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abundanceofsoph · 4 years ago

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SkyFire 3: Chapter 2

New York & Saturday Night Live: April 2017

Word count: 4.8k

SkyFire 3 MASTERLIST

Sorry it's been so long since the last chapter but I'm finally back at work after 75 days in lockdown. Updates will probably be a bit more spaced out than they were in Parts 1 & 2 but please know that I am still working away at it and I already have so many future chapters planned out that I'm really excited for.

This chapter is a bit of a long one and I thought about splitting it in half but figured you deserved the treat after waiting patiently.

Don't forget to leave a comment if you're enjoying the series and let me know what you think.

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By the time Aurora woke up Monday morning, Harry’s side of the bed was cold, and he had long since left for the day. Since he would be appearing in multiple sketches on the upcoming episode of Saturday Night Live, he was needed for rehearsals all week. Aurora was thankful that she and the rest of the band weren’t needed until Friday and instead she was able to sleep in. Their flight had arrived in New York well after midnight and by the time they made their way to the tower they had both decided to head straight to bed. Aurora was fairly certain her father would have still been awake, working in his lab but she was far too tired for a reunion after hours on a plane.

Once she managed to roll herself out of bed and get dressed for the day ahead, Aurora made her way down the hall to the open plan kitchen/living area of the penthouse with its wide, floor to ceiling wall of windows looking out over the sprawling expanse of Central Park. Both Tony and Steve were sitting on the stools at the kitchen’s island bench, waiting for their daughter to wake up. Steve had seen Harry earlier that morning as he was leaving, and Steve had been coming back from his early morning run. Both he and Tony were eager to have their daughter home for an entire week and while Steve was happy to sip on his tea and read the morning while they waited, Tony was practically vibrating in his seat with barely contained excitement. Steve’d had to stop him twice from having JARVIS ‘accidentally’ wake Aurora up, so Tony was unsurprisingly the first out of his seat when she finally appeared.

Aurora was grinning widely and broke into a fit of giggles as her father rushed over and lifted her off the ground in a crushing hug. Despite having seen each other only two weeks ago, the craziness of the wedding hadn’t really allowed them much time to just hang out together and prior to the wedding they had spent a solid 5 months apart given the last minute changes to their Christmas plans in the wake of Johannah’s death.

“Missed you Dad,” she said, returning the tight hug.

“Missed you too Kiddo,” Tony replied, finally setting her back on her feet and allowing her to cross the room and fall into Steve’s arms.

The small family spent the entire day together, watching a movie and then moving down to Tony’s workshop in the afternoon so that he could work on a prototype for Stark Industries while Steve and Rori sketched on the sofa. It was reminiscent of how they had spent many evenings shortly after Rori first came to live with her fathers, the memories of those long nights brought a soft smile to her face as she sketched Dumm-e and Butterfingers, where they were attempting to help Tony, but instead were causing more problems than they were able to solve. Harry found them all there when he arrived back to the tower later that evening, grinning excitedly as he launched into his recounting of his first day with the SNL cast.

xXx

Since first meeting her father’s childhood best friend, James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, three years ago, Aurora had slowly come to see him as a member of the family. For the first year that they had both lived in the tower together, they had coexisted amicably but had been far from friends, nothing close to the way Aurora was with the rest of the team. Even as her relationship with Sam had flourished quickly as he acclimatized to life as an Avenger she had struggled to be around Bucky. He hadn’t held her distant behaviour against her, knowing that while most of the team had been able to separate the actions of the Winter Soldier from Bucky himself, Aurora had struggled to accept into her home the man who had tried, on several occasions, to assassinate one of her fathers. Following the Columbia Shooting, she had surprised him by seeking him out during her recovery and their friendship had bloomed after her amputation surgery. Now, many years later Bucky easily filled the role of another uncle in Aurora’s life, a shift that had made Steve overwhelmingly happy.

It was late Tuesday afternoon and Steve went in search of his daughter, having not seen her since they’d shared lunch together. He expected to see her in the workshop with Tony, however his husband said he hadn’t seen her since breakfast. With the help of JARVIS he finally found her on one of the lower floors, the one shared by Sam, Bucky and Rhodey when he was in town. She was in the living room sitting across the table from Bucky, a game of Battleship between the pair. Steve suppressed a chuckle as he joined the pair, well aware by now of how much his best friend and his daughter enjoyed playing a variety of tabletop games together. Many arguments had been started over a game of backgammon or canasta.

“Who’s winning?” he asked, pulling up a chair beside Aurora and throwing an arm around her shoulders.

“I’m kicking his ass,” she smiled.

“She’s getting cocky,” Buck replied, “and it’s going to backfire on her in a minute.”

“Of course it is,” Aurora said, her tone dripping in sarcasm.

The game continued for a while, Aurora cheering and taunting when she sunk another of Bucky’s ships, mocking him mercilessly when he continued to miss her own turn after turn.

“I don’t understand why you always beat me,” he moaned when she won. “I mean surely your luck has to run out eventually.”

“It’s not luck, Bucky,” Rori laughed. “It’s about strategy and reading your opponent and I hate to tell you, but you are entirely predictable.”

“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent battle strategist,” Bucky retorted.

“Apparently you’re not,” Aurora bit back, a wide smile gracing her face. Steve let out a loud peel of laughter at their bickering.

“Excuse me,” JARVIS interrupted. “Miss Stark, you requested that I alert you when young Mr Styles returned to the tower.”

“Thanks J,” Rori replied, kissing her fathers’ cheek and jumping to her feet, ready to head towards the elevator.

“Miss Stark?” Steve asked.

“He said that Dad programmed him to call me that and no marriage certificate is gonna change it,” Rori explained with a roll of her eyes. “Dad could probably get him to stop but honestly I like it. I didn’t get to be a Stark for very long so it’s nice to be one when I come home.”

“You’ll always be a Stark, bug,” Steve promised, returning the kiss on her cheek and watching as she left the room in search of Harry on the upper floors of the Tower.

“Enjoying having her home?” Bucky asked.

“Absolutely,” Steve answered. “I miss her when she’s not here. Tony does too, even if he won’t admit it. She grew up too fast on us.”

“Can’t have been easy not meeting her until she was practically all grown up,” Bucky pointed out.

“No, you’re right,” Steve agreed. “Sometimes I wish we’d got to raise her, but I’d also never want to have taken away any of the time she got with her mom.”

“You and Tony ever think of having another kid?”

“We’ve talked about,” Steve said. “It’s not very easy process. The worlds come a long way since the 40’s Buck, but it’s still hard for two men to adopt. It certainly doesn’t help that we’ve got such dangerous jobs.”

“Guess that makes sense,” Bucky replied. “Never known you to back down from something just because it’s hard or because someone tells you no, though.”

“You might have a point there. Seems we’ve managed to accidently adopt Peter over the years so maybe we’re just meant to keep collecting teenagers.”

xXx

Something Aurora loved about the city was the way that New Yorkers didn’t care about anyone around them. Everyone was busy getting from one place to another and had very little time or care to look at those surrounding them on the crowded sidewalks. Aurora could easily wander the streets without being hassled as she went about her day. Occasionally a tourist would recognize her, but more often than not, a large pair of sunglasses and a hat pulled low would hide her enough to avoid all but the most astute fan. She wore a loose oversized cardigan which hung over the tips of her fingers completely concealing her prosthetic hand as she headed through the streets of midtown Manhattan, her hands full of shopping bags as she walked back towards Avengers Tower. She could have halved the time to get home by taking the subway, but the weather was nice, so she enjoyed the walk, reaching the towers lobby a little after 2 in the afternoon.

By the time she stepped out of the elevator and into the penthouse, she noted Steve, Clint and Bucky sprawled out on the sofas in front of the tv. She dropped her shopping bags onto the floor and launched herself onto the sofa cushion next to Steve, curling herself into his side as his arm fell around her shoulders, hugging her tightly against him.

“Where’ve you been all day?” he asked.

“Went shopping,” Rori explained.

“Do I want to know?” he asked with a soft chuckle.

“I bought wigs.”

“Why on earth are you buying wigs?” Clint butted in.

“Because with the tour coming up,” Rori said, “I want to try out some different hair colours, but I’ve never bleached my hair before and I’m honestly terrified of ruining my hair. So, wigs.”

“Do we get a fashion show?” Steve asked.

“Maybe later,” she mumbled, yawning widely before resting her head back against Steve’s shoulder and staring, glazed eyes at the tv.

xXx

The following day, Sam found Rori sitting alone against one of the large windows, hugging her knees tightly against her chest as she stared out over the city.

“Hey, you,” he said as he took a seat next to her on the floor. “You ok?”

“Yeah I’m good,” she replied, her voice soft and a little distant, her gaze remaining on the view spread out beneath them.

“Remember when you promised me you wouldn’t lie about how you were feeling,” Sam reminded her.

She sighed, her shoulders sagging and her head leaning forward to rest against the cold glass. “I had a panic attack last week,” she mumbled.

“When you got home to London?” he asked.

She shook her head. “On the last day of our honeymoon. This thunderstorm came rolling in out of nowhere the day before we flew home, and I just freaked out and ruined everything. I thought I was getting better.”

“You are getting better,” Sam argued. “This is the first panic attack you’ve had in months. That’s a huge improvement.”

“But I thought they were gone,” Rori sobbed. “I was just starting to feel normal again but I’m never going to be like I was.”

“No, you’re not,” he agreed. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but PTSD isn’t something you just get over. It’s going to be with you for the rest of your life, but that doesn’t have to mean there’s anything wrong with you and I’m sure Harry didn’t think you ruined the trip.”

“Of course he didn’t, he’s Harry,” she said. “He’s always so supportive and just wants to help me through it. It’s not even really about last week,” she admitted. “It’s more about what it says about the rest of the year. The rest of my life. When Harry asked me to join his band, I was terrified that somehow, I would do something to ruin it all, like that somehow my prosthetic would malfunction, and I’d ruin a show. Now I’m wondering what will happen if I have a panic attack at a show? There are so many things that can go wrong, and he’s worked so hard for all of this. I’ll never forgive myself if I do anything to damage that.”

“What happens if Mitch slips over in the rain and breaks his hand and can’t play the guitar? What if Sarah gets the flu and has to sit out a few shows? What if something happens with Adams kids and he has to leave the tour?” Sam asked. “There are so many what ifs and things that can go wrong but did you notice how none of those things had anything to do with anyone’s disabilities? There are things in your life that are going to be more challenging for you than they would have been if you hadn’t been shot. You can’t let that stop you from living. I’m sure Harry and Jeff have all kinds of plans in place for what happens if one of you gets sick and can’t perform, so maybe you should talk to them about your concerns and you can have some plans in place and that will help with the anxiety of it all.”

“You know I really hate when you’re right Sam,” Aurora mumbled, the corners of her lips twitching.

“I know,” he smirked. “But one of these days you’ll learn to accept that I’m never wrong.”

Aurora stuck her tongue out at him before letting out a tired sigh. “I’m just so exhausted. Like, my brain just never stops stressing over these tiny little things and it’s so exhausting to constantly be worrying about everything. I mean Christ, I chipped my nail polish at lunch and it’s all I’ve been able to think about for the last few hours which is ridiculous because who cares if my nail polish is chipped, but I’m going to be on live tv in two days and what if they want a shot of my hands while I’m playing and it’s not like I have time to go get them redone now.”

“Why not just tell the camera operators not to set up that shot?” Sam asked, always the rational voice.

“Yeah,” Rori nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Having said his piece, Sam stood up after giving her shoulder a quick squeeze and then walked away, leaving her to think about what he’d said. She was still sitting on the floor beside the window deciding how to bring her anxieties to Harry without adding to his already full plate when Nat appeared beside her. “Heard you could do with a manicure,” she said.

She extended her hand, helping Aurora up off the floor and then led her to the elevator and down to her personal floor. Nat didn’t press Aurora to talk as they settled down in her living room and set about removing the chipped polish from the nails of her right hand. Rori was grateful for the silence, not sure that she had the energy to carry a conversation but also glad that she wasn’t alone. Where others in the tower felt that they needed to distract her from her anxiety, it was always Nat that provided what she needed without her ever having to ask. Her thoughts whirled in her head as Nat applied the new pale yellow polish to her nails in slow, methodical strokes, Sam’s advice echoing in Aurora’s ears.

“You seem stressed,” Nat finally said as she finished the topcoat on the last nail.

“Just nervous about the show on Saturday,” Rori replied softly. “Live TV doesn’t leave any room for error.”

“I’m sure you’ll all do great,” Nat promised with a warm smile. “Now lay back and I’ll do a face mask and help you relax. You’re way too tense for a 22 year old.”

Aurora did as she was told without argument, laying back and closing her eyes as Nat spread the cool clay over her face and then she started massaging her long fingers into Rori’s scalp. Once the mask was finished and Nat had cleaned it away with a warm cloth, she set about rubbing moisturizer onto Rori’s face, soothing the pinched muscles between the younger woman’s brow until she fell asleep under Nat’s hands.

When Harry arrived back at the tower a little over an hour later he found most of the team in the penthouse, however his wife was conspicuously absent from the group. He asked JARVIS if she was downstairs in either of the studios, his brow furrowing when the AI informed him that she was in Agent Romanoff’s private quarters and he headed for the elevator.

Nat was sitting on the other sofa across from where Rori was sleeping peacefully, a book in hand when JARVIS’ voice filled the room and she was thankful that she had asked the AI to lower its volume when Aurora had fallen asleep.

“Mr. Styles is requesting access to your floor Agent Romanoff,” JARVIS announced in a hushed whisper.

“Tell him to come in,” Nat replied in an equally soft tone.

A few moments later, the elevator doors opened at the end of the hall and Harry strolled into the room, his eyes immediately falling to his sleeping wife. “Hey,” he whispered to Nat. “Everything ok here?”

“She was getting a bit anxious about Saturday, so we had a bit of a spa day to help her calm down,” Nat explained.

Harry nodded and then headed over to the sofa, sitting on its edge next to Aurora’s hip and reached out to trace his hand along her cheekbone. “Rors?” he soothed. “Time to wake up love.” As she began to stir, Nat left the room allowing the couple to have some privacy.

“You’re home,” Rori mumbled, her voice thick with sleep and a soft smile lifting the corners of her lips. “Missed you today.”

“Heard you had a bad day,” Harry said, pulling her up and into a tight hug. “Sorry I wasn’t here.”

“S’ok,” she replied as she pressed her face into the crook of his neck. “Just got in my head a bit and spiralled.”

“Feeling better now?”

“Much,” she promised. “Always feel better when you’re here.”

“Mitch text me about 20 minutes ago that their flight landed so they’ll be here soon. Wanna come upstairs with me? Think Steve’s cooking a massive dinner.”

Aurora nodded her head and laced her fingers through Harry’s as the headed for the elevator doors.

xXx

Aurora tried to hold back her anxiety as she walked through the door with Harry, Jeff and the rest of the band Friday morning. She knew she was doing a poor job of it when Harry squeezed her hand tightly in an attempt to comfort her. She was angry at herself for her nervousness, knowing that she had performed on bigger stages in front of live audiences in the past, but she couldn’t seem to overcome the fear that she would make a mistake that would make Harry look bad. She could always deal with embarrassing herself, but the idea of screwing up everything that Harry had worked for was what truly made her terrified.

The set was a blur of activity and Harry led them down the halls towards the set where their equipment had been set up. Sarah headed straight to her drum kit and the boys picked up their guitars while Rori and Harry walked over to where the keyboards where a grand piano was waiting for her.

“You look like you’re going to be sick babe,” Harry said. He kept his voice low, whispering in his wife’s ear as she sat down on her bench seat, not wanting draw anyone’s attention to their conversation. “I know you’re going to nail this. Just gotta trust me.”

“I know,” she replied. “God anxiety is such a bitch.” Harry chuckled at her little outburst and then he kissed the top of her head before walking over towards the microphone stand.

They spent the rest of the day running through the two songs they would perform the following evening. They discussed the lighting and camera set ups, making sure that everyone in the band and the crew knew exactly where they would stand and which way the equipment would move during the live broadcast. Occasionally they would take breaks for Harry to go work on the sketches he would be appearing in or they would stop so that Aurora could remove her prosthetic for a while. In the year since she had started wearing the prosthetic hand, Tony and Peter had redesigned the original many times, constantly upgrading and improving it’s coding to make it easier for her to wear for longer periods of time. Despite these upgrades, she still found it hard to wear for too long and after about 4 hours of prolonged use she would start to get horrible tension headaches from the transmitting device she wore behind her left ear. It was for this reason that the majority of their soundchecks were happening on Friday so that Aurora wouldn’t be required to play before the show was ready to go to air. She was always uncomfortable whenever plans had to change in order to accommodate her disability, but Harry had assured her repeatedly over the course of the week that it was not a big deal and that they wouldn’t have been needed much on Saturday afternoon anyway, so it wasn’t even that much of a change to the schedule.

By the end of the day, Aurora was exhausted. They had taken plenty of breaks throughout the day, but she knew that she had definitely pushed herself, never wanting to be the one to call for a break and know she was paying for it. She had her prosthetic off and stuffed into her bag before they even reached the car that would take them all the few short blocks back to the tower. She sat in the back seat beside Harry and let her head fall against his shoulder, closing her eyes for the quick 10 minute drive.

“You alright love?” Harry asked quietly as they pulled up in the underground carpark of the tower.

She hummed in response, letting him lead her out of the car and into the waiting elevator. “Just tired,” she promised. “It was a long day.”

“It was,” Harry agreed, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. “Went great though. Think tomorrow’s going to be amazing.”

Aurora wasn’t the only one who was tired and after such a long day of rehearsals, everyone in the band was happy to return to the tower, the inviting smells of dinner greeting them as they stepped out of the elevator to see the entire team crowded around the dining table, waiting for them. Aurora’s eyes lit up as she saw Peter at the table and immediately rushed over to him, pulling him out of his seat and into a hug, her exhaustion evaporated in the wake of seeing him again for the first time since they’d arrived back in town.

“God, where have you been all week?” she asked.

“Sorry been busy with school and patrols,” Peter replied. “I usually only have time to come over Friday nights and on the weekends.”

“Lucky we’re not leaving till Monday then,” Rori smiled. “Otherwise I wouldn’t get to spend any time with you at all. Now talk to me, how’s it feel to almost be finished with High School?”

Harry watched them with an amused smile as they sat next to each other, talking excitedly about Peter’s upcoming graduation and which colleges he had been accepted to. They barely stopped talking throughout the entire meal, completely oblivious to anyone else at the table. Harry hadn’t spent a great deal of time around Peter, given how much time he had spent on the road with One Direction or off filming Dunkirk while Aurora had still been living in the tower full time, but it didn’t really take a lot of time to understand why Tony, Steve and Rori had all rushed to absorb Peter into their little family. He was such a nice kid, always energetic and excited about anything going on everyone’s lives and he was joy to be around. He had so seamlessly fit into the family dynamic that everyone considered him a Stark in all bar name. Harry had once asked Rori about his place in the team, and she had smiled brightly, explaining how happy she was that while she and Steve had always had their art to bond over, she was relieved that Tony now had someone that could keep up with him in the lab and that he could teach Peter and watch him improve. She’d always wanted a little brother and now she had one in Peter. Tony and Steve had already experienced the emotional minefield of establishing parental roles without stepping on the memory of Rori’s mother, to it had been so easy for them to find a way to fill those same roles with Peter over the last few years without diminishing May’s place in his life or erasing the importance of Peter’s parents. The Avenger’s had always been a messy, happy, found family, and with the addition of Peter and May, and then with Mitch, Adam and Sarah, the family just seemed to keep expanding and Harry could see how much Aurora loved having each and everyone of them crowded into the penthouses dining room.

xXx

Saturday was a blur of activity and rushing around, and before Aurora realised someone was yelling that they were going live in 10 minutes. She was sitting out of the way with Sarah on one side of her and Adam on the other, waiting for their time to perform. Harry was off getting ready for the first sketch and they had a small tv hanging on the wall nearby so that they could watch the show while they waited. The first half of the show went off without a hitch and all four of them simply tried to keep out of everyone’s way until a technician came over to heard them towards the set. They were all situated behind their instruments by the time Harry joined them and he quickly ducked over to Rori for a good luck kiss before taking his place at the mic stand and waiting for the signal to start. One of Aurora’s knees was bouncing beneath the piano and there was a slight tremor in her right hand as she closed her eyes and took a few deep breathes on the darkened set. She tuned out the camera’s and the studio audience, her attention narrowing down to her instrument and Harry a few steps in front of her as she began the opening chords of the song. For a few brief seconds her piano was the only sound as the lights began to lift, and Harry’s voice rang out through the studio. As they hit the pre-chorus Rori and Sarah added their voices to the mix and then all of the other instruments joined as they entered the chorus. All of Aurora’s nerves disappeared as Harry belted out the lyrics of the chorus, and in the brief moment right before the second verse he turned, catching her eye and winking before returning to the microphone. In the final lines of the song, right in the middle of the most difficult notes, Aurora heard Harry’s voice falter and he missed a line. She tried to hide a grimace, knowing that he would be kicking himself for slipping at the end of the song. The moment the camera’s cut away she was at his side, arms wrapped tightly around his waist and he pecked her lips quickly. She attempted to comfort him before he was quickly whisked away to change into the costume for the next sketch.

By the time they returned to their little set for their second song Harry appeared to have shaken off the slip up and everyone, including Aurora, was buzzing with adrenaline and ready to go with their second performance. This time the grand piano was gone, and Aurora’s keyboard was positioned behind Harry’s spot at the centre of the stage. With all the sketches out of the way, Aurora watched happily as Harry allowed himself to enjoy the performance. As they finished the song and the audience cheered, Harry quickly pulled his guitar strap over his head and walked over to where Rori was seated behind the keys. He cupped her cheeks in his hands and kissed her softly. “That one was for you my love,” he whispered as their lips separated.

“So proud of you,” she whispered in reply. “You absolutely killed it tonight.”

NEXT CHAPTER

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#skyfire fic #Husband Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #dad!tony #ptsd #domestic fluff #iron dad #step dad steve rogers #aurora stark #harry styles #tony stark #found family avengers

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drauthor · 4 years ago

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Operation: HAUNT

Part 1/?

Marian adjusted the duffel bag strap on her shoulder as she scanned the unfamiliar conference room. The drab beige walls were bare except for the large TV screen on the far north that was attached to a computer set up underneath and slightly to the left of it. The conference table wasn’t the largest she had ever seen - it would comfortably fit ten people, uncomfortably fit upwards of twenty. A quick count totaled sixteen people crammed around the table, talking amongst themselves. A few chairs with ugly polka-dotted upholstery were scattered throughout the room and most of them were claimed as well.

Marian held back her sigh and ducked into the room, aiming for one of the last pairs of open chairs. Once she was there, she dropped her duffle bag on the chair closest to the table and remained standing in front of the remaining chair. She braced her hands on her lower back and arched, sighing in relief when a series of cracks raced up her spine. She let the noise of the room wash over her and just as she was about to sit down, a hand landed heavily on her shoulder.

Every one of her muscles tensed and before she was aware of moving, her hand was locked around the offending wrist. She jerked around and was met with a solid chest clothed in a gray sweatshirt with fancy script declaring “Simmons Family Treasures” on the front.

Marian dropped the wrist like she had been burned and directed a glare upward, at the new arrival’s face. “What the fuck, Titus? You know better than to sneak up on me.”

Bartram Titus, Marian’s friend and co-worker, just smiled. “I apologize for scaring you, but I thought you had heard me approaching. I was not trying to be quiet.”

Marian crossed her arms over her chest and lowered herself into the chair. “You know these training events get loud. I don’t want to accidentally break your wrist one day.”

Bartram transferred Marian’s duffle bag to the floor between the chairs and sat down himself, crossing his ankles. “An unfortunate accident of my own making, if it ever occurs.”

Marian rolled her eyes and shifted until she was slumped in the chair with her legs splayed out. She let her eyes drift across the men and women gathered around, marking the exits - the doorway where she had come in, which was attached to a long corridor with no windows, and a large window on the east side of the room, which looked out over a small courtyard from four stories above - and anyone she didn’t recognize.

“Captain Smith is not here yet. How unusual.”

Marian tipped her head toward Bartram and let out a quiet hum of agreement. “Isn’t it great? I don’t have to look at his stupid fuckin’ face first thing in the morning.”

“His ‘stupid fucking face’, Marian?”

Marian shrugged and let her focus zero in on the door and the area surrounding it. “His face is stupid. I don’t like it.”

“I think the truer statement is that you just do not like him in general.”

Marian didn’t say anything and just smirked. Bartram fell silent as well, bending forward to rifle through the side pocket of Marian’s duffle bag. Marian, from the corner of her eye, watched him pull out the fresh sketch pad she had packed for him. Her smirk gentled into a smile as he began to sketch, his hand moving confidently along the page.

Marian took a deep breath and closed her eyes, focusing instead on the sounds of the room - the low murmuring of conversation, the scratch of Bartram’s pencil, and the machinery underlying the building that kept it running.

Abruptly, the noise in the room jumped a handful of decibels. Excited “captains!” were shouted and someone let out a loud wolf whistle. Marian scowled and let her eyes flick open. She stared at the ceiling just long enough to roll her eyes and then looked back to the doorway.

The first time Marian Sheldur had laid eyes on Jordan Smith she had come to two conclusions: 1. He was the most gorgeous man she had ever laid eyes on and 2. He was a complete and utter prick.

Three years later and nothing had changed.

He stood a few feet away from the doorway in the room, chatting amiably with the gathered SWAT officers, most of whom were members of his personal squad. His dark hair was styled away from his face, leaving his face unobstructed. Marian absently traced the lines of his face, trailing along his jaw and down his throat. She blinked twice before physically shaking her head, scowling at herself. She dragged her gaze away from his throat and the sight of his stretched out crew cut shirt that revealed warm brown skin just as dark as the rest of him.

Marian pulled her phone out of the pocket of her sweatpants and frowned at the home screen. It was almost seven in the morning and the first meeting of the day was supposed to start in ten minutes. Letting out a short sigh, Marian shoved her phone back into her pocket and looked up in time to see a familiar face walking toward her.

Marian arched an eyebrow at the man but didn’t try and keep the grin from spreading over her face. “Hey, Rev. You and the captain over there are late.”

Roland Allen was better known by his old military designation R3V4N and seemed to prefer it, too. He was a large man and appeared even larger when he stopped in front of Marian’s chair, holding a hand out for her to shake. “Hey, Sheldur. Nice to see you too. My morning has been quite lovely, thanks for ask-”

Marian rolled her eyes and leaned forward to take his hand. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I was getting to that part. Why are the two of you so late? Smith’s normally the first one at these things.”

“Privileged information, I’m afraid.” R3V4N winked as he released her hand. He braced his hands on his hips and grinned down at her. “You seem as excited as ever for training.”

“You know I always am.”

“I could swim in the sarcasm that just dripped off that sentence.”

Marian rolled her eyes and settled back into her chair. “Out of all the SWAT teams in our area, I’m the only one that’s been forced to consistently train with Smith for the past three years. I finally got the administration to let Bartram tag along. He’s been chomping at the bit to get inside of Doc’s head since I mentioned the man.”

R3V4N’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline, disappearing into a sea of fiery red, and he immediately looked to Bartram who merely looked up to offer him a smile before going back to his sketching. R3V4N looked back to Marian. “You trust him around Doc?”

Marian’s snort was loud and uncontained. “Absolutely the fuck not.”

R3V4N let out a boisterous laugh and slowly shook his head. “If something explodes, I’ll let the captain know it’s your fault.”

“My fault?”

“If Bartram and Doc get along and blow something up, you were the one who got them into the same room so they could interact.”

“And Smith is always looking to blame me for something.”

R3V4N shrugged, tucking his hands into his pockets. “It’s not like you're not just as eager to throw him under the bus.”

“I would like to actually throw him under a bus,” Marian muttered under her breath.

Either R3V4N didn’t hear her or elected to ignore the jab. Marian would have bet on the latter if the smirk on his face was anything to go by. “If they make anything explode, I’m blaming Smith and you as I eat popcorn and watch from the sidelines.”

“I refuse to accept blame if it ever happens.”

R3V4N just shrugged and glanced over his shoulder. He took a moment to study Smith before looking back at her. “You should let me take out for lunch later today.”

Marian cocked an eyebrow. “I’m loathe to say no to free food-”

“Then don’t.”

“But I will if Smith is there. Watching us try to kill each other over lunch might be considered entertaining for you and Bartram, but Smith and I would take it too far.”

R3V4N shook his head. “Cap’ has other plans. He’s getting dragged into a meeting with The Admin.” He paused. “I didn’t tell you that.”

Marian schooled her features into neutrality despite the shock of surprise that zipped up her spine. “The Admin?”

“All I can say, unfortunately. Lunch?”

“You don’t wanna eat with your squad?”

“I see them all the time. You, I only get to see twice a year, maybe four if I’m lucky. Honor me with your presence and get lunch with me. I’d like to find out if I need to avoid Bartram and Doc when they’re together.”

Marian slowly started nodding. “Yeah, sure, okay. Lunch it is. You pick the place. I'll do anything except sushi.” Her lips turned down in a frown and she locked eyes with R3V4N. “You have any idea why Smith is meeting with The Admin?”

R3V4N was silent for a long moment. He glanced at a sleek looking watch on his wrist. “Even if I had any idea, I couldn’t tell you. As it is, I have no fucking clue.”

“Well, it’s his problem. I’m perfectly fine with that.”

R3V4N grinned. “I’m sure you are. Your squad is downstairs, right?”

Marian nodded. “I have a couple of sims with them for about an hour after lunch.”

“Good luck. I better find a seat with Cap’ before the big wigs come in and yell at me for still standing up.” R3V4N touched two fingers to his brow and sketched a shallow bow before strolling back over to Smith. Smith glanced up when the other man arrived and offered him a quick smile before his eyes flicked over to Marian. He studied her for a moment and when he made eye contact, Marian crossed her arms over her chest and raised both eyebrows. His nose wrinkled and he looked away.

“And the urge to make him eat his own teeth grows yet again.” Marian clenched her jaw and hunkered down in her chair.

“You’ll be able to ignore it for one week, I’m sure.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Marian could feel Bartram’s attention shift to her. “Are you ever going to tell me why you hate Captain Smith so much?”

Marian ignored her lieutenant and almost felt guilty when she heard the man let out a quiet sigh. He began to carefully pack away his sketchbook and pencils and didn’t push the issue. She was grateful he was willing to move on so quickly. Marian closed her eyes and tipped her head up to the ceiling.

Marian and Jordan Smith had been butting heads for the three years they had known each other. Marian’s oldest daughter was insistent it was because they were too similar and had witnessed the worst of each other when they first met and Marian was sure it was just because Jordan Smith was a complete and utter asshole.

The first time they had met was… disastrous. Marian hadn’t slept for more than two hours at a time for a week and having to leave her newest foster child - a small boy named Crux who was still with her and she was still in the process of adopting - with her brother had knotted Marian’s nerves so tightly she had shaken through the entire drive to the training building and then through the rest of the week as well.

In hindsight, Marian was surprised she hadn’t punched him sooner.

He had breezed into the room like he owned the place and Marian hadn’t known that, as captain, he practically did. His confidence wasn’t the issue. It was the argument about strategy that had turned her vague frustration into outright rage. Marian couldn’t even remember what the damn argument had been about, all she remembered was hopping the conference table and her fist connecting with his jaw.

The hit he landed on her liver had hurt like a bitch.

It was one of the handfuls of things she reluctantly respected about the man.

They had never managed to make up after that cataclysmic fight. Surprisingly, the incident hadn’t gone on either of their records, and Marian was still forced to work with Smith and his team.

Marian hated to admit it and would only do so under extreme duress, but when she and Smith weren’t fighting and were actually working together, they made a formidable team.

It was truly a shame that Marian would rather have her teeth pulled than work with Smith any more than she absolutely had to.

When Marian heard the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, she blinked her eyes open and forced herself to sit up straight in her chair. Glancing at the doorway, she saw two men in suits walk into the room and head straight to the TV screen and computer. The room fell silent when they entered. Marian bit back her smile; not a single officer in the room liked the men in business attire that started out leading these meetings.

Marian settled into the chair, keeping her back straight and the rest of her posture relaxed. This first meeting wasn’t scheduled to be longer than half an hour and then they would be beginning the first of the day's simulations. Bartram straightened up beside her and he leaned forward, eager to begin. Marian wished she had even a third of his energy. It would make the day go by faster.

Marian let her eyes flick over to Smith one final time before she turned her attention to the ceiling and let the droll tones of the men in suits wash over her. She closed her eyes and braced herself for the long, boring day ahead of her.

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marshmallowprotection · 5 years ago

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If Saeyoung asked Lila to help him cause he wanted to try dressing lolita for a day - just to try, or maybe for an event - what would she do? If it was for an event she also wanted to go to, would she dress up extra too, or fit them (and anyone else dressing up with them) to a theme? Lets say Saeyoungs mc is dressing in ouji style to match Saeyoung, and Saeran is willing to match Lila? If you'd enjoy doing that much outfit coordination lol, i understand if not!

It does take a lot of prep work if you're really trying to make your look pop! Oh, God, now I really wanna write a one shot like this! I can't believe I never considered it. HERE COMES MY BABBLING Y'ALL HOPE IT MAKES SENSE

I can assure you that Lila spends a lot of time pilfering whatever little magazine spreads she can find on the internet as well as hunting them down in person.

She's got vision boards on the walls, a fully organized closet system and all her ducks are in a row. She is a visual girl, and she has lists and photos of what all she owns so she doesn't have to turn things upside down to make an outfit. She's very committed as it's her passion and what makes her sincerely happy. She may look like a bonkers madwoman if you don't truly understand it.

Now, she's never really asked anyone to dress up with her because she knows that it isn't everybody's cup of tea.

Everybody else supports her passion and never says anything rude about how much she loves big skirts and bows!

So, if Saeyoung approached her with the intent of trying it and interest in her opinion on the subject? Her eyes would light up and immediately she would start going through her archive with him, happily babbling and talking more then she usually ever does. She's normally a quiet girl but if you get her talking about what she loves, she just does not shut up.

I'd say it starts off with Saeyoung just wanting her advice. He knows his way around makeup and he knows how to put together a decent outfit and style his wigs, but he's never tried out something extremely frilly. Like, he loves dressing up and any excuse for him to be able to do that sounds really fun. Lila always looks really cheery, so he wants in on that.

He winds up getting her so excited about being able to share this special interest that she offers to let him tag along to a tea party that's coming up soon. Of course, they have to doll him up really good first!

They spend a while going on different coordinates that Lila has done in the past and her reference material, and the room they're sitting in is slowly covered in more ribbons and bows and frills from pulling out accessories and fabric samples as they sort things out and then MC happens to walk by when Saeyoung is dressed to the nines in a classic lolita type dress in pink to compliment his red hair, and Lila is beaming enthusically from the side in one of her own cutesy coords.

Saeyoung is like, "MC! You're missing out on the fun. Lila was just helping me find my style. I look cute, don't you think?!"

MC almost didn't recognize Saeyoung at first since they've only seen him in more... revealing feminine attire. This was a very nice touch and seemingly suited him very well. "You do look really cute."

And Lila, ever more devious at this moment, "Oh, if you like it, MC, I have some looks that would match really well with Saeyoung. I've had sets like this but I've never had a chance to share them!"

And that is how you get Saeyoung in frills and how you get a very dapper and boyish MC. It looks so freaking cute and there's so many selfies to be taken that day. She does that with Saeran too but those are her private photos and photos with Saeyoung and MC usually wind up in the chatroom!

She would spend a lot of time trying to stylized their looks and ensuring that they have things they like but also things that look really cute or sleek. If she didn't have things in their sizes, she would personally go about measurements and procuring the right brand of fabric to help them shape their looks out! You say the word and she will respect your limits and your dream look.

Lila is a very kind and thoughtful person. If you asked for help, she would help you from the basics to the more intricate. It doesn't matter if its a stranger or if its Saeyoung or Saeran or MC. She's more than happy to do what she can. She can get a little in over her head at times but she means well. She would always talk it out with the person she's speaking with and get an idea of their vision.

There may be a time where she's awake at 3AM at her sewing machine with sketches everywhere and fabric everywhere and her lips are curled into a grimace when it skips a row and THEN SHE CACKLES EXCITEDLY WHEN IT WORKS AND ITS DONE!

If they want to match with her but not go full blown Lolita, she would help them as well. There's actually a lot of Lolita who have partners that will dress up in a more casual way, like slacks and button ups. I'd say that Saeran could fall into both categories. There might be times where he's more then happy to let her do as she pleases with him, letting her fret about and piece together something for him. She's very mindful of his tastes and color choices, Saeran would get very cultured Gothic looks, nothing too regal or fluttery but very sleek and handsome. She would pair it with Kuro Lolita type styles, or stick to her sweet style so they're a couple that is opposites but yet perfect together.

He doesn't always do that, though. But he will respect her passion and if she wants him to come to an event with her and he wants to be low-key, he'll done more muted and classic looks. Ray's really the one that didn't mind the idea the notion of matching with her because she always got so excited about it.

Saeran just likes seeing her twirl and smile. He'd do anything for that.

Saeyoung definitely enjoys it the most out of anyone in that house though so her lovely brother in law is the one that goes with her to events! Saeran often goes too but more to be with her because he loves her so much.

#mod kait #anon #ask #lila lancelot oc #mystic messenger cmc #mysme cmc #cmc #saeyoung choi #choi saeyoung #choi saeran #saeran choi #mc1

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duhragonball · 5 years ago

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Dragon Ball Z 202

Last episode, Gohan created a superhero persona to disguise himself while he fights crime. By acting as the Great Saiyaman, no one at school will find out that it’s really Gohan.

This episode, he blows the whole thing on the second day, because some girl is on the roof when he switches out of his costume. Hijinks, as they say, shall ensue.

Gohan isn’t sure what to do here, so he just sort of walks past the girl and worries about it.

He gets so wrapped up in the problem that he doesn’t pay attention in class, so the teacher makes him stand outside.

Meanwhile, the girl is in the same class, and she’s doodling Gohan in her notebook. This looks pretty good, but I always wonder if when cartoon characters sketch someone in the house style, is it supposed to be photorealistic, or cartoony?

Anyway, the girl, Angela, is so consumed with thoughts about Gohan that she doesn’t pay attention to class either, and she breaks down in tears when she gets in trouble.

But she uses this as an excuse to go stand outside, where Gohan is. The teacher didn’t actually tell her to do this, but what’s he gonna do? Punish her for pre-emptively punishing herself?

So, out in the hall, Angela asks Gohan if he has a girlfriend, and when he doesn’t answer right away, she gets all upset. Then she threatens to tell everyone his secret unless he takes her on a date, so Gohan agrees. Angela tells him to meet her in town tomorrow on Sunday. Wait, so they’re in school on a Saturday? That’s bullshit. Also, why does Gohan have to hold pails of water but Angela doesn’t?

Gohan tries to deal with this properly, so first thing’s first, he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do on a date. So he asks his mom, who probably isn’t the best person to go to for advice on this, but who else can he ask? Piccolo? Krillin? Yamcha? These guys all have no business giving out advice.

Chi-Chi fondly recalls the time she and Goku hung out alone while Emperor Pilaf and Colonel Silver fought over a Dragon Ball. I want to say this was Dragon Ball Episode 31? This isn’t a flashback to that episode, though, since this is all-new footage, so I sort of wonder if Chi-Chi might not be embellishing things somewhat. In any case, she tells Goku they’re on a date, and when Goku doesn’t know what that is, she tells him that it’s the most fun thing a boy and girl can do together, so he naturally assumes she wants to spar with him.

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww...

So yeah, none of that helped Gohan at all, so he just asks Angela not to reveal his secret, and she tells him to take her to see a movie.

Here’s a nice shot of the Satan City Theater. I guesss this movie is about a volcano? Anyway, Gohan falls asleep in the middle of it, and Angela gets upset and thinks he doesn’t want to spend time with her. Well, duh. You’re blackmailing him, remember?

Gohan follows her outside and tries to patch things up, and she immediately cheers up and tells him to take her to a cafe.

There, she instructs him to ask her how many sugars she wants in her coffee, so he can add them for her.

So, I get the sense that Angela really wants to have a paint-by-numbers romance, hitting specific moments that she’s seen in books and TV shows. But she needs a boy to actually execute all of these spots, so she strongarmed Gohan into doing all of these things, but it’s never going to feel quite like it did when it happened on TV, because it’s not spontaneous. Right now, she’s only enjoying this because she’s experiencing it firsthand, but it’s a hollow fantasy.

I say this because I’ve seen men over the years pining for similar fantasies. Well, maybe not similar, but the same formulaic approach. Like, “I gotta get me a girl who will dress up in a red wig and a yellow dress and a white vest and ask me to tell her how many sugars she wants in her coffee, so we can re-enact this episode of DBZ. Yeah, that’s hot.” Or whatever your thing is. The reality is that even if you found someone to humor such a specific request, it would never quite hold up in real life. You can’t manufacture this stuff.

Maybe that was the point of Chi-Chi’s story earlier. It was romantic for her because it actually happened, and it wasn’t just Goku doing whatever she wanted him to do. They were both being themselves, and they hit it off, and that’s why she thinks so fondly about that time he punched a tree. Krillin’s first date with 18 was probably nothing at all like he had in mind, but he probably loved it because it ended up cementing his relationship with the love of his life. And I’m sure he would have loved to take 18 to a movie and a cafe, but not as an end unto themselves. You can scoop your own sugar, and if you wait your whole life for someone else to do it for you, you might miss out on something better. I’m not sure where I’m going with this analogy. I take my coffee black, so maybe I should move on.

Anyway, Angela wants thirteen sugars in her coffee because of course she does.

Over coffee, Gohan tries to get some sort of reassurance that she won’t tell anyone his secret, but that’s the furthest thing from her mind. She mentions that “it” is cute, but that’s about all she has to say about it.

Then there’s a fire at Satan Tower. Well, I think this was supposed to be Satan Tower, because that’s where they were going to go next, but maye they saw this building on fire while they were on their way.

So, little bit of trivia here, this episode didn’t air on Cartoon Network because it was originally scheduled for September 19, 2001, eight days after the 9/11 attacks. That sort of flew under my radar at the time, because I had already seen this episode on VHS a couple of months earlier, but when I heard about it I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Were they just not going to show any TV program that featured a tall building on fire? I think for a little while, that’s what the networks did. At the time, no one really knew what was appropriate and what wasn’t. I have to admit, seeing this screencap does remind me a lot of the footage of the towers burning. But at the time, that was a very distinctive image, and no cartoon of an unrelated incident could compare.

Anyway, the episode finally aired on Toonami about eight weeks later, but this is a filler ep, so it’s not like anyone really needed this one to keep up with the story.

So when Gohan and Angela find this, they hear that there’s people trapped on the roof, and Gohan realizes that he needs to change into Saiyaman and save them.

But Videl’s already on the scene. Her aircraft can’t land because of the thermal updrafts, so she jumps down to the roof herself and tries to open a valve on a water tank, figuring that flooding the roof will at least buy time for a rescue. There’s a whole sequence where she consults a team of computer guys about it, and this dude checks the building’s schematics and runs a simultation to see what good the water will do. But Videl’s not strong enough to open the valve, and her fingerless gloves don’t help matters. They’re stylish, but not much protection against the hot metal.

But then Gohan rushes in, despite Angela’s protestations, and Saiyaman shows up to save Videl when the water tower falls over. He punches a hole in it, which I guess does more than Videl had counted on? Anyway, he saves all the people on the roof, including Videl.

Afterward, Videl spots Gohan in the vicinity, and she wonders if that might mean something. Remember, she still harbored suspicions that Gohan is the Golden Warrior, and this is the second time she’s seen him at the scene of a crisis.

Then Angela finds them and assumes that Videl is Gohan’s girlfriend. Uh-ohhhhh!

Funny thing is, despite knowing Gohan’s secret, she seems to have no idea why he ran into a burning building a minute ago. She thinks he was just trying to save Videl, or maybe she thinks they like to make out in burning buildings? I dunno.

Heartbroken, Angela tries to play her best card, and tells Videl Gohan’s secret. Gohan’s horrified, but he can’t really do anything, so he just starts screaming, as if he can drown out the truth. Then again, screaming usually works pretty well on this show, so I can’t fault him for falling back on the basics.

But between breaths, Angela gets the secret out: Gohan wears teddy-bear underwear. Wait, what?

In perhaps the stupidest flashback ever, we see Angela wandering around after gym class, only to find Gohan pulling up his pants. I guess he was changing out of his gym clothes? Why would you do that with the door open?

So that’s the secret Angela’s been holding over Gohan’s head this whole time. So what about on the roof? Didn’t she notice Gohan wearing the Great Saiyaman costume there? No, she didn’t, because she didn’t have her contact lenses in at the time. Womp-womp-waaaaaaaaaaaaa.

Videl is not amused. I’m pretty sure in the dub, Angela wonders what Gohan is talking about, so she asks him if he had his pants down on the roof too, and Videl tells him to keep his pants on, or else.

Of course, Gohan could care less about how many girls see his sexy undies, so he just laughs the whole thing off and claims that his mother bought him the wrong kind by mistake. Really? That’s the best you can do? She bought the wrong kind, and you just keep them in your rotation anyway? My mom bought me this shitty tank-top looking thing when I was in seventh grade and I absolutely despised it, but she wouldn’t listen to me and bought it anyway, so I knew she’d probably try to make me wear it and I wanted no part of that, so I stuffed it in a box in my closet where she wouldn’t be able to find it. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Well it worked. I still don’t know where that fucker went. I probably threw it in the trash one day just to be safe. That shirt sucked. Not just because it looked stupid, but because my mom wasted money on it rather than just listen to me, the only person who was ever going to wear the thing.

Sorry, I went off on a tangent there. That’s what this liveblogs are all about, though. If you just wanted a dry recap of the action, you’d watch these yourself, or look it up on the wiki. Point is, Gohan wouldn’t wear teddy bear underwear unless he wanted to. He killed Perfect Cell. He wears a vest. He does what he wants.

So Gohan’s secret is safe, but he still feels terrible about hurting Angela’s feelings, so the next day he goes to apologize to her, only to find that she’s moved on to some other boy, and she’s got a date with him next Sunday. Badda-bump da-da-bump!

#dragon ball #2019dbliveblog #great saiyaman saga #gohan #videl #chi chi #goten #angela #erasa #goku

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chocoluckchipz-bag · 6 years ago

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Unexpected Surprise - 14

Read it on A03, WattPad, FF.net

< Previous

Marinette could get used to the view - barely covered by a blanket Adrien sprawled on his bed in the perfect cuddling position. She scooted closer. His chiselled-by-workouts body, his gorgeous face, peaceful and calm in his slumber, messy hair splattered all over his pillow, the perfect, slightly open lips… Gently, she ran her fingers across his evenly rising and falling chest just as the first rays of sun peeked through the curtains. Adrien wriggled his nose and scrunched his face. The muscles on his chest twitched and murmuring under his breath, he twisted in his sleep, curling away from her and the sunlight. Marinette giggled. Yup, she could definitely get used to the view - gorgeous, but still adorable and dorky. She shifted closer again and rested her head on Adrien’s back, thanking the universe for the time zones - still living on the Parisian time was the sole reason Marinette was awake before six in the morning in NYC.

A beeping sound suddenly shattered the silence. Adrien groaned, his hand acting on its own as he shut the alarm off. Without opening his eyes, he turned back to Marinette and wrapped her in a hug.

“Morning,” he whispered, his voice deep and rusty from the slumber.

“It’s still fifteen minutes to six,” Marinette replied. “Didn’t you say you don’t have to wake up before six?”

“Yup.” Adrien yawned. “Get up at six. Fifteen minutes before- cuddle ceremony.” He pulled her closer, burying his face into the crook of her neck. “Mhhhh, you smell nice.”

Adrien’s hair tickling her skin, Marinette giggled as she wrapped her hands around him, placing a kiss on a top of his head. “Sounds perfect.”

They lingered in each other’s arms for a few minutes before Marinette asked. “What’s the plan for today?”

“Office. You. Escape the paparazzi.”

Another sound shrieked through the room, and Adrien groaned again, moving closer to Marinette. “Too early. I’m busy. Make it stop.”

“I would,” Marinette laughed. “But I’m currently being immobilized by a cuddle monster. Can’t move. You should’ve put your phone on Do Not Disturb.”

“It is on Do Not Disturb,” Adrien replied, opening his eyes. “Except Emma and you have an override privilege.” Pulling away, he reached for the device. “Yup. That’s her. Give me a few.” With a soft smile, Adrien picked up the call. “Morning, sweetheart. How are you? Me? Yes, of course, I'm already up- Momma? Yup. Right here- Okay.”

Adrien pressed the speaker mode and Emma’s chipper voice immediately filled the room as she dived straight away in telling them everything she’d done since her last call, starting with a new book Grandma Sabine had read her yesterday, finishing with exciting additions to the bakery’s breakfast menu she’d helped Grandpapi Tom to choose just now. Then it was Marinette and Adrien’s turn to explain what the two of them were planning to do today and when they heard Sabine call Emma’s name in the background, Adrien’s cell phone alarm went off again.

“I adore Emma to pieces,” Adrien admitted, wrapping Marinette into a hug as soon as Emma hung up. “But I’d love to have you all to myself from time to time.”

“Possessive, aren’t we?” Marinette teased. Laughing at his pout, she added. “Not judging you, though – I might be feeling the same way. Emma’s had my undivided attention for five years. I think it’s about time she learned to share.”

“Let’s hope she’s a good learner.”

“She is. That’s one of the things I love about her.”

“And I love you,” Adrien whispered, leaning closer for a lingering kiss, his hands cupping Marinette’s face. “Did you know you’re the best thing that had ever happened to me?”

“And you to me,” Marinette replied, pressing her lips to his collarbone. “Love you too.”

They shared a few more kisses and tender moments before Adrien glanced at the clock. “As heartbroken as I am but it’s time to get up, Princess,” he sighed. “However, since we’ve missed the ceremony, what would you say about an evening equivalent?”

“Sounds perfect,” Marinette replied with a chuckle, running her fingers through Adrien’s hair. “Now, let’s pretty you up, so you can finish this thing in style.”

Adrien smiled, pulling Marinette in. “You, on the other hand, look perfect already.”

“Flatterer.”

“Just an honest person.”

Swamped by everyday routine, their morning flew by fast. They’d helped each other with the wardrobe choices and cooked their breakfast together, all while deliberating the ways to keep the paparazzi off their track. Adrien departed for the office right after the meal, leaving Marinette to wait for Thomas, the company's driver. About an hour after he'd gone, the paparazzi at the front door largely vanished and Thomas, donning civilian clothes, came by to pick up Marinette in a less suspicious car than the company’s limousine. Per Adrien’s suggestion, he’d also brought her a disguise - a wig of rich brown waves with red highlights and the biggest pair of sunglasses Marinette had ever seen. Feeling playful, she styled the wig into her signature low ponytails, dressed in the brand-new pair of boyfriend jeans she had bought specifically for this trip and rummaged Adrien’s closet for a t-shirt that would fit her.

The effect it had on Adrien was worth the trouble. As he caught her sight of entering the office, his eyes instantly widened. Mouth slack and frozen in his place, Adrien swallowed before saying something to the person he’d been conversing with and leaving them without looking back.

“If you’re trying to kill me, you’ve succeeded,” he quietly said into her ear, giving her a welcome cheek kiss.

“Baseless accusations,” Marinette whispered back. “Just dressing according to my “Adrien’s girlfriend” mood.”

“I thought we were trying to hide you.”

“From paparazzi.” She shrugged. “As far as I know every employee at Gabriel's offices are under a non-disclosure agreement or am I wrong? Plus, don’t forget that I’m wearing a wig so even if someone will give me away, all I have to do is to wear a different wig tomorrow.”

Adrien chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s why you were Ladybug. Always thinking a step ahead.” Turning to face the people curiously staring at them from all over the room, he added, “Everyone, this is Marinette Dupain-Cheng - one of the head designers at the main office, bursting with ideas, fearless, kind, gorgeous and simply an amazing person. If I get my way, my future wife, so, please, make her feel welcome and keep her identity under the wraps. I want her to enjoy NYC paparazzi-free.”

“Adrien,” Marinette yelped, feeling much hotter than just a second ago.

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Just acting according to my ‘I’ve moved a few steps closer to my goal’ mood.”

“Dork,” she puffed.

“Yours,” he grinned. “Now, come on. Let me introduce you to the people Father mentioned in your ‘instructions’.”

The rest of the day went relatively smoothly. While they spent most of it together, there were a few moments where Marinette explored the office by herself, devoting most time to the designer department, observing, giving advice, taking notes and sketching the new ideas in her sketchbook. To avoid the media, Adrien asked Thomas, their driver, to get their food delivered to the office. When the evening came, he offered her a choice.

“I’ve got three days left of work at the office - today, Thursday, and half a day on Friday; but since you are here, I can cram in a few extra hours today and on Thursday. That’ll leave all of Friday free for us. What do you think?”

“What about Wednesday?”

“Photoshoot. Would take most of the day, though. It’s a final one - they’ll squeeze whatever they can out from me.”

“And Saturday?”

“Nothing really. It was left as a backup day in case I need extra time, but it doesn’t look this way as of now.”

“So technically we can have two days to ourselves before our Sunday’s flight back, right?”

“Yup.” Adrien nodded.

“I think the choice is obvious. Why are you even asking me?”

“Because,” Adrien wrapped Marinette in a hug, settling beside her on a very comfortable loveseat she’d occupied for the last hour in his office. “Cramming in a few more hours would mean staying here those few more hours, and you've just dozed off for what I suspect was not the first time.”

“Sorry,” Marinette smiled apologetically. “It’s late in Paris and I’m still on their time.”

“Then why don’t you go home and rest. I’ll come when I’m done.”

“But-”

“No buts, Marinette,” Adrien gently scolded. “We were supposed to go home separately anyway, and Thomas’ workday will be over soon, so go and rest.”

“I wanted to spend all of the time I can with you.”

Adrien nuzzled her nose. “Sleeping in an awkward position on a couch while I'm working can hardly be considered spending time together. You should rest, Marinette. We’ll have some time alone tomorrow after the shoot. I might even take you out to one of my favourite places here.”

Marinette stayed silent for a second but then failed to suppress a yawn. “You honestly wouldn’t mind me leaving you?”

“I insist,” Adrien said before a smirk split his lips. “Unless you allow me to ravish you right here, right now-”

“Adrien,” Marinette squeaked. “There are people still in the office. You said it yourself - Thomas is waiting to drive me home.”

“Risk makes it all more interesting,” Adrien leaned down and slowly kissed her neck. “So, what do you say, Princess? May I?”

“I say the most you’ll get right now are cuddles,” Marinette responded, shoving him away a bit. “But if you manage to finish the work and still catch me awake at home, then I might consider your offer.”

“Perfect,” Adrien purred, weaving his arms around her back. They stayed like that for a few minutes before Adrien pulled away, saying that Thomas’ workday would end in half an hour, so it probably was a good time to call for him. Riding home, Marinette caught herself dozing off a few more times, and once she exited the shower, she crawled under the blankets and blacked out. She didn’t hear Adrien coming in a few hours later, but she still snuggled onto him when he pulled her into a hug, giving her a goodnight kiss.

On Wednesday, Marinette saved Richard another few hours of shooting. Inspired by her presence, Adrien did a fantastic job in record time and earned just enough free time to take Marinette out to Central Park. Since both of them were wearing disguises, the pair managed to avoid unnecessary attention and spent an evening quietly strolling along the lesser known paths of the park. They talked about the past, remembering the good times, and discussed their plans for the future. Marinette admitted to wanting to put her own spin on Gabriel’s style for a while now. After hearing her ideas, Adrien thought she should’ve done that a long time ago.

“Father loves this kind of stuff,” he beamed. “You’re brilliant, Marinette. I guarantee, he’ll give you your own line if he sees these ideas.”

“You think so?”

“I know so!”

“Alright. I might as well try it. What about you?”

“Hm, well, for me there’ll be no more catwalks that’s for sure. The December show will be my last one. Maybe some random photoshoots for fun in the future, but I’ll be moving towards managing the business side of Gabriel.”

“Getting too old for the pictures?” she teased. “Don’t worry, Chaton, you’ll always be handsome for me.”

“Thank you, my Lady.” Adrien chuckled and winked at her. “I’m glad to know the most gorgeous woman on this planet thinks I’m handsome.”

Marinette laughed. “You do know you are an incorrigible dork, right?”

“I don’t think you mind, though.”

“I don’t.”

“Then I don’t care,” Adrien smiled and lifted her hand for inner wrist kiss. “Love you, Mari.”

“Love you too, Chaton.”

He didn’t let her hand go once until they got into his car to go home, and even then, Adrien reached for it as often as he could, finishing the day holding Marinette in his arms. She loved every moment of it.

Thursday was spent almost identically to her previous day at Gabriel’s office, the only difference being Marinette staying awake until the very end. Adrien managed to finish his work a little earlier and was pleasantly surprised by a goodbye party his coworkers organized. They got home late, not even bothering to take two separate cars because even if the paparazzi were to camp at Adrien’s place or his office doorsteps, the darkness and the disguise hid Marinette’s identity quite well. Still, the fact that her name hadn’t made it into the papers yet was astonishing. Though, they did go to extremes to protect her. There were even rumours floating around about how harshly Richard himself dealt with the person who’d leaked her pictures after personally tracking them down.

“He’s vicious,” Marinette noted when Adrien had confirmed that someone did turn up at his office to beg for forgiveness.

“Only when someone wrongs the people he loves,” Adrien shrugged. “Otherwise, he’s an old softie in disguise.”

On Friday they slept in, and then spend the afternoon strolling along the streets scattered with multitudes of little shops and vendors, buying presents for friends and family. It was a bit trickier to stay undetected in a highly populated area in daylight, so Marinette changed her wig to long blonde hair while Adrien “forgot” to shave and wore a black hair wig of his own. He added a hat, and both wore sunglasses.

“I’ve never had so much fun,” Adrien kept whispering from time to time. “I feel like a kid again.”

“And a very handsome one at that,” Marinette said, brushing his jawline with her fingers. “I think I like that stubble look on you. Do that often once we’re home.”

“Absolutely,” he purred. “What about a beard? I once grew it out and let me tell you - rocked it too.”

Marinette laughed. “I don’t think I’m there yet, but we’ll see. Let’s start with a random stubble for now.”

“As my Lady wishes,” Adrien bowed his head and pulled her towards a hot dog stand on the side of the walkway. He swore she'd love those.

Friday’s visit to the François family in the evening of that day, however, was the event that Marinette considered the most interesting of the whole trip. She’d never expected it to be more than a farewell party from Adrien’s closest friends in NYC. It turned out to be an insight into the character of Adrien Agreste of six years after.

They arrived a few minutes before the appointed time.

“Everything will be alright.” Adrien squeezed Marinette’s hand reassuringly. “They might be a bit unconventional, but they’re really cool. You’ll like them. I promise.”

“I’m sure I will-” Marinette didn’t finish the sentence when the door was swung open and the pair was pulled inside by the host.

“Bonsoir, bonsoir, my dears!” Richard greeted them with a broad smile as the other members of the family eagerly encircled Marinette. He briefly introduced everyone: his wife Lucia, their children Sofia and Edward with their spouses Peter and Megan, as well as their four grandchildren: twin five-years-old boys, a toddler girl and a four-month-old baby Antoine.

A bit overwhelmed by all of the commotions around her, Marinette could do little but smile and greet everyone while focusing on Adrien’s arm around her waist... at least, until even that anchor was taken away by Lucia dragging Adrien into the kitchen a few minutes later.

“You are so much better with Bolognese, Adrien,” Lucia practically pleaded. “I am really sorry but, please, do me a favour and finish the damn sauce. Last time, I promise.”

“Alright, alright.” Adrien chuckled and turned to Marinette, to see if she wanted to go with him since most already dispersed back into the apartment.

“She’ll stay with me, won’t you?” Sofia rushed to interfere, looping her arm around Marinette’s. “I didn’t gather a whole bunch of stories about you for nothing, Agreste. I simply must share. She has to know just what kind of person she’s gotten herself involved with.”

“I’m pretty sure she knows me,” Adrien retorted.

“Oh, but does she know what you’ve been up to all these years in NYC?” Sofia wiggled her eyebrows. “Shoo, Agreste. Let the women gossip about their men.”

Adrien seemed to hesitate and, intrigued by Sofia’s proposal, Marinette assured that she would be fine waiting for him with Sofia.

“Okay,” Adrien smiled. “I’ll be quick and—” he glared at the other girl, “—do not embarrass me, Sofia.”

The girl puffed. “Please, with what? No offence, Agreste, but you’re one of the most boring people I’ve ever met. Can you believe—” she turned to Marinette, “—he lived in the city that never sleeps and still managed to spend all of his time at work or home? Boring! Bland and tedious.”

“Don’t believe her, Marinette,” Adrien pouted. “I did tons of fun stuff.”

“Sure, you did,” Sofia deadpanned. “Like learning to cook with Mama who spent more time teaching you than her own daughter. So much fun.”

“My daughter hates cooking,” Lucia shouted from the kitchen. “And this nice, young man was starving and willing to learn. Don’t blame me for your own choices!”

“I didn’t!” Sofia retorted. “Just pointing out that Adrien had lots of fun here. Also, oh my gosh, Marinette, you won’t believe but he used to read all the time. All those huge, boring books-”

“Those were for my school. I did get a Master’s degree, you know.”

Sofia shrugged. “That doesn’t excuse them being lacklustre. However,” she added with a smug smirk. “Even you’ve had your moments, Agreste, so I can’t promise you anything. There might be one or two stories Marinette would love to hear.”

Adrien narrowed his eyes at her. Marinette couldn’t hold back a smile. So that’s how it felt to have a sibling? Even if not an official one, but the thought of Adrien having had someone to care for him those years in the States was heartwarming, and these people, the whole family, seemed to love him as one of their own.

“Oh! I know!” Sofia suddenly stirred up, turning to Marinette with a wiggle of eyebrows and a sly smile on her lips. “I’ll tell you about the time Dad was trying to set us up and how much Agreste was dying to get out of it. You should’ve seen him, Marinette. He was like a deer caught in headlights. ‘I respect you, sir, and Sofia is beautiful and smart and amazing, but she like a sister to me. I could never date her.’ That was hilarious.”

“Please,” Adrien puffed. “You wanted out even more than I did.”

“Duh! You’re like a brother. Like, ewww? No way. Plus, Peter and I were a thing already—” she glanced across the room at a man holding a baby, “—I just hadn’t told the folks about him yet.”

“They got married a year later,” Adrien added. “Almost eloped, but we managed to talk her out of it.”

“Edward did,” Sofia laughed. “You were a picture of misery the whole time.”

“I was not!”

“Yup, you were,” Edward chuckled, walking closer.

“Hey, I was happy for you, guys!” Adrien pouted.

“Of course, you were happy for our little troublemaker,” Edward laughed, hugging Adrien’s shoulder. “No one denies that. But you were also not so successfully trying to hold back tears at her wedding.”

“From happiness!”

“And every time Edward’s wife had a baby?”

“That’s-”

“Oh, please, Adrien,” Sofia rolled her eyes. “Deny it all you want, but you wear your heart on your sleeve, you know. Yes, you were happy for us, but you were also sad and miserable and refused to tell us why.”

“The most I got out of him,” Edward added, “was that there was someone who he was in love with for years, but whose life he’d ruined, and now that person didn’t want anything to do with him and he still loved them and couldn’t move on. Though, I had to get him really, really drunk for that confession to come out.”

“I hate you guys,” Adrien huffed and glared at the two. “The one and only time I let you take me out to a bar-”

“Sofia! Ed! Leave the poor boy alone!” their mother shouted from the kitchen. “You’re going to scare Marinette away with your nonsense. Come here, Adrien. Bring Marinette with you and leave those heathens behind.” A wave of chuckles and giggles filled the room. Adrien straightened up.

“Thank you, Aunt Lucia,” he shouted before offering his hand to Marinette. “Would you join me in the kitchen, my Lady? Those insensitive individuals did not deserve your company.”

“Aw, come on!” Sofia whined. “We were just having fun. Leave her with us.”

“Too late,” Adrien pulled Marinette to himself and stuck his tongue out. “She is all mine and I don’t share with bullies.”

“We love you, Adrien,” Sofia retorted, stepping away herself to check up on her husband who seemed to be having troubles with getting their baby to sleep. Edward got distracted by one of his kids as well, so the pair effortlessly sneaked away.

“Adrien is a nice boy, don’t listen to them,” Lucia mumbled under her breath as soon as they entered the kitchen. “He's kind and smart, hard-working and an amazing cook. Those tactless kids of mine just like to tease him, and he is too nice to play their games. That’s their father’s doing. I told Richard to stop doing that because the kids would learn it, but does he ever listen to me? Here—” she passed a bowl full of ingredients to Adrien. “If you don’t mind, dear. Your Bolognese is the best and we’ll retaliate by not sharing.”

Adrien chuckled and headed to the stove.

“They weren’t so bad,” Marinette said. “I can tell they love Adrien- in their own special way. Plus, I got to learn something new about him.”

“Want to learn more?” Sofia peaked through the door. “I have tons of stories left.”

“Shoo, you evil child!” Lucia cried out. “Go set the table if you have nothing better to do. I’m almost done with dinner.”

“I can help,” Marinette offered, seeing as she wasn’t going to be very useful at the kitchen with Adrien and the older woman seemingly having everything under control.

“See? She wants the stories, Mama! Come with me, girl. I’ll tell you all of his secrets,” Sofia quickly pulled Marinette out of the room to Lucia’s discontent huffing and Adrien’s laugh. Marinette giggled herself. It was chaotic. Overwhelming even, but undeniably those people cared a lot about each other and about Adrien. It could be felt in the air. She could see it in their eyes. It must have been such a contrast for Adrien to get into this family after his lonely childhood life.

The table setting didn’t take long, seeing as Megan, Edward’s wife, had finally managed to escape from her kids and lend them a hand. Together, they told Marinette about Adrien’s life in the States, starting from the time their father dragged the depressed, lonely model into their house, and ending with him surprising them with the news of Emma and Marinette. There wasn’t much in between - just a few silly NYC adventures when they practically forced Adrien out.

“He liked to stay at home when he didn't work or study,” Sofia said. “We tried to get him out but the stubborn ass would usually refuse, and even if he did go out with us, he'd just sit there with that look on his face.”

“I always hated it,” Megan added. “He looked like a kicked puppy. There was always that sadness in his eyes, you know?”

“Especially when Dad tried to set him up those few times. Poor guy looked even more depressed after a date than before it and never went on a second one. We gave up on that pretty soon. I think he suffered through three?”

Megan shook her head. “Nope. Two. You were supposed to be the third one, remember?”

“Oh right,” Sofia sighed. “Well, we’re sure glad it's in the past and he has you now, Marinette,” Sofia smiled and out of the blue wrapped her arms around Marinette. “Thank you so much. I know it might sound strange coming from a complete stranger, but Adrien means a lot to us, and we are very thankful you appeared in his life. He looks happy. Really happy. Genuinely so. Please, be kind to him.”

“I will,” Marinette whispered, holding back tears. “I’ll do my best.”

The rest of the evening went pretty smoothly. Adrien got free from the kitchen pretty soon but was snatched up by a horde of kids who insisted that Uncle Adrien was to play with them. As soon as he complied, the level of laughs and squeals in the house rose significantly. Marinette could hardly keep her eyes off Adrien as he wrestled and carried the kids around on his shoulders. The children loved him and he was terrific with them. No wonder he was so good with Emma; he had a lot of practice here. It explained perfectly why he was so happy and eager to be a father as well.

Then followed the loudest dinner Marinette had ever attended, yet in a fun and wholehearted way. Adrien seemed to be right at home, even if the stories about him never ended and more than one of those were told with the sole purpose to tease him. He quickly retaliated, though, telling Marinette his own tales about the people around the table, causing the whole room to erupt with laughs. By the end of the evening, Marinette, in a way, felt a little guilty taking him away from them, but they approved. Adrien was loved here and his happiness stood above their own wishes.

They left late evening and Marinette felt as much a part of their family as was Adrien. Sofia proclaimed her to be her new sister. Richard and Lucia invited them over whenever they would be on this side of the Atlantic. Edward shook Adrien’s hand and wished him well as an older brother would. Everyone hugged, and from the corner of her eye, Marinette noticed lingering tears in more than one pair of eyes.

“I see you weren’t as lonely as you’ve told me,” Marinette teased him as soon as they left. “They’re great people, Adrien. I really enjoyed this evening.”

“They are awesome,” Adrien replied with a bittersweet smile on his face. “But... over the years… looking at them- it was just- you know when you see your friends- family almost,” he corrected. “When you see them fall in love, date, get engaged, get married, when you hold their newborns in your hands and help them choose the right name, when you help cook and share those amazing evening together… all while knowing that you most likely will never get to experience that with the woman you love… that you perhaps will never have a family of your own… That—” he lightly squeezed Marinette's hand, not making eye contact, “—that was the lonely and miserable part.”

“I’m sorry,” Marinette whispered and stopping, wrapped her arms around him.

“I'm sorry too,” Adrien whispered back, returning the embrace. “I can imagine it wasn't any easier for you.”

“I had Emma. And my parents. I had Alya, and Nino. I was still back home with lots of friends and even your father. He helped us too. You were all alone over here in a foreign country. And while Richard and his family are amazing — and I’m so, so glad they took you in — but if I understand correctly, they were your only friends here?”

Adrien nodded silently.

“I’m so sorry, Adrien,” Marinette whispered burying her face into his chest. “All because of me. Me and my stupid mistake.”

“I thought we agreed that it was my mistake too.”

“But-”

“No ‘buts’ Marinette. I’m not lonely anymore. I have you and Emma. We have each other. That’s all that matters.”

“No, it’s not,” Marinette protested, pulling away and catching his gaze. “It’s been years, Adrien. Because of me-”

“Because of you,” Adrien stopped her speech, gently placing a finger to her lips. “I’m not lonely anymore. I have a family now and feel like the luckiest man alive. Because of what had happened we’ve become people we’re now. We’ve learned; we’ve matured. We’ve both messed up, Marinette. Not just you or me. We both did, and there is nothing we can do about it now.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he continued to gaze upon her. “We’re together and happy now. We know what we should work on, so let’s leave the past in the past and focus on the future. Okay?”

Marinette’s eyes filled with tears. Was there a limit to how much Adrien loved her? She didn’t know, but when he leaned closer and put his forehead to hers her heart fluttered.

“I love you,” Adrien whispered. “And I don’t want you blaming yourself for the rest of your life for something we both did.”

“I love you too, Adrien,” she barely breathed out, loud enough only for his ears. “With all my heart.”

“That's all that matters,” Adrien smiled at her and let his lips brushed against hers in a gentle touch. “Let's go home,” he added. “I need to show you just how much I love you.”

“Same,” Marinette replied quietly.

Saturday morning Marinette met with a smile on her lips. There wasn’t much planned for today: some last-minute packing, maybe a lunch out somewhere nearby and perhaps another walk at Central Park. The evening was reserved for a movie, cuddles and early bedtime since their plane was leaving first thing Sunday morning. So, not rushing to open her eyes, Marinette cuddled closer to Adrien, still flying somewhere between reality and dreamland as she relished in the warmth of being close. In response, Adrien wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her closer.

This. This felt nice. Marinette hummed satisfactory under her breath. This felt like something she’d really enjoy for the rest of her life. The whole last week was something she’d love to have for the rest of her life. Waking up cuddling to Adrien, spending their days in close proximity, working together, sharing their meals, relaxing in the evening watching a movie or just talking, falling asleep in his arms… It only needed Emma added in, and it would be perfect. Perfect enough for her to eagerly anticipate his promised proposal to come.

Adrien’s arms suddenly tightened around her as he whispered her name. He must have awoken already, but Marinette didn't rush to turn around to wish him good morning - the way he held her right now was way too comfortable for that.

“I love you- love you so much.” He tugged her closer.

“Love you too, Adrien,” Marinette replied quietly, softly stroking one of his hands on her stomach.

“You are my everything, Marinette,” Adrien murmured against her skin. “You and Emma- everything-”

This time she wanted to respond, but Adrien continued to whisper.

“Love you so much… Can’t live without you… Marinette… I’ll make you happy… I promise… Marry me…”

The breath in her chest hitched for just a moment, a smile splitting her lips. They really were meant to be. Otherwise, how could Adrien read her mind and know one of her greatest desires a few minutes after she’d wished for it?

“Marinette,” Adrien murmured against her bare skin, his voice raspy and deep. “My Lady… My Princess… I love you...”

“I love you too,” Marinette finally replied, swirling around, “Of course, I’ll marry you, Chaton, you silly kitty. There is nothing I want more right now than this.”

With that, she pulled Adrien to herself and kissed him. Kissed him slowly and tenderly, lingering in the sweetness of his lips, lavishing in the warmth of his embrace.

She pulled away a few moments later to meet Adrien’s bewildered eyes, as he blinked before letting a sleepy smile stretch on his lips. Ignoring his dumbfounded expression, Marinette leaned in again for another kiss. This time he responded.

“Didn’t know the cuddling ceremony was replaced by a kissing one,” Adrien purred once they parted. “Not complaining, though. I might even prefer this one. You have the best ideas, Princess.”

“Well, isn’t it what you do after you get proposed to?” Marinette said, her eyes half-lidded and dreamy. “You kiss your fiancée.”

Adrien pulled back. “I proposed to you?”

“Yup.” Marinette’s grin stretched wider. “You did.”

He blinked. “When?”

“Just now?”

A silent whimper escaped Adrien’s lips as he stared back at her in disbelief. After a short while, he said barely audible. “Marinette, I woke up being kissed. I don’t remember anything before that.”

They stared at each other in silence before Marinette gave in, snorted and erupted with laughter. “Really?”

“Yes,” Adrien whined, closing his eyes.

“You’ve missed your own proposal?” Marinette continued to giggle.

“That’s not funny, Princess.” He flopped back on the bed, a sad puppy look on his face. “Weeks of practice down the drain.”

“Awww. I almost feel sorry for you, Chaton, but I’ll let you know that you were very cuddly and sweet. A swoon-worthy proposal for sure. I couldn't refuse you even if I wanted to.”

Adrien chuckled. Raising himself over her on one elbow, he tucked away some stray hairs behind her ear with his other hand. “Then maybe, you’ll allow me to ask you again? It would’ve been nice to remember you saying Yes to me.”

“Sure.” Marinette nodded. “But I’ll agree again only if you can beat the Sleep Adrien’s proposal.”

“I see. So, I’ve got my work cut out for me?”

“Undeniably.”

“Well then—” still raised on one elbow he leaned down and nuzzled her jaw, whispering in her ear. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I love you. Will you marry me?”

“That's it?” she chuckled when Adrien refrained from adding anything else. “No big words and promises to beat your rival?”

“I’m sure Sleep Adrien already said all the words and promised you everything,” Adrien said, his voice husky as he traced the line of her jaw with his fingers, following the trail with his eyes. “But in the weeks that I’ve spent practicing my proposal speech, I’ve noticed that the simpler words are, the more effective and sincerer they are as well.”

“I suppose,” Marinette replied with a smile, placing her hand atop of his. “But you’ll need something extra to top Sleep Adrien because let me tell you - he was fantastic.”

“Of course, my Lady,” Adrien replied bringing her hand to his lips. “I’m sure he was great telling you things, but did he do something like this?” He let his lips brush against the inside of her wrist.

Marinette shook her hand.

“How about this?” Leaning down, Adrien peppered the curve of her jaw with tender butterfly kisses before moving on to her neck, gently sucking at her exposed skin.

Closing her eyes, Marinette let a sigh out. “No.”

“And this?” Adrien nibbled at her earlobe. “I’m sure Sleep Adrien was big on words, but I offer you my actions. So, what will you say, Marinette? Will you marry me?”

“Tempting,” Marinette whispered, locking her gaze on him. “You drive a hard deal, Chaton.”

The corner of his lips curved as Adrien’s eyes fell to her lips. Watching them for a short while, he caught her eyes again and added. “I have a lot more to offer to Mme Adrien Agreste, though. Would you like to become her, Marinette?”

“Yes,” Marinette whispered, tugging him closer. “And very much so.”

“Excellent,” Adrien smiled and capture her lips with his.

It had been well over a year since his son came back from the States. Sixteen months since Adrien had discovered he was a father and cleared all of the misunderstandings not only between Marinette and himself but between them as well. About fourteen months, Gabriel would guess, since the duo came back engaged from NYC - of no surprise to anyone and just as he'd predicted. Exactly a year since their wedding. Unnecessary delay where Gabriel’s opinion was considered, but Adrien and Marinette had insisted on enjoying the engagement stage for at least a few months, which, to be fair, that did give him the time to create a custom wedding dress for Marinette and allowed their friends to arrange some time off work to attend their tropical wedding gateway. Sunset beach ceremony wasn't what he personally would've chosen, but Emma was happy and so was Gabriel. In the end, his preferences aside, the fact that Marinette had decided to take Adrien’s last name and change Emma’s in the process as well, was most pleasing of all.

Emma Agreste sounded perfect.

Emma Agreste had too much of a hold on his heart, and he acknowledged it without shame. Even now, as Gabriel carefully inspected her drawings, he couldn't hold back a smile. Emma clearly inherited his fantastic fashion sense.

“Father?” Adrien’s voice split the silence of the room. Gabriel lifted his head, confused as for why he hadn’t heard the door opening.

“Oh, you are back. I assume the date went well?”

“Yes, it was amazing,” Adrien smiled, pulling Marinette into the office. “Where’s Emma?”

“She went to her room ten minutes ago.”

“You mean my old room?” Adrien teased. “I still can’t believe you removed my zip line because it suddenly isn't safe anymore.”

“We already discussed it, Adrien,” Gabriel replied nonchalantly. “Whoever visits more gets the room. Emma wins by a long run and if you want that zip line so badly, install it in your own house and stop bothering me.”

“I’ve been robbed,” Adrien mock pouted. “Stripped of the place I’ve spent most of life in.”

Gabriel sighed. Marinette giggled.

“We appreciate it, M Agreste,” she said, putting a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “And Emma loves it. She’s still ecstatic about the princess treehouse and the royal carriage bed you put in for her. Even started bugging Adrien to buy her a similar one for her room at home.”

“I see,” Gabriel smirked in satisfaction, looking at Adrien. “So, remodelling the room to suit her particular tastes wasn't that unnecessary after all.”

“My climbing wall is still her favourite feature, though,” Adrien countered. “You can’t deny that.”

Gabriel sighed. “I suppose I can’t. She is your daughter after all.”

“She is,” Adrien grinned proudly. “And as unbelievable as it sounds, she takes a lot after me.”

“Maybe, but she undoubtedly inherited her mother’s fashion talent,” Gabriel added. “You can't deny that.”

“I suppose I can’t,” Adrien chuckled and looked at Marinette. “And I don’t mind in the slightest.”

“Speaking of which,” Gabriel leaned back into his chair and looked at Marinette. “Would you to bring her to the office next week? I want to start with that line I promised her. She has some interesting ideas already.”

“Wait.” Adrien frowned. “I thought co-creating a line with Emma was a joke.”

“I don't joke about such matters,” Gabriel replied. “Emma has a talent, and she is at the age when her imagination has no bounds. I want to explore that. She has a bright future if we nurture her from early on.”

Adrien glanced at Marinette. “We’ll discuss it over the dinner on Friday. We need to consider everything before we agree or decline anything.”

“Fair enough.” Gabriel nodded. “Now, should I call for Emma? It’s getting close to her bedtime, and you still need to get home.”

Adrien suddenly grinned and grabbed Marinette’s hand. “Not yet. First, we wanted to tell you some exciting news-”

“Oh. Did Marinette finally tell you she is pregnant?” Gabriel cut in, his face calm as he watched Marinette’s eyes widen and Adrien’s jaw drop to the floor.

“Wha- But- How? How do you know?”

The man let out an amused chuckle. “Can you guess what is one of the perks of being your boss, Marinette?”

The woman shook her head.

“I get to hear all the rumours about you early on,” he continued. “You are an Agreste now, Marinette, and people pay special attention to everything you do. When they notice stuff, they gossip, and every gossip about any member of my family makes its way to my office sooner or later. I suspected a pregnancy a few weeks ago when you were spotted feeling sick in the bathroom three days in a row, constantly seemed tired for a while and started consuming an impressive number of salty snacks.”

Adrien chuckled to himself and looked at Marinette.

“Then, of course, your father called me a week ago because he couldn’t congratulate Adrien yet, but he was eager to share the news with at least someone.”

“You father knew?” Adrien turned to Marinette.

“And Maman,” Marinette said apologetically. “She noticed the symptoms when I was over a few weeks ago and asked me. I couldn’t lie, but they promised not to tell anyone until I surprised you.”

“Unbelievable,” Adrien pouted. “Why am I always the last one to find out things in this family?”

“You should’ve been the first one to notice something was up,” Gabriel quirked an eyebrow. “Seeing how she is your wife and you live in the same house, and you—” he addressed Marinette with a stern look, “—you should’ve made it short days if you weren’t feeling well. We don’t want my grandchild to be born prematurely.”

“That’s why you kept sending me home early?” Marinette smiled. “Thank you. That was very thoughtful and very much appreciated.”

“Left behind,” Adrien whined and dramatically plopped on a chair. “Again. By my own father and my beloved wife. How could this happen to me?”

“Awww.” Marinette smiled, lightly ruffling Adrien’s hair. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to tell you in a special way and our anniversary seemed like the perfect day to do so, but here—” she leaned over and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Feeling better?

“A little,” Adrien pouted. “One more?”

“Don’t be such a drama queen, Adrien,” Gabriel huffed, standing up. “I’ll go get Emma.”

“You won’t call Nathalie to bring her as usual?” Adrien asked.

“It seems you two need a few minutes alone,” Gabriel said with a straight face, heading for the door. “We’ll be back in a few minutes, settle everything by then.”

He closed the door to the pair’s stifled laughs and Adrien’s unmistakable “Come here, Princess” and walked up the stairs. Soon Gabriel stood in front of Adrien’s former bedroom. A soft knock on the door gave him no response. He tried again and entered the room, calling out his granddaughter’s name. The room looked empty, the lights dimmed and no one answered him no matter how many times he called. Just for a moment, his mind stirred with worry, but then his eyes fell on a sleeping girl in the extravagant treehouse he made for her. Snoozing peacefully amongst the countless pillows and plushies, she was hugging a Chat Noir doll Marinette had made for her, swaddled in a ladybug-themed blanket Adrien had insisted was a must in this room.

Gabriel smiled. Emma was a surprise. For her mother. For her father. For him. Unexpected and bewildering. She looked mind-blowingly similar to his late wife, but that wasn't the most surprising thing about her. How much she’d accomplished in her seven years was astonishing. She inspired him every day and brought smiles to everyone around her. She’d gotten her parents together, something they were too childish to do themselves. She’d managed to melt his heart and prompted a reconciliation between him and his long-estranged son, something that just a little over a year ago Gabriel had never thought it possible. That was more than most people accomplish in a lifetime. Unexpected? Surprising? Not really. She was an Agreste, after all. Emma Agreste to be precise.

That's it, guys. I hope you've enjoyed this ride as much as I did. I hope Unexpected Surprise was as special to you as it was to me. I'm very thankful to my betas KryallaOrchid and EdenDaphne for helping me to polish this gem. Thank you so much, guys!!! Without you, this story would never be as amazing as it is now. Also, I'll be posting a separate Unexpected Surprise bonus story in a week where you'll get your questions about kwamis answered and be able to glimpse the future of the Adrien and Marinette's family. Hope you'll love it just as much as the main story. <3

Please note: English is a strange and wonderful language where many words have multiple meanings and slang can change depending on your country of origin. It is my third language so while I will do my very best, there may be mistakes made along the way.

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#adrinette #adrienette #ml fanfiction #aged up #fluff #Emma Agreste #Unexpected Surprise #usml

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stellarbisexual · 6 years ago

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A Memory of Love (3/?)

Summary: Richie and Eddie, who haven’t seen each other since they were kids, get cast as the lead couple in an indie film.

Canon-divergent, Reddie are in their 30s.

Previously: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

READ ON AO3

Chapter 3: Rehearsal Pt. 1

It takes only a few days for them to arrange everything. Eddie goes back to New York and packs up two months’ worth of stuff--seven weeks for filming and another three for this experiment they apparently thought was a good idea, while Richie gets his house in order.

“I probably should’ve mentioned,” Eddie’s gentle voice says over the phone just as he’s about to get on a plane back to LAX, “I have my dog with me. I can totally board her for the three weeks if need be--but she is a therapy dog, technically.”

Richie’s eyes light up. “Are you fucking kidding me?! That’s a bonus.” He’s already revising his shopping list. “What kind of treats does she like?”

As he wanders through the aisles of his local Whole Foods later that morning, Richie finds himself falling prey to the sweet seduction of this whole scenario, ticking items off from the list of staples Richie’d strong armed Eddie into giving him. He’s lived alone for the better part of a decade, and in that time, he’s been too busy to spend much time inside his own house let alone have a guest stay so long.

Ever since he was a kid, Richie’s had a sweet tooth, but he’s had to scale it back in recent years (even as a male comedian, he hasn’t been spared the vanity of his industry), opting for the organic versions of some of his gummy favorites and cutting others out entirely. Eddie’s even healthier than that, which comes as no surprise, maintaining a nearly vegan diet.

Eddie’s flight gets delayed a bit, making Richie comically antsy, and he arrives on Richie’s doorstep just before five looking tired but optimistic, the leash extending from his hand going taut as a medium-sized black and white border collie tries to leap at Richie. “Barb,” Eddie chides quietly, laughing.

Richie kneels and opens his arms to her, wide. “BABY!!!”

“You asked for it,” Eddie says, unclipping the leash and letting her knock Richie over. “Barb, seriously? I’ve never seen her like this.”

Barb won’t stop wiggling in Richie’s arms, giving his face a thorough tongue bath, the vinyl material of her vest making a funny zippery sound against his belt. “You can just leave her stuff there,” Richie says, pointing to the doorway. “I booked you at the Radisson down the street. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to take her from me,” Eddie muses, starting to drag his suitcases over the threshold.

“Wait wait wait, don’t,” Richie says firmly--and hilariously, this brings the dog right to attention. She scrambles off of him and sits politely, awaiting instruction. Richie chuckles, scratching one of her ears. “Not you; your dad.” He turns to Eddie. “Absolutely not. Go sit down, I’ll take care of it. I feel like enough of a schmuck for not being able to pick you up from the airport.”

“Richie, it’s fine--”

“Sit. I’ll give you both a tour in a sec.” He pulls Eddie’s suitcases in and shuts the door behind him, watching with a smile as Eddie’s eyes scale the walls and ceilings of his home. “Barb, huh? Is that after Streisand?”

“Stanwyck,” Eddie corrects. “I’m not that gay.” Richie laughs. Eddie spins on his heels, strolling across the living room and checking out the view through the back of the house. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but Richie, this is gorgeous. I don’t think she’s gonna want to come back to New York with me when this is over.”

“Plenty of room,” Richie says, reiterating what he’d said the last time they saw each other, in the bar, and finds a small part of him hoping that Eddie decides he doesn’t want to go back to New York, either.

Eddie’s walk with Barb gives him a second wind, so he agrees to read through the script with Richie once before dinner. Being a self-proclaimed TPW (total prop whore), Richie suggests they do as much of the action as they possibly can, scrambling through the house to approximate almost every item that’s mentioned in the script--and even some things that aren’t.

In the days since the read-through, Richie’s been practicing, almost an embarrassing amount. What’s even more embarrassing is that all that work goes completely out the window once he’s acting with Eddie. That’s his first lesson: he can’t really plan the way he says any particular line, the way he did on TFS. Comedy, especially sketch comedy, is kind of musical; you’ve got to hit every note precisely, and it’s way more about how certain words sound than how you feel saying them.

He does give himself credit for adjusting to what Eddie’s giving him. He might be passable at this, after all.

Seeing Eddie work is a huge turn-on, knocks Richie completely out of his own head. As a comedian, there’s nothing more exciting to Richie than commitment, and Eddie is nothing if not committed. There’s no ego in anything he does; as analytical as he is, he manages to be totally present while they’re reading together. He’s just totally fucking there. Open to whatever happens.

Eddie would probably be fantastic at improv, Richie thinks. He’ll have to get him to play with him some time.

During one of their two breakup scenes in the script--the second one, where they’re older--Eddie nearly makes Richie cry with the tears shimmering in his own eyes.

When the last words of dialogue are spoken, Richie blows a big breath out of his mouth and groans a wrung-out, “Fuck,” tossing the script across the room. Barb lifts her head to watch it sail, then lowers it back down to rest on her daintily crossed front paws.

Eddie laughs, loud and bright, clearly grateful to him for diffusing the tension. “Not an uplifting one, is it?”

“No, sir.” Richie’s palms slide slowly down his face. The doorbell rings--their takeout. “Thank God. Let’s eat our feelings.”

They sit on the lanai over a huge spread from the best vegan place Richie could find, watching the sun set. He isn’t much of a cook and he’d insisted that Eddie not cook his first night back in town after a long trip.

“I probably shouldn’t say this,” Richie starts, bringing the neck of his Corona to his lips, “‘cause it’ll tip the power scales your way for this entire shoot. But you’re really something else, Kaspbrak.”

Eddie blushes a little as he drinks from a bottle of sparkling water. “How do you mean?”

“You’re fucking good, man. Just… you’re so real.” Richie chuckles at himself. “God, I sound like a fucking moron. ‘You’re so real.’ Please don’t ever let me talk about acting ever again.”

“Richie, you know what you’re doing. Stop acting like you don’t. I definitely wouldn’t have signed on to this if I hadn’t been not just confident in you but excited to work with you.”

Richie hums. “Paycheck probably doesn’t hurt, either.”

Eddie smiles. “Hey: I doubt I’m getting paid anything near what you are.” He chucks a piece of soy chicken satay at him, and Richie ducks it with a wince.

“Touché.”

“Thank you, though,” Eddie says, though he doesn’t look particularly taken with the compliment, more like he really doesn’t give a shit about being seen as good at all. Like he’d said when they first got drinks, the audience doesn’t matter. “I have pretty intense anxiety,” Eddie says quietly, “so all my stuff is right here.” He waves his free hand around his throat and chest. “There’s nowhere for me to hide.”

Richie isn’t sure he understands. His life as a performer has been all about hiding so far, behind wigs and voices and, yes, props. He’s never been great at stand-up for that very reason. Too exposing. But he’s intrigued. “Any of this hitting home for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“This.” Richie leans across the table to tap the cover page of Eddie’s script.

Eddie’s brow furrows. “Um. I don’t really have a point of reference.”

Richie watches him closely. “No serious relationships?”

“Not really,” Eddie shrugs, leaning back in his chair and watching the breeze make gentle little waves along the surface of Richie’s pool. “I try, but it’s hard to trust people.” He stops himself, revising. “It’s hard for me to trust people. Makes it almost impossible to fall in love.”

There’s something about the way Eddie’s voice curls around the word love that makes Richie’s insides collapse. For how open Eddie’s been so far, this whole conversation feels like a locked door. Richie wants to smash it open, caveman-style. But before he can pick up that first proverbial rock, Eddie’s poking at him in return.

“How ‘bout you?” he asks.

Richie gives an easy laugh. “No. Sex is easy; sex is fine. Relationships I can take or leave.”

Eddie gives him a penetrating, horribly unnerving look like he knows something Richie doesn’t--or maybe that Richie does. “We’re both a couple of messes, huh?” Somehow Eddie manages to make it sound both hopeful and sad.

“I speak only for myself.” Richie smiles softly at him.

They engage in a pretty awkward dance just before bed. Somehow they’d dodged discussion of sleeping arrangements when Richie’d given Eddie and Barb a tour of the house earlier. They look at each other, two sets of eyes wide and bewildered.

Thankfully, Eddie saves them. “I should probably sleep in one of the guest rooms while I still have this jet lag.”

“Okay,” Richie says quickly. “We can--I mean, if you want--when you’re ready, I’m open to--”

Eddie laughs quietly, then reaches for Richie, running a hand along the length of one of his arms. “Let’s play it by ear. Probably better if we ease into it.”

“...Okay.” Richie can feel every one of his nerves pinging around his face. He works to school his expression. He blinks. Eddie’s hand is still lingering on his wrist. “Just… make yourself at home. Anything you need.”

Eddie laughs again, softer. “Goodnight, Richie.” Then he rises up a little on the balls of his feet and presses a kiss to Richie’s cheek. The kiss feels just a shade over the line of friendly.

Richie watches as he disappears through the archway on the other side of the house.

The next morning, Richie wakes to a faint whine and a wet nose nudging at the arm he’s got hanging off the side of the bed. One of his eyes blinks open, landing on the dog he’d totally forgotten spent the night in his home. He smiles, wide and sleepy. “Hey, Barbarella.” He listens for Eddie, but the house is quiet. “Dad not up yet?” He glances at his watch on the bedside table: eight a.m.

Barb sits obediently, her tail wagging a little over the rug.

“Okay,” he grunts, flipping the covers off and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “We’ll let Dad sleep in. I’ll take you on a little adventure.”

After a brief search, he finds Barb’s leash by the back door where Eddie’d left it last night, clips it to her collar, pockets a few treats, and slides the back door open, squinting against the already oppressive sun. “Oof. Gonna be a hot one today.” He’s glad he opted to stay shirtless, keeping just his sweat shorts and slipping on a pair of sandals.

Living in the hills, he has access to several hiking paths. Barb eagerly follows, stopping to pee a few times along the way, and picking up a stick for Richie to throw. He’s reluctant to let her off her leash, though, which he makes sure to explain to her with profuse apologies and promises to let her run wild later--if Eddie allows it.

They’re out for nearly an hour, and by the time they come back, Barb is panting happily and Eddie is out on the lanai in a t-shirt and boxers, drinking from a mug, his hair messy and his eyes puffy but satisfied. Richie notices his gaze drop briefly down to Richie’s naked torso before darting respectfully back up to his own eyes.

He can’t help thinking that it’s all very dangerous, this trick they’ve started to play on both their minds, this illusion that they’re actually together.

“Good morning,” Eddie says, his voice a soft, raspy thing. Barb bounds up to him, and he lights up. “Hi, sweetheart. Did Richie take you on a walk?” She flops onto her back, twisting, and Eddie rubs her stomach. “You’re never gonna want to come back to our shitty little studio in Queens, are you?”

“I intend on spoiling you both every day that you’re here,” Richie says, not giving himself the time to regret the blatant flirtation. Eddie sits back in his chair and hides his blush with a sip of coffee--or green tea by the looks of it. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Like a rock,” Eddie replies, raspy, then clears his throat. “I forgot what silence sounds like. It’s nice.”

Richie bites back a smile, all too pleased that Eddie’s already comfortable in his home. “Well. Don’t get used to it. I sing all the time. ” Before Eddie can inquire, Richie’s taking a deep belly breath and turning wide eyes down to Barb as he croons: “Sometimes I feel like I don’t have a partner, sometimes I feel like my only friend...”

Eddie watches patiently as he turns back in the direction of the pool, belting loud enough to scare some of the birds out of the trees.

“...IS THE CITY I LIVE IN, THE CITY OF ANGELS. LONELY AS I AM, TOGETHER WE CRY.” When he turns back, Eddie’s got both hands over his eyes, mortified but still smiling. Barb howls, and they both laugh.

Richie isn’t sure what he expected, but he thought there would at least be more acting involved in this whole arrangement. But his and Eddie’s first week together is spent just living side by side, floating in and out of each other’s space by day and retiring to opposite sides of the house by night, Barb sometimes torn over who she should follow (which makes Eddie hilariously jealous).

Despite what Richie’d said to Eddie their first night in the house together, he’s been in love before--well, whatever he believed to be love at those particular times. Still, he’s never been so taken with the details of someone in his life, the way that he is with Eddie. Every morning over eggs or cereal, he watches furtively from the kitchen island as Eddie does yoga out on the lanai, the glistening furrow of his brow and the utterly precise way his foot swishes back and forth to smooth out the curled up ends of his mat.

It’s never struck Richie how much he’s wanted someone else living in his space with him until now. Or maybe he wants to keep Eddie around in the hopes that he’ll will some childhood memories out from the darker recesses of his mind.

On the sixth night, Richie stands restlessly in the living room as Eddie loads up the dishwasher. “Hey: you wanna watch a movie?”

“I was wondering if that collection was just for show.” Eddie shakes his wet, washed hands over the sink and dries them off with a tea towel.

The collection to which Eddie refers is Richie’s comedy vault, a comprehensive (incredibly nerdy) library of comedy shorts, films, and TV shows dating back to the silent era. “Your pick,” he says, waving a hand at the media wall and flopping down on the big sectional. “I’ve seen ‘em all thousands of times.”

After a long silence, Eddie finally enters, tossing Richie a piece of dark chocolate covered caramel and unwrapping one for himself. He stuffs his hands in his back pockets and tilts his head, one of Richie’s favorite stances of his; he likes what it does to Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie’s eyes run over the titles, and Richie watches, sucking every last bit of chocolate off the caramel in his mouth. Barb’s already curled up at Richie’s feet and on her way to snoozing.

Eddie smiles. “You have a laserdisc player?”

“Some of them are only available that way.”

“Well now I wanna watch a laserdisc,” Eddie says, running his fingers over the thin cases that look like vinyls. “You know, I’ve gotta be honest: I thought you’d be out at some fancy party every other night of the week.”

“You thought wrong, pumpkin.” Richie snuggles further into the cushions, wishing he’d changed into sweats but too comfortable to get up. “I’m partied out, man,” he says, quoting Wayne’s World.

Eddie pulls out a collection of Tex Avery cartoons.

“Good choice,” Richie smiles, watching with major amusement as Eddie peers into the sleeve, his eyes going wide.

“Um. How do I…?” Eddie laughs at himself. “I don’t want to break it.”

Richie heaves himself off the couch and gets everything set up, settling back in right next to Eddie, who leans into his shoulder just as the first short gets started. “Oh, hello there,” Richie teases, feeling a flirty little buzz of excitement in the pit of his stomach.

“Thought I’d jump right in,” Eddie explains.

“I like it.”

They laugh together through the first cartoon, quietly, and spend even more time talking about how outdated and offensive a lot of the jokes are. Richie reaches for Eddie’s hand, which has flopped down next to his own thigh, and laces their fingers together. He sees Eddie inhale and then smile out of the corner of his eye. He tries to pay attention as the vibrant colors flash across their faces.

“I have a question,” Eddie says about halfway through the second cartoon. “You don’t have to answer if it’s too personal.”

“...Shoot.”

Eddie still hesitates. “Have you ever been with a guy, Richie?”

Richie turns so he’s talking right into the hair at the crown of Eddie’s head. “That’s maybe the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard, Kaspbrak. I expected more from you.” Eddie laughs. “Yeah, I have.” Eddie’s quiet for a long beat, so Richie gives him a little tickle at his side. “I’m not kissing and telling, if that’s what you’re after.”

“Stop,” Eddie says, laughing and smacking his hands away. “Jerkoff.”

“Jerkoff? Wow.” Richie moves to tickle him again--he couldn’t help it if he tried--and Eddie scrambles as far as he can without falling off the couch.

“No, Richie, no--I’m really, really fucking ticklish, don’t.”

Richie goes for it anyway, just to see Eddie squirm and giggle again, and to feel how warm he is. Shit, he feels like he’s sixteen. “Did I pass the big gay test with flying colors?” Eddie shrieks. “Huh?”

“That’s not why I asked!” Richie finally relents, and Eddie catches his breath. “That’s not why I asked. I just wanted to know.”

Richie can feel his eyes going soft as he looks at him. “...Okay. Fair enough.” He scoots back to his original spot and settles in, watching as Eddie rights his clothes. He curls his palm at him, beckoning. “Come on, snuggle time. Tickle torture is over, I promise.”

Eddie cautiously crawls toward him. “I know you’re super fucking tall, but I’m pretty strong; I could pin you.”

“That a promise?” Richie raises an eyebrow.

“Shithead,” Eddie says under his breath as he snuggles into Richie’s side again.

Richie’s arm settles around his shoulders. Eddie feels so comfortable there, so right that Richie can’t help envisioning a different reality than the one they’re in, one where he and Eddie stayed in touch, became high school sweethearts, and married really young. It practically feels that way.

His next words for Eddie are quiet. “Do you think we should get the first kiss over with?”

“Um.” Eddie looks up at him, his eyes wide and honey warm. “Okay.”

He leans up slightly, and Richie dips down, barely getting Eddie’s top lip. It’s chaste but promising. When they pull apart, Eddie’s expression is terribly serious, so Richie sticks his tongue out at him to ease the tension. Eddie does smile, close-mouthed and sweet, ducking his head.

“Should we go for a real one?” Richie asks. Eddie lifts his eyes again, looking slightly bewildered. “I’m not trying to be creepy, if you’re not--”

“Let’s try it,” Eddie says, so quickly Richie nearly flinches, his eyes darting down to Richie’s lips before he shifts, sitting upright on the couch so they’re almost level.

Richie swallows, actually nervous, and decides he’ll let Eddie take the wheel on this one.

It starts with Eddie’s fingers on his face, his thumb and his index finger bracketing the corner of his jaw where his stubble’s a couple of days grown in, thumb settling in the divot in his chin. He leans in slowly, taking in Richie’s expression before capturing Richie’s bottom lip between his own. His lips are so full and soft, Richie has to actively try not to fucking melt into the cushions.

He hears the faint sound of Eddie shifting on the couch, moving onto his knees, before he can even think to get his hands on him, anchoring himself with a loose grip on his hips, not wanting to push too hard but figuring it might actually be welcome, the way Eddie’s mouth is moving all lush and wet up against his own. Shit. Eddie’s a crazy good fucking kisser, he thinks, as his tongue slips right into his mouth, brushing coyly against his own and tasting salty-sweet like caramel. So good Richie wants to tell him right now, but that would mean stopping, and he is not about that.

Before he can get his mind right, Eddie’s pulling away and darting in for one last soft peck--and it’s the sound of that, the precise little snick of their mouths separating that unearths something: a memory.

So instead of telling Eddie how good a fucking kisser he is, he’s saying, “Not our first kiss,” breathless with the revelation. Eddie shakes his head, dazed, his hands resting on his shoulders, going tight and then loose on the material of his t-shirt. “What do you remember? Tell me.”

“I shouldn’t…” Eddie says, his eyes already telling about a thousand stories.

Richie moves one hand up to cradle his face. “Tell me,” he urges gently. “Please? I want to know.”

Eddie huffs a big breath through his nose, licking his lips, eyes darting decidedly away from Richie’s. “Seven minutes in heaven.”

“Hm?”

“Seven minutes in heaven, seventh grade. Somebody’s birthday party, not one of our friends, not really. I picked your name out of the hat, and everyone gave me shit for not wanting to go into the closet with you.” Eddie looks so vulnerable, Richie wants to hold him, closer than before, closer than anyone has. “I started thinking--ironically--that they’d know what I was if I didn’t just laugh it off and go in there with you. And you didn’t give a shit, so I just grabbed your hand and pulled you in there after me. At which point, I of course immediately started having an asthma attack.”

Richie watches him, unable to breathe himself.

“You kept saying, ‘It’s okay, we don’t have to do anything, we don’t have to do it, it’s okay.’ But that made it worse; it just made me feel more alone. You got my inhaler out of my pocket for me, but it didn’t help. I was convinced I was going to suffocate in that fucking closet.”

“Would’ve been poetic,” Richie can’t help but say--and almost apologizes for it except that Eddie gives him a wry, grateful smile.

“Yeah, would’ve been. Um.” Eddie’s voice goes softer and kind of raspy. “And then you just grabbed my face and said, ‘Eddie, look at me, look at me.’ And you kissed me--not for a joke or anything. A real kiss. And just like that, I could breathe again.” Eddie holds his hand up preemptively. “Before you get smug, the kiss itself wasn’t that great. But it was my first,” Eddie shrugs. “So--belatedly--thank you.”

Richie thinks he might actually cry. He clears his throat. “I wish I re--”

“I know,” Eddie waves him off. “It’s okay. It was one of the first things that came up for me in therapy, around coming to terms with who I was. Who I am. And it look a lot of digging, believe me. My shrink used to call me Fort Knox.”

“If you’re Fort Knox, I’m the fucking Pentagon.”

Eddie looks intrigued by Richie’s joke.

“Stay with me tonight?”

“What?”

“Sleep in bed with me. I won’t try anything, I promise.”

“I know that; I trust you,” Eddie says, finally removing his hands from Richie’s shoulders and letting them come to rest limply in his own lap. “I just… don’t sleep well, in general. Having Barb nearby helps, but I might be up once or twice. Or a lot--depending on what my brain decides to dish out.”

“I can handle it,” Richie says with a confidence he doesn’t feel.

“Okay,” Eddie says, and Richie braces himself, expecting--hoping for--another kiss that ultimately doesn’t come, not the rest of that night, anyway.

permatag list: @reddie-to-fight @hurleyhugo @raspberrywind @losver-kaspbrak @lilgeorgie @geckolover001 @its-stranger-than-you-think @gazebo-motherfucker @waypunsarelife @reddietofall @happytozier @librablossom @aesteddie @tapetayloe@spagheddi-kaspbrak @sadhelianthus @adhdtozier @justcallme-trashmouth @fuckboyrichie @bandaids @20gayteeneds @richietoaster @burymestanding @reddiepop@notsugarandspice @richiefuckfacetozier @noahsschnapp

a memory of love list: @artofhely @trippy-alexissss @feelinsorad @where-ismy-miind @justanothetfangirl

#mah fic #reddie #a memory of love #it 1990 #it 2017 #stephen king's it #it chapter two

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gracieoliviamaller · 6 years ago

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weekly summaries- viscera

This unit I made notes of all my weekly summaries in a pages document as I went, as I thought it would make it easier at the end of the project to then make the refletive journal. However I did forget to actually post them on my blog. Eventually I will get the weekly summaries right, I mean I only have one unit left at uni and this time I am going to do it one way or another ...

weekly summaries and evaluation below:

Weekly Summaries and Evaluation- Collaboration ‘Viscera’

Week 1

The first week of the project and we had briefing and decided to work together. Currently not sure what to do yet, only that we want to do an anthology. We like the idea of having lots of tiny stories. We know we want to work in a 2D digital drawn style as that is a style we both enjoy working in and are strongest at. The aim for the week is to do some research into different styles and come back to each other next week with some more ideas to brainstorm.

We are also collaborating on a side project currently for Glyndebourne and Norwich theatre. Which is taking up a lot of our time as it is due in in two weeks time.

Week 2

This week we met up and had a brain storm to come up with more ideas to pick from, which were;

1. One word

2. Mental health

3. Reality v expectations

4. Stuff inside stuff

We have decided that we will be making an Anthology themed around one word, to be decided, and we will be animating in 2D drawn animation. We will be playing on the fact that Eszter’s style is all about highlighting the ugly in things and I like to be the opposite and look for perfection/beauty. So this will hopefully create a nice dynamic in the animation. We plan to make several shorts and put them together to fit the one theme. It will be a slightly abstract piece as it has been discussed that the word would be something like, wig or bath mat or spatula. As Eszter enjoys working within the weird and I liked the idea of the challenge.

I am happy that we have processed from the first week and have the starts of an idea, we need to continue the research and narrow down our idea to one specific plan.

Week 3

This week we pitched our our vague idea to Peter and Helen and they suggested we could go with ugly beauty contrast as a main idea. Due to that being our own individual strengths.

Then we had a meeting at the playhouse and decided that expectations vs reality will be the theme of our idea. I wasn’t feeling very inspired by the theme of one random word. It felt a bit boring to me and when we were discussing our idea in lesson Peter pointed out that our styles are very opposite. Eszter loves to show the ugliness in things whereas I look for perfection and aesthetics. So the new plan is expectations vs reality. So we would have my style as expectations and Eszter’s as reality. Which would hopefully create a comical narrative for our anthology. We will use several different scenarios all connected by expectations vs reality.

I looked at Spongebob and when they do the really gross detailed close ups as an expectations vs reality inspo. Research is still the main objective to continue.

We also submitted our Glyndebourne project this week so I am now under less obligations and have more time to spend on the project.

Week 4

Starting from scratch and forming a new idea, when we met we admitted neither of us really liked the idea that much of expectations vs reality. We agreed that it was an idea that could work but it just didn’t excite us that much. So we have come up with a new idea based on a drawing we came up with of a fat man who had a universe inside him. The zoom idea. We will zoom out of things to show different creatures and worlds that exist in other creatures and worlds. With a different scenario/activity in each world.

I have also discovered the work of Sonia Lazo on Behance. Their work is so colourful and the characters are very wacky too which is something Eszter and I are aiming for. The work really inspired me and I would love to create something with the use of all that colour and make it a very bright and bold piece. I usually work in pastel or limited colours but I love the idea of an overly vibrant world.

Aims are to keep researching for this new idea now that we have scrapped the last one. Feeling much more excited and inspired for the project now.

Week 5

This week we had title ideas such as ‘more than meets the eye’ and ‘viscera’. I think that Viscera is the favourite for now as it is an odd sounding word and means internal which is very fitting to our project.

We began creating the schedule for the project and also the script.

Some online inspirations were Ozzy and Drix, a show I used to watch as a kid about a world that existed inside a person and all the things inside the body lived in a city and fought crime. Also the music video for Exxus by Glass Animals was inspiring, the clay world of strange creatures we really liked. We want to show a bunch of abstract worlds and creatures is this is very fitting.

Week 6

This week we have started character sketches and designing the possible characters for this world. I have so far come up with some colourful knitted worms that i like so far. I am yet to come up with anything else I really like. We have discussed doing maybe 3 or 4 different creatures each so I have one of mine and need to think of some others. I have fallen into a hole on Behance and am just constantly scrolling through and finding new artists and animations that inspire me. I have posted quite a few on my blog that have helped me feel inspired.

Week 7

We have refined character sketches and are thinking more on our idea getting closer to finalising the story. We are going to create a grandma who is the home to all these weird and wonderful worlds and creatures. We thought it would be funny to show all these different zooms and unflattering angles on the old woman to get to showing the unusual micro worlds inside. For example my knitted worms will be a zoom in on her jumper. I have another idea for zooming in on her finger tips or her ear wax too.

The plan for next week is to have concept art sketches done to show each other so we can properly combine our ideas into a story.

Week 8

This week the goal was to set a plan for over Christmas break to get work done and do the story board and any final sketches. We have decided that we will each draw our thumbnails for our ideas for the story board and Eszter will put them all together into one story board as she is writing up the script from all the notes and story boards we have shared together. There is also a new idea that we have a grandson character that we discover after a saliva tsunami kiss on the cheek from his grandma as they wait for their picture to be taken.

The goals for over Christmas break:

Eszter- finished story board and script

Me- design board and pre production document

Christmas break:

Week 9, Week 10, Week 11, Week 12

I have made a schedule to organise my final few weeks before submission as I have a lot of work to do on my essay and personal showcase projects. The collaborative project I have put in the final week before submission as it is pre production so the work load isn’t as heavy and I have done all the research part of it, its just the final drawings and type up of stuff left to do, and ideally would need to see people I am working with who are currently home in different countries busy seeing friends and family, so most likely to see them in that week to go over things in person and put stuff together properly.

Next week I will discuss with Eszter where we are in the project and what is left to do before submissions.

I will also have finished colour concept art work finished with my tasks of the design board and pre production document

I became very sick during week 11 and 12 and have lost a fair bit of time to sleeping off a flu/virus type thing with intense migraines. I have been working on designs when I can.

Submissions week:

Week13

This week has been all go and I have completed all the work with some time to spare. I got all my final concepts finished, the design board and pre production document and we even came up with a title image made from our characters spelling ‘viscera’ to put in the pre production document. It was something that came about by chance as Eszter and I were chatting over messenger about our plans and where we were up to with things. I am happy with the progress made this week and with what I am handing in tomorrow.

Evaluation

My evaluation of the project would be that overall it has been very successful. We worked together equally and completed set goals and tasks on time. The idea process did start slowly with us not being too sure what to make and we were also both working on a project for Glyndebourne and the Norwich theatre, which went very well we felt. But this did slow us down in the start of the collaborations project as we had so many things to try and do. Having said that I do think that we finished the project just as well as we would’ve without the Glyndebourne distractions and I am very happy with the idea and work we have done to go forward into production next term. I am excited to continue developing the project and to animate our ideas and watch them come to life.

I have known and been friends with Eszter for the whole of my university experience so I knew I wanted to collaborate with her as we are very like minded people and have worked together in other projects so I know that by working with her we both share the same ambitions and standards of submitting good quality work. I am confident that next term we will be able to achieve the goals and ideas we have started to create this unit and I look forward to seeing where the project adapts to next.

#collaboration2

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not2distant-future · 7 years ago

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It’s Darla, Not Darren

Author’s note: This fandom is dead so I thought I’d contribute something to it. This is a fanfic. I slash people in it, there’s lots of sex and stuff. Don’t read it if you don’t like that kind of thing. I don’t own anyone in the story and I don’t own you. I was going to post this on another site but fanfic.n3t is a pile of ass and censored to hell and I hate them, and now I’m just waiting for aO3 to accept my email plea for membership. I should really call this “Author’s Rant” Fandom: The Whitest Kids u’ Know Author: Me. Duh. Rating: NC-17, don’t take it lightly Pairing: Darren/everyone Word Count: 11,680 Warnings: Not-so-questionable non-con, blood, drug use Summary: Trevor dares Darren to dress like a girl for a party. Drug induced insanity follows. This a very very very graphic fic, so please enjoy at your own peril.

“Trevor! That’s such a stupid idea. It’s not even a costume party- it’s just a little get-together! That’s what the email said!”

Darren stood next to a rack of dresses that Trevor had made him drag out of the costume department by himself. His blonde hair was covered in glitter and he had a blonde wig in one hand and a bag “with tits in it” in the other. The rack was covered in sparkly materials, frilly lace, and every shade of pink that could possibly exist. Trevor bent his long body down to look through the dresses and his brown hair flopped into his face, he ran one hand through his brown hair and then grabbed a dress and threw it at Darren.

“Dude, you’re never gonna find-” Darren said and tried to catch the dress with his hands full and it flopped over his head, so he let it slide onto his shoulder “-you’re never gonna find something that’ll fit me anyway, I’m six feet tall. This is gonna take too long and the party starts in like an hour.”

“Aha! I got it! Remember that skit we wrote with Buzz Lightyear and Little Bo Peep but Jim wouldn’t let us because he was scared of Disney murdering him and his entire family?” Trevor spun around and his large brown eyes sparkled with excitement. Darren screwed up his face behind his glasses and shrugged.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah so, we fitted you for that dress! I remember that, it was pink and blue!”

“That dress was covered in glitter.”

“Pink and blue… pink… and… blue…” Trevor towered over the rack and quickly slid the dresses around while he searched.

“I hate glitter.”

“Ha!” Trevor ripped the dress out of the line and held it up, his mouth open in a goofy grin. “Found it!”

The dress was shiny pink material with a layered skirt edged with fuzzy feather boa material, blue glitter-covered sleeves, and about eighty percent of the whole dress’s work went into the corset bustier.

“Oh no.” Darren knew the look Trevor was giving him, and he knew he wasn’t going to get away with refusing. Trevor ran over to him and held the dress up and Darren clenched his jaw and stared up at him, but the man was too delighted to care.

“Perfect! Oh my god you’re gonna blow everyone’s fucking minds at this thing man! Yeah! I can’t wait to see what Jim thinks! Okay but we better start getting ready now because those tits are legit and the party starts in less than an hour.”

Trevor dragged Darren into an empty staff room and the two of them read and re-read the instructions on the breast prosthetics.

“Okay, check this out dude!” Trevor grabbed the bag and pulled out two plastic wrapped rubber breasts with small pink nipples. He held them up on either side of his face and grinned. “Tittays!”

“Oh my god, Trevor, I don’t know about this dude…”

“It’ll be great! Look, see? They’re rubber, so they jiggle! Just like real boobs!” He ripped them open and swung them around, then slapped them together and made a “boi-oi-oi-oi-oing” sound.

Darren was given the breasts- one for each hand, and then the rest of what he needed for the costume was bundled on top of it. When Trevor was done handing him things he had the dress, tits, shoes, tights, a wig and hair net, makeup, fake nails and a pair of underpants that looked like floss that Trevor pulled out of his back pocket.

“Oh god, is that- underwear?” Darren asked when he saw them, aghast.

“Yeah dude! For the costume!”

“I’m not wearing that thing Trevor.”

“Yes you are- I call upon my dare!” Trevor yelled suddenly and Darren jumped “I’m calling my dare, this is my wish! I dare you to wear this whole costume to the party tonight.”

“This is a really dumb thing to use your dare on-” Darren interjected but Trevor would not be convinced otherwise. He shooed Darren off into the bathroom to change and Darren’s face burned. He prayed that nobody else would be around and he lucked out twice- both the hallway and the bathroom were empty. Quickly he entered the largest stall, pulled his own clothes off and then took several tries to get the tiny pair of underpants on the correct way. On his first attempt they bunched up and he prayed that they were on backwards, and then sighed out loud with relief when they were. He was not surprised to find that they offered no support and barely covered anything.

“God dammit Trevor.” He grumbled, and moved on to the tights. He’d worn tights for sketches before so he was used to bunching them up before sticking his feet in, but this time he pulled them up as far as he could to gain some measure of support for his junk. He didn’t want to be flopping around at the party, and who knew what Trevor was planning. The garter belt and the nylons went on next, and he felt moderately secure when he was done. The double layer even stopped his leg hair from sticking out.

He knew all the other guys had had to go through some kind of demented dare situation with Trevor, and then he remembered that Timmy had had to eat a cockroach that Trevor happened to find one afternoon in the men’s room. He shuddered and adjusted the tights to be more comfortable.

He had to admit, the leggings made his legs look sleek. He stepped into the dress and pulled it up. It still fit him perfectly, just like it had been tailored to.

“Hey man, you gonna take all day?” Trevor’s voice whined and made Darren jump.

“Dude.” Darren said and picked up the shoes that looked like weaponry. They were mostly white straps with a very sharp looking and very thin heel attached. “I don’t think I wanna wear these shoes, I almost broke my leg last time…”

“You have to wear the shoes Darren, the shoes will make or break the costume buddy. We gotta sell it!” Darren dropped the shoes on the floor, ripped open the stall door and made a show of sighing loudly, and Trevor’s eyes widened at the sight of him.

“Oh my god people are gonna freak- out!”

Trevor marched into the stall and the two of them worked for nearly half an hour on attaching one of the prosthetic breasts correctly. The second one went on much faster, but it was almost party time when they had finished. Darren pulled the corset roughly over the prosthetics and was surprised to find that they felt secure on his chest, and he looked down at them curiously and shook his shoulders back and forth. They jiggled.

“Hot dude! Nice!” Trevor gave him a thumbs-up and then hurriedly dragged him out of the stall to look in the mirror. Darren’s face was bright red as he applied the different makeup Trevor had brought him, and while he did that Trevor got busy styling the blonde wig with curlers and hairspray. The finished product was slammed down on his head unexpectedly.

“Trevor! I almost stabbed myself in the eye!”

“Dude look at this, it’s even better now! Oh my god everyone’s gonna-”

“Yeah yeah, freak out, I get it.” Darren finished the eyeliner and moved on to the false eyelashes, which Trevor took over when he was unsuccessful. Miraculously, he managed to keep the glue out of his eyes, and then finished with mascara and eye shadow. Another ten minutes and he was done, Trevor fixed the wig and then grabbed him and dragged him back to see the whole costume in the mirror. Darren looked at himself and saw Trevor’s reflection step back with one hand on its chin.

“Hmm… it’s almost there…”

“Shoes?” Darren asked, and went to retrieve the shoes from the stall. He put them on, took a moment to shift his weight forward like that one girl in makeup told him to do last time, and strutted out of the stall.

The bathroom was empty.

“What the fuck?” Darren felt suddenly exposed. He turned to the mirror and looked at himself. The blonde wig with big curls, the eyelashes that somehow weren’t overdone, the pink lipstick, the blush… The tits stuck to him filled out the dress and he pulled the back of the corset closed around his slim waist to see how the skirt would fall. It covered him from the front, so he turned and it billowed out, and he realized that it seemed to be shorter in the back.

Concerned, he turned around and leaned against the wall, bent over slightly and pulled the wig out of the way so he could see his reflection in the mirror. The skirt rode up until he could see the back of his legs, but it was only if he bent over really far.

Trevor walked in and stopped dead, and Darren straightened up and pulled the corset around himself. His face turned bright red.

“Dude, can you knock!?”

“It’s the men’s room! I’m not gonna knock, that’d be weird.” Trevor stepped in and the two of them struggled to get the corset laced. Darren eventually grabbed onto the edge of the sink with both hands and Trevor got his foot up on the edge of it and tugged until it was “tight enough” and Darren could hardly breathe.

“Dude, is this thing real?” Darren wheezed, watching his face turn red in the mirror.

“Of course it’s real. You think I’m gonna-” He ripped on the laces and Darren’s whole body lifted into the air “-pay for a fake corset fitting? Exhale again!”

“I can’t really breathe-” Darren’s voice choked off while Trevor tied and tucked the laces on the back, and then an arm snaked over his shoulder and offered him something.

“Okay. First take this.” He handed Darren a pill, and Darren swallowed it with water from the sink and prayed that it would get him so fucked up he wouldn’t remember any of the party. “Now second, you are going to make out with everyone at the party. Surprise! That’s the second part of my wish!”

“Dare, Trevor, and no, I’m not.”

“Dude! Come on it’ll be hilarious! And I’ll give you five hundred bucks if you kiss everyone there.” Trevor drew a circle in the air and then held his hand out to shake on it, and Darren screwed his face up.

“God dammit Trevor!” he paused and looked at himself in the mirror. With the corset done up so tightly it had forced him into a more feminine shape, and he considered it for a moment “Eight hundred.” He said finally.

“Six-fifty!” Trevor challenged, and Darren rolled his eyes.

“Fine.” The two men shook hands.

Trevor tied pigtails in the blonde wig and then left Darren alone to stick on the fake nails while he ran and grabbed “the hat from the costume”, and Darren considered the character he was about to play. He could be shy or he could be as flamboyant as possible. The flamboyance would alleviate some of the awkwardness, especially if he really poured on the ridiculousness; it might even give him more success in his dare, he thought.

“Hi there!” he said to his reflection in a sharp falsetto, coughed, and decided to speak higher than normal but not so far that he would hurt his throat. He had all ten of the light pink nails on and was working up a lump of nerves in his stomach when Trevor returned wearing a casual black suit and carrying a blue bonnet that looked like a real hat he’s stolen from the a civil war reenactment.

“Here you go, the party’s getting started I just handed out a shit ton of drugs, everyone’s gonna go nuts when they see you man! Ah!” Trevor’s whole body bobbed back and forward and he jammed the bonnet over the wig and tied it on for him so he wouldn’t break the nails, and then dragged Darren out the door. On the elevator ride up to the roof Trevor laid out his plan.

“Okay, your name is Candace, you’re a nineteen year old from-”

“I don’t wanna be Candace I wanna be Darla.”

“Oh my god!” Trevor leaned away and pointed at him, grinning from ear to ear “I get it! “Darla” it starts with a ‘D’ like “Darren” that is genius. This is why I hired you.”

“So you could dress me like a girl and humiliate me in front of all my coworkers?”

“Yes!”

The doors opened and Trevor’s arm snaked around his waist and he was dragged out into the party. The music pumped bass in the background under the sound of people shouting over each other as Trevor made his way from one person to the next with his proposition, and Darren was glad that it was dark in the room. The flashing lights made everything look like a series of photos and he hoped he would look less ridiculous that way. As Trevor dragged him around Darren noticed that he went for groups of girls first.

“Hey ladies!” Trevor sang out to the first group they approached. With the heels on Darren towered over all four of them, and they stared up at him in surprise.

“Now, I know normally I would be hitting on you, you know me.” Trevor rolled his eyes and the girls glanced at each other nervously. “I mean, a group of hot chicks here without their boyfriends? What? But not tonight! Because tonight I brought my own date! This is Darla, say “hi” Darla!” he hit Darren in the side with his elbow a little too hard and Darren winced, and then gave the group a charming grin.

“Hi.”

“So you see ladies, I won’t be hitting on any of you, but Darla here told me that she wanted to set a new studio record! But she needs some help ladies, because Darla here-” he bumped Darren again and Darren shot him warning look that he ignored “-wants to make out with everyone at this party! What d’ya say ladies? Wanna kick this party off?”

The girls stood and looked around the room, looked at their drinks, two of them laughed, and then a short redhead lifted her arms toward Darren and bounced up and down.

“I’ll start!” she giggled, and Darren bent down to let her give him a kiss. Her friends followed suit, and the fourth girl that kissed Darren was so into it she almost pulled his bonnet off. Trevor dragged him to the bar and got him two shots of whiskey, then dragged him back out into the whirl of lights and loud people. Every time they approached someone new Trevor would introduce him as Darla, and then explain that he was pimping her out for the night. The alcohol and whatever Trevor had given him kicked in fast and Darren stopped caring, and he eventually got separated from Trevor and swooped from group to group to shout his proposal to people on his own.

“Hey guys! Trevor just bet me five hundred bucks I couldn’t make out with everyone here!”

While all the women he spoke to had no problem making out with him, he had a little more trouble convincing the men. Fortunately, Trevor really had made the rounds, and everyone at the party was high or drunk enough on something to have no problem obliging him, and Darren had started to have more fun than he thought he would.

By the time he reached one of his co-stars he was in such a flurry that he barely realized who it was, since people had passed the message on and every few moments someone he had skipped would find him, let him know he’d skipped her, and then smash her face into his. Zach was leaning against a wall with a half empty beer in his hand talking to someone Darren didn’t know but recalled kissing, and he made a face at Darren when he saw him. His dark blue jeans looked black in the shitty lighting, and he was wearing a vest and an untied bow tie over a light blue button up shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“What the fuck dude! This isn’t a costume party bro!” Zach laughed and leaned in close to his face. He turned his head to the side to let Darren yell into his ear. His short brown hair had confetti stick in it.

“Dude! Trevor bet me six hundred bucks I couldn’t get everyone here to make out with me!”

“What the fuck man?”

“I know! Crazy right? Wanna help me out?”

Zach’s eyebrows raised and he shrugged, grabbed the front of Darren’s dress, and pulled him into a kiss. His hands went automatically to the prosthetics attached to his chest, and when they separated Darren was left with the taste of beer in his mouth, and after being tossed around another group of people, he returned to Zach, who had been watching him with a smirk on his face.

“You look wasted dude! Are you cool?

“Yeah dude! Where’d you get the beer?” he shouted in the higher voice he’d been using all night.

“Wait here a sec, I’ll grab you one.” Zach disappeared and a girl ran up and kissed Darren hard and ran off again, and he leaned against the wall to give his legs a rest from the awkward position his feet were forced into by his stiletto heels. Zach reappeared and handed him an open can of cheap beer and he drank it over the next half hour. He found Timmy coming out of the men’s room, and while Timmy wouldn’t let him have anything more than a quick peck on the cheek, Sam came up from behind him and dragged him inside the bathroom. When they got inside Darren leaned heavily on the sink.

“Darren! Were we supposed to dress up? I didn’t get the memo.”

“No dude!” Darren spun around and the room continued to spin after he stopped, and Sam steadied him. “Trevor used his dare for this!”

“Oh, god.”

“I know! And then he said he’d give me six hundred and fifty dollars if I made out with everyone at the party.”

“Oh, gross!” Darren’s vision seemed to have shrunk down into a point that ended at whatever he was looking at, which at that time was Sam’s face.

“I know!”

“You know…” Sam said slowly, and glanced past Darren’s face into the mirror behind him. “You haven’t made out with me yet…”

“Oh god I feel really weird dude, like…” Darren’s voice trailed off and Sam dragged him into a stall, and then he had moments of clarity after that but they were mostly blank or hazy. He made out with Sam, Sam felt him up, Sam lifted up the skirt and grabbed his ass, and then Sam left abruptly. Darren emerged from the stall with his wig crooked, and he dazedly fixed his wig and makeup and re-adjusted the corset on his dress. He wondered why he felt so groggy, but he gave himself a smile in the mirror and went back into the party.

The rest of the night was blurred in places. He accepted more drugs from Trevor. He drank too much. When he noticed Sam and Zach talking about something that looked serious in the corner he decided to go and see what it was. As he stumbled toward them, Sam spotted him, said something quick to Zach and then walked away and smacked Darren’s arm when he passed.

“Darren! Sorry, Darla.” Zach’s green eyes sparkled “Did you win your bet?” he laughed at him as he tripped over his heels and bounced off the wall. The arm that slipped around his waist to steady him stayed there, and the lights flashed and music boomed and he felt breath against the side of his face, smelled beer, felt pressure and discomfort when the glue holding the prosthetics to his chest was tugged at for a moment, and then the hand that had sneaked down to his lower back shoved him forward and he stumbled into the crowd, fell to his knees and a woman helped him to his feet.

“Hey, you’re the bet guy!”

Darren was pulled into a kiss and the girl’s hands wrapped around his head and neck, and a second pair of hands settled on his sides and slid down his waist, wrapped around his hips and pulled him back. He caught of glimpse of the girl’s face and then he was steered by the hips through the crowd, tripping and stumbling in his heels. He spotted Trevor, who waved at him, but was apparently having a deep conversation with Jim. He remembered that he hadn’t made out with Trevor yet, and frantically tried to recall if he had actually accosted the head of their studio, and then the door marked “Staff” in front of him opened and Sam pulled him inside.

The staff room was about the size and a half of the bathroom with ugly green paint and a TV on the wall. There was a hole-covered sofa pushed up against the back wall and no coffee table, just a pile of magazines in the middle of the floor with mug rings on it.

The door had barely closed before Sam grabbed him and kissed him drunkenly, forced his tongue into his mouth and then let go of him and Zach grabbed his head and turned him back toward him. Darren heard Sam’s butt hit the sofa and then Zach shoved him down into Sam’s lap.

“Dude-”

“Shut the fuck up, Darla.” Zach grinned down at him and then his brow furrowed and he looked back at the door, then dropped to his knees and pushed Darren’s feet apart.

“”What the fuck?” Darren looked distressed and moved to get up, but Sam hooked his arms under Darren’s shoulders and held him in place. As he was pulled back he felt something hard jab into his backside and he arched up, but Zach grabbed his ankles and pulled both his feet into the air. He sat back down hard.

“Guys! What the hell?”

“Fuck, that’s so hot.” Zach muttered while his fingers explored the layered nylons on Darren’s legs. One hand held his left foot down while the other slid up and down his calf. Sam grunted and thrust up against his ass and Darren whined.

“Haha dudes very funny.” The room blurred and he started thinking about how the way his shoulder was twisted was going to make it sore tomorrow, and when he came back Zach’s head was under his dress and he felt teeth and heard the leggings start to rip.

“Oh my god!” Zach’s voice came up slightly muffled, and he whipped his head back out. “He’s wearing a fucking thong!”

“It’s not a thong… It’s just… frilly.” Darren muttered, and groaned when Zach’s hand slid up the outside of his stocking and massaged him through the lacy undergarment. For a moment he was lost in the sensation and then realized that Sam’s fingers were in his mouth and he shook his head free, and then drummed his heels on the floor when Zach licked his cock over his tights.

“Oh… God…What!? I don’t wanna… Oh-h-h f-fuck stop it!” He jerked forward in a real attempt to escape and Sam muscled him back down and laughed breathlessly in his ear. Panic started to settle in and adrenaline shot through him, and he squirmed around when he felt Zach start to pull at the tights.

“You scared girl? Huh? Hey! Zach! Get outta there I want her to suck my dick next.”

“Oh my god, can you fuckin’ hold your horses dude?”

“No! I can’t! I only agreed to help you for a blow job!”

“I’m not...” Darren tried to speak but Sam grabbed his mouth and he rolled back into his own head, and he only came back when Sam tipped him forward into Zach’s arms, and he smelled beer and felt arms around his back and a hand on the back of his wig.

“What… Where…?” he mumbled into Zach’s shirt.

“Shh...” Zach kissed the top of his head, pulled him up further and felt up the prosthetics, then let his hands wander down his sides and his hips, and while his tongue invaded Darren’s mouth he pulled his skirt up far enough that he could grab his ass.

“Oh yeah…” his hands slid back up to his waist and something else pushed up against Darren’s ass, and it rubbed for a full minute before he realized it was Sam’s dick. Sam pulled him back and rubbed against him and he felt dampness soaking through his tights. Zach took his face in his hands and smiled, and Darren went limp for a moment, suspended by the hips and the head, and then he disappeared into his own head again. He drifted in and out, at one point he tasted something bitter and gagged as something was forced down his throat, and then disappeared again.

He came out of the haze finally, when there was cold water splashed into his face. The bright lights blinded him at first and he heard the low thumping sound of the bass from the party music. He was bent over a sink and there was a hand massaging the back of his neck while the other did the splashing. A deep voice boomed through the tiled bathroom.

“You alright buddy?”

“Trevor?” Darren sputtered, and looked up to see the man grinning at him in the mirror, and saw his own face sans wig and bonnet, and with very smeared makeup. He couldn’t recall how he’d gotten in the bathroom, and he couldn’t figure out how Trevor had gotten him away from-

“Zach.” He gagged into the sink.

“Yeah buddy, I think the drugs got to him or something, I dunno man, people are weird sometimes. I told him not to snort that shit but he, you know how he is. And roofies? What?”

“Roof…? Ugh, I don’t feel good Trevor, I think… something’s wrong with me.”

“And the worst part is? I didn’t even get to watch.”

Darren straightened up and the room kept swinging down, and he tipped backwards and his left foot wobbled too far until he fell off the tip of his heel and he collapsed into Trevor.

“Oh… man I’m so tired…”

“Do you wanna go-”

“No I can’t leave, I gotta win my bet!” Darren grabbed the front of Trevor’s jacket and wobbled. Trevor steadied him with a smirk on his face.

“It’s not funny Trevor! I think I’m really sick.”

“How many people have you made out with?”

“I dunno, a lot I think.”

“Okay, let’s- come over here, in here come on.”

They were in a different bathroom that looked a lot cleaner than the last one, but Darren couldn’t get his brain to remember if it was the one from downstairs, instead recalled ten consecutive kisses he’d received earlier in the evening, and when he came back to the present moment Trevor was staring at him with one eyebrow raised and his mouth open, and he was sitting on the back of a toilet.

“Dude. Dude. Dude. Dude. Dude? Dude!”

“Huh?”

“Fuck! Dude, you can’t even walk I had to drag you over here. You stood up and then you just passed out! You were like completely out when I found you too. Fuck those guys…”

“Ugh, my face hurts… it feels like I just got a tooth pulled.”

“Yeah. Go figure. You had two dicks in your mouth. Not much of a stretch that your mouth would hurt.”

“Wha?” He couldn’t finish the thought because Trevor shoved something in his face and he struggled to get his hands to do what he wanted them to do. When he finally got a hold of the thing he found it was a lighter and a joint.

“Oh, shit.”

“There’s no smoke alarm in here, I come in here all the time, go ahead.”

Darren inhaled and regretted it immediately. The joint and the lighter were removed or he dropped them, he couldn’t recall, but his head rolled limply on his neck and the hand on his shoulder was the only thing that kept him upright. He came back to the present to find Trevor poking at the prosthetics, and he batted him away.

“N- Knock it off.”

“Those things are really stuck to you, you could do a striptease dude I bet they wouldn’t fall off.” He lifted Darren’s head up and Darren focused on his brown eyes. His pupils were blown out so far they looked black, and they were too big for his face.

“Hey you know I’m included in “everybody” at this party.”

“Yeah yeah…” Darren couldn’t think straight and when he closed his eyes his body seemed to flip heels over head backwards, and then he snapped back to life with Trevor’s teeth closed over his bottom lip so hard it hurt.

“Dude!” he shoved against him, and with a grin Trevor slapped him across the face.

“Ow!” His head spun and he tasted blood, and then the man hoisted him off the toilet and Darren noticed how bad his ass hurt for the first time when his back slammed into the wall. The whole stall vibrated and Trevor laughed in his face and slapped him again. Ears ringing, he clung to the front of Trevor’s jacket and burst into hysterical laughter.

“Why does my ass hurt bro?”

“What?”

“Why does- you know what, fuck it, I wanna go home. Fuck the dare Trevor! Ugh, I feel sick…”

“You can’t back out man, we shook on it!”

“Trev…”

“We shook on it man! That’s sacred! That is a binding contract, you can go to jail for not coming through on a handshake.” Trevor jabbed him in the chest with his index finger.

“No.” Darren said, but wondered dazedly if that was true, and then felt panic rise in his chest. “No, I don’t think that’s… true…” he slid to the floor and then was aware of moments in time. Trevor lifting him up in a fireman’s carry, Trevor’s bony shoulder like a blade in his ribcage, Trevor carrying him out into the party, someone making out with him sideways, and as they exited the building he wondered if anyone could see up his skirt. The last thing he saw was Sam wearing the blonde wig, talking to a group of people with a beer in his hand.

Once they got outside the fresh air calmed him down, and Trevor struggled slightly when he became dead weight.

“Okay, come on, down ya go.” Trevor lowered him and leaned him against the side of his mini coop, and Darren clung to his jacket, smelled beer and wondered where Zach was.

“Where we go… in…”

“Hey!” someone shouted from a distance, and Trevor grabbed Darren’s arm, shoved him into a seat, and then the car door slammed and Trevor leapt around the front to jump into the driver’s side just as someone came up and banged on his window. The locks clicked into place and Zach jerked on the handle and pounded his hand flat on the door.

“Hey! Trevor you sunofabitch! Open the fucking door!” and then when Trevor finished laughing and pointing at him, he rolled down the window and Zach, panting heavily from the bolt across the parking lot, leaned on the window.

“What the fuck! You’re leaving? I thought you guys had a bet- and fuck he doesn’t look good, what happened to his face? Darren? You good dude?”

“Huh?” Darren groaned.

“He’s great, just had a little spill in the parking lot is all.” Trevor grinned.

“My face?” Darren poked at his face and winced when he found his lip split open.

He didn’t remember what happened after that, but when he woke up he was sweating and they were driving, and he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten into the car, but it smelled like pot.

“Hello?”

“You really awake now?”

“Trevor?” he blinked and straightened up in his seat, and they slowed. Outside was much darker than he was used to seeing in the city, and he didn’t recognize the surroundings.

“Yeah buddy?”

“What’s happening?”

“Well, I’m parking.”

They pulled into a parking lot, rolled past a brick building and stopped at the end of the lot. Trevor put the car in park in the middle of the lot, away from any electric lights. They sat in the dark, and Darren could just make out the other man’s silhouette in the dark. He felt stifled and his hands started to pull on the hooks at the front of the corset. Trevor sighed, reached over and grabbed onto the front of the dress, jerked it once and it ripped open. Darren’s chest expanded immediately and he gasped.

“Thanks.” He coughed and scratched his chest, and was momentarily distracted by how good it felt to scratch the air-deprived skin. After several deep breaths his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped over again, and then came gasping back to consciousness.

“Hey, dude, chill. Here hit this.”

Darren smelled weed and took the one-hit out of Trevor’s hand, lit up, took a hit and regretted it the minute he felt how strong it was.

“Oh no.”

“I know right? Good shit right? I didn’t wanna share this with the whole party. That’s why I waited until we left.”

Darren coughed in response.

“Yeah, but I wanted to share it with you, for some reason. Huh I dunno.” He reached up and hit the interior light button and then grinned at Darren. “The costume was a hit man, you stole the show! Everyone lost their minds when they saw you!”

Darren remembered Zach’s head under his skirt and tried to push it out of his own mind. “Guess some people enjoyed it more than others.”

“Yeah, hey, you okay man? Because that shit I walked in on? That was fuckin nuts.”

“I dunno man I don’t really remember what happened.”

“Oh man.” Trevor drummed his fingers on the wheel and then reached over and slid his hand over the curve of the prosthetics down Darren’s stomach. “Hey, so, you know they never glued the tits to me cuz I never had to dance around naked. You know you really have the, uh, right body for it.”

“Yeah sure whatever man, can I get another hit of that?”

Trevor worked on the one-hit for a moment and then handed it over, and Darren took a hit and let Trevor take it from him, and then closed his eyes and didn’t realize something was happening to him until he looked down and saw Trevor investigating the plastic breasts again.

“Hey, knock it off dude.”

“Yeah fine.”

Trevor grabbed the lever on the side of his seat and pushed his seat back, reached for his zipper of his pants with his left hand and grabbed a fistful of Darren’s blonde hair in the other.

“Ow!”

“Hey you’re gonna go down on me now, you cool with that?”

“No, I am not cool with- Jesus christ! Knock it off!”

Trevor pulled Darren so far over that he almost lifted out of his seat and kissed him on the mouth, took a hold of his lower lip with his big teeth and pulled him across the armrest. Darren was confused for a few seconds and then his head was shoved down toward the large slightly curved cock sticking up in the garish light and he wriggled frantically.

“Trevor what the fuck!”

Trevor laughed and his left hand closed around Darren’s throat and pinched off his complaint until he couldn’t breathe. “Shit that’s hot, fuck”

“Trevor… I can’t breathe…”

“Trevor! I can’t breathe!” Trevor mimicked and squeezed harder and Darren shoved him as hard as he could, and Trevor leaned back, grinned, and struck him across the face hard enough that he saw stars. He came back to consciousness with an erection and Trevor’s hands working quickly on the bodice, re-hooking and bending things back to how they needed to be to fasten correctly.

“Are we home?”

“Yeah dude, we’re home. Get the fuck up and fix your goddamn skirt. Oh and here-” he bobbed out of view and went to the back seat, and Darren looked through the front window and blinked, tried to recognize the outside of his apartment but the harder he tried to make sense of it the less sense it made. His apartment had a large revolving door with stairs that you could see through the front, and despite all his staring the building he was looking at was definitely a brick building with one light on and a neon sign that said “vacancy” on it.

“Trevor?”

“Yeah Candace?” “It’s Darla- whatever! I don’t think this is my apartment man, I think you got the wrong place…” Trevor grunted in agreement and handed him a black wig and Darren put it on without thinking, pulled down the visor to see himself in the mirror and noticed how swollen his lower lip was from being tugged at so much. He climbed unsteadily out of the car and Trevor wrapped his arm around his waist and dragged him in through a door. There was a desk with a man standing behind it, and Trevor spoke to the man while Darren leaned heavily against him with the black hair in his face. He was dragged back outside and Trevor had to carry him up two flights of stairs. He stumbled and his right ankle throbbed, and then Trevor dragged him through a door marked “209” and a light came on.

“Did you get a hotel?” Darren croaked, his face screwed up under the wig.

“Yeah.” Trevor closed the door behind them and then pulled Darren in, and let him fall back down onto the bed.

He hit the mattress and bounced for a moment, then lay and stared up at the ceiling. Trevor said something but Darren’s eyes were closed and he felt as if he was still drifting down, his feet rising up above his head, and when he was almost vertical he opened his eyes and jerked but didn’t get up.

“Trevor?” he called in a thin voice, but there was no response. He groaned and rolled over and closed his eyes, drifted off somewhere and remembered things that had happened earlier in the evening. He recalled Zach pulling him away from Sam to ask him repeatedly if he was alright, even while he felt him up through the skirt. He remembered Sam’s hands dragging him back into his lap while his…

The door opened and Darren kicked his feet in the air and rolled onto his back, raised himself up on his elbows and squinted at the tall figure in the doorway. Trevor was holding a phone that he flipped shut when he saw Darren looking at him. He threw the keycard on the desk and set things next to it, and then skipped forward and leapt onto the bed next to Darren and rested his head on his hand.

“So, we have to wait for Zach. Yeah I know buddy, I didn’t feel like sharing, but he saw me leave and he’s making such a big deal out of it I figure why not, too bad huh? He’s like ten minutes out so…” he rolled over and climbed on top of Darren, then started pulling his skirt up.

“Trevor!”

“Darla!” Trevor mimicked and got his hand under Darren’s leg and pulled it up and kissed him roughly. Darren grabbed Trevor’s hair and pulled it away from him, until Trevor pulled back. His face was flushed.

“Fuck yeah.” Trevor growled and humped him until the bed rocked. Darren held onto the sheets with one hand and clung to Trevor’s hair with the other and waited for it to end. The knock on the door could have been a chorus of angels at that point; when Trevor got up to answer the door Darren was flooded with relief. The erection was visible through Trevor’s jeans as he crossed the room. He took wide steps to the door with his hands on the front of his crotch and pulled the door open, and Darren pulled the skirt back down over his underwear. There were people talking and he moved to get up but the light hurt his eyes. He raised up on his elbows and the wig slid off his head.

“Zach?” he croaked at the sound of the voices, and Zach emerged through his hazy vision.

“Hey Darren, what happened to your face?”

“My face?”

“He fell in the parking lot, I told you, he’s fucking wasted dude.” Trevor commented, and Zach looked back at him and then leaned down over Darren and rubbed his mouth against his cheek, his neck, and then mumbled in his ear.

“You okay?”

“No, Zach… No…” Zach tongued his ear and kissed down his jaw to his neck, his hand made its way up his skirt. Darren grabbed his wrist with one hand and jammed his other arm against his chest.

“Get off me man!”

“Oh come on Darla, don’t kill the vibe, you were so into me back at the party.”

“I don’t even remember what happened!” Darren hissed, and then the bed bounced and Trevor appeared upside-down. He grabbed both of Darren’s hands and pinned them down above his head and after twenty-seconds of attempted escape he finally gave up and laid still while Zach licked his way down to the top edge of the bodice. Darren could feel the heat from him pressed down on his body and he got hard. Zach’s hands felt up the prosthetics and he pulled at the material with his teeth.

“You make such a pretty girl; isn’t she a pretty girl Trevor?”

“Yeah, sexy little girl.” Trevor giggled and kissed Darren upside down. Zach climbed off him and dragged Darren’s skirt up around his hips and ran his hands up and down the insides of his thighs, and Darren groaned into Trevor’s mouth and tried to bring his knees together, but Zach shoved them open again. Darren considered jamming one of the stilettos into Zach’s leg when he felt pressure on his thighs, and then Zach licked his cock through the tights. Darren arched off the bed uncontrolled, zoomed back inside his head, and then relaxed and felt too weak to move, to even speak when Trevor instructed Zach to undo the bodice. Zach climbed back up on top and kissed every bit of skin that was freshly exposed while he undid the hooks on the bodice, every so often he dropped his hand and touched him. When he took too long Trevor reached down himself and ripped it open, and oxygen rushed into Darren’s lungs.

“Fuck!” he wheezed, and Zach licked one of the tits.

“Gross it tastes like plastic.” Zach stuck his tongue out and looked disgusted, and Darren squirmed around and pulled passively against the grip Trevor had on his wrists.

“Open it the rest of the way dude, so it comes off.”

“The sleeves are gonna hold it on!” Zach complained while his hand found Darren’s cock again and Darren twisted around on the bed with his teeth buried in his lower lip. He wanted to leave the most, he wanted to sleep more, and he wanted Zach to keep touching him more than anything else. Brow furrowed, face flushed and lips swollen he jerked his arm hard enough to almost get free from Trevor, but the man tightened his grip further until Darren’s hands felt numb.

“Guys!”

“Fuck it’s my turn anyway! I never got my turn back at the party.” Zach dropped back down between Darren’s legs and ran his head up and down his calves and kissed his ankles and feet over and over. Trevor watched him with blown pupils and after a few minutes Darren struggled again.

“Dude! Chill out!”

“Trevor make him stop!” Darren begged “Please stop! I don’t want- oh- f-fuck-”

Zach suddenly committed to licking his cock through the tights and Trevor pulled his head back and watched his face, and Darren’s eyes rolled back into his head.

“Zach…” Darren croaked. He tried to construct a complaint in his brain, but at the moment he couldn’t. The pleasurable sensation paused, Zach ripped the tights down and pulled his dick out of the panties.

“Ah!” Darren yelped.

“Big girl!” Trevor giggled, and Zach went down on him again. Darren twisted back and forth and humped Zach’s mouth. He didn’t have control over the sounds that came out of his mouth but Trevor growled at him to shut up.

“Fuck you!” Darren growled back, and Trevor hit him across the face. The sound he made was like a dog being kicked.

“Trevor what the fuck?” Zach shouted.

“What? He’s annoying me!”

Zach stood up and dived on top of him, kissed his face and neck and his hand got busy working on himself over his jeans.

“Did he hurt you baby did he hurt you?”

“I just slapped him dude, that’s like, what girls do to each other for fun.”

“Shut up Trevor! Oh poor baby girl did he hurt you?” He pushed his tongue into Darren’s mouth and Darren let him, tasted him and himself and his brain fogged over. His legs spread wide and Zach straddled one and humped him and rubbed his hand up from the prosthetic breasts to his cock and back repeatedly, until Darren was half crazy. He watched his hand and then fell back onto the bed, closed his eyes and groaned when Zach’s tongue dragged over his neck.

“Trevor, let her go.”

Trevor released Darren’s hands and he slid them down and lay still while Zach bit and sucked on his neck. It felt odd and good and bad and he stared up at Trevor and waited for it to end.

“Why?” he tried to ask, but his voice didn’t catch onto the word and it came out as air.

“You say something?” Trevor looked down at him, and Zach pushed himself up, jammed his fingers into his own mouth, and reached down under Darren’s skirt again and started jerking him off. Darren covered his face and drifted off into the feeling, and was only brought back when Zach kissed him.

“Wake up pretty boy.”

“Girl.” Trevor corrected, and Darren swallowed and started to say ‘oh’ by accident every time Zach’s hand went down. When he was close he started jerking himself up into Zach’s hand and Zach speeded up and kissed him once, then pulled away and watched his face while he shot his load onto his legs and the skirt.

“Oh… fuck… that’s hot.” Zach’s face was animated in a demonic way. He rolled over, bounced off the bed, and then Darren was lifted up by the legs and dropped unceremoniously on the bed.

“Okay it’s your turn dude.”

“That’s what you wanted to do? That’s fuckin weird bro.” Trevor grabbed the torn sleeve of Darren’s dress and pulled him around so he was lying fully on the bed, and Darren watched the ceiling twist around and wanted to sleep, wanted Zach to lie on top of him, wanted to curl up and hide in the dark until he dried up into a scab and died.

Trevor took a moment to refasten the bottom buttons on Darren’s dress and then straightened out his panties and what was left of the tights. He climbed off the bed then and Darren watched Zach walk around the room, on the ceiling, on the wall, the bed tilted and he grabbed onto it. Trevor came back with his hands full and then Darren couldn’t see him but he could hear him unzip his jeans again- the same exact sound he’d heard in the car. He heard the condom plastic being ripped open and struggled to rise but Trevor pushed his head down.

“No no no no no no dude, stay there.”

Darren weakly pushed against the mattress but then hands rolled him over. The weight of the other body settled over him and he was trapped with a dick jabbing into his ass again, a hand settled on his head and the full weight of Trevor’s body crushed down onto his skull.

“Ow-w-w!”

“Dude!” Zach yelled from the bathroom.

“I didn’t mean to! I- hey remember what Sam was doing?”

“Yeah man, you wanna do that?” Zach emerged from the bathroom. The fly of his jeans was down and there was a considerable bulge in the front of his pants. In his hands was a flask and a digital camera, the latter of which he raised and snapped a picture.

“Nice! Are you gonna help me or not?”

Darren was flipped over again, head spinning, and Zach lifted him into a sitting position, wrapped one hand around the back of his head, and tipped the flask into his mouth.

Darren choked and coughed, but more whisky was poured in and he swallowed three times before it was removed from his lips and replaced with Zach’s mouth, which was soft and warm and Darren didn’t want it to leave. He felt a new wave of dizziness begin to settle in while Trevor snapped pictures of him with the camera, his pants unzipped but mostly still in place.

“Don’t photograph me, Trevor!” Zach hissed, but Trevor ignored him and Zach kissed him again. Darren thought he was trying to lick the booze out of his mouth with the ferocity he was going at it, or maybe he was hamming it up for the camera, Darren was too drunk to know or really care, he just wanted Zach to keep kissing him.

“Okay dude, it’s my turn now.” Trevor called from where he had taken a seat in a blaze orange armed chair. He pounded on his lap, and Zach’s face was still very close to Darren’s when he spoke.

“Can you walk babe?”

“No.”

“Okay, I’m gonna help you up then, try to stand up okay?”

“Wait, wait wait…” Darren slurred and Zach paused to look at him, Darren grabbed his arm.

“Stay here.” He finally managed, and saw Zach’s left eyebrow raise ever so slightly.

Zach bent down and awkwardly lifted him to his feet, and his right ankle throbbed when he put his weight on it. He winced and Zach caught him, and with effort lifted him up and carried him over to Trevor. Darren looked at the exit door and imagined himself walking down the hallway, out into the parking lot, and climbing into the trunk of Trevor’s car.

Instead he sat down hard on Trevor and then he and Zach manipulated him until they got his knees locked and his body bent over, supported completely by Zach.

“Okay dude get your dick out quick because I’m holding like his whole body up.”

“Just whip it out huh?” Trevor giggled, and Darren felt the skirt pulled up, the tights pulled down, and then a very cold and very wet finger slid down and found his asshole. There was no pause; it just slid right inside.

“Oh! Golly!” He gasped, and Trevor burst out laughing.

“Golly!” he mimicked, and then guided Zach down and Darren felt the plastic sensation of the condom, cold and wet and slimy, start to push inside him. “Gee whiz mister!” Trevor continued in a fake Texas accent “I can’t say I ain’t ever had a dick in my ass before!”

Darren clung to Zach, who struggled to hold him aloft, his eyes locked onto his face and Zach’s left eyebrow lifted. He bent forward and kissed Darren on the mouth, and at the same time Trevor grabbed Darren’s skirt-covered hips and forced him down.

Darren screamed into Zach’s mouth, and Zach grabbed his face and fell to his knees. Trevor started humping into him and his right hand grabbed onto one of the breasts and squeezed it.

“Move dude.” Trevor said. Zach pulled away and got up, stepped back and leaned against the wall beneath one of the lights. He stuck his hands in his pockets and watched, and it finally registered to Darren that he was being spoken to.

“Ride me, bitch!” Trevor laughed, and Darren, watching Zach, grabbed the arms of the chair and pulled his leg up to the side, and bounced up and down for what felt like hours. Trevor ripped open his costume again and felt him up, humped him so hard he almost flew off his lap a twice and bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood again. The sensation was mostly painful and Darren focused on Zach to avoid being dragged back into the place where there was only the dick buried in him.

“Fuck he’s so tight.” Trevor panted.

“She.” Zach corrected from where he stood, his shoulders against the wall and his arms crossed. Every so often he took a swig from the flask. The dim electric lamp over his head cast a shadow over his eyes and through the drug and booze induced haze Darren imagined he looked like some kind of comic book mystery character.

He hooked one of the heels onto some part of the chair he couldn’t see and used it to leverage himself up, let go of the chair arm and dragged his hands up from his hips, over his sides and finally up to the prosthetics and shimmied slightly, and Zach, whose eyebrow raised and head very slightly bent forward, watched him intently.

The change in posture changed the angle Trevor’s dick plowed into him, and Darren was caught off guard; he groaned out loud and the rest of his body went numb. His thoughts swam away through the alcoholic haze, and he came back when Trevor accidentally pulled the wig off his head.

“He really looks like a girl from the back.” Trevor mumbled as he tried to jam the wig back on and Darren’s head bobbed violently to the side.

“Ah…”

“Dude!” Zach detached from the wall and hurriedly fixed the wig, his erection right in Darren’s face, and Darren grabbed at his hands and didn’t let him pull away.

“Stay here!” he begged in a high voice.

“Fuck her harder Trevor.” And then he lifted Darren’s face to him and Darren almost passed out, but Zach tapped his face gently and brought him back. “Hey hey, I’m here, I’m right here. You good Darling?”

Darren tried to nod but his whole body bounced so much he wasn’t sure he could tell.

“Awesome buddy.” He leaned down close to Darren’s ear and whispered “Ask him to fuck you harder.”

“What?”

“Beg him… to fuck you… harder…” Zach pronounced every syllable clearly and Darren’s face burned.

“Fuh- fuck me, uh…”

“Louder!”

“Oh yeah fuck me harder!” Darren forced the words out. His face flushed dark red and he almost started laughing at the absurdity of the situation, but Trevor went at him with new vigor and he almost flew off into Zach.

“Keep doing it.”

Darren could hardly think straight enough to find words to say, but as he progressed the words flowed out of him more and more easily. Trevor called him a slut and Zach stepped back and sat on the desk, offering encouraging words every time Darren blanked and coming to his rescue whenever he started to pass out. Finally, Trevor’s arms wrapped around him and pulled him back against him, and he felt sweat-soaked clothes and bones jab into him. His head flopped back onto Trevor’s shoulder and he closed his eyes. It felt as if he was being ripped open, and he wondered how much damage it could do. He groaned and tried to lift himself away, but Trevor’s arms wrapped around him tightly- one around his waist like a seatbelt and the other found the prosthetics, and then there was a distinctly different feeling and Darren gulped down air.

Trevor swore and Zach bounced off the desk and ran into the bathroom.

“Fuck I think the condom broke.”

Darren couldn’t manage anything more than a shrug, and then hands found his head and pulled it up, he saw Zach’s face and then he was bundled into his arms with a towel wrapped around his shoulders. He felt Trevor pull out of him slowly, and then the skirt fell back down over his butt and something hot ran down the backs of his legs, but Zach pulled him across the room to the bathroom.

Darren couldn’t remember actually going into the bathroom, or being set on the top of the toilet cover. He came to when a wet rough washcloth daubed at his face, wiping away makeup and what could have been blood or lipstick.

“Ugh, I’m gonna hurl.”

“Shit!” Zach grabbed the waste-basket and turned it over, then jammed it under Darren’s face in time to catch half the stream of liquid puke. It still smelled overpoweringly like alcohol. Zach handed him the bucket and left him there, and he was aware that Trevor was speaking, that Zach was speaking, but he couldn’t find any reason to listen or care. He wanted to sleep so he closed his eyes and slid sideways off the toilet seat, and his face slammed into the side of the bathtub.

The shock was enough to wake him up slightly, and he swore loudly and grabbed his face.

“Goddammit! Just go then! I’ll take him home Trevor, how long did you book the room for?” Zach stood in the doorway facing out, Trevor said something, and then Zach closed the bathroom door on him and came to Darren’s rescue, scooped him off the floor, and helped him into the bathtub.

“Okay, you awake now? Darren! Fuck!”

Lying slightly horizontal was all it took and Darren started to drift off again, but was rudely awakened when a cupful of very cold water was thrown in his face. He spluttered and coughed and tried to grab the cup out of Zach’s hand. The man was leaning over the side of the tub, one arm around the back of him for support, the other holding the cup.

“Idiot!”

The tap turned on and started to fill the tub with warm water and Darren opened his eyes wide and blinked rapidly.

“Where am I?” he grabbed Zach’s hand when it dunked the washcloth in the water beside him.

“You’re in a bathtub.” Zach commented, squeezed the washcloth and raised it to Darren’s face, but Darren twisted and pushed back, and then the room spun and he flailed, felt pain spike through him and yelled. Zach had to grab him to keep him from slamming his head into the spout, and he held him until he calmed down, muttering “I’m here dude it’s okay” over and over. Darren’s eyes slid closed after the effort of his panic and he felt Zach wash him. His costume had been removed while he was unconscious. Rough material on his stomach and on his face; the prosthetics were peeled off his chest and tossed somewhere, the hands that splashed water over skin and then slid over it slicked with soap. Warm water splashed gently over him and then he heard the tub drain and Zach hooked his arms under Darren’s arms and dragged him to his feet.

“Okay, come on, careful… Walk dude!”

Darren was pulled against Zach’s chest and heaved up over the side of the tub, he only managed to lift one foot and the other was dragged, and his legs wouldn’t support him. Zach grabbed a clean towel off the rack and they struggled out of the bathroom, and then Zach heaved him back onto the bed and collapsed next to him. Darren lay flat on his back and let Zach throw a towel over his middle and then pull him into a sitting position.

“Okay, you can’t sleep, sorry buddy.”

“No-o-o…” Darren groaned and rubbed his face, and Zach sat next to him and massaged the back of his neck with one hand. Darren let himself tip over to lean on him; his arms lay numbly in his lap, and watched Zach unsuccessfully try to pull his pants into a more comfortable position over his erection.

“Why’d you roofie me?” Darren slurred.

“I didn’t roofie you, the fuck are you talking about? Trevor gave you like twice the amount of shit he gave everyone else dude. Oh speaking of which.” He bent down and pulled something out of his sock, and Darren’s eyes finally focused on a plastic baggie with something green and brown inside it. “Trevor left his car unlocked.”

“Oh my god Zach, he’s gonna fucking kill you!” Darren couldn’t remember how much he had taken but he knew he hadn’t seen anyone else take any, he just knew that Trevor had handed out drugs.

“I know!” his left eyebrow raised and he looked him in the face. “Wanna smoke it?”

“No dude.”

“Ha! Let’s do it anyway.” He jumped up and Darren sank into the spot he had been and watched him walk along sideways. The little one-hit was in the bag as well and Zach dug through his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, pulled a lighter out of it and then started pulling the weed apart with his fingers. Darren closed his eyes and listened to the lighter flick a couple times and then there was silence and he heard the plastic bag crinkle, heard Zach exhale, and then after a pause his leg was kicked.

“Hey, wake up dude.” Darren opened his eyes to see the one-hit shoved in his face and he took it and sat up, stuck it in his mouth and let Zach light it for him. Zach’s pupils were blown out so far his eyes looked black. Darren coughed immediately and sat up, pulled the towel up to his face and sneezed into it. The force of the air leaving his face tipped him back onto the bed and then he felt Zach start to pull at little bits of glue still stuck to his chest.

“Ow, knock it off.”

“HEY YOU MOTHERFUCKER LET ME THE FUCK IN!”

They both jumped and stared at each other in shock, and then Zach jerked his head up and looked at the door. Trevor’s voice boomed from outside and he pounded on the door so hard it sounded like it would give out under the strain.

“Guess he found out the weed is gone.” Zach giggled conspiratorially and then climbed on top of Darren and pulled his shirt and vest off over his head. Trevor kept banging on the door and they made out, Zach ran his hands over Darren’s now flat chest over and over, and continued to pull glue away and toss it to the side. The most Darren could get his brain to do was focus on Zach’s face.

“FUCK YOU ZACH! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!”

Darren pushed Zach back and he sat up. He looked worried at first, but then Darren grabbed his jeans and ripped the belt out of the loops, and then his fingers stopped working correctly and Zach took over and undid the belt and ripped it all the way off of himself. Darren pulled the button open, unzipped them, then tugged them down low on his hips.

“Wow, shit man.” Zach commented while Darren swiped at the towel that was trapped in between them and Zach laid flat on top of him, worked himself out of his pants with one hand and held Darren down with the other, and then Darren hooked one leg up around his back and Zach humped against him. The feeling of Zach’s dick right next to his was even weirder than Trevor’s finger and Darren grabbed onto Zach and dug his heel into the floor for leverage.

Trevor shouted and banged on the door and Darren was buried in hard muscle and sharp bones and sweaty skin. He could see the side of Zach’s head and feel him while he kissed the side of his head and neck and whispered again and again that he made such a hot girl until Darren’s head swam and he groaned.

“You were so hot earlier, did you do that for me? Put on a little show just for me huh?”

“OPEN THE DOOR MAN! I WANT MY SHIT BACK!”

“Uh-huh.” He croaked.

“Fuck! That’s fucking hot.” Zach lifted himself up and closed his eyes and rubbed against Darren’s stomach. “Say it again.”

“What?”

“Say what you said when Trevor had his dick in your ass, but like-” he waved one hand in front of him and then planted it down on Darren’s shoulder “-really sell it to me. Come on!”

“F-fuck me…” Darren whined and then grabbed Zach’s head and pulled him down. They made out and Zach went faster and Darren thought he was going to get rug-burn on his ass and whispered in his ear.

“Fuck me harder.” He pronounced all the syllables in time with Zach’s thrusts and the man’s face turned redder. He stretched up, looked down at Darren’s face and then looked away. Darren tucked one arm under the back of his head and grinned.

“I want your big ol’ cock inside me.” He laughed, but Zach’s eyebrows shot up and his face turned bright red. Zach’s face blended into the ceiling and the wall, and Darren almost passed out again.

When he woke up he figured if he could talk he would stay awake, and started to repeat words over and over.

“Stay here, stay here…”

“I’m here, oh, shit.” Zach squeaked and slammed his face into Darren’s shoulder, and jammed against him again and again until he came. Heat spread over Darren’s stomach and down his sides, and Zach sunk down on top of him. Darren held onto him and fought to stay conscious.

“Just stay here a minute.”

“Oh fuck.” He heard Zach speak, felt his arms drop down to the bed, and then his memory was reduced to snapshots of things that happened. Zach cleaning him up again; Zach covering him with a clean towel; Zach fully dressed; Trevor entering the room; pants being dragged up his legs.

When he came to he was suspended between Trevor and Zach, and in front of them was a big glass door with an illuminated staircase beyond. The three of them made their way up the stairs and finally they reached Darren’s apartment, got him in the door, and dragged him to his bed. Trevor left after raiding the refrigerator and Zach, who had received a swollen right eye at some point in between snapshots, dragged a chair into the bedroom.

Darren dozed, tucked into the bed on his stomach with his face on the edge. He woke up three hours later to find Zach passed out in the chair, and was pleased to find he hadn’t vomited on himself. The lamp on the bedside table was the only source of light in the room, and Darren blinked at the closeness of it to his face.

“Zach?”

“Huh! I’m awake!” Zach sat up and blinked hard. “You’re awake! Uh, how are you?”

“I feel like I got hit by a truck.” Darren rolled onto his back. “You look like shit too.”

“Yeah, Trevor punched me in the face, it’s cool though I deserved it, I stole his weed… Um, so… you okay? Like, “okay”?”

“I dunno.”

Zach stared off into a corner and Darren waited until the silence was more irritating than the headache that pounded away at him, and he slapped the blanket to get Zach’s attention. Zach jumped and stood up fast.

“Right! Yeah so I better get going, it’s half past four, or something.” He grabbed his jacket and keys from where they were lying in a heap on the floor and awkwardly tapped his hand against his leg.

“Well, see ya later-”

“Zach!” Darren interrupted. “This is gonna sound so stupid… But can you like, stay here?”

“You sure?” Zach dropped his coat and keys on the floor. “I don’t have to, I’m pretty sure I’m almost completely sober.” He stepped out of his shoes, stumbled, and pulled the untied tie off his neck. “I can totally drive home just fine.” He fell onto the bed, climbed over Darren and curled up, got his legs under the blankets and then paused to look at him. The eyebrow went up. He grinned.

“Yeah I’m sure.”

“I don’t wanna impose on your or…” Zach’s voice was muffled as he wrapped himself around Darren’s body and sunk underneath the covers. Darren pulled the blanket back to see him grinning up at him.

“Dude, did you win your bet?”

“Oh shit! Damn I don’t know. Fuck it, fuck Trevor.”

“Haha, yeah fuck Trevor.”

“Shut up dude!” Darren whined and covered his eyes “Oh god…”

“Don’t worry dude he was high as fuck. He probably won’t bring it up again.”

“Probably.” Darren let his eyes close and the pounding in his head slowly subsided enough that he could allow his surroundings back in. Zach still smelled like beer and weed, and the inside of his own mouth tasted like something had crawled in and died. He sighed and shoved his left arm under Zach’s head and wrapped it around him; he didn’t want to think about Trevor, or what would happen tomorrow, he wanted to sleep with Zach next to him and not worry about things.

“Night, Darren.” Zach mumbled.

“Night Zach.” Darren whispered, and turned off the light.

#wkuk #whitest kids u know #fanfic #fanfiction #slash #ship #what the fuck else do I tag #fuck #the whitest kids you know #long post #text post #story #tw: noncon #fluff #Darren Trumeter #Trevor Moore #Zach Cregger

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dualectic · 7 years ago

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the alfie revamp: part II

(part I, which was a semi-successful attempt to whiten the yellowing on a nearly nine year old doll, can be found here)

So, where we left off from last time, I was concerned about the s-hooks in Alfie’s hands and feet digging and wearing away at the resin, and I wanted to reinforce those spots before they became truly structurally unsound.

This was a pretty simple and quick fix - I just made the bars in the hands and feet thicker with epoxy carefully patted in with a toothpick (I used Milliput, as I’ve worked with it before, but I don’t think you have to). If you have dolls that are older and that are starting to see serious wear here, I’d definitely recommend trying this out! This was about a 2-hour project, not including downtime when the epoxy is curing.

The only tricky thing about this is making sure that the reinforcement to the resin bar is still cylindrical so an s-hook will still smoothly glide over it. I initially made the bars too thick, and had to pry my s-hooks to be a little wider in order to accommodate the reinforced bars. You can also smooth and thin things out with a piece of sandpaper cut into a long, thin strip that’s the exact width of bar, looped through where the s-hook would go. A few back and forths with a coarser grit sandpaper did the trick for me! Since this is an area that’s totally hidden from view when the doll is assembled, I didn’t bother matching the epoxy to the resin, or making the thing particularly aesthetically appealing.

Then I went ahead and blushed the hands, although this was a bit of a learning curve! I’m not really thrilled with these results, but it was my first time in almost three years working with pastel on resin and I think need to get my touch back. These feel overblushed, though I was trying to compensate for the fact that the peroxide-baking soda bath over-whitened his hands. I’m mainly upset about the wrinkles, because they’re too thick and read as lines of paint rather than realistic texture.

So, that was sort of the easy part! At this point, Alfie’s been lightened up, is no longer pee-yellow, and has gotten the resin equivalent of some glucosamine and chondroitin in his old creaky joints. I redid his hot glue sueding and he’s holding poses much more stably. But boy, the real plunge was deciding to modify his face.

This is Alfie, two weeks ago. In 2010, I gave Alfie a slight nose job to make his nose match the one I’ve always drawn for the character - it’s got that distinctive tip you can see in the profile shot above, and has a little bump on the bridge. That’s me - bulldozing the arguably more classically beautiful nose of the original Migidoll Ryu for my own ends. But the much bigger problem I’ve always had with this sculpt is its lack of jaw. Alfie, as I’ve drawn him since I was a wee teenager, has always had something of a Manly Jaw.

pictured: super embarrassing drawing from circa 2010 where Alfie Has a Manly Jaw (also, Nell, a character currently housed in a modified migidoll Jina, but she’s another story)

One day, I’m going to sculpt Alfie from scratch and get his face exactly right, and I debated for a while about undertaking a more drastic additive mod to his current face. What’s the point of owning a Migidoll Ryu, a sculpt I admire immensely in its original form, if I’m going to do something that’s going to make him not look like a Ryu? Prior to this, the only other additive mod I’d ever done was a slight eye closing on my Migidoll Jina. Excuse this ancient image that’s super JPEG-lossy.

Not only was that mod much less extensive, it was seven years ago and I haven’t touched epoxy since. In order to test the waters, I used some translucent Sculpey to quickly sketch out what the mod I had in mind would look like in the round.

As it turns out, this test is nothing like the final epoxy result, because Sculpey behaves very different than Milliput and I think it’s a medium that leads to a different sculptural result than epoxy. Since it’s infinitely malleable until baked, I ended up tweaking and tweaking forever and ever until I felt like I had totally lost my intentions. But it did give me the guts to go forward with a large additive epoxy mod.

The blessing of Milliput (or nightmare, depending on how you prefer to work) is that it starts to stiffen up at about the half hour mark, so it forces you to be decisive about your choices. I think I sculpted using larger, lumpier masses, with the knowledge that the stuff responds very well to sanding and that refinements could take place at that stage. Milliput can be smoothed out with water, and I did do this, but I didn’t stress about textural inconsistencies too much.

My goal for this mod was to drastically build out the jawline, reinforce the rather thin undereye with epoxy so I could then later go back and carve out a more hollowed eyesocket without compromising the thin parts of the resin, and make the brow a little more prominent. Think of it as Doll Puberty!

The additions took place over the course of about three days, since I thought going overboard would have been really easy. I really wanted the avoid the kind of “puffy” face look I got when I did the test run in Sculpey.

Nonetheless, the mod ended up colonizing way more of the original sculpt than I expected. I was referencing various stock images of men’s faces along the way in order to try and maintain some semblance of an understanding of the underlying structures of the face, and in doing so I realized exactly how much stuff needed to be added to his face to get that ~cut~ cheekbone and jaw situation.

After that, it was all about sanding. So much sanding. While I was mainly sanding down the epoxy, I also inevitably sanded the base resin to get a smooth transition between the two. I wore a face mask and sanded wet, to minimize the amount of dust kickup, because resin dust is not something you want to inhale. In order to put less strain on my hands and wrists and provide a shape to carve with, I molded pieces of kneaded eraser into the desired shapes and then wrapped sandpaper over them, and used that to do most of the heavy sanding. It definitely makes a difference when you’re doing it for hours on end.

And here’s the dude, all sanded up! I did most of the heavy subtractive sculpting with 200 grit sandpaper, and worked up in stages to a 3000 grit for the finishing and polishing. As you can see here, there’s a little pock mark on his cheek, from where an air bubble presumably got caught in the middle of my mods. I could have filled it in, but I kind of liked it and decided to keep it to later paint as a blemish or something. I also thought the end result here kind of just looked cool, like the inverse of a pattern of facial vitiligo or something.

I initially thought (rather foolishly) that I might be able to color correct the epoxy to match the resin with pastel only. Here are two layers of pastel over MSC. As you can see, while it worked somewhat and gave the epoxy a cool texture, it just couldn’t get opaque enough. An airbrush is the ideal way to go when doing this, I think.

Wel, I don’t own an airbrush, so I ended up hand painting, which gives...definitely a particular look, and one that I think not all people might like. I used various acrylic paints thinned out with water and matte medium. Since paint applies rather more thickly and with more visible brushstrokes when hand painting than when airbrushing, this gave his head a rather pasty, flat appearance initially, and also created a lot of texture. I decided to embrace it rather than fight it, and tried out a technique that Helene of @deleted-dollshe / @that-venitu / Rugged Realism / generally one of my favorite BJD people ever mentioned on her Instagram where she applied matte medium thickly over a doll head and then stippled it while still wet to create a pore-like texture over the resin.

I have mixed feelings about this - I think it would look fantastic on a doll whose face wasn’t painted over with an opaque acrylic, because resin has a slight luminosity that’s lost with the acrylic “foundation”. Alas, it was unavoidable in this case. I think I am moving more towards a more “imperfect” style with my faceups where evidenced of the human hand is more apparent anyhow, so I worked with it. I added lots of very light mottling (dip a toothbrush in a very diluted mix of pastel and water or acrylic paint, and flick from a distance onto your doll, it’s ~magic~), veining, faint wrinkles, and shadows.

And of course, the eyebrows. Who could forget? Alfie needs to be fleeky af or something.

Hopefully you can see some of the detail and texturing in this closeup! I think this is a technically stronger faceup than the previous one I did on Alfie. I’m not mad at the linework, anyhow.

And the other side, for good measure. After I sealed everything with MSC to make everything Very Very Matte, I actually went back in with matte medium on strategic points of the face. Contrary to its name, matte medium is in fact slightly more reflective than MSC, without looking outright glossy, so I dabbed some on the lips, waterline of the eyes, and down the nose, chin, and a bit under the eyes. I think it gives his face a more lifelike appearance in person, and you can see that it does photograph with a slight sheen.

And here’s the guy wigged and dressed! I’m still getting used to photographing him with the new face, since this is a pretty drastic change from his previous appearance. I’m finding that while I’m generally happy with my mods, there are certain moments when I’m shooting him and I realize that the form doesn’t work 100% at every angle, but this was my really sculptural mod, so I’m trying not to beat myself up about it too much. Overall, I’m just thrilled that I had the guts to do this and finally try and make Alfie look more like how I draw him. I’m waiting on some eyelashes in the mail, and I have a backup wig that I want to try styling for him, but he’s pretty much all finished otherwise! Thanks for coming along for the ride!

I’ll leave you with this horrifying compilation of faceups and stages that Alfie’s been through with me since I got him in 2008. I have no doubt that he’s going to continue to change as I grow and get older, but here’s to 2017 Alfie anyhow!

#bjd #bjd restoration #migidoll #migidoll ryu #bjd mod #faceup #long post

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allonsysilvertongue · 8 years ago

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The Elusive Miss Trinket

Haymitch Abernathy was pulled out of his self-imposed retirement by the Trinkets with a request of utmost urgency. [Hayffie AU]

The Elusive Miss Trinket: Chapter 7

The san sank lower in the horizon, bathing the sky in bright orange and ombre pink. Haymitch sat across from her, his fingers curled around the neck of the wine bottle.

When there was a lull in the conversation, he poured her another drink – her second glass tonight. Loose tongue talks, he rationalised.

“There’s nothing to it really,” Effie said.

“Heard that one before,” Haymitch teased. “Might even come from me – should I get that patented, you think?”

“Oh, shush. You’re not the only one allowed a mystery.”

“I don’t have a mystery. I just don’t have a story worth telling. But you do, don’t you? How’d you end up here? Come on, sweetheart, I’m curious.”

“I wanted to make a name for myself. That’s it – plain and simple. I had designs of dresses and clothes, an entire portfolio from when I was a teenager. It has always been something I enjoyed doing. I had plans to make it into my career. I imagined a boutique with my name on it. That was my dream, one that I had to cast aside because of my mother’s.”

Haymitch listened without interrupting. Her eyes had taken on a faraway look, as if just by recounting it all, she had been transported to a time long gone.

“I was a child star,” she told him and waited for that flicker of recognition in his eyes. When there was none, the quiet sound coming from her was actually Effie laughing in delight. “After that, it was modelling for brands, just like my mother when she first started. My sister was smarter than I was. She found something she enjoyed doing – cooking, if you would believe it – made her own show from it and when that wrapped after a few seasons, she quickly left the entertainment industry. She found a reputable man my mother approved of and never looked back.”

“My brother left the modelling business just as well and started his family which he used as an excuse not to go back. It also meant that all the pressure for a family legacy – my mother’s legacy - fell on me. I was the only one left she could pressure into making a name, just as her mother pressured her into it. By then, I had moved out and found a place of my own, and still, she loomed over me. Eirene, my sister, doesn’t say it but I believe she still feels guilty about leaving since I had to bear the brunt of it. I began to realize that wherever I went people knew me as Lysandra Trinket’s daughter. Have you heard of her? You must have.”

Here, she watched him carefully. Haymitch did not find the need to grace that with an answer since she was completely sure that everyone, including him, had heard of her famous mother.

“I am Effie Trinket, my own person. I shouldn’t be defined by my mother and her career. It was… It was not the life I dreamt. Five years ago, I found my old portfolio and it … when I held it in my hand I felt something familiar rushed over me. I knew what I wanted then. My dream had always been there, lurking and this time, I want to see it through. I started sketching and designing again. I also began to reach out but I learnt that all those people only agreed to meet me because of my mother and not because I had a good portfolio. They saw it as a way to gain my mother’s favour. I had no plans on riding on my mother’s name for success. It would be easy, yes, but there was no challenge to it, yes? No satisfaction from knowing that my success is my own. I had to step out of her shadows.”

“So you came here?” he gestured around him.

“It wasn’t planned,” her eyes lighted up as she recalled it. “All my life, I planned everything carefully to the minute details but not this time. I took a map to my nephew, told him to close his eyes and point. Wherever that is, that is where I’ll go. I ended up in Italy!” she told him with a grin. “That was four years ago. I lived there a year. It didn’t work out.”

A quick mental calculation of the timeline brought him to the realisation that that would be when her parents sent Seneca Crane after her and she fled.

“All was not lost though. That one year taught me a lot. I brought my sketches and designs to life and began selling from my small apartment. I did not have a shop but when I settled here in Singapore, it was something I wanted, something I needed to prove to myself that I could do it. Here was perfect, too. It’s far away from my family, very far. They can be quite… suffocating,” she trailed off, twirling her wine in the glass. “Do you have a family, Haymitch? Parents that expect you to conform to their standards..?”

“They’re dead,” he said flatly. “Never knew what they’d except from me.”

Usually, he would refrain from talking about his family with just anyone but he could offer her that at the very least for the things she just shared with him.

What he wasn’t expecting was her hand reaching across the table to squeeze his.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Haymitch.”

“Yeah,” he nodded slowly. “It was a – It was a long time ago.”

She ran her thumb across his knuckle even as his hand twitched in her grip.

He had no idea what they were doing. They had somehow ended up at a restaurant across his hotel after their return from Haji Lane. Their dinner was long done and they were just drinking through the wine. From where they were seated, the buildings that made up Marina Bay Financial District glinted under the moonlight.

“It was on the plane to Singapore that I crystallised my plan. I decided that I have to find my niche, something I know I will enjoy and to focus on that. I love weddings,” she declared and retracted her hand. “That’s the story of how I came to own a bridal boutique with me tailoring and designing my own wedding dresses. The rest, as they say it, is history.”

He raised his glass to her and she clink her glass against his, proud and pleased. They drank to that even if Haymitch desperately wanted the wine to be something stronger. Whiskey, preferably.

“I have to say, however, that I must have alarmed my father when I cleared out every single cent in my bank account right before I moved from Italy,” she giggled lightly.

Her voice had taken on a slightly higher pitch and she seemed more relaxed. She wasn’t drunk but the wine was doing its job in loosening her a little.

“Frankly, I was quite surprised he did not freeze my account by then which works well in my favour. I needed the money and I couldn’t have him trace where all of it was going if I keep taking from it every now and then. I learnt that lesson. So I had it all transferred and to be perfectly honest, I did it to spite him too,” she grinned.

“Yeah?”

Now they were getting somewhere. That bit about stepping out of her mother’s shadow was a background he already knew but this hint of a tension with her father… Well, that piqued his interest.

“He never stood up for me like a father should. Didn’t your father do that for you, Haymitch? Did he protect you and shield you? Even from your own mother?”

“This ain’t about me,” he mumbled.

He didn’t want to talk about his father.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Your father didn’t get you the car you wanted?” he teased.

Effie let out a breath and the strand of hair framing the side of her face flew outwards teasingly. She was quick to tuck it behind her ear, never once realising that Haymitch never took his eyes off her.

“All my life, he stood by and allowed my mother to talk me into submission. My mother is a bully now that I’ve thought about it. He presented me with ultimatums to keep the peace in the family. It was always about keeping my mother happy just so the house would not descend into chaos. ‘Listen to your mother, Euphemia, it will make everyone’s life easier,” she mimicked bitterly.

Now that she was talking, she couldn’t seem to stop. Haymitch had a feeling that nobody had ever sat down with her to ask her about her. From where he was sitting, she looked sad and perhaps, a little lonely. He was guessing, all she needed was a listening ear for her to actually talk and open up.

“When I refused, he took away the contracts that I had fun doing – modelling contracts, acting contracts. It was already not something I truly wanted but he took away what little I enjoy. In return, all the offers on my lap would be contract I was half-hearted to partake in. When I tried to launch my own designs with no sponsors, no backing from current designers and above all, no knowledge or experience on how the business world operates, my father quickly put an end to it before my mother could find out and throw a fit. She would accuse me of trying to upstage her, would you believe it? I had no way out. Nobody outside the household knew of course. I have gotten quite adept at putting on the smiles for the public but the truth is my father controlled my life as much as my mother did.”

The same way Stefan was controlling him through Prim, Haymitch thought. At least, Lysandra Trinket was upfront with her ways. Her husband on the other hand was more subtle which, in Haymitch’s books, made him more dangerous than his wife.

“They never said it to me, of course, but I was aware that they were talking about it between themselves. I’m the black sheep of the family. I do not listen to them. I argue and I am conniving when all I wanted was to do something that I wanted, the same way my brother and sister did. I rebel where I could. I would ask my mother for her opinion on two dresses, for example, and whichever she chooses, I chose the opposite.”

“She would want me to date that director who already made a name for himself but I would date a photographer with only small projects to his belt. She preferred me in my natural hair colour provided that I styled it appropriately, so I would dye it red to annoy her. Once, when I was twenty-six, I put on a wig for an entire year – bubblegum pink, sea green, electric blue and my favourite, gold,” Effie laughed at the memory. “Twenty-six was too old an age to be acting out but that was all I could do. I’ve always tried to be the perfect daughter and I supposed, I put up with it long enough. I had to draw the line even when moving out from the family mansion did nothing to ease my situation. I was terrified, naturally. I led my life sheltered in my parent’s world and packing my bag to leave for another country was something I never thought I could do until I was pushed to it. I do not regret my decision.”

Haymitch pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. He shouldn’t have asked. He wanted to know the real reason she came to this city and got more than he bargained for. With all the knowledge that he had now, how was he supposed, in good conscience, get her to board a plane with him back to the States and never look back?

Prim was right. She was happy here. She had found her freedom and created something for herself, and he was going to be to one to ruin it.

Effie took in his reaction and assumed the worst.

“You are probably thinking - why is she telling me all these?” she laughed airily. “Let me assure you, I do not usually make it a habit to talk about my personal matters with anyone. My apologies, Haymitch. I bore you, didn’t I?”

“To be fair, I did ask,” he offered. “Maybe it’s just me, sweetheart, people open up to this face.”

He said it with a straight face and that only made her laugh a little louder.

“Perhaps,” she agreed with a soft smile. She rested her hand gently on the base of her throat as her gaze lingered on him. “I do feel like I could talk to you, strangely. What makes you so special?”

Haymitch cast a surprised gaze at her before he slowly blinked. Her eyes were the brightest blue and he felt as if he was being pulled into an abyss. There was something about her that made him wary. A hint of fragility and strength mixing into one, a hint of danger with the way she was looking at him. For starters, he wasn’t sure if she was trying to be flirtatious or even if that was her true nature. He could be reading the signals all wrong except he made a living out of reading people so he couldn’t simply ignore this excited thrill running through him.

She was beautiful and hot, and it had been a while for him. Still, this was a dangerous game no matter how much he was enjoying it.

“There’s nothin’ special to it when your kid runs to your room with boy problems on hand,” he reproached, bringing the topic back to somewhere safe while thinking of that one time Katniss had barged in on him while he was drinking. He still regretted the things he said to Katniss that day. “Wasn’t in the right state of mind to help or listen.”

“You … have a daughter?”

“Not mine, no. I mean, she’s mine… in a way, but she’s also not. It’s complicated,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I helped her family once while on the job. After that, both of the kids got stuck with me. Their mother’s still around but she ain’t totally there.”

Effie had barely scratched the surface with him and he had done well not talking about himself so in an effort to appear more genuine to her, he pulled a photo of Katniss, Prim and Peeta in front of the boy’s bakery shop.

“They seem like nice kids,” she commented and handed his phone back.

“They are,” he affirmed.

He was also reminded that he should call them before they worry especially after learning what he learnt from Stefan Trinket. He would need to talk to Prim.

Today had gone better than expected. He had made contact with his mark, who was still watching him with that soft look in her eyes that made him worry, and he had established something with her. He would need to work from there but for now he was ready to call it a day.

Haymitch signalled for the bill.

“I’ll get it,” he told her.

Effie flashed him a smile.

No big deal, he thought, technically, I’m paying our meal with your father’s money.

“You don’t have to leave a tip here. It’s included in your service charge,” she explained.

“Oh, right,” he said, finally understanding why the waitress had tried to return the extra money he left on the table when he first arrived.

Have you ever met someone and feel you could just talk to them? Maybe that's the case with them in his chapter or maybe, Effie just needed someone willing to listen ;)

There's a lot of talking here but something interesting should happen next week! But now Haymitch knows more about Effie's parents and who he is dealing with, esp her father. In the meantime, leave a review!

And for this week’s mentioned location:

It’s just buildings, nothing impressive (except that once, it was a Charmander nest). So actually hayffie is sitting on the other side of the river bank on one of the restaurants, facing this.

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #hayffie au #the elusive miss trinket

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jessicakehoe · 6 years ago

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From the FASHION Archives: Karl, Before Chanel

Since its launch in 1977, FASHION magazine has been giving Canadian readers in-depth reports on the industry’s most influential figures and expert takes on the worlds of fashion, beauty and style. In this series, we explore the depths of our archive to bring you some of the best fashion features we’ve ever published. This story, originally titled “The Eccentric Luxe of Karl Lagerfeld” by Marci McDonald was originally published in FASHION’s Winter 1978 issue.

It was Karl Lagerfeld’s idea to throw the party at his house. “I thought it would be more personal,” he says. Six hundred of his most intimate friends were greeted at the doorway by liveried footmen in white wigs and blue-satin breeches brandishing gigantic silver candelabra. By the light of more than a thousand flickering tapers, they were led into his ivory-and-gilt 18th-century salons, large enough to hold a small gymkhana, only to confront buffer tables recreated to match Marie Antoinette’s finest. Three-tiered pièces montées, threatening to graze the ceiling frescoes, spilled over with foie-gras-trimmed dolphins and peacock-shaped saddles of lamb. The sweet table featured a 50-foot meringue fountain cascading petits fours and crowned by four life-sized jeweled sugar swans spouting green syrup water. Jean Seberg, his next door neighbour, came and declared it marvelous. Paloma Picasso, whose marriage to a penniless Argentinian playwright in Lagerfeld’s heart-shaped red-taffeta wedding dress had rivaled Princess Caroline’s as the social event of the season, remarked that it was “very Karl.” Only the host, looking a slightly dressier version of his usual cross between Count Dracula and Louis XVI, seemed to have any reservations, confiding later that he wished it all hadn’t been at the expense of promoting his new men’s perfume, instead of the simple little gathering of near and dear as he preferred to think of it. “Little do people know I lead such studious, down-to-earth life,” he sighs. “To be a celebrity – it’s very demanding. But I am my image, I’m afraid.”

The image perches on a folding plexiglass chair in the fading afternoon light that invades the two-floor Chloé empire just off Paris’ fashionable rue de la Boétie and peers out at the world through rose-colored glasses. He used to favor smoky lenses, but finds things vastly improved since the change. “Everybody looks 10 years younger,” he says. Not that everything Karl Lagerfeld lays eyes on now meets his approval. “Ugly, ugly, ugly,” he dismisses the better part of the universe – a condemnation second only to “borrowing.” Offices are boring, as are desks and “fixed points” – which leaves the Chloé staff swirling around him among racks of tweed and sequins in apparent casual mayhem. Most of the clothes in which the hoi poloi parade outside his windows are boring, and frequently ugly as well. Neither sin, however, can be attributed to his image, which on this particular day consists of the usual: black smock emblazoned with a six-inch monogram, one of the hundred handmade shirts he orders annually from Hilditch and Key, shirtmakers to the Shah of Iran, which requires him to have custom-built luggage in order to preserve their starched stand-up collars, and, at his throat, a flowing black-silk bow. His greying shoulder-length tresses are pulled back into a ribbon, his complexion so pale that in certain lights it appears freshly powdered.

It is not an image that the casual bystander might associate with the semi-annual outbursts of witty sophistication and romantic chic that have come to characterize Karl Lagerfeld’s contributions to those feverish April and October follies known as Paris’ prêt-à-porter collections. But on reflection, it is nothing if not appropriate. While not everyone might be prepared to go around done up as he does, it is also true that not everybody can wear a Chloé.

In the 10 years since he has emerged as one of France’s trend-setting fashion triumvirate along with close friends Kenzo Takada and Yves Saint Laurent, his name has become synonymous with a look of rarefied elegance and eccentric luxe that makes him closer to the grand style of haute couture than any other ready-to-wear designer. Wherever two or more of the relentlessly à la mode are gathered, there is bound to be a slither of cleverly constructed silk by Karl Lagerfeld. The press has hailed him as one of today’s most influential stylists but, in fact, the sphere of his influence is limited. While Saint Laurent has set the silhouette for two decades of dressing and Kenzo has cut the pattern for almost every trend that has filtered down to the streets, Karl Lagerfeld has fashioned a unique niche for himself – not copied by the masses, but not ignored either; a label more applauded than pirated; a name that has come to mean class by itself. Buyers tend to swoon over his showings, which have twice inspired the shrewd Martha Phillips of Martha, Palm Beach and New York, to exit rhapsodizing that they were “like a beautiful song.”

But the music to her ears may have been the cash register bearing witness to the fact that, beneath Lagerfeld’s outlandish exterior, there lurks the canny commercial intelligence that has managed to create not only what the ads unabashedly call “the world’s most beautiful clothes,” but also some of the most wearable. Bianca Jagger, the Baroness Olympia de Rothschild and Margaret Trudeau all number Chloés in their closets, as – much to Karl Lagerfeld’s astonishment – did did his ailing mother’s private nurse. “She kept turning up in all these dresses of mine,” he says, tinted shades only half-betraying the intimation that there are, after all, limits to the democratization of prêt-à-porter. Discreet inquiries, however, finally assured him that the Chloés hovering at the bedside came of impeccable lineage – castoffs from a former patient’s wife named Jacqueline Onassis.

The tiny ready-to-wear house that he signed on with 14 years ago now boasts 11 boutiques and 95 outlets in the world’s toniest fashion emporiums under his signature, chalking up $9 million in wholesale clothing sales last year alone – triple the business of three years ago. If the growth rate is just short of phenomenal, it is no accident. Today, ethnic and organic are stunningly out and the fashion tyrannies of the crunchy granola set are going down to the yawns. In a year when the blue jean has resurfaced in gloriously co-opted little $300 leather versions and glitz has become de rigueur, it may not be entirely coincidental that the designer of the hour is an exotic of rare plumage whose idea of getting back to basics was once to show tennis shoes with chiffon ball-gowns and T-shirts of crepe de Chine. “Today, fashion is not made in the streets as much as it was in the early ‘70s,” he says, the relief clearly evident in his voice. “Now there’s a new sophistication that has nothing to do with the streets – in fact, it may not even reach them.”

Certainly, the pavement was not what he seemed to have in mind when creating his fall collection. An androgynous stray from a Cabaret set, in black chesterfield coat and top hat, waltzed down the runway and opened prison gates to release his latest inspirations: hip-hugging petal-hem skirts blossoming over stiletto heels, lamé tunic dresses afloat over skin-tight black-satin pants and tiny bellboy hats perched on the forehead, all topped off by mammoth fake jewels that dripped from tweed lapels like relics from a chandelier disaster. They were droll, they were outrageous, and the fashion press promptly went into delirium, demanding to know their meaning. “Why, they don’t mean anything – they’re just fun,” said Karl Lagerfeld, only surprised that anyone would ask. Relevance, significance – he waves them off as only slightly more boring than inquiries into the origins of his image. “Who knows where it came from,” he shrugs. “It was just there.”

For those inclined to favor the environmental theory of character formation, it was not perhaps a childhood designed to produce the average citizen. Born in 1938 in the heart of Hitler’s Germany, Karl Lagerfeld cannot recall ever growing up aware that there was some international unpleasantness going on. Life continued as usual at the château in the countryside outside Hamburg, where he found himself the last child of the last marriages of two not entirely typical members of Third Reich gentry. His father, a canned-milk tycoon with an inclination for marrying, was 60 at his birth. His mother, who had worn a Paul Poiret gown for her first wedding and a Vionnet for her second, favored Lanvin for the war. Their offspring passed his time reading her back issues of La Gazette du Bon Ton, sketching her wardrobe and changing clothes three times daily. “Already, I hated open shirts,” he said. “I had collars up to here, bows and ties, even hats. I was a fashion freak. Even as a child, I was overdressed.”

He does remember a parade of rather curious people showing up at the château who later turned out to be war refugees, but the memory concerns him only insomuch as one of them tortured him in French – a language he could speak with devoted fluency from his sixth birthday. When he was 12, his mother took his drawings to the director of a Hamburg art school who refused him admittance, declaring, “This boy is not interested in art. He’s interested in costume.” At 14, he begged to be allowed to finish high school in France, pointing out that he had, after all, immigrated in spirit. His arrival by train at the Gare du Nord did not disappoint him – it was dirty, it was decadent, and it was gloriously Paris, the city where he has lived ever since. Boarding school, however, was another matter – crowded and cloying. “In those days, if you were the slightest bit out of the ordinary, you were considered and eccentric,” he says. “I wanted to be alone.”

He won permission to rent an apartment on his own to prepare for his bacclauréat exams, provided that his father’s minions could keep an eye on him. When the other eye was closed, he secretly entered the International Wool Competition fashion contest for amateurs. He was just past his 16th birthday when his sketch of a little wool coat captured first prize and he was catapulted into a career that over the next 23 years was in many ways to mirror the progress of fashion itself.

The year was 1955 – mid-point in the heavy heyday of haute couture’s resuscitation by a one-time designer’s assistant named Christian Dior, who had opened his salons during the liberation sweep-up in 1947 with what he called the New Look, and was promptly hailed as the man who had saved Paris. Each July and January the world hung on his prophecies for hem lengths and hair lengths, while names like Jacques Fath, Pierre Balmain, Cristobel Balenciaga and Hubert de Givenchy were lesser stars who revolved around his headlines’ pivotal glare. In 1955, the press was in its usual uproar over Dior’s newest look, the A-line, and did not pay particular attention to the International Wool Competition fashion contest which two teenagers had just won: Karl Lagerfeld in the coat category and, in the dress category, a gangling blond 19-year-old who was to become one of Lagerfeld’s closest friends and two years later, Dior’s heir – Yves Saint Laurent.

While Dior plucked Saint Laurent out of the contest to become his dauphin, Balmain, one of the judges, sometimes known as the “couturier of queens,” offered Lagerfeld a stylist’s job. He worked with Balmain for three months before he had the courage to break the news to his parents, and stayed three years. He failed to meet any queens, but did help dress Anita Ekberg, Vivien Leigh, Sophia Loren, Gina Lollobrigida and even Bardot, although in retrospect he cherishes no fond memories. “Pierre Balmain was very teacherlike,” he says. “But the whole atmosphere with models and all was very borellolike. I just thought it was not chic at all.” Bored, he toyed with the thought of going back to school, when a job offer as art director at the venerable couture house of Jean Patou saved him – but in the end, only for more boredom. “Twice a year, I turned out 50 dresses,” he says. “It wasn’t enough for me. I spent the rest of my life at nightclubs, on beaches, at parties. It was empty, completely empty. When I think about it today, it was really the most boring and stupid time of my life.” After five years, he dropped out of couture altogether, the bloom rubbed thin on the boyhood dream. “I didn’t like the atmosphere. You waited there for your private clients, then you flattered them so they’d keep coming back. But they were just boring. Uglies – all uglies. Today there are 50 girls in the street who look better than the women who wear haute couture. I didn’t like what Balenciaga was doing. I didn’t like what Chanel was doing – all those little suits – maybe because I saw so many ugly copies on so many ugly women.”

At 25, he decided to devote himself to a life of the mind, but found that finishing his high school diploma did not always provide sufficient inspiration to get up in the morning, nor even in the afternoon. A year of more parties. And more boredom. “Then suddenly I realized work was the most important thing in my life, more important than all the rest of that stuff. I knew couture was finished. But something was changing.”

It was 1964, two years before Saint Laurent descended from his haute-couture shrine on the right bank to set up a Left bank boutique for the vast unwashed, making mass retailing respectable. The Paris ready-to-wear industry was still a slightly disreputable collection of pirates devoted to churning out bargain-rate couturier rip-offs, thanks to the advances in mass production and manmade fabrics with such odd names as Orlon, rayon and Terylene. The idea of men’s fashion had become fashionable, and teenagers with fat disposable dispentions from daddy had created a new market that British upstarts like Mary Quant were blithely capitalizing on with the miniskirt.

But in Paris the only rustlings of a change in the wind were cries of indignation going up from the couturier salons. “Paris has lost its leadership,” fussed Pierre Cardin, while Courrèges fumed that, “I, for one, won’t stand for it,” though what he intended to do nobody had the slightest idea. Among the mass-market outlets, however, there was one tiny house called Chloé, owned by a former financier named Jacques Lenoir, which had delusions of grander things under a young designer named Gérard Pipart. When Pipart was hired away by the couture house of Nina Ricci, Lenoir regarding it as such a disaster that he replaced him with four newcomers – names like Graziella Fontana, Tan Guidicelli, Christine Baille and Karl Lagerfeld – and decided to let them fight it out.

“It was very inspirational,” Lenoir says. “They were like phagocytes in the blood, where the one eats the other. Karl learned a lot from the others, but when it came to competition, he always came out on top. He was stronger, he had more force of personality.”

Indeed, the strength is almost physically tangible when you meet Lagerfeld in person, the image only half concealing a surprisingly solid man with large fleshy hands who looks as if, should the need arise, he could arm-wrestle the ugly or boring to the ground. The sensuous mouth has a capacity for the brutal as it echoes its staccato bulletins in four languages, mingling high camp, high bitchery and exquisite manners with penetrating analyses of the most pragmatic sort. He is briskly efficient, sardonically high-charged – transformed from the languorous wunderkind who once could barely struggle into Patou by 3 p.m. and devoted whole evenings to pondering the meaning of life. But then, he had finally found it, at least for himself. The discovery released so much energy that he designed not only for Chloé, but whipped off freelance work for Charles Jourdan shoes and Fendi furs, along with a band of such other young free spirits as Kenzo and Sonia Rykiel, who were invading the transformed landscape of ready-to-wear.

“I did everything,” he says. “It was very tiring, but very amusing, too – getting up early to take trains to go to the factories, taking planes here and there. It was the best way to learn, because I had never gone to fashion school. And nobody had done it before. We were a little community of pioneers.”

Within 10 years, the little community of pioneers had left haute couture languishing in charming oblivion. Their rambunctious April and October showing stole the thunder – and the crowds – from the ancient rituals in mirrored salons where the faithful perched on little gold chairs. Prêt-à-porter began to hand down the prophecies for the world’s closets, and just as promptly to fill them up, inspiring its own cut-rate copiers, while its brash young stars eclipsed the old names in an entirely new firmament of fashion. No longer did a woman dress under one label. The new rule was that there were no rules and there were as many styles as there were brash young upstarts with chutzpah and scissors.

By 1974, the process of Darwinian selection had left only Karl Lagerfeld at Chloé, where he was offered an exclusive contract and, in tribute to his stardom, his own perfume. He chose a sweet, heavy, old-worldly scent in keeping with his image. “At the time, everything was light, green, duty-free as I call it,” he sniffs. “It set a new trend.” Elizabeth Arden, who holds the franchise, now sells $11 million worth of liquid Chloé a year. Having just launched a men’s cologne, Lagerfeld is already at work on a second feminine fragrance scheduled for 1980 unbottling – “something quite eccentric, I think.” Discussions are also underway for makeup and a men’s line, although he refuses to design for children and linen closets. “One day your name cannot be used any more – only for toilet paper.”

His place in posterity assured, he now looks down from the heights of chic to observe his former conferes of haute couture – like Marc Bohan of Dior – with charity. “Boring – they’re only allowed to do boring things. Of course, they’re only employees. Sleeping beauties, I call them.” He does not resent the phenomenal success of Saint Laurent who has outstripped him even in the prêt-à-porter arena, and they continue to be the closest of friends. “Yves was always more ambitious than I was. He likes high fashion. He never found it humiliating. And he made lots of efforts that I’d never have made.” For example? “Well, for example, I’d never have consented to live with Pierre Bergé (Saint Laurent’s business partner and companion) for 20 years. I mean, there are prices I wouldn’t pay.”

A tiny bronze buzzer swings open the massive iron door on rue de l’Université and a security guard points the way across a courtyard roughly the size of a skating rink. A greying housekeeper in a worn sweater leads the way up marble stairs to the lofty salons where Karl Lagerfeld has consented to be photographed in a little at-home portrait. He sweeps in 20 minutes late, brisk and understated, a shrunken monogram on his dun-colored smock, only a thin western string tie which was the gift of the people at Neiman Marcus in place of the usual flounce – a sobered image due perhaps to the fact that he had just celebrated his 40th birthday two days earlier at his 18th-century château in Brittany where his mother now presides.

“I always live in 18th-century houses,” he says. “For me, it’s the perfection of human culture – the top.” In fact, he once did not live in an 18th-century house when he was making his name as a freelancer, but in a Left Bank apartment surrounded by one of the most lavish Art Deco collections then in existence. He had a backdrop made for it, and immediately had to auction the whole thing off. “It was too much – too fragile, too beautiful. I couldn’t live in it. It was like waking up every morning in an opera set.” Besides, so many people were getting into Art Deco. Now he collects state beds – Madame du Barry’s, the Duke of Richelieu’s, the Princess of Conti’s. Most are in the country château, but there is one of the indeterminate ownership plumped here in the midst of a receiving room, its white-silk coverlet and headboard sumptuously embroidered with a motif of the four seasons. It turns out to be one of the few pieces of furniture in the entire place. He keeps the rooms empty on purpose. “I don’t want to look nouveau riche,” he says.

It is virtually the eve of his next collection, and there is not much time for the setting. A gentle-faced young man serves apple juice on a silver tray and Karl Lagerfeld keeps examining his watch. His fabrics are late in arriving from the factories, his fittings are delayed and he has not yet seen the drift of his next seasonal direction, which makes him tense, although never given to the bouts of hysteria Saint Laurent is said to glory in. “What’s the point?” he says. “A dress doesn’t last forever. In the business, you start all over again every six months.” Still, he shuns holidays and works so obsessively that colleagues confide that Karl Lagerfeld’s problem is not that he may one day dry up on ideas, but that he has to be stopped. His study, a crammed anteroom to one of the salons, erupts with costume histories and ancient fashion circulars that spill over from his drawing board and onto the floor, but he shies from specific discussions of the Muse. “Designers shouldn’t talk too much; they should design. I believe only in instinct, intuition. I believe in imagining things from a window.”

He does not like all of this boring talk of the nuts and bolts, the whys and wherefores. He prefers to deal in images. The night he threw a little candlelight dinner for 40 here in honor of Paloma Picasso’s wedding – “the whole table filled with flowers, orchids the same red as her dress. I must say it was magic.” The little costume ball that Saint Laurent’s associate LouLou de la Falaise held at a disco palace where he turned up in a crystal-beaded jumpsuit and feathers once worn by Josephine Baker. The evenings he insists he spends dining in these rooms alone, according to the counsel of his fortune teller, scarlet drapes drawn, the table splendidly laid for one, while scented candles cast a spell upon the air. He quick-sketches the scenes as one might imagine looking in upon a life through a window. With a stylist’s finely honed eye, he settles upon each detail he chooses to reveal.

It is, after all, no easy task to tread the uneasy line between mass design and mystique, between turning out dresses that everywoman can buy off the rack while leaving the impression that only the truly privileged could attain such a luxury. Karl Lagerfeld, who prefers to work his magic in crepe de Chine rather than cheesecloth, who introduced satin knickers and tried to bring back the fan, has a showman’s unwavering sense of his audience. Strangers are not invited to his workrooms. Colleagues are discouraged from answering questions about him. Upstairs and downstairs in this townhouse, which he writes off for promotion purposes on his taxes, there are other rooms – private apartments that are never seen, never photographed.

The camera clicks. The image is preserved in the splendor of an empty salon. Karl Lagerfeld is in a hurry for his next appointment and rushes off with the gentle-eyed young photographer, shaking hands all around. It is a demanding, tightly scheduled life where even the star of the hour cannot be sure he will not be upstaged a half-year away. It is sometimes not a glamorous life at all, although one only has his word for it.

“I don’t believe in glamour,” he says. “Glamour is very artificial.”

Our footsteps echo on the marble staircase as the housekeeper lets us out with two plastic garbage bags in her hand, which she deposits behind a closed 18th-century door.

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lindyhunt · 6 years ago

Text

From the FASHION Archives: Karl, Before Chanel

“I don’t believe in glamour,” he says. “Glamour is very artificial.”

Our footsteps echo on the marble staircase as the housekeeper lets us out with two plastic garbage bags in her hand, which she deposits behind a closed 18th-century door.

0 notes