrapped it around the widest point of his chest. “Worcestershire, you?”

“Cheshire,” he answered. “Right outside Manchester.”

“Stand in a relaxed posture if you can,” you ordered. “You can let your arms fall to your sides.” Harry did as you told him to. “Now breathe in.” Breathed in, you noted the numbers in your head. “Breathe out.” You did the same again. Muttering them under your breath, you dragged the tape with you while writing everything down.

“And you?” Harry asked, clearly eager to get to know you better while you were this close to him. He didn’t want any awkward tension between the two of you as this almost felt like an intimate moment; you studying him so closely and touching his entire body on your first meeting. Though he was good at knowing when to be professional and when it was okay not to be - and though he knew this was work - he couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t. You were a good friend of Alessandro, just as he was, and so it felt more like two acquaintances hanging out than anything work related.

“Evesham.” You answered, enclosing the tape around Harry’s waist this time. You leaned into him, nose almost touching his chest. You breathed in through your nose, and as discreetly as possible, breathed out through your mouth. Why were you acting up? What was it with Harry Styles that suddenly made it hard for you to function? This never happened. Bending your index finger, you started feeling around for Harry’s belly button to make sure you were on the right spot.

“Never really been to Worcestershire, if I’m- Oh!” Harry looked down at you as you poked his belly button a little too hard.

“Sorry, just needed to know I was directly on your waist.” You leaned down, asking him to breathe in and out again.

Harry watched you write the numbers down. “How long have you been doing this?”

“What?” you asked, putting one end of the tape at the mid side of his neck, following it all the way down to where you knew Alessandro wanted the shirt to end. Which was a little too close to his crotch. “You mean working for Gucci or tailoring people?” You felt the spot where his abdomen ended and his leg began. No, no, no, don’t go there, be professional, you thought to yourself.

“Both.”

You hunched down, getting the right measurements, writing them down, and then going to stand at his back. “Since I was twenty. Alessandro thought I had some talent, took me under his wing, and I’ve been working for Gucci since, tailoring people.” Placing your finger near his armpit, and tracing a line upward, Harry jerked.

“Absolutely not.” He glanced at you now that you were face to face, protecting his armpit while he continued on, “Want me to elbow you in the throat?”

“Preferably not.”

“Then don’t tickle my armpit.” He was so serious it took everything in you not to laugh.

“Well,” you couldn’t help your smile now. “I kind of have to know where your armpit is to do your shoulders.”

Conflict ran across Harry’s face, as if he was debating everything that could go wrong if he let you do it. Slowly, he turned back around, shoulders incredibly tense this time.

“Try to relax.”

“I know I’m about to have a finger jammed up my armpit, I’m unable to.”

The urge to laugh was so immense, but you bit your lips together and quickly ran your finger from his armpit and directly up his shoulder. Harry only winced a little, sighing under his breath as you took the measurements and then went to write them down.

“Sorry,” Harry said as you turned back around to him. “Didn’t mean to turn into a dickhead, but I just hate when people touch my armpits.”

You smiled. “It’s fine. I’m the same with my neck.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded.

“Ever had someone tailor you?”

You huffed, shaking your head. “Nope. I’ll do that myself unless I need someone to do my back.”

“Let me know next time you need help and I’ll do your back.” Harry said. “Maybe wiggle my fingers along your neck or summat to that effect.”

You laughed. “You have free time on your hands now? Aren’t you a busy bloke?”

“Count me in after July.”

“Oh?”

“World tour is over; I get to relax.” He informed, watching as you did his arm. “Going to Italy to relax with some mates and family.”

“How nice.” You said, doing his wrist. “I’m going to Italy as well. Always spend March ‘till August in Florence, then September ‘till February in London.”

“Really?” Harry almost looked a little impressed by your lifestyle, as if his own wasn’t just as adventurous. “Travel a lot?”

You couldn’t help a tiny smile, knowing that no matter how many countries you’d travelled to, Harry had probably done double the amount. But regardless of how well-travelled he himself was, in the low yet curious tone of his voice, you could hear the sincerity of his question. “Mostly between Italy and England, but I do tag along on some of Alessandro’s visits to the States, France, and some other countries.”

“Wicked.” Harry smiled as he noticed the corners of your mouth tip a little upward. “What’s been your favourite so far?”

The eye contact was intense. He didn’t look away, focusing entirely and altogether on you. There was a friendliness to his glance that had you relaxing, which was odd considering how anxious you had been earlier. You were sure that, by this point, Harry had completely forgotten the entire reason why he was here or why it was raining outside. And, to be fair, so had you. This felt like catching up with a friend, the easy chatter you had with one of your mates after months apart.

“I feel like I’m somewhat biased, but Italy. I love my little flat in Florence and that city too much for my own good.” You said, finding the way Harry’s head moved slightly with his huff, endearing. “You expected that?”

“What's not to love about Italy?” he asked, head cocked to the side. “I’m going there this summer, remember? Taking my whole family and meeting some mates.”

“Where abouts are you going?”

“Modena.” He put his hands in his jean pockets, nodding his head as he spoke. “Not really anywhere close to a big city or anything, but I just want to rest once I’m there to be fair. I’m teaching myself Italian at the moment, Alessandro is teaching me some as well.”

“Really?” Your smile grew bigger.

Harry’s smile mirrored yours. “Yeah.”

“Would you understand if I spoke some to you?” The four years you had lived in Italy had made you fluent in their first language. It had been a challenge at first, but you now understood the frustrated Florentine drivers shouting out from their open driver side windows, the old couple owning the bakery near you who loved to mumble, and even the slang some of the interns at Gucci used when they talked to one another. Harry seemed to be able to tell that you mastered this language he had just barely started to learn, but he nodded nevertheless.

“Right then.” He said. “Hit me.”

“Shit.” You mumbled to yourself, getting the measurement tape from the table behind you, completely having forgotten about the fact that you were here for work.

“Is that Italian for ‘oh no’?” Harry teased, making you both laugh, but you quickly shut up as you saw what was next on the list. Hip and seat. Clearing your throat, you turned back to Harry, biting your lip as you hunched down before him. You could tell that he too was a bit taken aback by the completely new position you two found yourself in. He quickly looked away.

“Is it okay if you…” your eyes met. “If you lift your shirt slightly and lower your jeans a tad? I need to measure directly onto your body.”

“Alright,” Harry took a grip of his jeans, shimmying them along with his boxers a bit down his hip. “Yeah.” Taking his shirt up next, the bare skin of his abdomen was there right in front of you.

“Modena,” you started, leaning in as you brought the measurement tape around him. Harry felt your breath brush against his abdominal hair. “Non è troppo lontana da Firenze.”

“What?” he said, eyes glued to the wall right in front of him, hands gripping his shirt hard in concentration. “Didn’t catch that.”

You memorised his number, then said a quick, “You can pull your jeans up and shirt down now.”

Harry did so, watching you stroll back to note his hip. He noticed he was panting slightly, like he had run up a set of stairs. Closing his mouth, he shook his head and willed himself to act normal, to be respectful. It was a little hard, however, when he had been single for so long and a pretty lass stood right in front of his crotch. As you came back and stood in front of him the exact same way as the time before, Harry settled his eyes on the white boards again. This time around, you brought the book with you, wanting the crotch and leg area to be done with as quickly as possible.

“Modena non è troppo lontana da Firenze.” You said again, measuring around the widest point of his seat.

He didn’t respond.

“Harry?”

“Huh?”

You giggled, writing down the measurements before inhaling hugely. Inseam next. “Did you catch what I was saying?”

“No, I-“ He stopped himself as your hand came up to the inside of his upper thigh, not having seen it coming. “Sorry.”

“No, that’s okay.” You said quickly, doing his inseam, knuckles softly gracing that spot between his thighs.

“I, uhh, I didn’t understand what you were saying.” He admitted quickly, hands on his hips and gaze faraway.

You wrote down the inseam, and got up, taking the book with you. His eyes instantly fell on you as you stood face to face again; him biting his lips together and your eyes big. Turning around, you placed the book down on the table again, running your finger over all the measurements so far.

“Could you come here, please?” You asked, hearing Harry walk towards you, hands on his back and ready for the next steps. You had been a bit scared to command him earlier, but now that you had talked and been between his legs, you felt it almost got a little easier to be around him. As if the awkwardness had gone away. Now you didn’t have to go far to write his measurements because the table and book and pen were right beside you. You walked over to the white board, mentally jotting down how and where Alessandro wanted the shirt to end and how it was supposed to sit on Harry. Meanwhile, Harry craned his neck to watch you. Still wearing your glasses, he watched your lips move as you mumbled to yourself, the dark blue of the rainstorm from the window beside you, made what Harry looked like seem like a painting. The calmness of you against the raging madness outside. He glanced back at the book, then at the soft fabric hanging beside him, mind wandering to the different places these campaigns would take him. He read over his measurements, about to turn the pages to see some of his other lengths and widths, when he felt a sharp pain in his finger.

He hissed.

You glanced over at him. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Harry was fast to answer, putting his index finger in his mouth to get some of the blood off his finger.

Walking back over to him, you didn’t pay much attention to how he was quick to put his hand behind his back again where it had been earlier. “Modena isn’t too far from Florence.”

Harry’s brows met above his nose, feeling a little lost at first, but as he slowly started putting two and two together, his grimace evaporated. “Modena non è troppo lontana da Firenze.”

You nodded your head twice, giving him a little smile. “Esattamente.”

“Exactly.” Harry translated.

You raised your hand, offering Harry a high five which he happily answered. What he forgot in that second however, was his minor accident just a minute earlier. Right before your hands met, you noticed his finger, and your eyes went immediately to his.

“What happened to your bleeding finger, mate?”

“Oh-” Harry looked at it, looking unsure for a second before he huffed. “Oh that,” he huffed. “That’s nothing.”

You crossed your arms. “You’re bleeding.”

“And you’re a tailor.”

“What…” You shook your head. “What’s that got to do with this?”

“Thought we were stating the obvious.” He shrugged. “Just a papercut. I’ll survive.”

“Of course you’ll survive, just wondered how you were able to start bleeding out of nowhere.”

Harry chuckled. “Not to worry, I’ll be able to use my hand as normal in no time.”

“Knob.” You mumbled automatically, immediately regretting it. That was not at all professional. And you were in a very professional setting. You were at work. You couldn’t call your client a knob right to his face. Oh my god oh my god oh my god, you thought to yourself trying to row yourself back to safe territory. You scrunched your nose up as you inhaled sharply. “Can’t even remember the last time I got a papercut, to be frank.”

“Speaking frankly now, are you?” He joked. You looked up at him again, and a second after your eyes met, you both started laughing. You put your hand to your heart, shaking your head at how silly the two of you were when you were under strict orders from Alessandro to get Harry’s measurements. But the fact that he hadn’t taken you calling him a knob seriously, the fact that he was able to joke about it and take the piss, it made it impossible for you not to laugh with him.

Your eyes met, both teary eyed from laughter.

“What’s knob in Italian, anyway?” Harry asked, making you laugh even harder.

And that launched the two of you into easy conversation. Almost a little too easy for the two of you to just have met. The fact that you were in a work environment didn’t seem to face you at all, which was incredibly refreshing for both. The seriousness of the meetings you had to endure most of the time so unnecessarily boring and dry that this was like a breath of fresh air. Alessandro had been right when he said you had loads in common, which you figured out in between you taking his measurements. There didn’t seem to be a topic untouched at the end of Harry’s session, and though he was done with his measurements and such, he stuck around. You two stood by the table you stood at earlier, you still holding onto the tape like once you stopped, Harry would immediately leave. Neither of you noticed how the door opened slightly. Didn’t notice Alessandro looking through the crack and at the two of you, having heard voices from behind the door when he came back from his meeting. He smiled to himself, seeing Harry laugh at something you said before he closed the door again, leaving you two to it.

You became fast friends. Though you could go a week without texting, or a day without thinking about one another, you still knew that when you next met up, you would pick up where you left off. You had formed an easy friendship like that, one which you both appreciated and knew you could come back to without problem. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine you would befriend someone as high profile as Harry Styles when working as a tailor. You hadn’t really thought you would befriend any celebrity when working as a tailor, actually. But here you were, friends with Harry Styles, and not at all thinking of him as someone who made hit singles or who was the new face of Gucci. Someone who made a living off of singing and who had a huge bloody fanbase supporting him. That part of his life felt surreal, but yours and Harry’s friendship was so genuine, so effortless, that you didn’t really care about the other aspects of his life as long as he was a good person.

The second time you met was at the chip shop, The Camp, in St Albans, Hertfordshire, where the photoshoot and commercial would take place. It was cloudy, the skies a dull grey that threatened with rain, but you knew would just fly right by without interrupting the film crew. The wind was annoying however, bitter at the touch, but you knew Harry was a warm blooded person and would have no problems exposing his chest and hands to it. You strolled up to the Camp School parking lot that was littered with cars and a huge white truck where you knew Harry would be, getting ready. Alessandro had other business to attend to and most of the people on set worked for Gucci, but you were there to see that the suits you had made were okay and that they properly fit. For the first fitting some weeks ago, you had been busy with another client, so Alessandro had done that himself. But he still wanted someone on sight in case something happened, because no way in hell were anyone but him or you allowed to repair a pair of torn trousers or a ruined shirt.

You knocked on the door of the truck, heard a “Come in”, and stepped inside. Harry was sitting in a makeup chair, a woman doing his hair and make-up, readying him for his first ever Gucci shoot. He opened his eyes, meeting yours in the mirror before him. Your smiles were identical when you realised who you were looking at.

“Knob.” You said, standing by the wall behind Harry.

“Wanker.” He answered, grinning at you. “You alright?”

It was something the two of you had fallen into the habit of calling one another ever since the ‘knob’ incident of your first meeting. No one really understood why, especially not the people around you. Alessandro, who thought he had been the mastermind behind a match made in heaven, was surprised to see just how good friends the two of you were. Seeing you two hit it off in his office at first, he had immediately thought he had done it, found each his friends a potential partner, but after months of nothing romantic happening, he had given up. It was clear the two of you just looked at each other as friends and nothing more. Very good friends at that.

“Yeah,” you pointed your thumb over your shoulder, gesturing out beyond the door you had just walked through. “Looks like it’s about to rain.”

Harry chuckled. “Worried about that, are you?” He thanked the make-up artist before he got up, gesturing for you to walk out first.

“Yes.” You answered, stepping out of the van. “You’ll look like a maniac if you get wet in that.”

“A maniac?!” Harry sounded appalled. “You might have to elaborate on why.”

“Wet hair, wearing a suit with no shirt, striking orange necklace, and holding a chicken?”

“No, that’s art, babe.”

You laughed. The two of you started strolling towards the chip shop.

“If anything, I’ll look irresistible wearing this and being soaked.” Harry said, saying a quick ‘hi’ to someone walking by. “You won’t be able to resist me.”

You huffed. “If I saw someone walking down the street looking like that, being soaked through, I’d have my pepper spray ready and already dialling 999.”

“Admit it, you’d not be able to keep your hands off me.”

“Why are you so obsessed with me thinking you’re fit?” You laughed. A short silence followed. Your knuckles brushed against one another. Something warm lit up your chest for a single second. Harry just looked at you for a moment, as if seriously contemplating the question. But before you got the chance to look to your left and at your mate, to make sure he was fine, someone interrupted.

“Harry,” one of Glen Luchford’s assistants walked toward the two of you. “We’re ready for you.”

The photographer stood beside the art director – Christopher Simmonds - further down the street, just outside the chip shop, talking amongst themselves about something. A slight breeze blew past you, Harry’s cologne graced you for two lovely seconds as you watched the man himself follow the main photographer’s assistant. You were a couple of steps behind them, standing by yourself and watching the whole commercial unfold. Harry was handed the chicken, who flapped its wings upon being in Harry’s grasp. The look on Harry’s face had you laughing, and Harry immediately looked over at you, giving you a stern look. However, you were laughing, so it was hard for him not to crack a smile as well. Your phone vibrated in your pocket some minutes later, and you walked a distance away as not to be in the way.

“Lallo, hiya.” You greeted, scrunching your nose up as you felt the first droplet of rain hit it.

“Il mio amore,” Alessandro greeted, a sigh of relief leaving his lips. “How’s the photoshoot?”

“Not really done much yet, but everything’s fine so far.”

He sighed again. “I am glad to hear. Did the suit fit nice like it’s supposed to?”

You glanced at Harry over your shoulder, standing on the pavement further down, ready to film. He ran a hand through his hair, looking up at the white sky with big eyes. It was almost as if you could see the peaceful green of his irises. His neck was stretched as he bowed his head back, closing his eyes and letting a few raindrops fall into his face. He looked almost dreamy; peaceful for a few moments as he collected himself. Someone shouted something and Harry blinked his eyes open, looking at the director. Suddenly, his eyes went to you, but they flickered away just as quickly. You looked away.

“It fits.”

“Nothing bad’s happened?”

You kicked at a stone on the ground. “What does that mean?”

“Harry ruining the suit.”

You huffed out a small laugh through your nose. “Do you have that little faith in him?”

“He gets clumsy when he’s nervous.”

You frowned. “Harry isn’t nervous.”

“Are you sure?” Alessandro asked, you could tell he was narrowing his eyes and putting his hand on his hip. He was challenging you. “Really sure?”

“Look,” you started walking towards the make-up van, aware that you most likely had to go get the make-up artist and hairdresser out if it was going to start raining. “Everything’s okay. There’s nothing to worry about. If you were worried this was going to be a fail, why didn’t you prioritise this event?”

“Fine, fine. It’s not you I’m worried about, no? It’s that…” Alessandro paused for some seconds. “It’s Harry’s first Gucci shoot and I’m not there. What if something goes wrong?”

“Then I’m there to fix it. Why I’m here, remember?” You spotted the van. “I’m your eyes, ears, and hands today.”

Alessandro laughed. “Il mio amore, what would I do without you?”

“Do not know. I really don’t.”

He laughed again and you two hung up just as you knocked on the door to the make-up van. Informing them that it was drizzling out and that they might have to come do a touch-up if it got worse, you walked in as they got everything they needed. A selection of suits hung on a rack on one end of the van, some twins in case something were to happen, and others were lone ones. Regardless, you always found Alessandro’s ability to make clothes into a form of art so inspiring. It was what made you want to work with him in the first place. An abundance of colours and fabrics, of softness and roughness, of modern and rustic. The things he thought to make you’d never in your wildest dreams think of, which made doing anything for him so fascinating. Always something new, always something spellbinding.

You followed the crew out and in the direction of the shoot. It wasn’t drizzling as much anymore, but this was still England, something that meant it would happen anytime soon. The artists were chatting amongst themselves as you made your way over, you read over an email on your phone. Suddenly though, the heels that had walked right beside you stopped. You glanced up from your phone, over your shoulder at the three ladies you had gotten to help you. They stared straight ahead, and when you averted your eyes, letting them land on what they were seeing, you almost dropped your phone.

The hen Harry had been holding was flapping about, two crew members chasing it while a third one ran over to help. Someone was shouting “Stop recording” and someone else “Get the fucking chicken”. But the worst part of it all – at least for you – was Harry getting up from the asphalt. There was a furrow to his brows as he checked his suits for scratches, stopping when he saw the rip at his knee. Your brain immediately flashed back to what Alessandro had just told you.

Harry’s eyes shot up, hastily scanning the crowd around him, and you quickly realised he was looking for you. Stepping forward, you saw him relax some when his eyes landed on you. He jogged over, groaning through his teeth.

“I-“

“-Get to the bloody van, I need to take a look at the rest of your suit.”

“But there’s only the knee.” Harry said as you two started walking.

“I’m not taking your word for it.”

This seemed to become a theme for Harry’s shoots. His anxiety would get the better of him, though he did get more confident with each one that went by. It wasn’t something he was amazing at at first, but something that grew on him overtime. Just like the seasons changed from winter to spring to summer, Harry slowly got his feet off the slippery ice he seemed to have been on that first shoot in England.

However, a few months later, you were back in Italy, doing another shoot with Gucci. Harry was wearing one of the suits you had tailored for him; a checked one, a blue shirt, a silk bandana around his neck and another one in his hair. Since the last shoot, the two of you had talked over the phone, texted, and sent each other funny memes on Instagram. You hadn’t met up a whole lot, maybe the odd café trip or two with some friends, but nothing beyond that. So, meeting him in Italy, your second home, was incredibly special to you.

You were on the outside of Rome, Villa Lente, and you had spent most of your morning yawning and getting looks from Alessandro when you did so. Harry yawned with you when he caught you doing so, the two of you giggling at how ridiculous you were being. With raised eyebrows, Alessandro watched the two of you, giving you a slight flick to the arm when you distracted Harry.

But it was when Harry was perched on the stone wall, dragging some hair out of his face as he placed himself steadily on it, that was then it happened. The sun hit him just right, making the ruffle of his curls look like a golden halo around his head; green irises switching to the colour of autumn leaves where the light hit them. He looked ethereal. And in the middle of all of this, Harry reached for the lamb he was supposed to be perching on his shoulders. No one thought Harry would actually fall off the wall. No one thought he was that clumsy. But as he was hurtling towards the ground having lost his footing completely, the realisation that he was indeed that clumsy hit you just as Harry hit the stone staircase beneath the wall.

Alessandro exclaimed a few crude words in Italian, running to Harry’s aid. You stood there blinking, getting yourself back from the slight daydream you’d just had about the poor man that laid on the ground with a dozen people around him. One second he had looked like something straight out of a dream; like an angel that had come down to earth. He had looked too good and you simply had not been able to look away from him. You knew Harry was good looking, you weren’t blind, but something about the sun hitting him like that, when he smiled down at you watching him, how carefully he styled his hair when he at up on that stone wall. It did something to you.

But all of that disappeared right away when Harry hit the ground, exclaiming a grunt of pain. Alessandro was by his side in seconds, speaking so fast you had trouble understanding him. Harry held onto his knee, yet again having ripped the suit and once again bleeding, only this time it was his hand. Why was it always his knee and why did he always end up bleeding? It was only so clumsy a person could get, wasn’t it? And yet, Harry Styles seemed to be proving you very wrong. No one was as easily affected by their anxiety as him.

People crowded him, ready to be of help and to get him standing. It wasn’t like he had broken any bones, because he was able to get up onto his feet without trouble, but the fall had definitely hurt regardless. Your eyes locked as Harry’s arm came to rest around Alessandro’s shoulders, the designer helped him over to the van. Once again, Harry had to change trousers.

“How?” you simply asked, unsure what best way to even address the whole situation.

“Don’t,” Harry shook his head, not in the mood to have you take the mick out of him for this. “Hurts like a fucking cunt.”

Alessandro pinched Harry’s side, making him yelp and put more pressure on his knee than he wanted to, ultimately getting him to gasp. Harry glanced at the designer, an annoyed furrow forming between his brows.

“Why’d you do that?”

“You were being rude.”

“Pinching a wounded man is rude.” Harry removed his arm from around Alessandro, limping towards the van. “I’m getting changed.”

You glanced at Alessandro, both of you knowing that no matter what, Harry would be in a bad mood for a bit now. That always happened when something didn’t go according to plan; he’d get grumpy and need some time alone. One of the assistants was about to follow him, clearly having gotten some orders from the photographer, Glen Luchford, or art director, Christopher Simmonds. You put your hand out warning them from following the already irritated and hurting star of the photoshoot. He just needed 10 minutes to cool off, and then you’d be off after him to make sure he was alright.

Once 10 minutes had passed, you knocked on the door of the make-up van, hearing a grumble of sorts before stepping inside. Harry was standing unzipping his trousers and shimmying them down his hip. It reminded you a bit of the tailoring you had done at the beginning of the year, how he had pushed both his trousers and boxers down so you could get his measurements right. He glanced over his shoulder at you before he sat down, now only his boxers covering the top part of his thighs and crotch.

“Don’t stand there looking for too long,” he said, bending over to get the trousers completely off. “I might end up turning you on.”

You stepped inside, closing the door and walking over to the first-aid kit. You felt Harry’s eyes on you as he sat back, placing the ripped trousers on the chair beside him. Getting some cotton, you put a mild soap on it and poured it under water before walking back over to Harry. You sat down in a chair, getting closer to him, and taking his hand. As you turned it over to look at the scratch on his palm, you could tell that it wasn’t as bad as you’d thought it to be, but it still looked like it’d hurt. Carefully, you dabbed the wound, making sure to clean it up. Harry hissed through his teeth, watching as the cotton came out dirty. It hadn’t been the cleanest ground he’d landed on and you didn’t want him to get an infection.

Getting up, you got another piece of cotton and did the same, dragging the chair even closer to Harry now. Taking his hand this time around, your knuckles brushed his thigh, the dark downy hair you hadn’t noticed till now. How his boxers rested tightly around his thighs, and how far up they were, revealing more than you were intended to see. Your cheeks felt hot and you focused on his hand, lifting it from his leg so you didn’t have to feel his warm, bare thigh against your knuckles. There wasn’t really a trace of any dirt on it now, but you wanted to be sure you’d gotten everything before you let him outside again.

You were very aware Harry could rinse his own wound himself. He didn’t need people to do everything for him, he liked doing most things himself, in fact. And though both of you were sat there knowing you didn’t have to, neither stopped it. Slowly, Harry’s eyes came to rest at your face. They stayed there, just watching you tend to him so carefully. When people go out of their way to help you, to make sure you’re okay, those are the kind of people to hold onto for life. The kind of people who will buy you sweets when you need it on a bad day, who will force themselves to be in a cheery mood to better yours, who will kiss your eyelids when you go back to sleep after a nightmare. The kind of people who will rinse your wound when you get hurt when you’re perfectly capable of doing so yourself.

You didn’t know why you looked up, didn’t know what made you do it. Maybe it was your subconscious that knew if you did, you’d find something you’d been searching for your whole life. Maybe something inside you knew that glancing up, you’d see something you hadn’t before. Your eyes met Harry’s, and though you had stared into them on numerous occasions before, something shifted in that moment. With his hand in your hand, his bare knee resting against yours, eyes glancing intently into yours; it was like something bigger than yourselves took over. You felt it on your heart first, like a warm tingling that spread out to every single one of your limbs and cells. It felt like you were drunk; head hazy and feelings heightened. Everything about Harry before you was greater, brighter; more.

“You need to finish the shoot.” You said, knowing that Alessandro would undoubtedly not appreciate the two of you taking this long.

Harry didn’t answer. He just stared at you, like he was seeing something spectacular for the first time and he couldn’t look away. The look in his eyes softened as he gulped, his Adam’s apple moving with a lump in his throat he clearly had trouble swallowing. For a split second, you could swear you saw his eyes rest to your lips. Following the shape of them, savouring the colour of them. Neither of you realised you were moving in. It wasn’t till the sight of Harry started to blur and the room seem to fill with electricity that you realised just how close you were. You stopped, pulling a bit away till you saw him clearly, but a slight wrinkle to his brows told you he hadn’t appreciated that. Just as you were about to lean in again, to an unknown fate between the two of you, there was a loud knock on the door and a second later it flew open. You pushed away from him, barely even touching his hand as you finished rinsing the wound. Harry blinked, clearing his throat and looking over his shoulder at Alessandro who stood there glancing back at him.

“Well?” Alessandro asked, gesturing behind him at the shoot that had been momentarily stopped.

“Yeah,” Harry said, eyes meeting yours before he dragged his hand out of your grip. “Just a sec.”

Harry got up, walking over to the wardrobe to get changed. Instantly, you threw the cotton away and walked outside with Alessandro, ready to forget the whole moment and never think of it again. But it was easier said than done. The rest of that shoot, that day, that week, it was all you could think about.

Unfortunately, after that shoot, you and Harry hadn’t been able to see one another  It was finally that time of year when you had a bit of time off to relax, and this time it happened to fall in the middle of July. It gave you the perfect opportunity to do nothing more than wander the streets of your home, see some old friends, and fully enjoy the beauties that an Italian summer had to offer. But no matter how happy you were for the time off, it was bittersweet because although Harry had just finished his world tour and now had an abundance of free time on his hands, he was fully booked until you’d see him for your next shoot.

You didn’t fault him for how he spent his time off, he did just get home after a long year long world tour, and that did warrant some time alone. But you did have to admit that you missed seeing him. Somewhere in your mind, you recall him saying he was spending some time in Italy up north with his family, but the dates were jumbled and you didn’t want to disturb his peace. Instead, you settled for knowing you’d see him again in a few short months.

You had set out for the day in order to find some new houseplants, seeing as the young girl who kept yours tended to while you were away - Lilliana - always seemed to let them wilt. It was the most perfect day to stroll down to the market and see some of the florists you’d missed while you were away, what with the sun shining it’s brightest and only the tiniest breeze ghosting by your cheeks. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. This was your time to bask in the sunlight before heading back to dreary London for some time.

Sandals clapping against the cobblestone walkway echoed through the quiet street, the sound of faint music playing from a nearby open window was carried by the breeze, filling in any silence that would be there otherwise. This was the life you had dreamt about as a child, the kind of life that you only got to read about in books or watch in films, yet here you were. It was yet another reason you had to be thankful to Alessandro for.

“Mi scusi, signora.”

You often walked down the small side street with your eyes closed briefly, not only knowing it like the back of your hands, but also basking in the warmth of the sun, so it wasn’t anything new to have someone speak up to let you know they were near. But something about that voice was familiar. Like when you walk into your home for the first time in a while and you can smell you. Like you can’t exactly put a finger on it, but you know it’s familiar, so you investigate. Which you did, and it caused you to gasp.

“Harry?”

“In the flesh.” his smile could rival the brightness of the sun that was shining between in the tall buildings as he walked up the slight incline of the street towards you.

“What are you doing here?”

“Was in the neighborhood and through I’d stop by. See my favorite tailor.” Once he finally reached you, your arms were instantly wrapped around one another, squeezing like you hadn’t just been together weeks ago.

“Wha - how are yo-?”

“Don’t tell me you’re speechless. You? Of all people?” he laughed, pulling away after giving a few rubs to your back.

“I know you didn’t come all the way to Montaione to take the piss, Harry.” you took this time to really look at him after your surprise meet up. He looked remarkable, something that quite annoyed you considering he was dressed so casually. Then again, the man could pull off close to anything. He was wearing a pair of grey trousers; a single pleat running from his waist to ankles down the middle of the leg, a plain white t shirt that perfectly accentuated his dark tattoos, and a royal blue bandana that hung loosely from around his neck. The pair of sunglasses he had worn when walking up to you were now being hung from the bandana so that he could get a better look at you, and if you had to look at his sparkling green eyes for any second longer, you were sure you would combust.

“Despite how easy it is to get under your skin, I, surprisingly, didn’t come here to do anything other than see you for a few hours.”

“A few hours? You traveled down from Modena just to hangout for a few hours?”

“Knew I was in Modena then? Keeping tabs on me while we’re apart, are you?”

Your hand jut out and shoved him hard enough to make him lose a bit of balance while you two started walking down the street, just enough so that he had to take a few steps to the side to stabilize himself.

“Thought you weren’t here to take the piss, knob.”

He laughed, nodding his head and sliding his sunglasses back onto his face. “Alright alright. Truce. But to answer your question, yes I did. That a bad thing?”

“Uh, no it’s not. Just a bit surprising is all. That’s a bit of a journey just for lunch.”

“And I’d make it countless more times for you.”

Over the last two years, you grew to know Harry and when he was being serious or having a laugh, so you could instantly hear the sincerity behind his words. Despite the goofy grin playing at his lips, you knew that he was being truthful, and the thought made butterflies awaken in your belly.

“It’s good to see you, Harry.” the nod you gave was more towards yourself, but when you glanced up at Harry, you saw that he was already watching you, smiling as he took in your relaxed aura.

“You too, doll.”

“How’d you find me, anyway?” just as you did each time you met up, the two of you fell into easy conversation as you made your way towards the village square. Harry was one of those people that you could go months without talking to, yet somehow, the second you met back up again, you were able to pick up right where you left off.

“Alessandro may or may not have given it to me.” his voice was timid, like he didn’t fully want to admit he had asked your boss where you lived.

“Of course he did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s obsessed with you, you know?”

“He’s not.”

“Mhm. Says you’re his shining star. ‘M sure the man would create a whole collection surrounding you if you give him enough time.”

“Says the woman who he looks at like his next of kin.”

“Don’t make this into a pissing contest, Harry. You know he adores you.”

“Just him?”

It felt like spending time with a lifelong mate when with Harry, but when he said shit like that, when he made your tummy flutter with his mix of words and longing gazes, it made it hard for you to see him as just a friend.

“Didn’t you say that you only had a bit before having to get back?” you changed the subject quickly, not wanting to answer his question.

“Not get back, ‘m not headed back to Modena.” he shook his head when you sent him a soft, questioning ‘no?’ “Nope. Flying down to Sicily for a few days for Google Camp.”

“Google Camp?” your eyebrows shot up in question when he told you, “A sumit for the rich and famous to talk about climate change while flying in on private jets and yachts. How very unlike you mister Styles.”

“Oi, lay off. Got invited, didn’t I? Wasn’t going to turn it down. Besides,” he shrugged, “‘M flying commercial and carpooling. Being as eco friendly as possible.”

“Course, of course.”

“I have four hours until my flight, so just shut up and come get lunch with me.”

The room had gone totally dim during your trip down memory lane, indicating that it was time for everyone to begin getting in their places so that the show could begin. But even in the low lighting, it wasn’t hard to miss the look of fear and doubt flash through Harry’s eyes. The look was something that appeared before every shoot or campaign you had been present for, only lasting seconds, yet always intriguing to you. The man before you was a superstar, someone who pranced around on stage in front of tens of thousands of people every night, without a care in the world. Yet, as soon as your exquisitely tailored clothes touched his body, his shoulders would tense, and he looked like a scared child. You’d never understood why.

“You’re nervous.” It came out as more of a breathy statement than a question.

“‘M terrified.”

You heard those words regularly from your models, especially the new ones, but hearing it fall from between his lips made your stomach tighten. Harry was such a natural at all of this; the superstardom. It was easy to tell that he felt right at home while on stage, how perfectly natural his body reacted whenever the camera was on for a red carpet, how easy going he was when it came to hair and makeup and outlandish outfits. All of it came so easy to him and it blew you away every time you got to witness it. And while he was so good at adjusting quickly to new environments, his team and fans constantly cheering him on with every new endeavor, he was still just a normal twenty five year old guy. He still FaceTimed his mum to get her opinion on new looks, still went out and enjoyed his free time with mates, and still got anxious when trying something new. He never seemed to want to disappoint you or Alessandro when he was wearing the clothes you’d made for him specifically. That was what got to him, you thought, the prospect of ruining spectacular clothes you’d made from scratch. The moments in time you’d just thought back on was indicator enough.

“It’s gonna be great. We saw you during the runthrough yesterday.” you smiled, reminding him how well he had done during the practice show.

“But that’s different. This time it means somethin-” he was cut off by Alessandro yelling it was time for all models to officially line up for showtime. “What if I go too fast and I step on Mae’s shoe, fuck up her walk? Or too slow and clog up the entire runway? Or the hat fal-”

“Hey!” To stop his incessant worrying, your hands grabbed either side of his face, making him stop for a second and look directly at you. He blinked once. “Stop it. You’re going to do amazing. Alessandro wouldn’t have put you in this show if he didn’t have complete confidence in you. And you should know by now I wouldn’t have wasted my oh so precious time making any of this fit you perfectly if I didn’t believe in you.”

Harry’s breathing began calming down, going from almost hysterical to a gentle, rhythmic, intake, indicating that he was coming out of his panic bubble. His eyes never left your own, quite different from all the times they had openly roamed your figure.

“You can do this.” You whispered, nodding slightly and sending him a loving smile as your hands dropped back down to your sides,

Alessandro’s voice yelled over everyone, demanding everyone be in their place immediately, but Harry made no move to leave your side. He continued staring at you, taking a few deep breaths every few seconds and nodding to himself, seeming to give himself a pep talk in his head. The lights went out in the museum, leaving the audience in complete darkness, and you knew the intense sound of an alarm would soon be echoing through the building to start the show.

But none of that held your attention.

In what could have only been a second, Harry’s lips were pressed against yours. It was so quick that you didn’t have time to register what had happened before he was turning to run and join the other models, but it left you stunned. Like being in the warmth of your home during a snowy day and suddenly opening the door, letting the freezing wind hit you in the face.

And as much as the kiss had taken you off guard, it felt so very right that small second it happened. He hadn’t even given it a second thought, leaning in to kiss you like the two of you had been an item for years and it was part of your normal everyday routine. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, and the thought alone made your fingertips ache to be on his skin again. Shaking yourself out the haze that had formed around you mind, your focus and priorities flipped like a switch as soon as the siren began playing, looking around the room to make sure everyone and everything was where it needed to be.  

Just as the precession of models began exiting the dressing room, and The Shadows Die Twice by Br1002 ranging throughout the museum, you made your way up to stand beside Alessandro. There was never a time you saw him truly stressed; not when you first started working with him and you accidentally ruined an entire bundle of fabric, not when he was in charge of creating dozens of different looks for the Met Gala, and not even now, watching as his newest collection strutted down the runway, making its worldwide debut. He was the epitome of cool, calm, and collected.

“There she goes.” You admired, resting your head on your boss’ shoulder and watching all 217 of the looks he created and you helped bring to life, be released into the world.

The sense of pride that rushed through your veins each and every time you got to see the pieces you put your heart and soul into, was similar to what you could only imagine it was like for a parent to watch their child flourish. You could remember all the moments during the months leading up to the show that you wanted to quit, when you would get so frustrated with Alessandro and his brilliantly creative mind every time he brought you a new look idea, how badly you wanted to scream after pricking your fingers so much they started to bruise. You remembered all of those times when holding such an important job at Gucci felt like something you just weren’t ready for at the age of twenty four. But every hardship was worth it the moment your work came to a culmination. This moment of absolute pride and excitement.

“How are you feeling?”

Alessandro wrapped his right arm around your shoulder, pulling you so close to his body that it was most comfortable for you to wrap one arm around his back and one around his waist, your hands joining together at his hip. “I feel so much love.”

That was the only way to describe what the two of you were feeling as the show progressed through the museum. Even though the room was dark, tall lighting setups hung in every direction, and hundreds of guests were posted up in chairs, the beauty of the location still shined through. Black and white marble covered the floor throughout the entire building, the diamond pattern flowing easily from room to room, and sculptures of ancient men lined each side of the hallway, seemingly growing from the walls because of the similar colors. About halfway down the hallway, models made a left turn and entered the large area known as Palazzo Nuovo. The “New Palace” was constructed over 400 years ago and was an identical replica of the Palazzo dei Conservatori that Michaelangelo created. You had been to the location many times before since spending 6 months at a time in Italy, but you had never seen it as a place to hold a show. Not until Alessandro had brought you one day and explained his vision as you roamed the hallways.

The quick pass of a red beret on one of the monitors, set up for the backstage team to watch the show, caught your attention. He stayed on camera for a bit, and you wished you could watch his fans meltdown over it in real time because he looked exquisite. Despite the darkness of the room, Harry was glowing. The way the strobe lights would hit his face every few steps and accentuate his already angelic features made your stomach clench. You had spent countless hours up close and personal with Harry, while there was very little fabric covering his body; very intimate and unforgettable moments. Many a-second-too-long looks, smiles when the other wasn’t watching, and an intense almost kiss. And an actual kiss. A tiny kiss. A kiss you still felt on your lips. But now, you were getting hot and bothered thinking about his lips while he strutted down the runway in one of the most conservative outfits of the line.

There was something about the lapel rolls of the jacket flapping open slightly with each step, beautifully showcasing his sparrow tattoos and delicate pendant necklace under the dim lights, that excited you. But it was the faintest smile that graced his lips the second before he left frame that made your heart swell.

The overall look he was sporting was extremely similar to that of his first Men’s Tailoring campaign, with the long robe like jacket and exposed chest, but the glint of both happiness and confidence in his eyes reminded you of the moment you put him into the pink and red ensemble of his latest campaign. Something that still made something inside your tummy flutter and the corners of your mouth tip upward.

“Absolutely fucking not.” Harry said. “I will die. 100%.”

“Stop being so dramatic.” You rolled your eyes, holding the pink blazer up and letting him put both his arms through it. “It’s just pigs.”

“That will have my head if I get too close.”

“This is a Gucci shoot, you’re not on I’m a Celeb.”

Harry huffed, looking at himself in the mirror and adjusting the blazer over his shoulders properly. “Watch me go on I’m a Celeb and die when I get attacked by an exotic animal or summat.”

“A pig won’t be the death of you and it’s not an exotic animal, now shut up and sit down.” You wagged the red bandana at him. “I need to put this on you before we can get this started.”

“Alright then.” Harry shoved his wrists out for you. “Go on.”

You tried to give him a disappointed look, but you simply were not able to. Laughing, you shoved Harry into his seat, standing between his legs as you tied the bandana around his head. This time around, the shoot was mostly indoors, so there weren’t many ways Harry could fuck this one up. Alessandro was busying himself and so were other crew members, walking about you two and shouting orders at someone else, but neither of you noticed anyone but the person before you. Since the lunch in Florence, you had been incredibly busy, so you hadn’t really had much time to meet up. Harry, who was currently travelling and making his second album, hadn’t been available much either, but you were both over the moon that you got to spend this time together. You really missed each other the time you were away.

Since last time, Alessandro had gone out of his way to make rings for those he held dearest. Gold Gucci rings with each person’s initials, one for each letter, big and bold. It had taken you off guard, as you hadn’t thought yourself to be as important to Alessandro as he was to you, but he had insisted and showed you his own. He told you “Dear friends match” and that did it for you, you simply had to wear his rings without question. And since then, you had been wearing them every single day. You felt part of his little family. So when Harry showed up to your third shoot together, wearing matching rings to yours, you felt your heart skip a beat and Alessandro’s knowing eyes on both of you. He would never admit it out loud, but he knew how you both felt for one another, and he thought, by giving you these rings, you might realise how special you were to him and then see how special you were to one another as well.

“You’ll just have to forget about your fear of geese and be a professional.”

“I don’t have a bloody fear of geese.”

You shrugged your shoulders, tying the bandana properly.

“I don’t!”

“Alright, mate.”

Harry paused for a second. “Don’t ‘mate’ me.”

You shook your head, choosing to ignore the comment and how it made literally every inch of your body heat up. Taking a step back you studied him, giving him a thumbs up before you walked over to the other suits you had to check up on for the shoot. Harry watched you for a few seconds before he got up from the chair, going to check himself out in the mirror again. Your phone suddenly vibrated against the desk right in front of the mirror, and Harry’s eyes instantly fell to it. A furrow appeared between his brows.

“Who’s Jack?”

You glanced over your shoulder, seeing Harry read the text you just got. “Hey!”

“Who is he?” he asked again, looking over at you as you came rushing over. You took the phone, pressing it to your chest as if it was going to make Harry forget what he’d just read. He tried to add a playful undertone to his voice, a slight smile across his lips.

“None of your business.”

Harry looked away from you, nodding as he busied himself with trying to get some kind of lint off his coat. “You’re right.”

You put the phone back in your jean pocket and walked over to the suits again, hunching down to check the seam on the hem on the trousers. You felt your phone vibrate with another notification or vibrate as a reminder that she’d gotten a text two minutes prior. Getting up and about to reach back to check what Jack had wanted, she felt a breath against her neck.

“You’re seeing him then?”

You jumped, holding your hand to your chest as you turned around to face him. “None of your business!”

“Oh, come on!”

You shoved him out of the way, way too much to do to be distracted by Harry’s nosiness. Strolling over to the desk, you started looking through your calendar when Harry showed up beside you again. Leaning on his elbow on the desk, he looked up at you, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible considering how curious he actually was.

“Is he fit at least?”

“He’s not annoying.” You said, covering his face with your hand. You felt him smile into your palm. “Ever tried that?”

“Tried being annoying?” Harry asked. “Wouldn’t know where to start.”

You shoved him away, making him lose his balance some and lean both his elbows on the desk. He watched as you walked back to the suits, looking at which ones Alessandro said were to be used by Harry and which ones were to be used by someone else at another time. Just as Harry was about to ask another question about Jack – who was just a mate from back home you hadn’t ever talked to him about because he’d never come up in conversation -, there was a knock at the wardrobe door. Alessandro stood there, a raise to his eyebrows and a small smile on his lips that was almost hidden by his dark, thick, long beard. He’d stood there watching you two for a little while, you thought to yourself.

“Is Harry ready for the shoot?”

“Yes,” you glanced at Harry and pointed at Alessandro. “Go.”

Harry sighed but got up, walking over to Alessandro who was smiling, encouraging Harry to do the same. As he passed him, a small beam was on Harry’s lips, but as he walked through the door, you couldn’t tell if he was still smiling or if he just did it to Alessandro wouldn’t make him. The creative director looked over at you, crossing his arms but not losing his smile.

“What?”

Alessandro shrugged.

“No, what?”

“You could’ve at least told him who Jack was.” Alessandro chuckled.

You rolled your eyes.

“But I get that you want to watch him suffer. It’s funny seeing someone you like be jealous.”

“Harry isn’t jealous.” You said, closing the calendar and placing it neatly back on the desk. “He’s just nosy.”

Alessandro didn’t say anything in response, instead he just walked on over to the shoot, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You weren’t really sure why you hadn’t just told Harry who Jack was. It wasn’t like anything was going on between you and Jack, you were simply mates and he wanted to check up on you and see how things were going. You had absolutely nothing to hide. Especially nothing to the point of keeping your phone close to your chest so he wouldn’t reread the message you’d just gotten, holding no significance whatsoever.

Maybe Alessandro was right. Maybe you did want to see if he was jealous or not. But he didn’t seem jealous to you, just his nosy self. Sighing, you followed Alessandro, ready to be of service if something should go wrong. They hadn’t even started shooting when you walked into the room, they were still walking around, placing the different statues and other props around the place to get it to look exactly like the producer wanted it to. You stood watching for a bit, knowing that your phone was still in your back pocket, untouched since Harry had seen the innocent text from Jack.

Suddenly, you felt a presence behind you, saw a shadow mingle with yours, and you recognised the messy hair and the bandana you’d wrapped around his head earlier. Smiling, you continued to stare ahead, waiting a minute before Harry felt brave enough to answer.

“Did you answer Jack then?” You felt the breath of his words against your hair.

“He just wanted to know how I was, Harry.”

“I know.”

You bit your lip, not looking back at him.

“Guess he just wanted to talk. To feel close to you in a way.”

You huffed, standing your ground and not looking back at him like you knew he wanted you to. “And the point of this is…?”

“Being close to someone you love can calm you down.” Harry said, voice low so only the two of you could hear him. You felt a shiver run up your spine. “Like shelter in a storm; entering a small house and staying for tea before braving the terrible weather again, a little stronger this time with some motivation from those you… hold closest to your heart.”

Your breath hitched somewhere in your throat, feeling both Harry’s breath and eyes on you. It took everything in you not to look at him, to see his soft expression after uttering those equally soft words. “I’m not in love with Jack, Harry.”

Harry was quiet for a second before he said, with the hint of a smile in his voice, “Okay.”

You smiled yourself, wanting to say something in response but not knowing what would be appropriate. You weren’t even sure why you were feeling this much or why Harry being elated you weren’t seeing someone made you this happy. He stood right behind you, just as close, not wavering, till he had to go do the shoot. Walking backwards, he made sure to catch your eye, give you a small smile, before going to do his job. You hated how your cheeks felt hot, that every single time Harry’s dimples appeared you heard something inside your head scream and the every single one of your cells react to him. Glancing over at Alessandro, you caught the creative director watching you with a grin on his face. As soon as your eyes met, though, he turned away, forcing his smile away and pretending like he hadn’t seen a thing. You rolled your eyes, focusing all your attention on Harry, who didn’t let his anxiety get the better of him this time around.

“He’s doing very well.” Alessandro commented, his left hand resting on his chin in a pondering manner.

“He is.”

“Because you replaced his nerves before the show.” From under his hand, you could see a small smirk playing on his lips, his eyes never leaving the monitor.

“I - what?” Lifting away from his side, you stared at Alessandro’s face. And your wide eyes must have made you look like a deer in the headlights because he started chuckling.

You were positive that no one had seen your moment with Harry, considering how dark the little corner you were stood in was. Backstage at a fashion show was crazy enough, there’s no way anyone had been paying attention to the tailor in the back of the room. But the knowing look in your boss’s eyes told you otherwise.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you muttered, folding your arms across your chest.

“Eyes all over my head, il mio amore. I see everything.”

Alessandro had been like this from the moment he introduced you and Harry, almost two years ago at this point. Always motioning from across the room for you to stand just a bit closer to Harry, informing you whenever Harry was remotely near the office, and always leaving the two of you alone each time he was scheduled for a fitting. It was like he was making it his life’s mission to get his two prodigies together.

“Don’t laugh at me. This is your fault, you know?”

Feigning offence and his hand moved from his chin to his chest, Alessandro turned away from the monitor to finally look directly at you, “Mine? Why do you say that?”

“‘You have a lot in common.’ or how about, ‘look at my two loves together!’ or my personal favorite, ‘The two of you together, assolutamente da togliere il fiato!’”your impersonation of him had gotten extremely good over the last few years, bringing a soft smile to his lips. “Any of those ringing any bells?”

“Only encouraging what you both know to be true, cara.”

“You’re absurd.”

At this point, the first model had made his way back to the dressing room, immediately going to line up for the final walk through. It was scheduled to be a quick show, only about thirteen minutes from first walk to last, but you never imagined it would go by this fast. As the models began to line back up, both you and Alessandro separated, going to either side of the line to join the other tailor in making sure each outfit was still in its pristine condition. You you had a few loose threats to snip here, and a broken necklace to dispose of there, but overall, everyone was still looking perfect.

Especially Harry.

His head was craned, watching you as you made your way down the line behind him, and as soon as you stepped in front of him to quickly examine his apparel, he whispered your name.

“Haven’t tripped yet.” he smirked, adjusting the red glasses on his nose.

“I know, I was watching.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. We were talking about you. Turn around.” grabbing hold of his shoulder, you pulled forward, “Making him proud, you know.”

His shoulders relaxed under your palms, like hearing the news of making one of his idols happy set him free and he could now have the utmost fun with the final walk through.

“Alright. Good luck.”

But before you could get to the next model, his hand caught your arm. In any other situation, you’d be annoyed that you were being stopped from completing your job, but the look on Harry’s face made all worries about any other model fade from your mind.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you proud?”

The question took you off guard. Was really that concerned with what you thought of his performance? He was one of the most renowned superstars in the world, who danced his heart out on stage and did what made him happy no matter what others thought. But your opinion was the one who made his hands clam up? And had you ever made him feel like you weren’t proud? You always thought your quick jabs to one another were all in good fun, but maybe you had gone too far and made him doubt himself.

“Always proud of everything you do.”

It was the honest answer. Getting to watch him excel in every aspect of life he threw himself into, make decisions that helped so many people, putting his friends and family first, and making sure he was happy above all else, was inspiring to say the least. There was never a day that went by where you didn’t feel immense pride for even just getting the chance to know Harry. And in that moment, you promised yourself that you would make it more apparent to him from then on.

A large smile spread across his face, and even in the poor lighting, you could see the apples of his cheeks turn a rosey pink. He looked undeniably cute and following your heart as well as Alessandro’s previous encouragements, you decided to take a leap of faith.

“Come find me after the show. Gotta talk.”

The happiness faded from both his face and his eyes, and you instantly regretted the way you phrased your sentence. “Nothing bad, I promise! Just come find me, yeah?”

You had moved on to the next model, giving her a smile and a quick “Hello Mae” and began checking her dress as Harry was still processing your request. His hands were fidgeting with the fingerless gloves and he was undoubtedly about to break skin with how hard he was biting his lip. You felt like a proper idiot for making him nervous again after he was so happy.

“Calm down, would you? You’re starting to stress me out.” you laughed, giving Mae the okay and moving onto the next model. Sending him a wink, you nodded your head, making him well aware of how unserious this conversation was going to be.

A faster paced rendition of The Shadows Die Twice started playing, just as you finished checking over your designated models, indicating that it was time for the final walk through to begin. After these final few minutes, all the garments you had worked tirelessly on for months, would be totally completed. And usually, you would be filled with ease and comfort knowing you would have some time off before your next project. But this time was different.

This time, Alessandro had consulted you on many of the pieces making their way down the runway, showing just how much he valued and trusted your opinion. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you would be where you are today, but because of the man standing next to you, believing in your talent and putting your passion to use, you were living out a dream that you never knew you had.

“Thank you.” You whispered

“For what?”

“For believing in me enough to hire me four years ago. For not letting me give up when I was confused. For always encouraging me. Just - thank you.”

“Never have to thank me for those things, tesoro. The potential and passion inside you needs to be explored! I’m honored I get to be the one to help you embrace them!” Alessandro pulled you into a tight hug, the two of you swaying as you watched the models capture the attention of each guest one last time.

Lifting to stand on your tiptoes you whispered in Alessandro’s ear, but even though your statement was barely loud enough to be heard over the booming music, apparently it was just loud enough for your boss to hear, because his head snapped back and he grabbed you by the shoulders, holding you at arms length.

“What?!”

“Mhm.”

“Together?”

“Mhm.” It was hard not to continue your giggles at his bewildered expression.

“How come?”

You shrugged, “I guess I just have a bloody persuasive boss.”

Once again, models began entering the dressing room, but this time, instead of staying in strict model mode, they were letting loose. Smiles were spread all over their faces, rushing to give each other hugs and words of encouragement. It was a beautiful sight to watch, the release of pressure the show brought to the models and the absolute joy they were now basking in.

“Il tuo tempo per brillare, rockstar.” your time to shine, rockstar. giving his shoulder a pat, you watched as he sucked in a deep breath, preparing himself to walk the runway and accept the congratulatory applause about to be thrown his way once the last model had arrived backstage.

It was during this part, for some reason, that you always saw a bit of his nerves pop out. Maybe it was because of all the wandering eyes and unknown opinions, but walking out to thank the guests for attending seemed to be the only thing that ever made Alessandro nervous. And you would never admit it to him, but you enjoyed seeing him a bit on edge, reminded you that he wasn’t just some fashion robot, but a man who just wanted to be accepted for his unique and creative mind.

Your position in the back room made it easy to be a part of both atmosphere’s; the juxtaposition between the loud, bustling back room and angelic, calming sound of Bach - St. John Passion BWV 245: Herr echoing off of the marble walls was like a metaphor for your life these last few months. How at times, everything around you was so busy and fast paced that it was sometimes hard to get a handle on what was happening. But then moments like this happened and none of failures or pricked fingers mattered. Because watching your boss, the man you admired with all your heart and were lucky to call a friend, walk down his own runway, accepting love he deserved, on pieces you had helped create, was the most heavenly feeling you could imagine.

You watched as he made his way through the museum quickly, stopping every so often to bow his head in gratitude and send kisses to everyone in the audience.

“I see why you like this so much.”

Harry stood next to you, hands buried deep in his pants pockets, the long overcoat pushed back behind his arms, just enough that you got a good view of the sparrow tattoos and the very tip of the bird cage on his rib peaking out from under the white tank top. He didn’t look at you, instead, his eyes were trained on the monitor, watching the man who gave you each the chance to flourish in a world you never expected.

“Hmm? Why’s that?”

“Fucking exihlerating walking down that runway.” he admitted, the sentance coming out in a breathy laugh like he couldn’t believe how much fun he had. “Can’t imagine what it’s like for the people that created it all.”

“Yeah, quite hard coming down from a high like this, so he usually takes a week or so off before jumping back into things.” you chuckled, thinking back to when you’d received an influx of text messages the last time Alessandro had gone off the grid, depicting how much he loved bees and would be incorporating them into the new collection after staying on a bee farm for a few days.

“Alessandro did a phenomenal job.” he paused, finally taking his eyes away from the screen and turning his entire body so that he was now facing you. “But so did you.”

If he hadn’t been staring directly at you, he would have missed the roll of your eyes. Of course, you were thankful to be a part of something so extraordinary, but this was all Alessandro. It was all his vision and even though you were asked to help finalize a few looks, this masterpiece was all thanks to him, and you wouldn’t take credit for any of it.

But before you could explain all of that to Harry, he said your name softly, moving a tad closer so your elbow was just barely touching his stomach. “‘M serious. These may have been his finalized pieces, but you quite literally put it all together. There would be no final product without your work.”

“Harry -”

“Don’t ‘Harry’ me, wanker, you’re bloody amazing at what you do. But you don’t need me to tell you that. Everyone walking around this room is example enough.”

Receiving compliments from Harry wasn’t anything new to you. For as long as you’d known him, he was always looking for the good in people and making sure they knew about it. If you had to guess, that was probably one of the his main qualities that initially drew fans in, because all anyone wanted in life was to feel good; appreciated. And that’s exactly what he had been doing for you since the day he walked through your office doors. It was the little things that made your stomach turn to mush; holding your pin cushion when he knew it would make a session easier for you, bringing you a smoothie when you’d told him you didn’t have time to eat before a shoot, sending you funny memes in the middle of the night, or even just seeing his dimpled smile appear when he finally got to see his immaculately executed wardrobe. No matter what the circumstance was, simply being around Harry made you feel happy, calm, and you didn’t want that feeling to ever go away.

“Just look around an-”

“Do you want to go on a date?” when you’d asked him earlier to find you after the show so you could chat, you didn’t exactly expect the conversation to start out so blunt, but he just looked so cute and sincere telling you in his own way how proud of you he was.

“Wh-“

“There’s, um, there’s this really great restaurant not too far from here. Most delicious pasta you’ll ever eat, not to mention the cutest old couple on the planet runs it and they’ll def-“

“I haven’t eaten since this morning, so if you’re going to keep talking, I’ll just go eat this amazing pasta by myself.”

“Yeah, no, you’re right, that was a dumb que-“ it wasn’t his words that made you stop mid sentence, but more the soft smile that spread across his face, his dimple popping out slightly beneath his growing facial hair. There was no hesitation in his acceptance to your dinner date, contrary to what you were expecting, and it made the tips of your ears warm up. “Oh! Um, perfect. Yeah, great. Okay.”

Never had you been so flustered by the man standing before you. This wouldn’t be the first time you grab a bite to eat with him, and definitely wouldn’t be the first time the two of you spent time alone, but the way he was looking at you, like none of what he just did mattered, was definitely a first.

“Okay, um, just get dressed and I’ll meet you outside?”

“‘M serious, hurry up. Might starve to death while you’re busy chatting.” Harry joked, slowly walking away while still facing you, his finger coming out to point right at you, “Then you’ll have to explain to everyone how your desperate need to talk to everyone you come in contact with, was the reason behind the death of the Harry Styles.”

“Oi, fuck off. Says the man who made sure to learn something about every single person setting up the show today. Go get dressed before I slap the Harry Styles.”

The slight shake of his head kept your attention as he weaved his way through the bustling room, back towards the vanity he had claimed as his own. You’d watched the scene in front of you play out many times before; models spread out throughout the room, some having changed immediately into their own comfortable clothes, some tossing their heads back in eased laughter, and some every sitting back with their feet up, enjoying a basket of chips. No matter how each of them decided to unwind after such a monumental show, it never got old. Because just as they did, you had your own post show ritual.

You didn’t divulge in unhealthy foods or put on your most comfortable pair of socks; you organized your kit one last time. From the moment Alessandro sits you down with his new vision until the last model walks off the runway, you know to keep millions of pins, thread of all colors, buttons of every shape and size, and even some super glue on you at all times. They would undoubtedly get used throughout the months of alterations and mishaps, if not by you, then by a member of your team. So, taking a moment to sit and go through everything once the night was officially over was a sort of release for you. A way for you to touch and feel just how much hard work had gone into your work. How the container holding your pins was considerably lighter, the spool of black thread had nearly vanished, and the pile of band aids in the lower pocket was down to three. All signs that you put your heart and soul into this collection.

There was never any guarantee when Alessandro would find inspiration next and when his next project would begin, meaning you never knew when the next time you’d be opening your kit was. But this time, that wasn’t the case. He had planned at least three more shoots before the years end, so you were only allotted a few weeks of laid back free time this time around.

“Packing up so soon?”

“You know how I like to close out a show.” You chuckled, not turning to look at your boss, but seeing his hand reach out and fingertips graze over the very top of your bag.

“How many this time?”

“28 buttons, nearly the entire tin of pins, 64 band aids, and two mini bottles of wine.”

“You should be proud, il mio amore, that’s two less bottles than last time! It’s about progress!”

“Two less because someone yelled at me less this time around.” Finally getting back to your feet, you turned to face him and noticed that he had thrown his hair up to get it away from his sweaty forehead. “No need to drink if you aren’t crying in the fabric closet.”

“Lo faccio solo con amore, Tesoro, lo sai.” I only do it with love honey, you know. His smile was contagious as he took your hands in his own, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Look at how far you’ve come. Such beautiful art comes from these hands.”

“Do you know what you’ll do until the fragrance shoot?”

“I will be taking Vanni to see my brother. A nice peaceful place to become one again. Where will you go?”

“My flat in Florence has been calling my name for weeks, Lallo.” He smiled fondly at the nickname. “Will probably do some redecorating while I’m there.”

“And some dates, no?”

“I really don’t know why I bother telling you anything. Like my father, you are.”

“Well I am the reason for this, am I not? Seems only right that I know all the details.”

“Details of what?”

“How I’m redecorating my flat in Florence.” Your response was quick, and you sent Alessandro a stern side glare so that he knew not to bring up anything of what you were just speaking of.

“Yes, I told her that I expect pictures.”

“Oh, add me to that list as well then! I’d love to see how you decorate. ‘M always looking for new inspiration.”

“Um, yeah sure. You ready?” if Harry could sense how awkward you felt when he joined you and Alessandro, he made no move to indicate it. Especially now, smiling at your agreement.

“Yup. Ready to enjoy some of Earth’s finest pasta.”

“Oh!” Alessandro brightened at Harry’s words, his back straightened, and eyes widened. “Are you taking him to Chiaro Di Luna?” you nodded, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Magnifico! A wonderful place you will love!”

“Well he won’t love it if we keep standing here so…”

“Have fun my prodigies!”

Both you and Harry laughed quietly as you finally walked away from the man of the hour. You may have known him in different ways, but each of you got the chance to see a side of Alessandro most people didn’t – parental type figure who wanted nothing but love and prosperity for you both.

“He’s like that with you all the time as well?”

“Hmm?”

You took a glance at him when pressing the button for the lift, just to be met with his warm eyes already looking at you. He looked handsome after the show – not that he wasn’t always handsome, but something about seeing him work so hard and then look so comfortable made your chest tingle. He was wearing a pair of dark yellow corduroy pants – the flare at the ankles not nearly as large as some of the flares he owns, but wide nonetheless – paired with a red and blue striped shirt, a tiny Mickey Mouse head embroidered into the upper left breast and a black bomber jacket.  He looked relaxed and everything that spending time in Italy embodied.

“Does he turn into dad mode on you as well?”

Harry laughed, “He means well.”

It was no surprise that Harry had brought along a plethora of fans, all eagerly awaiting his presence back outside after the show, so there was no way the two of you could casually stroll out of the front doors to get to your late dinner date. Instead, you were walking through the basement hallway so that you could make your speedy escape through the lower side exit, directly across from Cafe Capitolino.

“You think you’d do another?”

“You think I’d be asked to do another?”

Your hand found it’s way up to his forehead as the two of you strolled through Piazelle Caffarelli - the quaintest little park directly across from the museum. In the bright moonlight, the beds of flowers and statues almost appeared to glow, directing your path through the garden.

“What are you doing?”

“Just checking to see if you have a fever.”

“Huh?”

“You must be sick because I’m not seeing your ego anywhere.”

“Oh piss off.” he laughed, lifting his own arm so that he could slap yours - playfully - away from his face. “‘M serious.”

“So am I. You’re one of the most confident people I’ve ever met. I’ve seen you doing your music thing Harry. You’re good and you know it. Where’s that attitude here?”

He was quiet as the two of you finally made it out of the garden and crossed the main street, focusing on stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets and tugging it closer to his torso. His hair had grown quite a lot since the first time you’d met him years ago, and the curls, wild from being kept under a cap for hours, were blowing in the small breeze.

“‘Dunno. I was nervous when I did the film as well. Guess doing something new like this makes me question if I’m given the chance to do it because I’m genuinely good at it, or just because they want my name on it.”

That was a surprise to you. From the moment you met him, you could feel the confidence he emitted. In fact, it rubbed off on most who were working with him. He made the people around him feel confident in themselves and what they were doing, and always encouraged when someone was feeling down.

“You’re very much wanted on this team for what you bring to it, not your name. I’m sorry if you were made to feel anything less.”

“No!” he quickly rebutted, gaining the attention of the few people wandering the street late at night. But he paid no mind to them, only focused on looking at you to make sure you heard what he was saying cearly. “You haven’t, at all. None of you have. Just don’t want to be known as the guy who gets jobs because he was in a band.”

“Can promise you that Lallo wouldn’t have asked you to be a part of so many shoots and such an important show if he didn’t completely and wholeheartedly believe you were perfect for it.”

You watched him nod and mutter a quiet I guess, the moon peeking over the Gran Caffe Roma and highlighting his eyelashes and very tip of his nose so perfectly that he began to look like a statue.

“Lallo?”

“Yeah.” a quick chuckle left your mouth, a hand coming up to rub your cheek while you thought of your response. “After I finished my first collection for him, it was a small one so he could see if I was right for the position, he took me out for drinks to celebrate me getting the job. Long story short, we both had a few too many and I started calling him Lallo and it just stuck.”

“That’s cute.” his hand was wiggling about, trying to escape the confines of the jacket pocket, and when it finally did, it brushed against your own. You both looked down at the close proximity of your hands and you felt the air immediately get thicker. He must have felt the same because when you briefly look up at him over your lashes, he was staring straight ahead; very apparently trying not to make any sudden moves.

But the millisecond the warmth of skin left yours, you wanted it back. Maybe it was the tiny kiss you shared backstage just hours ago, or the built up tension between the two of you that had started during his second campaign shoot, whatever it was, you were done dancing around the obvious. Without giving it a second thought or looking anywhere but straight ahead, you lifted your pointer finger ever so slightly. Just enough so that it gently rubbed against his. You wanted to give him the option of pursuing anything further, so just as quickly as the contact began, it ended; your fingers settling by your side yet again.

However, the breeze working it’s way between your hands didn’t last long, because almost immediately after your little move, you felt his fingers slowly creep around your hand. He didn’t move fast, almost as if he was letting the calm Italian breeze join your hands together. And slower than you would have liked, your entire hand was enclosed by his, feather touches to make sure the other was comfortable with where things had gone.

You wanted to make sure Harry knew just how okay you were with his hand keeping yours warm, so you continued talking as if nothing had happened. “‘M the only one who gets to call him that though, so don’t go parading around saying it.”

“Loud and clear. Your secret's safe with me.” he laughed, his grip on your hand tightening when a strong gust of wind blew through the small alleyway you were walking down and you shivered, “Cold?”

“No, I’m alright.” you lied, the air outside always making you significantly colder after leaving the sauna that was a fashion show back room.

Instead of letting go of the idea of you being cold, Harry lightly tugged on your joined hands, stuffing them into his jacket pocket, which then forced you to move closer to his side. Italy in May wasn’t a time you would consider cold; the sun shone nearly every day, warming your cheeks, and there was no need for anything more than a light jumper, but the warmth radiating from Harry’s side made it feel as if you were strolling around on an August day. But you welcomed it, despite the race of your heart.

“Looking forward to having some time off?”

“Absolutely. I really do need to redecorate my place. ‘M sure Lilliana hasn’t been taking care of the plants as often as I’d like so I’ll have to make a stop and pick up some new ones.”  you were mostly speaking to yourself, so you elaborated when he didn’t respond. “Lilliana is a girl who lives across the street. She’s sixteen, and has been watching my place ever since I started with Gucci. Doesn’t want to get paid or anything, only wants me to get her a meeting with Alessandro when she turns eighteen. Told her I’d see what I can do, but he’s already seen some of her designs. She’s very talented.”

“You’re really wonderful, you know.”

The compliment made the tips of your ears warm, and you were worried that the palms of your hands would start to clam up if you thought about the way you could feel him looking at you, so you quickly changed the subject, your hand clumsily sliding out of his pocket to point at the tiny restaurant in front of you.

“Here we are!”

Nestled at the very end of the alley, was your destination. Only two tables were set up outside, the tiny patio was past picturesque; it was straight out of a movie. A metal fence was surrounding the seating area on two sides - the third wall was created by the muted terracotta building and the fourth was left open for easy access. Wrapped around the very tops of the fence were some fairy lights, not enough to cover the entire thing, but enough to give a bit of lighting on the otherwise dark road, and creating a pathway to the front door, sat a nice variety of potted plants. And with the green doors to the shop left open, the smell of freshly baked bread immediately hit you and Harry in the face.

“This is amazing.” his voice was full of wonder and you appreciated the fact that even he, someone who had been around the world and back many times, never took for granted the small beauties of the world.

“Just wait until you try the food.” you smiled, bringing your hand up to your mouth in a mock chef’s kiss. “Deliziosa!”

The boisterous laugh that fell from between his lips was enough to catch the attention of whoever was working inside. It didn’t take long for them to walk down the front steps, seeing as the inside of the establishment was also small. But the second his face lit up from the wall mounted lights, you smiled.

“Lorenzo! Così bello vederti di nuovo!” Lorenzo! It’s so good to see you again!

“Mio dolce! Mi sei mancato!” My sweet! I’ve missed you! His arms opened wide as he walked down the single step, instantaneously enveloping you in a hug. He smelled of pasta sauce and pizza dough, the evidence of his hard work sprinkled across his withered cheek.

“Mi dispiace! Sai quanto può essere intenso il lavoro! Soprattutto con un capo come il mio!” I’m sorry! You know how intense work can be! Especially with a boss like mine!

You watched Lorenzo’s face light up when he pulled away from you and heard your boss’ name. The two had met ages ago and he was the one who had introduced the two of you. “Ah! Alessandro! Confido che stia bene! E chi hai portato con te questa volta, cara?” Ah! Alessandro! I trust he is doing well! And who have you brought with you this time, dear?

Feeling bad for leaving Harry out of the brief conversation, you angled your body so that you were now facing him, moving your hand between the two men in front of you. “Lorenzo, this is Harry. Harry, Lorenzo.”

True to his nature, Harry immediately stuck his hand out and offered a ‘you alright?’ to the older gentleman, but Lorenzo was having none of that. Completely ignoring the waiting hand, and having to stand a bit on his toes in order to wrap his arms around the younger man’s upper back, he pulled Harry in for a tight hug.

“Any friend of hers is a friend of mine! Benvenuto!”

“Hai un… posto bellissimo qui!” Lorenzo’s smile grew as the two separated and Harry slowly racked his mind for the right words. “Was that right?”

“It was! Thank you, we do love it here!”

“Speaking of..” you cut in, “I know it’s late but do you think we could steal a plate or two?”

“For you, mio caro, anything.” he lifted his calloused hand to gently pat your cheek. “Why don’t the two of you sit down and I will bring you a few dishes. I’ve got some fettuccine alla carbonara if you’d like. I’m sure I can find something else if-”

“That sounds wonderful, Lorenzo, thank you.”

You watched as his frail figure made its way back into the shop, taking an extra second to carefully climb the single step. It was the perfect night to sit outside and enjoy one of your favorite meals, but even more perfect to turn around and see Harry holding a chair out, waiting for you to join him at the table.

“Thank you.” you hoped the smirk you were trying to hide wasn’t visible in the dimly lit back alley and he couldn’t tell how much the small gesture made your heart race.

“So tell me,” he sighed once he finally sat down next to you, his forearms leaning against the small wooden table so that he could look directly at you. “You really like the food here or do you just keep coming back because he adores you?”

“I take offense that you think I’d use my charming personality just to get a free plate of pasta.” the stare shared between you both was one of comedy - his eyebrow raised in question and you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, “I use it for two.”

“I knew it.”

“It really is the best, swear it! Tried to get him to teach me the recipe once but he won’t budge. Says he won’t allow it to leave the family.”

“He always here this late? Seems to be a bit… old… to be here at quarter eleven.” he never broke eye contact while speaking to you, but his fingers began to roam around, slowly inching towards your own empty hands. There was no move to do anything more than brush his fingers against yours, but you longed for him to envelop your smaller ones in his.

“For as long as I’ve known him. Always comes in to prep for the people who come in at five the next morning.”

“Good bloke.” he nodded, craning his neck a bit so he could look around him, “You know, I’ve always wanted to have my own restaurant.”

A deep belly laugh spilled from your lips upon hearing his words, your body’s finally making contact when you lifted your hand and placed it on his forearm to ground yourself.

“What’s so funny about that?” his voice held a certain aura of feigned offence, but you knew not to take it too seriously by the bright smile covering his face. It was a different kind of smile than you were used to seeing him give, but you welcomed it and never wanted to see it end. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle a tad more than normal, mouth open a bit wider, and entire body lean forward.

“Harry, I’ve known you nearly three years. Never once have I heard you mention wanting to have your own restaurant. I’ve been told a lawyer, a florist, even a physiotherapist, but a chef? Can you even cook?”

“Now I'm offended! I’ll have you know that I used to cook for the band all the time!”

“Beans on toast doesn't count as cooking, Harry.”

“Leave off.” somewhere during your mock argument and Harry laughing at you, his hand had fully found its way to yours, wrapping around it carefully as not to disturb the perfect peace the two of you had going. “You’ll just have to come over so I can prove to you just how good I am.”

Obviously he didn’t mean it in any other way than a friend inviting another friend over for a nice meal, but the way his tongue jut out before speaking, leaving his lips shining and nearly begging for attention, made the sentence mean a lot more to you than he led on.

“Well, I’ll hold you to that, mate.”

“Don’t mate me while I’m holding your hand, mate.” you swear it was like Harry was trying to push every single last button you had. Not only was he smirking while giving your hand a squeeze, but with each word, he seemed to be gradually leaning closer to you.

Almost as if he was waiting for the most perfectly inopportune moment, Lorenzo made his presence known with the clink of two wine glasses that echoed through the small alley. The sound made you and Harry separate as quickly as possible and look towards the older man.

“Two dishes of my world famous fettuccine paired with the best bottle of wine you could ask for!”

“But we didn’t ask for wine, Lorenzo.”

“It’s alright because you are new here, but when I give you a bottle of wine, you take it.”

“He says it makes for a better experience.” you shrug, taking the glasses and bottle from the tray so that he would have an easier time setting down your plates.

“Non puoi goderti i frutti del tuo lavoro senza un po ‘di divertimento!”

“Yeah yeah, as you say. Now take this before I stay here all night and give it to Mateo, because you know he’ll take it.” you tried handing him a few folded up fifties, but you weren’t surprised when he didn’t accept, but insead, backed away from your outstretched hand.

“Mio caro, no. I do not want that from you. I just enjoy seeing your beautiful face every now and again.”

“Lorenzo, you know I won’t stop. Please”

“You are too much, ragazza dolce. Please come tell me if you need anything more.”

“What did he say to you just then? I caught fruit and fun but that’s where it stops.” Harry asked as soon as the older man was out of ear shot. He was trying hard to look at you, but the steaming plate of food before you both was enough to pull anyone’s attention away, so you didn’t fault him for being mesmerized.

“Come on, hot shot, have your Italian lessons taught you nothing?”

“Wow you’re really riding me tonight, huh?” if only. “I’m busy alright. Got a lot going on up here.” he used his pointer and middle finger to tap against his temple, “Gets hard to remember things sometimes.”

“You know I’m just taking the piss.” unable to wait any longer, you began to twist your fork in the pasta while giving him an explanation. “Said you can’t enjoy the fruits of your labor without having a little fun.”

“He’s got a point you know.”

“If you try and tell me that I need to be prouder of my work, I will dump all of that food on the ground before you even have the chance to try it.”

“You wouldn’t dare. Not if it’s as good as you say it is.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m serious, love.” Harry had called you many pet names since your first meeting, but love had never been one of them. It sounded so comforting falling his lips, like it was the only word you wanted to hear for the rest of time, and it made your insides instantly warm - and it wasn’t from the wine. “You’re outrageously talented. Everyone on the planet can see it except for you.”

“I’m proud of what I do, Harry. Just don’t feel like it’s right to take any bit of credit for something I only helped put together.” sure, you helped transform the clothing from pieces of mixed matched fabrics into the collections that hit the runways, but they weren’t your ideas or designs, so you felt only fair to give credit where it was rightfully due.

“Alright. Fine then. If you won’t take credit for your work, I’ll do it for you.” he cleared his throat after finishing off his glass of wine, back straightening and his chest puffing out after filling with air. “Hello!” he shouted, followed by introducing your name, “I am the lead tailor for Gucci and I just completed my fourth Cruise Collection!”

“Shh!! Harry!” you really did try to keep it together while tugging on his arm, but you couldn’t help the giggles that escaped as he kept shouting praising about you to the empty Roman streets.

“I’m one of the best in the world and everyone is absolutely dying to work with me!”

“Harry!” you laughed again, this time, cupping your hand over his lips that he couldn’t say anymore. “I get it, my god.”

“Do you? Because I can do it again. Hello -”

“I do, thank you.” your smile was genuine, truly appreciating the fact that he always had such nice things to say about you and your work. “But please just shut up and eat, yeah?”

Finally the two of you were silent, smiling to yourselves so that you could enjoy your awaiting food. Until you weren’t.

A loud moan from next to you quickly made your head snap up in desperate need to see where it had come from. There was no one else it could have come from, but to hear the sound fall from Harry’s mouth wasn’t something you were prepared for. Nor was the sight of carbonara sauce dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“Fuck you were right.” he moaned again, this time much smaller, “This is the greatest pasta on the planet.”

“Thought you would’ve learned by now that there are very few times that’d I’m not right.”

You shouldn’t have expected anything less from the man indoors, who when you looked up over Harry’s shoulder, you saw standing in the window smiling and giving you a thumbs up. Of course he was on the same page as Alessandro and would be trying to put both you and Harry in the mood for a romantic night. But to hear the chords of ‘So This Is Love’ play through whatever speaker he had in his kitchen, really did surprise you.

“Lorenzo!” you yelled, not caring about waking whatever kind of neighbors he had

“What?”

“Really?”

“I just turned on my music, mio caro! Please enjoy your meal.”

Snickering from next to you made you roll your eyes,  “Don’t laugh at him, you’re only egging him on, Harry.”

“‘M not, I’m not!” you sent him a pointed look, taking the last gulp of wine from your glass and pouring yet another. “Alright, maybe just a little. But only because I think ya look cute when you’re flustered, is all.”

“You’re lucky you’re handsome, because you’re a right bellend.”

“Only to a select few!” the sound of his light laugh was drowned out by the creaking of his chair as he pushed it backwards. In a second, he was at his feet, ignoring your question of ‘what are you doing?’ to stand in front of you. “Signora.” his mouth may not have made any movements to smile, but you could see his eyes holding one back.

He mocked bowed, resting one arm behind his back as the other hand engulfed one of your sitting on top of the table. The pads of his fingers caressed the inside of your hand as he gently picked it up, slowly slotting your two hands together. It felt like an out of body experience, like you were watching the scene happen as an onlooker, instead of being a part of it. Because the second he picked his head up from the bow, his eyes met yours. Hundreds of unidentified thoughts raced through your mind and your breathing stopped when he picked up your hand completely, the distance between it and his lips growing short and shorter every second. With one quick, quiet, exhale falling from your lips, he placed a delicate kiss to your knuckles, keeping his eyes set on yours.

It could have been every innocent moment the two of you had spent together over the last two and a half years, or watching him perform his heart out just hours ago in garments that you literally built, or maybe even the way his eyes sparkled in the Italian moonlight, but staring at him as he stood back up straight, his hand still holding yours, you wanted nothing more than to jump his bones.

“Care to dance?”

It wasn’t the spark that radiated through your hands or the wind pulling at your blouse, but the look of endearment in Harry’s eyes that made you stand from your chair, accepting his offer. His free arm wound around your waist while yours rested on his shoulders, your body now flush against his. It wasn’t the perfect setting for be slow dancing; the twinkling lights were barely bright enough for you to see where you were stepping, the cobblestone beneath your trainers made the arches of your feet hurt, and the open space was very limited between the table and building, but the soft instrumental of ‘Bella notte’ playing from inside the shop and the wine flowing through your veins, made it something out of a dream.

The sun shone in through the window and straight into your eyes, making you blink awake with a small wrinkle between your brows. First thing you noticed was that you were sleeping in the cream blouse you had worn the night before, your trousers off and hopefully, you thought to yourself, so was most of your make-up as well. Second thing you noticed was the hand on your hip and the other under your head, the breathing against your skin and the forehead against your neck. Third… was something else entirely…

Memories from the night before came back in bits and pieces, bringing a small smile to your face. How you and Harry had both drunkenly stumbled down the hallway at like one, how you had struggled to get the key to your room in the lock, and how Harry had playfully pushed you out of the way to help you with it. How he helped you indoors, and how you’d asked him to stay. There hadn’t been a sexual intent behind the words, just an infatuated drunk speaking truthfully to another. You remember asking Harry to not look as you took your trousers off, and that you thought it’d be a good idea to take your bra off but sleep in your silk blouse. Harry on the other hand, kept all his clothes on, laying down beside you in bed and told you goodnight before you’d even managed to get yourself properly under the sheets. He must’ve been exhausted. It’d been a long day after all.

You woke up in the spooning position; his arm resting across your hip, breathing onto your skin, forehead against your neck, holding you close. Even before Harry woke up and noticed what was going on, you tried to understand why you felt like something wasn’t as it usually was. You felt Harry’s sharp intake of breath behind you and then him moving his head away from you, lifting the hand that had been placed on your hip, running it over his face. It wasn’t till you were about to turn around to face him that you both realised what was resting between you. You both stopped abruptly, silence filling the room around you.

“Bollocks.” Harry hissed between his teeth, glancing down at where his morning wood pressed against his yellow trousers and your ass and thigh. “So sorry.” He didn’t really know how to move as to not make it worse. Walking away from bed would mean you’d have to see the bulge in his trousers, but staying there would be absolute fucking torture.

You tried your hardest not to giggle, feeling a flush wave through your body.

“I-I… I don’t know what to do now. Sorry.” Harry said, feeling so embarrassed he was unsure what the next right thing to do would be.

Thinking back on everything that had happened, on everything that had transpired between the two of you, you suddenly felt a surge of dominance run through you. The countless times you’d waited for Harry to kiss you, the times he could’ve reached for your hand in the silence of the moment, the hundreds of hours you’d spent smiling at each other. The numerous missed opportunities. All the ‘what if’s. You hated them all, but they’d led you to this moment. It had all came down to this. Here, now. You two, in bed, Harry grunting in frustration into the pillow and you smiling to yourself, not at all sorry for him waking up hard against you. In fact, you didn’t mind it at all. After everything last night, this felt right. After absolutely everything you two had been through, it didn’t feel weird.

You glanced over your shoulder, seeing Harry there with his eyes shut tightly.

“What’re you doing?”

His cheeks were red, obviously incredibly embarrassed about all of this. “Willing my woodie away, what does it bloody look like?”

You couldn’t help your laughter, shaking into Harry who smiled at the sound of your exclamations of joy. Slowly, you moved your arse against him, feeling his erection between your bumcheeks. Harry stilled, watching you with wide eyes as you did it again. Reaching behind you, you took a grip of Harry’s hand that had been on your hip earlier, placing it back there so he could feel you swaying against him. You felt an inhale of breath against you, then Harry’s fingers instantly grip onto you. He watched you as you continued to roll your hips against him, loving the hot feeling it sent to the spot between your legs. You hummed, biting your lip as you glanced down at Harry’s hand on your bare skin, letting him see just how much you liked this.

Instantly, he moved closer to you, wrapping the arm he’d been resting under your neck around you, taking a grip of your shoulder. The other one he slowly slid further down, moving closer and closer to the space between your legs that ached for him. You closed your eyes as he hovered above you, laying his palm flat against your cunt, the breathy and barely audible moan that left your lips driving him insane. Laying some pressure on you, you inhaled sharply, both your hands gripping the arm wrapped around your neck. The heat that had started in the very bottom of your stomach intensified, and got even hotter when he ran his fingers seductively over you. Feather-like touches, soft kisses to your cheek and neck, absolutely nothing mattered but the fire that was being ignited in your core.

Harry pushed your knickers aside, running his ring and middle finger between your folds. While doing so, he pushed your hips to rock against him, causing a friction between the two of you unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. You gasped, opening your eyes and looking at Harry who was watching you more intently than you’d ever seen before. He looked so hot like that, demanding you to please him while he was pleasing you. Wanting to make you feel just as good as you’d made him feel.

You reached down, wiggling your hips as you dragged your knickers down your legs. You threw them somewhere far away before turning back to Harry. This time, you sat up and onto his lap, looking down on him while you rested your hands at the zipper of his yellow trousers. He let out a small breath, heart hammering against his chest as he watched you sit on him like that; look at him like that. He’d never thought he’d be lucky enough to find himself in this position, and yet, here he was. You reached for his zipper, undoing it as Harry did both the buttons. You sat up on your knees helping Harry as he tried to get out of his trousers, but it seemed harder than either of you thought.

“Just get them off.” You said, reaching behind you to push them further down.

“Not so easy when you’re on top of me like that.” Harry answered, sitting up to drag them off. Your faces were suddenly very close.

“Alright, I’ll get off-“

“-No,” he answered abruptly. “Please don’t.”

You stopped, letting Harry take his trousers off and throw them to the ground, not breaking eye contact with you once. You felt him against you, felt how hot he was for you like you were for him; how badly he wanted you. His eyes flickered to your mouth before he glanced back up into your eyes again, lips parting as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know the right words for it. You had taken control so far, so you watched him expectantly, waiting for him to say or do something. And it was as if he knew your thoughts exactly. He took a grip of the back of your neck, bringing you to him.

The second your lips met, you closed your eyes, melting into the kiss and melting into Harry. You hadn’t really shared a proper kiss till now, only having had that small peck and him kissing your hand. But this was a real kiss. You tasted him, felt him. Surrounding you and everything you knew in those sublime seconds your lips were pressed against one another. Heavenly, carefully, gingerly, Harry slipped his tongue into your mouth, and you welcomed him completely. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his. He pulled you to him, devouring one another unapologetically. Now that you were kissing, dragging out the delicious moment, you weren’t holding back anymore. The kisses were hungry, desperate, wet. Nothing had ever tasted better than Harry, nothing had ever felt better than him either. You wondered why you’d waited so long to kiss one another, what had taken so long. Because now you couldn’t think of not doing just that.

You wanted to kiss him till the end of time. Wanted to feel as his hands roamed your body, how his tongue swirled around yours, how his lips got more and more swollen as you continued on making out. Forever, and maybe even longer than that if you were allowed; you wanted to kiss Harry forever. It felt so good, so right. Like tasting every good thing that had ever happened to you all at once, combined into one thing. Harry.

Moaning your name, you felt him grip your bum, squeezing it hard as he dragged you over him. He wanted some friction as bad as you; wanted you. It felt so good knowing Harry was as desperate as you, that he felt the same way and wasn’t ashamed of admitting that he did. You had no idea where your infatuation had begun, had no idea how you had fallen in love with Harry. You just were and that was how it was supposed to be. It had always supposed to be the two of you. Whenever something feels right, you get a warm feeling in the pit of your stomach, like it’s your soul telling you that you’ve reached your final destination; you’ve gotten where you’re supposed to be. And you felt that very feeling right now, in Harry’s arms, kissing him, feeling him hard against you.

You pushed him back down on the bed, bending over him to continue kissing. He instantly gripped your arse again, begging you to rock against him so he could get some small friction. You refused however, and instead buried your hands in his hair, dragging out the tongue filled, wet, lustful kisses. It was excruciating, Harry thought to himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to force you to do anything as he didn’t want this moment to be over. If you wanted to drag this out, then he would not stop you. He was making out with you, you were almost naked on top of him, he got to touch you all over. He wasn’t going to take this for granted.

There didn’t seem to be an end to your kisses, they seemed to be going on and on and on. Not that either of you were complaining, but at one point it was hard to remember how the rest of the morning had gone before you’d started snogging. You suddenly realised just how naked you were, that only your cream blouse was covering your torso, that the rest of you were on display for Harry. But he was way too busy kissing you to pay notice to anything else.

You tugged at the end of his tee shirt and he quickly took it off, letting it fall off the side of the bed before turning his attention back on you again. You ran your hand down his front, wanting to feel his skin under yours unashamedly. Every time you’d touched him before had been under a work setting, but this one was quite different. The hands touching him now were those of a lover, not his tailor. They were the hands of a desperate woman who wanted nothing more than to be with Harry in any way one human could be with another.

Resting your hands at the top of Harry’s boxers, Harry frantically followed your lead, being there to help you get them off. He was ready to do exactly as you told him to, knowing that he was and always would be at your complete and total disposal. As his boxers came off, his cock sprang loose, and you couldn’t help but look down at it. Harry watched you as you took him in, finding you checking him out like this incredibly hot. A wave of excitement and adoration ran through him, so captivated and altogether in love with you that he was sure in that moment and every moment that followed, he would lay down the rest of his life and himself to you wholly.

You took a grip of his cock, looking into his eyes after positioning him right at your hole. He didn’t take his eyes off you, knowing that what was just about to happen would change everything for you and your friendship. Not that all of last night and the rest of this morning hadn’t done that already, but sex complicates things. It’s hard not to form an emotional attachment to those you choose to have sex with, and it’s even harder to forget said person you have sex with if you’re in love with them. But regardless of that, both of you wanted to do this. You wanted to shag; wanted one another.

You guided him into you, holding onto him till he was all the way in. Your lips parted and Harry let out a low moan, your warm walls around him almost being too much to take. Positioning your knees well on either side of his waist, you sat up on his lap again, and started moving your hips over him. Harry gripped your thighs, squeezing them tight and looking up at you with his mouth agape. Your blouse hung loosely off you, unbuttoned to the point of one of your tits showing. It fell off one of your shoulders as you rocked over Harry, revealing even more of you to Harry in the bright morning light.

He moved one of his hands upward, running it up your arm, over your collarbone, to your neck. His thumb ran over your jawline, wanting to feel all of your soft skin under his fingertips. You looked down at him, a moan leaving your lips as your eyes met his. Already the familiar burn of a climax started building up in your core, reminding you of how long it had truly been since you’d found yourself in this position prior to this. Not that it even mattered, because right now you were having sex with Harry and he felt so fucking good inside you and underneath you, you would never get tired of this feeling.

You slid your hands down his front, dragging your nails along this skin till you reached his abdomen, where you let them rest. Harry’s eyes fell to your hands, relishing in the feeling of you touching him everywhere, of you being everywhere. Nothing mattered but you and the magic you were creating between the two of you. The soft skin of the inside of your thighs resting against his hips and ribs, his tattooed arms caressing your entire body. Heavy breathing, the occasional moan.

He moaned your name, hand sliding down your chest, rubbing his thumb over your exposed nipple. The burn in your core was really starting to build up now, and you knew it would burst any second. Harry sat up, wrapping an arm around your middle. You gasped a little in surprise, but your heart instantly started beating faster at him being so close to you. His grip was tight, as if he still couldn’t believe this was happening, it sent a wave of butterflies straight to your tummy. All of them flew directly to your core as Harry started moving his hips more with yours.

“Look so good on me like that, you do.” He whispered against your lips, his voice still having that morning rasp to it that sent a shiver up your spine.

You wrapped an arm around his neck, resting the other one on his shoulder as you continued to rock your hips against him. His eyes were hooded, but there was something in them that was so soft it took your breath away. When you know someone inside and out, you notice every single little change in their behaviour. This wasn’t tiny, though, because there was a type of vulnerability in Harry’s eyes that you hadn’t seen there before. He was laying himself completely bare, both physically and emotionally, wanting to connect and attach himself to you on every level a human possibly could.

Being this close, your movements got shorter and quicker. Bending his knees, Harry brought you flush to his torso, your hips and his moving rhythmically, hard against one another. Everything felt electric, everything felt hot. You wanted to melt into him and have you two sitting like this for eternity. Wanted to stare into his eyes, feel his warm breath on your skin, have his arm around your waist and the other hand on her cheek. Having him inside you like this, feeling him grip you hard, whimper against your lips, moan your name, you felt incredibly powerful and so, so good. There was something so magical about this moment, about you two joined like this. Something words lacked the ability to articulate and something your hearts didn’t quite understand yet but wanted to. He reached his hand down to your bum, squeezing you hard.

“Harry.” You moaned, feeling your hips and knees begin to ache from sitting like this. Not that you cared much, because the wild look in Harry’s eyes was enough of a reason for her to endure it a hundred times more.

“Yeah?” he mumbled against you. “You like that?”

Biting your lip, you glanced into his eyes, letting your look speak for itself. Harry moaned, letting his hand fall to the bed and the other to your thigh, pressing you harder around him. You were both close, clinging harder onto one another. The heat in the pit of your stomach grew bigger and bigger, threatening to burst with every grind, every moan, every touch. He thrusts harder into you, entranced as he watched you gasp and moan loudly.

“Fuck me.” You said, gripping the hair at the nape of his neck.

“As much as you want me to, baby.” He kissed your jawline, nails digging into your thigh. “I’ll make you feel so good.”

You gasped, feeling the heat get more intense. Harry felt your movements get more frantic and he moved his hips quicker, meeting yours and creating a friction so heavenly it caused you to lose all control.

“Don’t stop.” You gasped, looking into Harry’s eyes as everything started to blur.

“Fuck.” He hissed, feeling your legs start to shake around him. You came hard. Harry watching you intently, holding back his own release to watch every last second of yours; to make sure you were done before he allowed his own climax. You gasped for breath and moaned ad repeated Harry’s name over and over and over again until it felt like it was the only word you were able to pronounce.

Harry came right after her, a furrow appearing between his brows and lips parted. His hands tightened around her, holding onto her for dear life as he came in her. He stilled, neck vein showing, and he moaned and moaned and moaned. It was so hot, he sounded so sexy. You watched him till he came down, feeling his cum sliding down the inside of your thigh as he slipped out of you. You breathed together for a few moments before looking at one another, suddenly laughing a little at what you’d just done. He rested his forehead against your chest, feeling you breathe with him.

“That was a thing that just happened.” You said, making Harry laugh.

“That just happened.”

“We just did that.”

You both laughed, holding onto one another still, not willing to let go. For the time being, you two were the only thing that mattered, nothing outside your room existed. But then you laid your eyes on the clock by the nightstand and jumped off Harry. He watched you, wide eyed and confused.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m supposed to be at Alessandro’s hotel room in five minutes to go over yesterday, and some other stuff.” You said while you ran to the bathroom, needing to get washed up and dressed as quickly as possible.

Harry got out of bed, quickly putting his boxers and tee shirt on. “When’re you done?”

“Dunno.”

“Meet me for breakfast.” Harry said as you ran back out, new pair of knickers on and rummaging through your wardrobe. “I’ll text you the location.”

“Harry, I-“

“-Please.”

You looked over at him as you put your trousers on, smiling at his pleading words. “Text me.”

He smiled back before looking around the room. “Where are my trousers?”

“I’ll find them later, just piss off because I need to leave.” You ran towards the door with your laptop in hand and Harry – looking quite mortified – followed. He pulled his room key out as you were closing the door, about to run down the corridor for Alessandro’s room when you felt a hand around your wrist. Harry pulled you back toward him, pressing his lips against yours. You both smiled into the kiss, feeling absolutely elated and still not sure how to process what had just happened.

“Hurry.” Harry mumbled against your lips before kissing you again. “I’ll be waiting with that morning after pill.”

“Good.”

Harry smiled. “Now, be off.”

You giggled, giving him one last peck before running down towards Alessandro.

Everything that happened between you and Harry over the last 30 months had culminated to this point; you rushing out of the room after sharing an unexpected, intimate morning together. Looking back on it, you knew that each longing look you gave him had a hidden meaning behind it. You wanted this. Maybe not right away, but the more you got to know Harry, the more you wanted to be more than just his tailor. There had always been more between the two fo you, you just had not figured it out till now.

The way he watched you with admiration while you worked, gave you praises when you were feeling down - quite literally shouting them from the streets - and spoke to you in a way that had your mind in the clouds, it all slowly built over time.

It built until you couldn’t handle it any longer and needed to show Harry just how deeply you were falling for him.

Knocking on Alessandro’s door you quickly tired to fix your hair, aware that you looked like a right mess. Because of your morning antics and inability to keep track of time, you hadn’t given your appearance a single thought. Once Alessandro opened the door, his eyes widened as he saw you standing there panting and looking distressed, instant regret hit you for not at least brushing through your hair. Alessandro would know something had happened, having known you for so long, he’d see right through you.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, of course.”

Alessandro smiled knowingly, nodding his head as he let you in. You just raised your eyebrows, but Alessandro didn’t make another comment. You’d told him enough.

“I stopped by Harry’s room last night, wanted to congratulate him on the show and how well he did, but he wasn’t in. Any idea where he was?”

“Nope. None. Maybe he was having a wee.”

Alessandro nodded again, walking over to sit down by the table in his suite along with his event manager, head stylist, and fabric coordinator. Tons of sketches of new outfits and plans for upcoming events laid out on the table, ready to be discussed. You sat down with them, ready to take notes. You had already been a little late, so you didn’t want to do anything else wrong today. Full on concentrating, you didn’t take your eyes off the laptop for almost 30 minutes, and when you did, it was to check your phone. You’d gotten two text messages, both from Harry.

Harry Don’t forget my yellow trousers. They’re my favourite pair. x

Harry Had an amazing time this morning, by the way. Can’t wait to see you later. x

You couldn’t help the smile that spread out over your face at the messages, and you didn’t realise just how wide your smile was till Alessandro cleared his throat beside you. You looked up, turning your phone around and looking right back at your laptop as if nothing had happened.

“What’s got you smiling?” Alessandro questioned, raising his eyebrows.

“Hmm? Nothing.” You answered, trying to refocus on the document before you.

Alessandro looked down at your phone, smiled, and went on with the meeting. There would be no hiding what happened between you and Harry. Somehow, someway, the man sitting before you would hear how his ‘two prodigies’ had finally gotten together, and when that day happened, you’d never hear the end of it. Hell, he constantly reminded you that without him, the two of you would have likely never met so it was his doing that you had a best friend in Harry.

So what was he to say when he found out you and Harry were now more than friends?

[k1ng-for-a-day]

Could you possibly do some fluff/nsfw Headcanons for The Shape x Killer! S/O? Like maybe his s/o gets stuck in the entity’s world too? Thank you!

:000 Oh my god thank you so much for this request!! I honestly never thought I would get one I feel really flustered just by looking at this.

A Michael Myers and killer S/O... how would that go...

❤️SFW❤️

🔪🖤 When Michael first saw you, he thought of you as another killer who landed into the entities arms. In short he never had much of a heart for you. At all.

🔪🖤 After a couple of rounds and seeing your tactics, he immediately became invested. He was intrigued by this seemingly new found power a killer like you would have. Whether it was your weapon that was sharp yet pristine, or the way your body shapeshifted into many directions. It was very amusing in his eyes.

🔪🖤 The thing that really kicked it off was how you would ask Michael for some advice. He found it oddly adorable, but he would never admit it. He would say things very bluntly, or write it down for a more in depth explanation. (Down side to that was his somewhat horrendous hand writing). At first you could barely understand it at all, and ask what he meant on a certain sentence or paragraph, which would cause him to demonstrate it. In his mind he believes that his handwriting is decent in a way.

🔪🖤 When he discovered that you couldn’t read it fully, he was somewhat shocked at this. He tried to make it a little bit better, which worked mostly. You could finally read his notes properly, and studying his handwriting really did help you a lot. (Keep this is mind)...

🔪🖤 After you two started talking more and more, he became a bit more close to you, and showed you things he wouldn’t with anyone else. Hell, he wouldn’t even show Danny these at all. (Or Ghostface. He’s really close with him).

🔪🖤 What he presented to you was this:

A picture of his family. It was wholesome, sweet, and his cute little blonde hair made you smile. This was something he showed Danny.

A key to his house in Hadonfield. This was something that was somewhat special to him due to the nostalgia of his old family, even though he did kill Judith. He definitely didn’t show Ghostface this place. (Knowing Danny he would trash it in an instant).

His favorite blade- A kitchen knife. It’s vertical simple, but to him it’s like an artifact. It’s like a painting at a museum, or some beautiful necklace at an expensive jewelry store. He enjoys it very much. Danny has seen this one too many times.

His face.

🔪🖤Once Michael finally revealed his face to you, it felt like your goal was achieved. Something inside you felt complete; you were finally whole. His beautiful eyes gleamed at you softly, but somewhat shyly. He was kind of blushing. It was weird to see this man seem so defeated, but satisfying nonetheless.

🔪🖤At first when he revealed his face, he felt a bit insecure about it. After you quickly examined his face, he covered it up instantly. He was scared that you wouldn’t like it, however that was false.

🔪🖤You would attempt to ask him if he would take it off, but he shook his head no. Course you were sad about this and ask why. He would shrug. He just doesn’t want to. If you annoy him enough, or give him a small gift, he might slip a small peak. However, he’ll quickly put it back on afterwards.

🔪🖤Later on he started to gain a bit more trust, and take off his mask for a little more time. (This phenomenon was only when you two were alone). At first it was only for a quick second, but slowly grew on to be a bit longer. A minute, five minutes, fifteen, and the longest was an hour.

🔪🖤This ‘special hour’ of mask-less Myers was a glorious site. His hair was so fluffy, his eyes were so soft, and his skin was surprisingly smooth. Everything was amazing. You two would talk about your past lives, feelings for certain killers, and just deep conversations in general. Sometimes you would even lay on his shoulder. It was soft as well.

🔪🖤After a while, Michael starts to lighten up to you about stuff that swirls around his mind. Not only does he talks about the survivors, but he talks about his day in general. (Most of it is written on a paper though). Even though Myers doesn’t feel emotion, his writing almost seems like something from a Shakespeare play. It’s somewhat sweet, but very talented.

🔪🖤You complemented Michael every time he wrote these things to you, but he seemingly shrugged it off. It seemed like you were ignored. It was kind of strange.

🔪🖤Months later you were mainly focused on hunting down survivors, and attempting to talk to Michael. Even though you tried to talk to him before a match, he became a bit more distant to you. It was to the point you thought he wasn’t fond of you anymore. You almost felt used.

🔪🖤When you confronted Michael about this, he just stared at you blankly and didn’t say anything. He didn’t even write anything at all. The reason for this was because he was scared. He was paralyzed. You didn’t catch onto this, and just walked away thinking that he didn’t actually care about you. Then again he isn’t suppose to feel emotion.

🔪🖤The next day he wrote you a small note explaining why he was distant. It was mainly due to the harshness of the entity and how displeased he was. He became so distracted by you that he started killing less and less victims. It was to the point no one was hurt at all. He was very sincere about his apology, and even brought you a small gift; an Ebony Mori.

🔪🖤Was he this crazy to give this to you..? This has to be a mistake. He didn’t need to do this!

🔪🖤The next day Michael tapped you on the shoulder, and lead you back to his house, but in a secluded area. This place was empty, but slightly warm. It was welcoming.

🔪🖤He handed you a small piece of paper, and rubbed his arm nervously. He stared at you, blushing underneath the mask.

🔪🖤You read the note, carefully: “My dearest, S/O, I wanted to know if you’ve had these odd feelings before. These stimulants that react in your brain that seemingly damage your heart once it all crumbles. This void then replaces those crumbling bits that fell through your heart. It’s like a burning passion that your to afraid to leave. I never understood these feelings of grief, pain, happiness even. I only knew hatred, death, and seemingly nothing more. I was only a prodigy made to enforce pain, but once you came to me, my eyes opened into newer possibilities. I was seemingly morphed into this new being that could finally see what others saw with my own eyes. I could finally feel. So I have to ask, do you truly love me? Would you take my hand and hold it close to yours?”

🔪🖤You looked back at him and blushed in shock. You never thought that he would do something like this, let alone to you. He stared right back at you with his mask off, awaiting your answer.

🔪🖤”Michael,” you spoke, “of course I love you!”

❤️NSFW❤️

🔪🖤Later that night, Michael stared at you with a soft smile. He thought about how beautiful you were, and how your body was perfectly made. It made him feel something much more interesting; lust. He longed for that smooth touch of your body near his, and was somewhat needy,

🔪🖤When he writes his notes, he’ll sometimes ask if you want to do something ‘strange’ with him. You didn’t realize what it was, but he’ll elaborate onwards about it.

🔪🖤If you do consent to this ‘strange’ thing, he’ll show you what he means by using his own collection of “tools”.

🔪🖤When you saw this ‘collection’ you were immediately shocked. Michael was into collecting.. sex toys? What the fuck..? You stared at him blankly, just merely in disbelief. He simply twitches his head to the side. ‘Was it not normal to collect things like this?’ He ponders for a bit.

🔪🖤You just shook your head, and decided to follow through with this ‘strange idea’ of his.

🔪🖤The first thing Michael wanted/needed was to be loved. To be kissed specifically. He likes affection before the actual event begins.

🔪🖤He took off his mask and stared at you with his widened eyes. He observed you like an a diamond, and slowly pulled you towards his lips. He kissed you on the cheek for starters, since he was inexperienced at the time.

🔪🖤He slowly started to go near your lips, and peck them gently in order to assert some form of neediness. Sometimes he would bite you lip on purpose in order to hear you squeal quietly. It was adorable, but he’ll never admit it.

🔪🖤As he kissed your lips, he finally advanced to something much more enticing; he inserted his tongue.

🔪🖤As he entered your mouth, you were in a bit of shock, but hypnotized by this taste. It was addicting to feel his mouth, and the soft but tough texture complemented both of you perfectly.

🔪🖤The next thing he would do was slowly take off his jumpsuit, (or whatever tf it’s called), and tease you a bit. He wouldn’t fully take off his clothes, and leave you there to beg for more.

🔪🖤And honey, you really did beg. You begged so badly that you were practically on your knees at this point. And he was amused by it. Definitely amused if you know what I mean.

🔪🖤You slowly crawled towards him, and pull it fully down to reveal his trousers. You could tell he was hard in an instant. You weren’t to sure how big it was at first, but once his boxers was off it was revealed in its entirety.

🔪🖤It seemed like a horse cock in your eyes. It was pretty thick, and was about 8 maybe 9 or 10 inches. No matter the size, you were still intrigued. You placed your hands on it in order to give him a good start. You just stroked it gently. Since it was your first time, you were very nervous. Extremely scared about this.

🔪🖤After stroking it softly, Michael was about to cum. He slowly grabbed your delicate head, and rammed it on his snake! He would then proceed to pull your hair while you were sucking it so delicately. When he was at his full release, he would cum inside your mouth and pull out. His last bit of white was all over your face. Just like he showed you.

🔪🖤From then on, when Michael was horny, he would bring you into his ‘sex dungeon’ of sorts. What you both discovered was that he was big into knife play. He enjoyed bringing your/his weapon up against your throat, and slowly licking your neck.

🔪🖤What you also found out was when Michael had extreme urges, he would deadass break into your match and fuck you in a bush or a closed off area. Sometimes you would ask, “what about the entity? What about the survivors?” But he didn’t care. All he wanted was you, and he was able to cum inside you. He didn’t give a flying fuck if someone like Jake Park saw this shit with his own eyes. Hell, he wouldn’t mind if he joined in! (Actually he definitely would).

🔪🖤Before you two would complete his desires, Michael would give you a piece of paper asking if you would partake in his acts, (even if you really wanted to for the whole day).

🔪🖤He also uses his sex toys during these phenomenons when the time comes. He also likes to put marks around you, add a collar on you, and degrade you when he’s really in an enraged mood.

🔪🖤Sometimes he’ll threaten to record a session on Danny’s camera if you don’t behave. Of course he wouldn’t do it since he doesn’t know how it works, but that usually gets you to behave in an instant.

🔪🖤Aftercare with Mikey is actually quite wholesome. After you use the bathroom, eat something sweet, or some other thing he’ll ask if your ok. If you say ‘yes’ then he’ll kiss you on the cheek and tell you how much he loves you. If you say ‘no’, he’ll start to feel bad and tell you how much he actually cares for you, and positive things to brighten your mood. He’ll even take you to Sally if you’re not feeling well.

Well I hope you enjoyed this headcannon I guess. I know it’s probably not up to your expectations, but I tried. And again thank you so much for requesting this. I was just shocked when someone finally said something! Thank you so much!

(Also please don’t mind the weird spaces! I copied and pasted this from my notes, so that’s the reason why the spacing is weird. I can’t stop it from doing that..)

[book-of-lewd]

Touching a Nerve [RWBY]

This was originally an ask from “banzaimeow” but I lost the ask, so... yep, unfortunate. They asked:

“Weiss, can you describe what it felt like to lose your virginity to your older sister? Or how it feels every other time you have sex with her?”

Weiss gave an indignant huff and crossed her arms. 'What did it feel like?' It was such an absurd question that at first she refused to even dignify the words with a response at all. But she quickly demurred when she felt the firm, authoritative weight of a hand pressing between her shoulder-blades, and her eyes drifted over to the imperious, highly disciplined figure of her elder sister sitting cross-legged on the bench next to her. Pulses of heat ran through her slender body from where Winter touched her, striking notes all the way from her furiously blushing cheeks to the burning delta between her legs, and she squeezed her thighs together so tight that the sensation actually left her short of breath.

"It... it hurt like hell!" she said harshly. "How else should it have felt, having your untouched womanhood violated by -- by something the size of a grown man's arm?" Even her most acidic tone couldn't mask the raw arousal filling her haughty voice; if anything, the vulgarity only made her wetter and wetter. It was a good thing her outfit doubled as all-purpose formal wear, because the steady flow of girlish cream flooding through the frills of her petticoat would have otherwise left a shameful stain by now. Or a puddle, dripping searing lust onto the floor beneath the two Schnees.

Squashed alongside her beloved sister on the narrow bench, Winter wrapped an arm around Weiss's alabaster shoulders and pulled her in even closer. Weiss couldn't help but squeak as she was nestled in Winter's softness. What genetics and fate had overlooked in her they'd given to Winter in spades, from her broad, bouncing tits that strained and fought against the metal buttons of her military uniform, to the plush, bountiful hips and the peach-firm ass spilling out as they cushioned her in her seat. Not to mention the slumbering behemoth she knew to be lurking out of sight somewhere under those crossed legs ... If she was a betting girl, she'd guess that Winter had that bitch-breaking length strapped flaccid all the way down the side of one endless, creamy thigh. Just the memory of it had Weiss pouring drool from both ends, and she hurriedly swallowed to keep it from escaping her mouth.

"--and I fully admit," Winter was saying, entirely unaware of Weiss's reactions as her breast cushioned the younger girl's shoulder, "that in the throes of our ... for lack of a better word, 'passion'--"

"Violation, you mean," interjected Weiss meekly.

A small vein ticked in Winter's temple. Weiss wasn't fooling anyone with her attempts to seem outraged -- for all her haughtiness and bravado, nobody knew her better than her big sister, and Winter could practically taste the lustful submission hanging around the heiress, the smell surrouding her like a cloud of estrus. It was so potent and needy that, try as the trained soldier might fight it, her hulking girlcock was already beginning to stir to life within her trousers, slowly forcing her legs apart as it gorged with blood. But she continued nevertheless, a slight hiss in her voice as she clenched her teeth to stave off the growing lust that was now churning in her crotch.

"In our passion, I may have been somewhat aggressive, at least in comparison to my normal behaviour in such circumstances. It was something that I reviewed extensively afterwards, and by all accounts I wasn't entirely unreasonable in my methods," she added, casting a narrowed eye down at Weiss. "In fact, all the reviews I received were exemplary."

Weiss subconsciously bit her lip, unable to hide the obvious tell as memory after vivid memory streamed past her mind's eye. Her vacant pussy throbbed so hard that for a moment it felt as though Winter's stare had physically punched into her, desperately craving for her studly sister to fill that needy hole, to stretch it beyond recognition like she'd done the night her virginity had been ripped away from her. All the pain in the world hadn't been able to deny her the pleasure of being shaped and moulded from an aristocratic princess into a walking, talking, begging, screaming fucktoy for that supreme Schnee schlong. Far from welcoming her sister into the carnal delights of adulthood, Winter had forced that monstrous meatpole onto her, and into her, like she was nothing more than a juvenile gutter whore, ravaging her pure maidenhood over and over again until her breathless screams had been belted into submission by orgasm after shrieking orgasm.

"Y-You ... it's not like you gave me m-m-much choice, you know ..." It was getting harder and harder for Weiss to articulate anything by this point. Words rapidly failed her -- she could barely even think or breathe, for that matter. All that was occupying her mind at that moment was the overwhelming, sinful, primal urge to surrender to her sister's indomitable libido, to beg for Winter to whip out that huge, heaving pussy-pleaser and wreck her body until she became that white-eyed, mouth-gaping, cum-drenched gutter whore again.

"Is that so?" asked Winter coyly, her legs now starting to splay apart from her curvaceous hips as her own instincts responded in kind.

Weiss nodded vacantly. One hand dove deep down into her petticoat between her legs, her palm furiously grinding against her tingling mound, the sensation so woefully inadequate compared to what it had experienced. The other hand tentatively reached out towards Winter, fingers trembling as they danced up and down a pant-clad thigh. "You were just so BIG ... and BRUTAL ... and PERFECT~" As the last word emerged from her mouth, so too did her tongue, lolling open in front of her like the most simple-minded bitch imaginable. Her half-lidded pale eyes filled with dull fog as she stared into the face of her sister. Her lover. Her conqueror.

Winter gave a long, drawn-out sigh and raised a hand to cup at Weiss's cheek, and the younger Schnee moaned as she leant into it. "You didn't answer the question completely, Weiss. Honestly, what am I going to do with you?" A knowing, sadistic sneer tickled at the corner of her mouth, and as Weiss mewled into her touch she silently unbuckled her belt and tossed it onto the ground nearby. "How does it feel--" Her high-heeled boots went sailing from her feet, clattering against each other. "when you have sex with me now?"

Utterly entranced, Weiss watched in slow-motion as Winter rose to her feet and turned, veritably towering over her, her expression like a trickster goddess contemplating a punishment. But the heiress no longer had eyes for her sister's beautiful face; right there in front of her, staring Weiss in her slutty little face, bulging its way from crotch to knee, was the pulsing length of her big sister's big, perfect girldick, obscenely stretching out the woman's trouser leg as it strained and bucked in time with Winter's heartbeat. With exhilaration and expectation forcing her down onto her knees, she grabbed a fistful of fabric in each hand and tugged down with all her might, freeing that glorious pillar inch by agonising inch until, as she dragged those pants down around calf height, the full mast of Winter's massive ramrod lurched up and out into the open.

"Oh fuuuuuck~!" wailed the princess, a fresh gout of girlcum spurting from her whorish pussy as her eyes danced along more than fourteen inches of wrist-thick, pulsating meat that jutted out like a steel girder from her sister's hairless crotch. Every broad, twisting vein on its rugged surface throbbed as though possessing its own life force, each one a promise of such mind-blowing ecstasy that Weiss could feel the individual folds of her snatch rippling with the muscle memory of how thoroughly they'd been assaulted. Her fat, bloated balls swung low and heavy in their smooth sack, each one easily the size of Weiss's closed fist and churning with enough thick, milky cum to paint her petite body from head to toe in an inch-deep coat. And the head! The nectarine-sized crown had already begun leaking its heady precum the moment it had been released to the air, staining the air with the undeniable musk of the Schnee's superior bloodline. Like the trained, obedient bitch she was, Weiss immediately parked her face beneath that supreme prick, its shadow extending all the way up her face as the steady flow of syrupy ambrosia drizzled directly down along the centre of her tongue and into her mouth.

In between guzzling down mouthfuls of precum, Weiss could only get a few words out before going back for more. "Sex with you ... isn't even sex ... you just fuck me ... like an animal ... until I pass out ..." She paused, only to stuff her cheeks until they were bulging from fluid, tipping her head back and gargling the potent concoction in full view of Winter's watchful gaze, and her sister responded with a fresh, violent spurt of pearly pre-nut that liberally doused her face from crown to chin. "And it's so ... fucking ... incredible~!"

For the first time since they'd sat together, Winter gave her baby sister a genuine smile, and her hands grabbed the girl behind the ears and roughly pulled her to her feet. Her tongue drove deep into Weiss's mouth and swirled from corner to corner, wrestling against her sister's own as every forceful moment sent splashes of precum and mixed drool spilling out around the corners of their lips mashed together. Weiss's eyes fluttered as the strength in her legs almost gave out, and her mind swam, all of Winter's addictive tastes wreaking havoc on her at once. She was putty in those hands gripping at her ass and the back of her neck, against that tongue rampaging towards her tonsils, in the face of that perfect pussy-pleaser poking against her taut stomach despite the base being so far away from her. By the time Winter pulled back, heavy strings of spit trailing from their lips, Weiss's legs were positively drenched in her own juices as they massed into a puddle on the floor.

"Fuck me, please ...!" Weiss begged. Her fingers ached with the need to wrap themselves around Winter's cock, to squeeze the shaft and grind its girth against her dainty palms, but her arms hung limply at her sides, devoid of even the barest hint of strength. It was for the best -- her only purpose from now until the time Winter was satisfied was to be a willing receptacle for every bruising, ball-slapping, womb-wrecking thrust, and the thought of being so harshly dominated by her elder sister had her visibly quivering within Winter's expert grip. "Break me, Winter! Destroy my pussy with your huge cock! Claim me, make me scream your name until the whole world knows I'm your baby sister cock-sleeve!"

Without saying so much as a word, Winter released Weiss from her grasp and swung back around, planting her bodacious rear end down onto the bench and spreading her legs wide. Her hands traipsed up from her inner thighs to meet around the absurdly thick root of her girlmeat, fingers splayed and holding the massive pole upright as it bobbed and throbbed and leaked its copious nectar down the more than footlong journey along the side of the shaft. Weiss's eyes were drawn to the imposing length as if hypnotised, the giant tip reflected in her pupils as she discarded her dress and stepped closer, her slender legs and bare pussy so pale and smooth compared to the bulging veins of that turgid breedstick. For a brief second she tore her gaze away from it long enough to stare at her sister's face, and the expression staring back at her made her weak at the knees, another volley of girl-cream dousing the inside of her thighs.

"Come and get it," Winter commanded.

If Weiss had a will of her own right now, she doubted she would have been able to resist the absolute authority in Winter's voice. As it was, she surrendered fully to the words ringing in her ears as loud as her own pounding heartbeat. With her heels mounting the wooden seat she rose up into a half-bended squat, a hand spreading apart the naked folds of her pussy as they hovered mere inches above Winter's towering cock. For a moment she didn't move, frozen like one of her Semblance statues as her breath hitched and caught in her throat. The lust coursing through her every nerve and fibre was impossible to resist, wanting nothing more than to spear herself on her sister's titanic prick and feel it plunging through her tunnel until it bashed balls-deep ... but no matter how many times Winter broke her upon it, no matter how many orgasms she had with that thing thrashing against her folds, she always felt a pulse of inexorable fear when it came time to doing the deed. Winter was so well-hung it put the stallions in their mansion to shame, and the thought of a cock that massive brutalising her insides was as terrifying as it was thrilling. Just how much was it going to wreck her this time?

There was only one way to find out, and no sooner did the thought occur than she dropped her snowy hips in one fell movement. Her defenceless pussy instantly skewered itself on every last cunt-busting inch of cockmeat, Winter's bulging veins running riot as they crashed upward into Weiss, the full force of Weiss's drop causing the head to bash square against her cervix. The flimsy barrier never stood a chance, having been pulverised into submission by that tip countless times before, and it welcomed Winter's brutish meat into the back of her womb, trembling as the pre-soaked flesh battered its way home. The agony and euphoria of that single moment set off a chain reaction inside Weiss's mind like a blast of dynamite as the orgasm of a lifetime ripped through her body without mercy -- her pussy creamed itself from end to end, squeezing and wringing around Winter's shaft as runnels of femcum streamed down into the soldier's lap, her eyes shrinking to pinpricks as her brain short-circuited itself, and her back arching to such a degree that she was at risk of spontaneous fracture. The unmitigated pleasure turned her existence white as her limbs tangled into a molten mess of helpless tremors, the melody of her piercing squeals filling the air as she spasmed and squirted atop her sister's godly girldick until she lost consciousness and fell in a sweaty mess onto Winter's front, still oozing her pussy's juices down onto those heaving balls.

Below the collapsed heiress, Winter merely took her sister by the shoulders and spun the pair of them around, lying Weiss on her back atop the bench and then bending her legs upwards, those ballerina feet pointed to the sky. Her cock throbbed powerfully, still wedged firmly inside Weiss's snug baby chamber -- even passed out, the girl's womb refused to release its vise-like grip on her glans, even as it continued to pour its honeyed pre-cum inside. It was definitely one of Weiss's best qualities ... and once she regained her senses, then Winter could finally start being aggressive~

[honestsycrets]

The Phantom I: Think of Me | Ubbe x Reader x Ivar

❛ pairing | ivar x reader x ubbe

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | you're used to a life with the phantom. his company feels like home.

❛ tags | slight violence, phantom of the opera au, love triangles, original characters.

❛ sy’s notes | this piece has been a long time coming. each chapter will be named according to soundtrack pieces. the introductory scene is probably reminiscent of the movie, i really want to recreate those feelings for me. @alicedopey

The Opera was loud today. Usually, the flutter of shoes downstairs, the rush to change costume, or the giggles from flirtatious girls was typical. Sigurd would lower backdrops as beautiful ballerinas crossed him, dreaming of life not as the keeper of backstage: but as a musician. He loved the dancing girls. You rushed down the stairs to the bottom floor and binding it with soft ribbons passing rich crimson curtains of the stage. Madame Gunnhild reprimanded you for your heavy steps, reminding you that this was not folk music. This was ballet. Powerful, yes. But not unnecessarily loud.

The only loud one was the star whose voice rattled the stage. Her presence incited the glamour of a fat cat. Not that she was plump; perhaps she would be happier, rather than hungrily scrounging and screaming and howling for more and more. Signora Stella was insatiable.

“It’s because someone is coming for tonight’s gala. She wants to make sure he knows who she is. Didn’t you hear?” Adeline whispered. “Bjorn sold the Opera.”

“Is that really true?” The dancers convened on the stage for a final run-through of the opera Hannibal. For which your pink gossamer silk slave piece so appropriately draped off your hips while she stood donned in gold and red, strutting around the stage.

“It’s not FAIR!” Her eye was squarely upon manager Halfdan. His soft eyebrows bundled together as she berated him with her latest complaint. At his side, his brother stood with his hand settled nicely into the taupe pocket of his slacks. You recognized them. Bjorn brought them in the deep quiet of dance rehearsals. Harald especially loved the dancers. He loved to watch them spin along the stage like a top.

“Signora,” Halfdan’s sweet voice consoled. You rushed around her stony body, her beautiful blonde hair wrought in delicate curls. “La mia Stella,” he crooned. There was a softness to the way his dirty blonde hair framed his gentle eyes.

“I am the star, me! Me, me, me!” her foot cracked down on the hardwood floor. She gestured toward your ruddy-haired friend, then you, biting out her complaint. “Not one of these-- these dancing girls can sing like I!”

“We know, Signora.”

“Then who dressed-- them?”

Harald crossed his arms over one another, glancing toward his boots. It could never just be the voice. It was an experience. For a man like Harald, whose artistic expression was about in line with that of a straw doll, it meant costume.

“You will be the focus. We will give you a solo. Just for you!”

“A new song?” she turned, the wheels of her brain suddenly spinning again. She ran her ringed hand down Halfdan’s pressed deep blue suit, drawing her ruby nails up to tap him on the nose. “What kind of song?”

“Think of Me,” said Harald.

“Think of Me!” she squawked. “That is perfect. Perfect for a girl like me! Can you imagine me-- a childhood lover-- in Paris?”

No, you couldn’t. Even Paris was too muted for her taste.

“Well?” she looked toward your group. “Get off my stage. Especially you,” she pointed her finger between Adeline and you. You’re not sure who she’s talking about. “Fat little frog.”

It’s better not to push. You take Adeline in one hand and, with the other, the sheer fabric. The orchestra wretched alive again as the awful vocalizations filled the auditorium, reverberating your ear. Think of Me never sounded worse.

Still, it must be nice, you think, to be an opera star by virtue of birth. Sour with embarrassment but saved by the prospect of dance, you delighted in knowing that Stella would soon leave after her songs were sung to a T. A woosh of air hair threw your hair over your shoulders. It was compounded by her harsh scream and filling the auditorium. You glanced from the floor to the upper stage where, if you looked closely, you might have seen a shadow flitting across the bridge with the aid of the banister.

“Up up up up! Get me OUT FROM UNDER HERE!”

“Sigurd!” Halfdan boomed. “What are you doing up there!?”

“I wasn’t up there.”

Your fingers left your locket when Sigurd hiked up the stairs beside you. His dark trousers were stained with paint, as was his crisp white dress shirt, pulled apart with a pretty blue smear across his chest. You peered over Sigurd to see the black drop clattered over Stella’s back, pressing her chest to the ground and chin quivering in horror.

“So it fell on its own?” Harald accused belligerently.

“I never said that. Signora. The Opera is full of strange magic.” he stood upright, helping her stand on quivering heels, shouting in awful pain. He quirked his head. “Oh, she won’t be able to perform on that.”

She jabs her finger into Harald’s chest, deliberately on his fine silk tie. Then Halfdan, whirling a curse. Stella squealed with renewed vigor. “You see what you’ve done! I hate you! I hate you! And I hate this-- this phantom!”

“Not that again,” Harald rolled his eyes.

The light in her eyes burst, soaring through the surface like an explosion across the surface. How awfully she punched him, shouting about his indignation in not paying the Phantom his salary-- before flitting down the steps on a beating heel. She would be back. Maybe not today, but another. Sigurd dragged the fallen backdrop to the side, inspecting the thick-cut rope and all its seeming imperfections.

“Can we reschedule for next week?” said one.

“We need a new star,” said the other. “Every day is the same.”

Adeline leaned her aquiline nose into your curls, “Do you think it was him?”

An awful warmth flooded your belly. Should you rejoice in a woman’s abuse? No, but at the same time, it meant she would not be here to berate the ballerinas. There was no one there.

“She can sing it for you, Harald.” At that moment, Madame Gunnhild hooked her arms under your arms. Harald turned on his boot to Gunnhild, a sultry smile playing on his lips. “What? Her?”

“No, Madame. Please.” You choked on your own words in the attempt to process what she meant. She wove her spindly fingers in your hand, jerking you toward the middle of the stage. For a moment, your heart seized to beat, blood ran still, and you might have fainted by the curiosity in the brothers’ eyes.

“Shh,” she whispered into your ear. “I know you can sing Think of Me. I’ve heard you sing with him.”

If you ever have a moment, spare a thought for me.

Your stomach leapt with uncertainty in the silence of the room. Outside, gossip ran like a bolt of lightning across the sky. Stella’s replacement was never a position you hoped to have. Not for a day, nor an hour but here you were, dabbing your lips with a pink product after intermission in your father’s old room. His picture sat framed by photos of your family: Thyri, Siggy, and him. Your hand trembled as you seized it. Then, falling away, you looked toward the letter that sat square in front of you.

“You have a letter from the Opera Ghost,” Gunnhild had said. Usually, those words would have inspired anyone with fear. Instead, it filled your belly with fervor, a soft pinkness that dusted over your cheeks soften than any blush you could apply. “Open it when you’re alone.”

You fluttered your eyes, hoping that the excitement in your belly was just a built-up from this corset that restricted your breathing. Breath swelled in your chest. You hooked a letter opener under the blotchy gold seal.

“Bellisima.”

The voice echoed through the room. Your physician Athelstan told you it was nothing: a figment of your imagination that you ought to hush about-- or they would send you away. Your angel was a kiss from God and nothing more. Your chest swelled with a heavy breath, fixing the earrings into your ear. They looked like the very stars that shone on the rooftop of the opera house. The voice filled the room, a soft sing-song that bounced from wall to wall and filled you with something like peace.

“Open it, my sweet.”

“It frightens me,” you murmured.

“Don’t be frightened.”

With a flick of your letter opener, you forced the crisp letter apart. In it, a square of parchment sat nestled between a glimmering gold chain. It was a glorious gold chain and, at the end of it, a singular heart locket. There was a knock at your door just as you inspected the inscription etched into its surface.

“May I come in?”

Whether or not you’d agree, Harald already came in. He was a man of tall stature despite his height. Wherever he carried himself, there was respect. You knew him to be in love with Gunnhild, and though she gave him no attention, you knew his intentions for her.

“Do you want to sit down?” you offered. Harald drew off his taupe jacket to figure with a tucked letter in his black breast coat. He held it out to you. You took it, bracelets jingling and saw that inside was a wealth of currency.

“Oh-- this is…” you murmured. “More than I can accept.”

“You knew the viscount, don’t you?”

The viscount Ragnar, you recall. Your cheeks warmed with his memory—a thin child with honey brown hair and a big heart. Harald kneeled before you, running his hand on top of your fluffy pink ball dress.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“It has been a while,” you gesture to your photo of your father, reminded by the memory of the land you left behind in Scandinavia. “He probably wouldn’t remember me.”

“I’d wager you’re wrong. Put in a good word for us. He’ll be hard-pressed not to notice you,” he pauses. He rolled his finger through your long curl. It slipped away from his finger as he took his bunched-up suit jacket and opened the door. “As beautiful as you look tonight.”

“I-- thank you.”

The door clasps shut. You didn’t need this money, you murmured. But perhaps the children could use bread. Your attention fell to the necklace around your neck. If you turned the gold pendant over and over again between your fingertips, you could calm the racing of your heart. Today, you would be Elissa. Tomorrow, maybe a chorus girl once again. It was your time. The Ubbe from your memory was just that: a memory.

“Sing it again.”

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[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Get Down pt. 2

The final installment of Get Down.

It’s smutty! There’s smut! 18+ please! Be responsible!

bottom Geralt / top Jaskier

---

“What brings you to my humble estate?” Jaskier asked, taking a slow sip from his silver chalice. He didn’t fail to notice the way Geralt’s eyes were trained on his wine-red lips as he spoke. “From the way you handled yourself in the throne room I suppose you were expecting my father.”

“Yes, Milord,” Geralt nodded. “For a moment I had forgotten your full title. My apologies.”

“Nothing to apologize for, good Sir Witcher. I hope that your dinner is satisfactory.” 

The young nobleman snapped his fingers again and food appeared rather suddenly before them. Geralt’s stomach rumbled audibly when he caught a whiff of how good it smelled and he blushed furiously, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Milord.”

When he looked up again, Jaskier’s face showed nothing but concern. His Lordly air hadn’t disappeared in the slightest but his bard-like tendencies and his protectiveness of Geralt were showing more clearly. “When was the last time you ate something?”

Geralt blushed a deeper shade of pink and looked down at his plate. “Two days ago.”

Jaskier stood suddenly and made his way to the valet nearest the door. He spoke to the young man in hushed but urgent whispers, too fast and quiet for even Geralt to understand, before taking his seat again and dipping his head in respectful apology.  “Please, let us eat.”

“Thank you, Milord, for your food and your hospitality.”

“I like the garb that Susan chose for you this evening. Blue seems to bring out your hair and your eyes; you should wear it more often.”

“Thank you, Milord. I shall try,” Geralt nodded, the apples of his cheeks going another shade darker.

Jaskier was enthralled. He’d never seen Geralt blush so frequently before; was it his status as a Lord? Was it the air of authority he’d assumed? Was it the outfit? The bard wasn’t sure exactly what had captured Geralt’s attention so thoroughly, but he was happy about the results regardless. 

They finished their meal in relative silence. Geralt was given a significantly larger second portion than Jaskier and neither of them cared to mention it aloud. That was probably why he’d talked to the servant, the Witcher figured. Best to just thank him later when we’re back on the Path and he’s acting like...himself.

“Shall we retire to the sitting room for the evening?” the young noble asked, standing from his seat. Geralt followed him dutifully, moving as silently as a cat between the dining room and the unusually cozy sitting room of Pankratz Castle. “Pardon my intimacy, Sir Witcher, but this is my family’s private sitting room. I find it easier to keep warm than the formal sitting room down the hall.”

“I am honored,” Geralt bowed his head. He wanted more than anything to hear Jaskier say his first name again. He didn’t like the way Sir Witcher sat heavy and formal on the bard’s spry tongue. He missed the happy, lilting tune of Jaskier’s giddy “Geralt!” 

Jaskier laid himself out across the chaise lounge and gestured for Geralt to take the armchair opposite him. The Witcher balanced precariously on the edge of the cushion, always ready to flee if necessary.

“So, Sir Witcher, what adventures did you have during winter?”

“Not many I’m afraid, Milord. I spent the season sequestered at Kaer Morhen with my brothers and my mentor.”

“How are your brothers faring? I think often of their health.”

“They are well, thank you.”

Geralt didn’t like having to play word games the way Jaskier did. Every sentence was carefully constructed and executed in the same way that he would consider a dangerous thrust or parry when dueling. Any sign of disrespect or any misplaced Milord could have him throne from the room (and the keep) in a second. All Jaskier would have to do was snap his fingers. 

“And you, Sir Witcher?”

“I’m afraid I have not slept as well as normal. My bed has been as empty as my heart,” the Witcher admitted. “If I may say so in polite company.”

Jaskier’s heart was fluttering in his chest, “You may.”

He stood rather suddenly from the chaise and reached out a hand for Geralt.

“Milord?”

“I can offer you rest, sweet Sir Witcher. Come with me. There is much to discuss.”

---

Jaskier pulled the velvet curtains around his bed closed on either side, leaving only the firelight to illuminate them from across the room. Kneeling over him like this, with his shining chestnut hair all mussed and wild and the fire blazing behind him, the young Lord looked like some kind of avenging angel. Geralt bit his lip and did his best not to wiggle in impatience. 

“Sir Witcher,” the nobleman smirked. “I’ve often dreamed of seeing you like this; laid out before me in my bed, blushing and shy.”

“Wh-What?”

“You must have known,” Jaskier chuckled lowly. He moved his hands to rest on either side of the Witcher’s head and leaned forward, close enough for his breath to tickle the skin of Geralt’s neck. “You must have known how much I wanted you. All those nights crammed together on shitty straw mattresses at podunk inns. All those baths and all those vials of chamomile oil so lovingly pressed into your tensest muscles...”

“I...I thought-”

“I’m sure you did,” Jaskier cooed. His teeth worried a mark into the skin of Geralt’s throat and the Witcher shuddered. “You can’t seem to stop thinking, is the problem. Stop letting your busy mind run away with you and just feel something for me, Geralt.”

“Finally, Jaskier,” the Witcher groaned, surging up to kiss his bard. He’d been waiting to hear the other man call him by name all night and it felt almost like a form of permission; however, Jaskier’s hand tangled in the front of Geralt’s borrowed shirt and the surprisingly strong young man slammed him back down against the soft bed cover. The Witcher made a startled noise and his eyes went wide. His white hair had formed a halo around his head at the impact and he saw lust flash clearly through Jaskier’s eyes.

“You will refer to me as Milord,” the younger man asserted. His pupils were large and dark; Geralt’s breath caught in his throat and he nodded silently in agreement. “Much better, pet.”

“Milord, please,” the Witcher gasped. Jaskier bit and sucked languidly at the skin above Geralt’s collarbone, somehow radiating a sense of laziness and ease despite the harsh movements of his tongue and teeth. The hickey was dark and throbbing when the Viscount finally pulled away. He traced his handiwork with the tip of his pointer finger and Geralt hissed at the contact. It tingled sensationally and the Witcher felt like he might vibrate out of his skin with anticipation. He wanted to be touched. He wanted to be taken. By Jaskier and only Jaskier. His bard. His little Lord. His love.

“Do you want me like this, Geralt?”

“Gods, yes!”

Jaskier waited for a beat and the Witcher realized his mistake.

“I want you, Milord. Take me, please.”

“I’m glad to hear that you feel this way because I want you, too, my darling. Probably twice as badly.”

“Twice?”

The young Lord grabbed a fistful of Geralt’s glorious ass and squeezed, smirking like the nobility he was. “Twice.”

“Jaskier,” the Witcher whined. The bard’s mouth was suddenly making its way down towards the laces of his half-open shirt and Geralt felt his breath coming in quick little pants. He moaned quietly when those clever fingers undid the tie in his trousers and began to ease them down and off his legs. The Viscount’s lips were still plastered to his chest, biting and kissing whatever skin he could reach. “Fuck, Jaskier. C’mon.”

“Are you making demands of me, peasant?” Jaskier clucked disappointedly. “Don’t you know your place by now?”

Geralt nearly choked on his tongue. His pants were gone, his shirt had been rucked up to reveal the muscled expanse of his abdomen, and his bard was licking across his hip-bone. All he could do was whine and shudder and take it. He wanted to lay there and take whatever Jaskier was willing to give. Torture like this? Well worth it, in the Witcher’s opinion. 

“Jaskier, please.”

“Naughty Witchers don’t get what they’re after,” Jaskier shook his head. “You’ll just have to learn the hard way.”

Geralt was about to ask what exactly his bard had meant by ‘the hard way’ but every thought imaginable flew from his head as soon as Jaskier’s lips closed over the head of his recently-freed cock. “Shit!”

The noble smirked from between the Witcher’s legs and pushed himself further, taking as much of Geralt as he could back into his throat. He pressed his hands down over the Witcher’s hips, holding him flat against the mattress in an incredibly show of strength, and hummed. 

“Oh! Oh Jas- fuck Jaskier,” the man beneath him gasped. Jaskier bobbed his head a few times before pulling back with a soft pop and a grin. Geralt was trembling, his hands fisted tightly into the bedclothes. “Milord?”

“Geralt,” the bard sighed, sitting up and leaning over the Witcher once again. He ran the back of his knuckles across his companion’s lightly stubbled cheek and smiled softly. “May I take you apart, my love?”

“L-love?”

“Of course.” Jaskier leaned down slowly, letting Geralt take a little bit of control back for himself. The Witcher breathed in once, slowly, and exhaled just as carefully. He closed the distance between them and gave his beloved bard a soft and caring embrace. Jaskier wasn’t the kind of person to tell falsehoods. Embellish the truth for a song or a good story? Of course. But outright lying? That would have infuriated the bard. 

“I love you...too.”

“Excellent. Now that we’ve settled things,” the brunette wiggled his eyebrows mischievously and Geralt watched as he turned instantly from Lord Julian Alfred Pankratz to Jaskier the Bard. He watched Jaskier’s hand as it snaked down between them and Geralt found himself awash in pleasure once again, “I’m going to ruin you, Witcher!”

Geralt groaned and tossed his head back against the pillows. 

Jaskier never lied.

---

“Fuck!” Jaskier thrust harder and curled his body over Geralt’s. He could feel the damp curls of his chest hair sliding against the skin of the Witcher’s back, already sweat-slick from their first round of lovemaking. 

It had been loving and tender and surprisingly gymnastic; but after a few minutes of snuggling and continued kissing in the afterglow, Geralt had levered himself onto his elbows and knees and arched his spine so fucking temptingly that Jaskier had bitten his knuckle close to bloody in an effort to keep from screaming aloud and scaring the castle guards. Again, Geralt had ordered. 

Jaskier was loath to disobey.

“Oh! Jask-Jaskier!”

“Yeah?” the bard laughed triumphantly. He snapped his hips forward again at the same angle and Geralt bowed beneath him. The Witcher had his glorious pecs buried in the mattress and his hands fisted in the sheets above his head. He looked like a godsdamned feast and Jaskier was taking his fill while he could. The Viscount pushed in again, aiming carefully, and Geralt released another shuddering moan.

“Jaskier, please can-”

“Oh, my love,” the bard moved one hand from its place at Geralt’s hip to the front side of his body. He took hold of the Witcher’s glorious cock and tugged a few times in rhythm with his thrusts. It didn’t take much to work his overstimulated lover through a second orgasm. “You feel incredible, Geralt.”

“Jaskier,” the Witcher sighed, lax and jelly-like beneath his bard. “I love you.”

“I love you too, darling. Now let’s get cleaned up and talk about how this experience has changed our relationship for the better, yeah?”

Geralt nodded, no longer scared of losing Jaskier.

Not after that. 

Not after all the love and power and self-confidence the bard had shown him here tonight; Jaskier could take care of himself. They were more than ready for this. Geralt was more than ready for this. He reached out, cupping the bard’s soft face in his large, calloused hand. “As long as you promise to stay by my side, my love, I’m ready for anything.”