#2000s bell bottom was everything

[marimayscarlett]

Richard in low rise bell bottom jeans

Hello 👋🏼

What a beautiful mental image 😌 would fit into Richard's 2000s look with his thin eyebrows and spiky hair just fine 😇

I kind of have the feeling Richard enjoys wearing bell bottom pants from time to time - there are some stage outfits containing pants with a (slight) bell bottom to them, especially the Reise Reise pants:

And low rise, well ... doesn't get much lower than this:

So actually we have everything we need, just need to throw some jeans aesthetic in it. This however could turn into a Cowboy-Style really quick, not sure if I'd be ready for this 😄 (Well ok, he already has a cowboy hat like we saw in the Reise Reise making of 🤔)

[tappedthedavidsassonce]

Angels sooooo have era centric styles, you can’t tell me they don’t.

Are you gonna tell me their 2000’s era clothing were their choice???? Absolutely not.

>Gabriel is 100% the 70’s, did you see how at home he was in those clothes? Bro would wear bell bottoms unironically and I love that for him. (Also orange is his color and that era LOVED orange) also the 70’s was the time for an artistic revival with disco at the forefront! I especially love how it took advantage of the 60’s which is usually regarded as the big honcho of out there ideas and today is blamed as the turning point of delinquency. And much like Gabe, the 70’s skirts prosecution because of the distraction the 60’s posed. But! 70’s fashion took it’s turn with comedy and charisma and ended up paving the way for the 80’s scene, which is also right up Gabe’s ally. It’s funny actually because Dean is heavily influenced by the 80’s and the rise of rock and roll. Didn’t Dean say if Gabe was less of a dick he’d be his type of guy? Or was that a fanfic… ANYWAYS!

>Micheal is the 50’s… don’t ask but it’s definitely influenced by Clickbaitcowboy (Can you tell I’m heavily influenced by him??) and also y’know, his overall vibe. He EMBODIES the baby boom and postwar influence on the people of that era that undercut the survivalist women of the 40’s and thrusted men yet again at the forefront of innovation. Aka men taking advantage of the times and capitalizing off of the efforts of women that happened during the depression when they had the chance so they can forward their agenda. (Profiting off of war efforts and raising soldiers… very Micheal)

>I wanna say Lucifer would be Victorian because of the gothic aesthetic but also the vampires and demons… hello. Also I think it’s hilarious that Nick would quite literally be a sickly Victorian child if Lucifer cared a smidge more about his overall appearance. Also historically speaking the period is the Industrial Revolution which not only caused an actual intellectual renaissance but also brought about a ton of crime, murder, cheap sin, and desperation. I think it’s very fitting since Luci’s Revolution also led to crime, murder, cheap sin, and desperation.

>Raphael. If I were lazy I’d say 50’s because she follows Micheal so dutifully but she is an individual and I heavily believe she followed Micheal only because she genuinely thought he had their father in mind for all of his decisions. She is a daddy’s girl but also a boss ass bitch and so she DESERVES the 40’s!!! The 20’s era feminists and individualists influenced an era of craftiness in the depression. They were literally sewing bag dresses and inventing affordable foods to keep everyone alive which is very much Raphael. (Or at least my understanding of her character) But also it was much more subdued than the 20’s which I think is Raphael’s main thing. She’s very much an independent and intelligent Angel but that all takes the back burner in the face of her responsibility as archangel—protecting her siblings and navigating for them while keeping up pretenses that everything is okay.

>Castiel was so easy, he is literally the 2000’s. Style is usually invented at the point of individualism or for the sake of self expression and Cas became himself when he met Dean aka in the 2000’s. Also the style is very him, trench-coat with a loose tie and a white shirt? Sir, get out of my Starbucks with your bullshit, you can’t be anything other than 2000’s camp, you psycho.

——Apologies for any misspellings or grammatical mistakes, it is midnight lmfao.

[marciabrady]

I read your post about how Hollywood and media have lately dismissed classic romances for being "unrealistic" - like the ones of Snow White and Cinderella with their princes - and I feel that's consequence of the 'deconstructing everything' trend that many critics in Youtube and media in general started in the 2000s. It's not only the Disney movies, even movies like Titanic haven't been free of this, as I have read many people complaining that Jack and Rose fell in love in only four days and "they were very young" or that they can't believe that Jack was the love of her life and not the husband she later married for years - since it was Jack whom she met in the afterlife. There's so much cynicism and an excess of going "meta" in movies and I feel like that is affecting the industry right now, romances are measured like a scientific study of "for how much time they met or how mature they were to comprehend what love means" in order to approve what qualifies a "realistic romance" and I feel like this remove the magic and heart in the stories.

I completely agree and I think the key word to what you said was "scientific." This is not the purpose of film or any art- there are a variety of values to the medium of film, like escapism, representation, hope, creativity, but it isn't science. Aurora and Phillip meeting in the woods is the essence of romance to me and I don't care about the screentime being "limited." Cinderella finding love at the ball after being abused her entire life gives me a high that modern romances don't. Snow White finding someone who sings to her of his love being "constant and true" and being so driven to find her that he aimlessly wonders through the forest for seasons in search of his lost love is something that's leagues above modern Disney ships that, to me, don't have chemistry or are awkward around one another. And that's okay, because we're allowed to like different things! I think the fault of the contemporary critic is they ignore the nuance of art. So, let's view films as people. Let's say I don't like a certain comedian, for instance, but that doesn't mean said comedian has no merit by existing or their own fans. Instead of critics and modern audiences simply saying, "this comedian isn't for me" they want to omit every single one until there's literally one person left in the industry. Which is unnatural, because you can't be all things to all people and not everyone is going to like the same person! (which is why I think it's bizarre that LITERALLY every ranking I've seen of the princesses has the original three in the bottom of the ranking and, without fail, Rapunzel and Belle in the top three slot)

With films, it's like they want to omit everything about a genre or style for future generations until we only get one type of female character that's approved in their checklist, one type of generic plot that has to go through all the motions instead of being focused on capturing an actual bond/vibe, making sure it's palatable to as many people as possible- almost as a machine- and it's just so indicative of the extremely consumerist culture we're living in and it's okay to let people have different interpretations of the same thing! For instance, just because some people don't like Aurora and think she's passive doesn't mean that's the case, it just means that character is not for them and they'll gravitate to someone else. If they like another character better, that doesn't mean we have to do away with characters like Aurora forever and only ever create more versions of the popular character over and over again and that can be the only model we have moving forward. Likewise, I think they want to feed people everything about a character which is so annoying to me. If everyone has the same take on one character, where's the art??? Idk there's so much more to say on this, and I've spoken about it before but I very much agree with your ask and appreciate it being sent in!

[carewyncromwell]

"Senior class president, She must be heaven sent! She was never the last one standing... A backseat debutante -- Everything that you want -- Never too harsh or too demanding...

Maybe, I'll admit it, I'm a little bitter... Everybody loves her, but I just want to hit her!"

~"Girl Next Door" by Saving Jane

x~x~x~x

Bill Weasley didn't surprise much of anyone when he elected to become a Cursebreaker for Gringotts Wizarding Bank. He and his best friend Carewyn Cromwell had been well-known for breaking the curses on all five of Hogwarts's Cursed Vaults with help from their circle of friends, and even before that, Bill had expressed a lot of interest in Cursebreaking. He'd collected Muggle and magical travel books about Egypt, Greece, and Rome as a kid, and he checked out every single book about it out of the library while he was at Hogwarts. Even disregarding Bill's experience with and passion for the subject, his great grades, his amiable personality, and his positions as Prefect and later Head Boy made Gringotts' choice to employ him incredibly easy. And so Bill was soon off to the races, traveling abroad on official cursebreaking assignments.

Although Bill's best friend Carewyn didn't become a Cursebreaker like he did, her brother Jacob did. But if you think that these two working at the same tombs together from time to time helped them become closer, you would be mistaken.

"Jacob!" said Bill, delighted. "What are you doing here?"

Jacob looked up, startled. Upon registering the tall, leather-jacketed ginger man that approached him, however, his expression deadpanned, the usual boyish light in his hollowed-out blue eyes dying at once.

"Translating these hieroglyphics into Greek, at present," he said dully. He then rather rudely turned away, back to the wall he'd been focused on. "And I fully intend to go right back to that too, now that I've answered that question -- "

"Were you sent here by Gringotts?" asked Bill. "Or did someone else send you here, free-lance?"

"I came here because I wanted to," Jacob said without looking up again. "I don't need someone to give me an assignment to be interested in the ruins of Abusir."

Bill offered his best smile. "I can't blame you for that -- what we've unearthed is beautiful. The papyri we've found alone contain some of the oldest recorded spells ever discovered -- "

"Some of the oldest in the Egyptian Old Kingdom -- Babylon and Mesopotamia have plenty of papyri that likely transcribe ancient spells, they just haven't been properly translated," Jacob cut him off very coolly. "Not to mention Sudan, which has spells, potions and other magics that have been passed down by word of mouth for ages -- there's evidence that even the Animagi process used by Sudanese wizards today is identical to the process used by Nubian kings, back in the 2000's B.C.E..."

Despite the obnoxiousness of Jacob's correction, Bill looked rather interested. Before he could make any follow-up comments or ask any questions, however, Jacob had gotten to his feet, his robes and bell bottom jeans billowing in the movement, and started to walk off without looking back once.

"Welp, I'm out of here. Peace."

Startled, Bill tried to follow him. "What? Wait, hold on -- "

CRACK.

Just as Bill managed to touch Jacob's shoulder, Carewyn's brother had uncouthly Disapparated right out from under the taller ginger's hand.

Jacob Cromwell and Bill Weasley truthfully couldn't be more different as people. Jacob had been a Ravenclaw alumnus -- a flighty, disorganized eccentric with genius intellect, a hot temper, and almost no people skills, obsessed with knowledge and reckless in the face of danger. Bill, in contrast, was patient, organized, grounded, and surprisingly understated; however bold he could be on the Dueling Field, the eldest Weasley was surprisingly sensitive and not the type who could easily rile up a crowd. Even when he had his first crush, it took forever for him to nut up and make a move, and when it blew up in his face, Bill immediately retreated to be by himself. Bill had named Prefect and Head Boy for his mentorship of younger students and his ability to set a good example -- Jacob was a rebel and serial troublemaker who didn't give a damn about rules or if people disliked him, so long as he learned as much as he possibly could and got top grades. Jacob was prone to wearing his emotions on his sleeve, to the point that many people found him obnoxious -- Bill might've been raised in a large and loud family, but he often ended up having a quiet mediating influence on his other much more hot-blooded siblings.

And this wasn't even touching their contrasting backgrounds.

Jacob and Carewyn had been raised largely in the Muggle World since their father was a Muggle, but only Carewyn had known about her magic prior to receiving her letter. Jacob had been raised feeling like a freak and treated like a delinquent for "bad behavior" he hadn't been responsible for. All of the kids in grade school avoided him or made fun of him for both his nerdy interests and his bad reputation. Even his own father Evan Bach -- who was just as diametrically opposed from Arthur Weasley as Jacob was from Bill -- constantly tried to mold Jacob into his image of a fine, upstanding son and disciplined and shamed Jacob when he refused to play along. Jacob had an age gap with Carewyn similar to Bill's with his brothers Fred and George, but after Carewyn was born, Evan completely dropped out of her life from an emotional standpoint. Therefore, unlike Bill who only had to help his parents look after his siblings, Jacob ended up becoming the closest thing Carewyn had to a father. He encouraged her, protected her, comforted her, sang songs with her, made her laugh, helped her when she had trouble doing things, and worked his butt off to make sure Carewyn felt special and wonderful, just the way she was. Not that Jacob ever would've lamented this loss of a childhood -- Carewyn was the most important person in his life, and being her older brother was the aspect of himself Jacob was most proud of.

This, however, led into what really made Jacob resent Bill, far more than his stable home life with a large, supportive family in the Wizarding World ever could -- Bill's close friendship with Carewyn. Because as much as Bill would've never wanted it to be true, in those years that Jacob was trapped in a magical portrait inside one of the Cursed Vaults, Bill filled the role in Carewyn's life that Jacob once had. Bill had been Carewyn's right-hand man at school -- he'd emotionally supported her; he'd encouraged and protected her; he'd helped her with the Vaults' curses and school assignments and helped her become a stronger, more complete version of herself. Bill had watched Carewyn grow up -- something Jacob regretted and resented having missed everyday, all because of R and the Cursed Vaults.

Now, of course, if one really challenged Jacob on this, he would acknowledge that he knew he should be grateful that Bill was there for Carewyn when he couldn't be. He might even have admitted that he should really be nicer to Bill, just out of respect for Carewyn. But however much Jacob knew this intellectually, it wasn't easy to put into practice. However much Jacob knew Bill was a decent person and knew how much his sister cherished him as a friend, his heart would still pump cold, bitter poison whenever he was in the same space as Bill Weasley.

This was why -- even when Bill ended up saving Jacob's arse from an cursed, fire-breathing marble sphinx in an underground tomb in the Valley of the Kings -- the shorter man couldn't help but snipe at him.

"What the bloody hell -- how did YOU get here, Weasley?!"

"Carey said in one of her letters you were visiting Turkey last month -- " huffed Bill, running up alongside Jacob even while shooting additional silent Blasting Curses over his shoulder, " -- ugh -- to appraise the Lion Gate...I guessed you had to be visiting -- Depulso! -- Hattusha -- and there's been some discussion at Gringotts about the Siren Queen of the Mediterranean seeking out lost treasures in Egypt, lost to the Hittites back in the 1200's B.C.E. -- ack -- so, putting it together, it would make sense for some of the Hittites' stolen treasures to end up in the tombs of their allies at the time!"

"Blah blah, yeah, that much is obvious!" Jacob said waspishly. "I meant how the hell you knew I'd be here!"

"I may or may not have asked the magic carpet vendor back in Cairo to send me an owl if you ever popped in to buy one to go somewhere," Bill said with a wry twinkle in his eye. "But hey, how else would I be able to check in on you for Carey, whenever you're in my sphere? I'd certainly prefer exchanging letters with you..."

"Not happening," snapped Jacob.

When Jacob and Bill finally got out of that tomb with a certain golden harp in tow, Bill was ultimately the one to hand it off to the Siren Queen. Jacob ended up charming the Queen, however, since he had picked up a bit of Mermish in his travels -- he even helped the Siren Queen test out the harp by singing a few bars that she could play along to, and she was clearly delighted by his handsome voice. She even allowed Jacob to kiss her webbed hand before departing back into the water.

"This'll be some story to tell Carey, huh?" asked Bill.

"Hmph." Jacob didn't look at him, instead keeping his focus on the horizon.

Bill tilted his head a bit, trying to get a better look at Jacob's face. His stare was so deep that his thoughts were likely miles away.

"...Look," Bill said after a minute, "I know you aren't happy that I followed you...but I wasn't trying to steal your thunder, really. It's just that I've been to the Valley of the Kings, and those magical tombs have sneakier traps than most -- "

"I don't need your help," Jacob cut him off harshly.

"Maybe not," Bill said with a frown. "I know you're capable of protecting yourself, Jacob. But for what it's worth, you shouldn't have had to face them alone. ...I wouldn't have wanted Carey to face that kind of danger alone either."

Jacob was very quiet for a moment. His skull-like blue eyes flickered over his shoulder in Bill's direction, considering him for a moment, before very quickly looking away again.

"...Pip was never the type to do dangerous things," he said lowly under his breath. "She never wanted to make Mum or me worry."

Bill's eyes softened slightly. "She did for you, though. Without hesitation. When I first asked her why she wanted to find the Cursed Vaults, she even said so. She said, 'I can't not do something, if Jacob's in trouble.'"

Jacob didn't reply. He seemed to have trouble knowing what to say. Bill once again tried to maneuver so as to look Jacob in the face, but the smaller man seemed to predict the move well before he made it and shifted around purposefully to avoid his eye.

"Pip never got into any trouble," Jacob reiterated again. "It was always me. Both before and after Pip was born...I was the magnet for trouble..."

Jacob closed his eyes, his brows creased low over them.

"...And most of the time, I dealt with it myself."

Bill felt his heart prickle with pity.

"Maybe," he said lowly. "But you shouldn't have had to. Neither you nor Carey...neither of you should've had to deal with so much pain by yourselves -- "

"Should've, would've, could've," Jacob shut Bill down. "It doesn't matter. The point is we did, and we got through it -- we got through it together, because at least we had each other. And that was enough. Back then...that was more than enough."

Jacob began to walk away, adjusting his robes as he went. Rather than chase him, Bill let him go, but didn't hold back from shouting after him,

"You're welcome at the Burrow whenever, Jacob! You and your mum -- I've told Carey that too -- "

CRACK.

Jacob Disapparated without a word.

Three years later, however, in the midst of the Second Wizarding War, Bill was very startled when a small package arrived by Owl Post to the Burrow, just before his wedding: two stalks of bamboo in a blue and white ceramic vase painted with charmed moving pictures. Enclosed was a very short, terse-sounding note written in messy handwriting on the back of a cafe napkin --

A gift for you and your bride. In case you don't know, bamboo represents peace, happiness, wealth, and longevity and is considered very lucky in China. The two stalks specifically represent love, for obvious reasons. Don't take this as permission to write to me -- I'm only sending this along because Pip misses you terribly and I hate seeing her unhappy. Peace out, string bean. JC

[desiarthoe]

21 years of k3g; an evolution in style, music and drama

yesterday marked the day when 'Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham' hit the theatres in 2001, setting off a an unprecedented domino effect that would be felt even 21 years later. Set on the most melodramatic premise known to man, where a son gets disowned for marrying below his social status, his brother goes from a chubby kid to having an eight pack and a sixth thumb; where the second lead drives to school in a lambo, it has got it all. The melodrama of it all is not why it lives in my head rent free, it was the colours, mood and the ambiance that K3G introduced me to.

This movie was my first introduction to a pastel based wardrobe, everything that 'Poo' wears in this movie can only be categorised as Y2K classics. Starting from the pink jacket and choker ensemble in 'Dewaana hain dekho' to the cream colored beaded 'Sharara' in 'bole Chudiyan', Manish Malhotra and Kareena Kapoor set the bar high for the metric of serving looks. Kapoor's backless spandex-leather outfit in 'you are my soniya' absolutely mesmerised millions of girls like me and definitely did set a template in mind for club aesthetics- sleek, sparkly with just the right amount of skin. I think it's worth mentioning that Kareena's outfit in 'Bole Chudiya' did kickstart the trend of bell bottomed salwar suits, and started my love for rhinestones. One could say, 'Poo' was the purveyor of the desi coquette aesthetics, for her use of pastels, brands and obviously, her brother-in-law's money.

One cannot just speak of the characters and not be reminded of the flowing and the beautifully fusioned music of the soundtrack. Jatin-Lalit, Sandesh Shandilya, Aadesh Shrivastava did a wonderful job of blending the 2000s bollywood with a sensual R&B of the western end. In my opinion, Anil Pandey absolutely outdid himself with the sensual lyrics of 'Sooraj Hua Maddham', with the Egyptian background and Sonu Nigam and Alka Yagnik's voice, it was heard to cut through the palpable romanticisim of the song. Additionally, being the revolutionary that KJo is, he introduced us to one of the best wedding songs of all time; the fact that you'll have to think a bit to pick your choice says enough.

Yesterday marked not only the 21st years of the release of a era-setting film but also the capstone of core memories for desi millennials all over the world. With its memeable dialogue, wonderful visuals and playback button hitting songs, K3G will forever live on in our heads.

[gaenarirp]

— taken wanted connection.

CONTACT  INFO:  

gnsiwoo,   tumblr.    minsungs,    discord    (preference  for  the  latter).

TYPE  OF   REQUEST:  

a  childhood  friend   /   past—lover. (cw: death, manipulation/gaslighting)

SUGGESTED  FACE—CLAIMS:  

kim  hyung—seo   (   BIBI    /    soloist   ),    jeon  so—yeon   (    gi—dle   ).    seo  soo—jin    (   soloist   ).    alternatives  can  be  discussed.    average  height  of  172cm.     porcelain  visage  resembles  that  of  glass,   much  more  hardened  as  opposed  to  the  fragility  of  younger  years    —    figure  is  almost,    always,    draped  in  fine  leather   &   silk  of  dark  shades  that  rotate  occasionally  between  black,   red,   and  gold.    tresses  of  aureate  has  long  since  dimmed,    faded  into  a  black  that  once  belonged  only  to  the  night—skies.    /    overall,    her  style  would  don  a  more  cooler  aura  than  the  soft,   gentle  version  of  herself  that  died  seven  years  ago    —    a  change  that  makes  her  unrecognizable  to  those  who  used  to  be  affiliated  with  her.

PLOT  DISCUSSION:    

rose—petal  girl,    graveyard  girl.    kim  hae—rin.    23,    born  december  10th,    2000    —   gaenari.    (    former    )    darling  lover  to  baek  si—woo,    the  better  half  of  him.    /    kim  hae—rin  is  a  name  lost  to  time  just  as  much  as  the  devotion  and  love  once  held  for  sunflower  boy,    living  boy.    childhood  memories  are  filled  with  the  joy  and  mirth  belonging  to  parents  who  now  dwell  in  a  grief  that  is  incoherent,    a  hatred  for  si—woo  that  is  unidentifiable,    and  a  world  that  is  inconsolable.    fifteen  full  years  are  given  to  the  prince  of  her  dreams,    an  existence  that  materialized  as  none  other  than  baek  si—woo;    the  gentleness  of  one’s  hand  is  always  found  in  another’s    —   calloused  and  cold,    fleeting  touches  and  stolen  kisses  with  hearts  well—aware that  the  fire  of  their  love  could  burn  them  to  ashes.    IT  DOES.    2016,    december  3rd  marks  exactly  a  week  before  kim  hae—rin’s  sixteenth  birthday.    and  the  day  everything  falls  apart.    it  starts  with  an  agreement  to  spend  the  day  with  a  trio  of  three.    baek  ha—na  adores  kim  hae—rin    /    to  ha—na,    she  is  like  a  breath  of  fresh  air,    the  daughter  she  wishes  for,    the  girl  she  smothers  in  motherly love    —    the  same  way  hae—rin’s  mother  does  with  si—woo.    it  ends  with  a  car  falling  into  the  ocean  in  the  outskirts  of  gaenari  with  the  only  survivor  having  been  si—woo  as  baek  ha—na  and  kim  hae—rin  are  left  to  rot  along  with  decades  worth  of  bones  tethered  to  sea—ground.  

BELL—BOTTOMED  NIGHTMARE.    kim  hae—rin  wakes  up  screaming  in  the  dead  of  the  night,    wrists  chained  to  the  hospital  bed.    the  man  beside  her  jolts  awake  at  the  harsh  echo  of  silver  against  silver.    when  her  sight  has  begun  to  clear,    she  sees  the  man  resembles  baek  yu—jun,    father  to  baek  si—woo,    and  relief  washes  over  her.    but  not  for  long.   for  such  sentiments  are  replaced  with  the  sense  of  grief,    an  agony  that  proves  too  cruel  for  a  girl  freshly  turned  sixteen.    when  yu—jun  speaks,    he  speaks  as  if  he  has  been  detached  his  entire  life,    with  a  barrier  of  ice  that  burns  rather  than  freezes    —    he  speaks  as  if  the  death  of  his  wife  and  the  comatose  of  his  son  are  hae—rin’s  fault.    he  spills,    and  manipulates,    pulling  at  the  girl’s  heartstrings  like  a  puppet  before  leaving  her  with  the  offer  to  start fresh  with  no  ties  to  the  baek  family,    living  under  a  different  name:    FROM  NOW ON,    KIM  HAE—RIN  IS  DEAD.    a  body  filled  with  the  memories  of  a  dead  girl.    it  haunts  her,    guards  over  her  existence  like  three—headed  cerberus  does  with  the  gates  of   hell.    hae—rin  remembers  everything.    from  all  the  times spent  with  baek  si—woo,    to  how  long  they  have  been  together,    to  counting  how  many  days  pass  that  si—woo  lies  motionless  before  her  very  eyes,    hanging  onto  the  line  between  life  and  death.    the  dream—girl,    she  lives  in  the  clouds  because  her  reality  is  cruel. 

lovers  to  enemies  troupe  with  a  penchant  of  si—woo  and  hae—rin  destined  to  never  cross  paths  again  despite  being  bound  to  each  other  in  this  lifetime.    hae—rin  who  wants  to  forget,    being  the  opposite  to  si—woo  who  wants  to  remember.    hae—rin  accustoming  herself  to  baek  yu—jun’s  ways,    ultimately  becoming  a  pathological  liar    —    something  along  the  lines  of  never  letting  the  real  kim  hae—rin  return  from  where  she  should  have  died  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea  with  baek  ha—na.    should  she  and  si—woo  ever  encounter  each  other  after  seven  years,    hae—rin  would  be  distant  and  unaccepting  of  his  presence,   but  does  nothing  to  truly  run  his  memories  of  her,    or  jeopardize  him  in  a  physical  way.    an  instance  of  the  “i  once  saw  you  as  my  soulmate   /   i  still  am.”   concept  present.

[not-alien-girl-v]

Angel (lrh) Chap. 2

warning: language

note: not edited but i dont care. i said next fic would be a george daniel fic. i lied. deal with it

12 hours ago, Luke had been dumped onto his front porch like a bag of trash, and at the moment, he didn’t feel that different from one.

Luke had tried almost everything he knew to solve a hangover: exercise, hydration, even some weird concoction Ashton whipped up for him in the morning that sent a weird tingle through his veins for just a moment, but the throbbing of his head and sickness in his stomach made him wince at every sudden move surrounding him. 

At precisely 3 o’clock in the afternoon, Luke downed half a pot of coffee, and by 3:23, he got into his car and drove to the local strip club, Les Belles Femmes, to right a wrong.

The wrong, in this instance, would be referring to the beautiful woman he thoroughly annoyed last night. Maybe he wanted an excuse to go back to the strip club, maybe he wanted an excuse to see her again, that eye-catching individual he felt a strong sense of guilt for burdening last night.

His car comes to a rolling stop, well, Michael’s car, in the trashed parking lot of the club. This place looks a lot different in the day time, the sign not so glowy, the building not so alluring, or maybe he’s just sober this time. Michael didn’t know that Luke took his new car out, and Luke had no intention of telling him. After the stupid fistfight Michael got into last night at the party, he had been passed out his bedroom with the lights out for hours. Ashton checked in on him a few times, checking for a pulse, and Michael simply swatted him away like an angsty teen.

Luke’s hand slides onto the metal handle of the door and he exits the vehicle, approaching the club, coming face to face with the bouncer.

Of course, with Luke’s luck, it’s Steve from last night. Steve remembers Luke, Steve doesn’t like Luke, Steve won’t tolerate Luke, not again. “Beat it, mop top.” Steve starts like a bully from a 2000′s movie.

“Please, man, I gotta talk to her,” Luke all but gets on his knees and begs the other man, though not much larger than him vertically, he had much more more on him horizontally. In other words, dude was jacked as hell.

“Who?” 

“Angel.”

“You’re here for Angel? Sure. What’s her real name?”

“...Olivia.”

Steve sighs. “Just go home kid. You’re young. You’ve got better things to be doing at 4 o’clock on a Saturday.”

“I really don’t. Can I please just talk to her? Please?” Luke considers poking his bottom lip out in a pout but ultimately decides against it, not wanting to risk it.

Steve sighs like that’s all he knows how to do. This must be an everyday thing for him. “I’ll call her out here. That’s only if she wants to come out, got it? If she’s busy, you’re out of here.” Luke enthusiastically nods, and Steve disappears into the tinted front doors of the club. 

His heart is in his chest, thumping and thrashing about and he wonders if he’s too young to be having a heart attack, and the overworked muscle threatens to stop all together when he sees the door open again. 

“Oh, it’s you,” she rasps at him, and Steve is following right behind her, keeping a watchful eye over Luke, as if he would get handsy any second now.

She’s not wearing a typical garb of someone in her line of work, she dons some black sweatpants and a black Nirvana T-shirt, much to Luke’s approval, but he keeps that to himself, at least for now. She must have just gotten here, perhaps not even a few minutes ago. Lucky timing.

“It’s me. Can we talk?” Her face is bewildered, she seems mildly annoyed that she’s out here off the clock, but nods.

“So, uh, I kept thinking about you, the random act of kindness you showed me last night when you really didn’t need to, I felt bad about not deserving it. So, if you’d allow it, would you like to have dinner with me?”

“No.” She turns on her heel, ready to bolt back inside to her safe space, but of course, he just won’t have it.

“Wait! Okay, that’s fine, you don’t need to go on a date with me, totally fine, I get it. I’m a creepy guy who shows up at your work to ask you out, not my proudest moment, I’ll admit. Um, I - uh - I’m playing a show tonight! Me and my band. I’ll get you a ticket, two if you want to bring a friend, free of charge.”

“What makes you think I want to see your crappy little garage band?” She counters, contrarily. He cracks a smile, unreciprocated.

“Because your a kind woman?” She scalds him with a stare, “hey, we’re not awful. And it’s free. It will be fun, I promise, I’ll play a great show, just for you.”

She sighs, just like Steve would, and speaking of Steve, he’s been watching in amusement, slightly in disapproval, yet doing his best to hold in a laugh at the patheticness of this young man.

“If I show up,” Luke’s smile doubles, “ if, heavy if, you promise you won’t be weird about it? You won’t make some weird mention of me on stage. No random love confessions?”

“Pinky swear,” he extends his smallest finger to her and she stares again, scalding him again, he puts his hand down.

“Angel? It’s 4:30,” Steve warns from behind, standing guard at the doors.

“Write down the time and place, give it to Steve, if I’m feeling nice, I might come. Don’t get your hopes up, freak.”

He should be mildly offended at the name he was just called but he isn’t, and for some weird reason, he kind of liked it a little bit. He’d have to explore that more later.

“Perfect. Cool. I’ll see you later. Maybe, I guess. Either way though, it’s fine, really.” Luke’s still shouting stupid things as she goes back inside, leaving him alone, with Steve.

“Alright, alright, I’m leaving,” his hands raise in surrender as he walks back to Michael’s car. He can’t wash the smile off his face as he pulls out of the carpark.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

“What’s wrong with you, dude?” Michael appears behind him in the dressing room mirror. He’s got a shiner roughly the size of a young woman’s fist and Luke doesn’t even feel bad about the full body laugh that escapes him. “Yeah, yeah, have your laugh,” he grumbles.

“I’m sorry mate, what were you saying?” Luke fusses a little extra with his hair tonight, experimenting with different strands laying out in variations across his face.

“I was asking what’s wrong with you. Why are you so excited?”

“What? Am I not allowed to be happy anymore?” Luke turns back to look at Michael but Michael deathstares him. 

“No.”

“Whatever,” he mumbles as Michael walks away. The band was going on in 10 minutes, and once again, Luke was worrying if he was of age to be having a heart attack with how furiously it assaulted his ribcage in deep, heavy pumps.

Sure, he doesn’t necessarily take care of his body, but he’s only 20, he doesn’t have to, right?

The stage lights are hot, bright, and blindingly white once they shine down on Luke. He feels like he could fall off this stage right now, hoping security could act fast enough to catch him in the front row. Or maybe he’d stagedive. He did say he’d give a good show to Angel. Hey, maybe if she liked it enough, she might even tell him her real name. Maybe agree to the date.

Either way, his ass was on the line with tonight’s performance. Tonight’s venue was only big enough to host 300, maybe 350 people, so he hopes she doesn’t see the small crowd and imagine his band sucks so much that no one even comes to see them live.

Sure, they were no Fifth Harmony, but he could hold a tune pretty well, and as long as he jumped around the stage looking pretty for about 45 minutes, the fans seem content with him.

Needless to say, he had never been so worried about a performance since his very first performance that didn’t include at least 3-10 family members in the audience. The first few shows of the band were mostly family, friends, and anyone else they could beg to come, but eventually people started coming on their own terms, no begging involved. If you squint, this nights was not one of those, as Luke had to do some serious begging to get this girl in the audience. 

She probably didn’t know he knew that she was here tonight, as she didn’t dress up in any way, blending in with the crowd, but little did she know that Luke put in a word with the entrance security to alert him when a certain someone with a VIP ticket shows up.

VIP means that she, amongst a few other fangirls, would be coming back to meet the band after the show ends, that is, if she wants to. She could decide the four of them are shit and go home early. 

Whatever, whatever, whatever, don’t think, don’t stress, don’t worry, whatever a therapist would say right now.

The setlist consisted mostly of songs off their newest album, Sounds Good Feels Good, along with some classics from their self titled album, and a few sentimental songs, mostly just for the old fans, off the B-Sides album.

The band ended the first portion with the set with Jet Black Heart, coming back for an encore of She Looks So Perfect, then finally exiting the stage for the night, and Luke almost started biting his fingernails even though that’s something he doesn’t do. 

He sprawled himself down on a backstage black leather couch, feeling sweaty and overall a little rank, and Michael walked up to him, fake-punching him in the stomach with an explosion sound effect, then continued walking to the entrance that the VIP guests would be entering through in just a few minutes.

“Dude, you coming or not? They’re almost here.” Ashton nudges him with a gentle knee and tiredly, Luke sits up, stretching out his arms loudly, enjoying every snap and crack emitting from his tired joints.

He suddenly hears frantic female chatter and he knows it’s time, so he stands up, turns around, and is face-to-face with her. Angel, the one who he had been waiting for all night. “You’re here,” he pretends to be surprised.

“I am,” she smiles nicely but he can sense there’s something behind it, a heavy ‘but’ lingering in her words. Before she can continue, he starts. 

“You look nice, tonight. I like the jeans,” he comments on the ripped black skinny jeans that look like they’d be straight out of his own closet, speaking of which, he is also currently wearing black skinny jeans, the only difference being the lack of a tasteful rip over the left knee.

“I know. So do you. It was a great performance, by the way. Though, I’m getting the feeling the crowds usually aren’t this small, you had some serious die hard fans out there.”

“Yeah, we’re doing some smaller shows before we go on a hiatus for the next album we’re writing. This one tonight, it’s the last one, actually.”

“Oh really? Cool.” He doesn’t know what else to tell her, as there’s no other concert to invite her to again, and he doesn’t want to rush her by asking her out again, he could easily fuck this up and never see her again as easily as he convinced her to come tonight.

“So,  I-” 

“Listen-”

“Sorry, you go first,” she continues.

“Okay, um. Do you wanna hang out again sometime? Maybe go to a party my mate is having in a few days or something? Or, if you wanna keep it lowkey, that’s cool too, maybe a movie or something?”

“Right, so listen, I don’t usually do this, and I’m starting to realize why. I think driving you home last night was a mistake, I know that now, and I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea with this whole thing, but I try my best to keep my private life and my work life separate.”

“What?”

“Hey, don’t take it personally. You’re a great guy, got a lot going for you, you sing, you dance, you’re cute, you’re persistent, girls love that, and I’m sure any day now, you’ll find a good one, but I’m sorry, I just don’t think it’s gonna be me.”

He doesn’t say anything, just hopes nobody is listening to this right now.

“So, I should probably head out now, thanks for the show, and for the ticket. I appreciate it, really. Maybe sometime you can come into my work and I’ll give you a freebie or something,” she’s already at the door with her back turned when she gives it a second thought. “I’m kidding, by the way, don’t do that. I’ll have Steve kick you out again. Bye though!”

He’s just standing there dumbfounded, when a girl with a VIP pass comes up asking for a hug and a picture, and he does as he’s asked with a content smile on his face but his mind is elsewhere from his loving fans. 

She called him cute. She called him cute! At least the night wasn’t a total failure. Sure, that’s what he’ll tell himself to avoid hiding in his closet and crying like an insecure teenage boy who just got rejected by his crush. 

No, he was a 20 year old boy who got rejected by a stripper, this is different, these are adult problems, not teenage problems. 

[loupgawou]

#FOR SOME REASON?????? #excuse me they were the COOLEST PANT SHAPE AT THE TIME #that air faerie? fashion icon #oh my god sometimes i'm just so old #2000s bell bottom was everything

tags via @peadackles

There was a period in Neopets wherein all the faeries were designed to wear bell bottoms for some reason and honestly I kind of feel like getting rid of them was a downgrade

enough dresses, have a faerie show up ready to bless your Neopet and then head out to the disco afterward

[returntosaturn271995]

Monday, August 14th: Can't talk- challenging myself

Today I surprised myself by easing into a productive day with zero complaints from my inner saboteur. This is likely due to the lack of alcohol consumed this weekend, so I didn't experience the normal amount of self-loathing that now comes standard packaged with any hangover over the age of 25.

I had way too much fun using Makenna's milk foamer and espresso maker to fill up the skeleton-smoking-a-cigarette to-go mug before my morning stroll. I sat at Palmy's and wrote some more stand-up material.

This was followed by me creating a "Talk Loopy" doc for work (Kellogg is a surprisingly fussy brand), doing a walk-through of the Fluency software (There is no social media software that isn't a total scam filled in by interns FYI), and looking into the US/Hispanic market for potential influencers.

This little productive boost was enjoyed in the new-and-improved backyard setup. I even made myself a little everything bagel with lox and bell pepper cream cheese with some iced passion fruit tea. The outfit of the day was a pair of Rollas cutoff shorts, high tops, a chocker with turquoise stone, and a white button-up shirt with a crop in the front and standard drape in the back.

After work tapped out at 3 pm (east coast hours!), I ran 25 minutes of intervals with my fastest hitting 7.33 miles per hour. Not a big deal, but it's actually a personal best. The wind was grey and refreshing and I stopped to go walk in the sand like I normally do. There was a really cute little boy rinsing his feet by the showers, he made sure they were squeaky clean before immediately getting them sandy again when walking back to the stairs. Symbolic of current and future beach bums everywhere.

After my run, I took a long shower and finished 4000 Weeks by Oliver Burkeman (and goddamn did it take like 2000 weeks to fucking finish the damn thing. I get it! Time is finite.) Makenna and I then watched Drag Me to Dinner while poor Blue hid under her bed. Apparently, she got bit by another cat last night and isn't feeling her best. At least Hannah's a vet tech!

I did some post-run yoga (fucking ouch, my hips are bullshit), then listened to a meditation based on self-transformation that referenced Drake going from Degrassi to a rap career. Maybe Drake can help me transform my failing upwards rep into something closer to a savvy career woman?

Eh. Or not.

Now I'm sitting here, having definitely started from the bottom earlier this year, and considering whether I actually want to go on three dates this week. The hot Brit (Martyn) is going to take me on the back of his motorcycle on Saturday (here's hoping the limey bastard can stay on the right side of the road) and I currently have two other commitments. One for JRDN tomorrow with a guy named Micheal and one mini-golfing with a dude named Sam. Maybe I'm just tired right now but I'm not even sure it's worth the free food (and golf balls, I assume).

Surely I wouldn't cancel on a soulmate, right?

And surely my soulmate wouldn't take me fucking mini golfing.

Right?

At least for the real world: Donald Trump has now been indicted four times. Fucking four. One for each of the fucked up years he ruled this country with a tiny ham-colored fist.

In better news:

Last year, Massachusetts passed a four percent tax on people making over $1 million per year. Now, every public school student in the Commonwealth will have access to free breakfast and lunch. Small taxes on the wealthiest people being used to fund universally-beneficial programs? Sounds crazy enough that it just might work!

[macaroni-rascal]

my favourite thing about the fast and the furious movies so far is 100% the style. early 2000s clothes were utterly fucking bonkers. low rise, everything looks shredded, 5 layers of tank tops, bell bottoms. iconic.

[newcountryradio]

New country 25e jaargang  #1151 (710) van  14 november    2022  (wk 46) tussen 19.00 -22.00 op Smelne fm

Album van de week: Lainey Wilson – Bell Bottom Country

           Artiest                        Title                                                    

1.    Shania Twain – You Win My Love  

2.    Thomas Rhett – Unforgettable    - 2015

3.    Sunny Sweeny – Easy as Hello

4.    John Pardi – Reverse Cowgirl

5.    Charley Crockett – The Man From Waco

6.    Wade Bowen – Everything Has A memory  

7.    Jackson dean – Don’t Come Lookin

8.    Alabama -If you’re gonna play in Texas, you gotta had a fiddle in the band

9.    Lainey Wilson – Hillbilly Hippie *album vd week

10. Lainey Wilson – Heart Like a Truck   *album vd week*  

11. Overzicht  5-1 airplay:  

12. Morgan Wallen – You Proof  -  #1

13. Wesley Hanna  - Back to the Honky Tonks” –

14. Brad Paisley -We Danced  - 2000

15. Alan Jackson – Love’s Got A Hold On You

16. Lainey Wilson – Atta Girl   --favoriet    

17. Chris Cagle  - What a Beautiful Day (2003)

18. Chris Cagle  -  Chicks Dig It (Chris Cagle  2003)

19. Dolly Parton – Hello God      Sofi

20. Dailey & Vincent – Did A Little Deeper In The well.

21. Tami Neilson – Kingmaker

22. Joshua Hedley – Medley neon moon /mr jukebox

23. Joshua Hedley – Medley

24. Joshua Hedley – Medley

25. Lainey Wilson –.Watermelon Moonshine    *album vd week

26. Margo Price - Ragged Old Truck     *albumvw  

27. Morgan Wallen – Neon Eyes     #1 album  

28. John Michael Montgomery – The Little Girl

29. Travis Tritt – Best Of  Intentions

30.  Tim McGraw – My next Thirty  Years

31. John Michael Montgomery – Four wheel Drive -  *Trucksong

32. Shania Twain – No One Needs To Know  

33. Patty Loveless w/ Chris Stapleton – You Don’t Even Know Who I Am *    juweeltje

34. Melissa Carper - - Ramblin’ Soul

35. Hillsome South  - Someday  * Dutch corner

36. Hilde Vos –   Home

37. Timo De Jong – When You Go  

38. Jordon Davis – Buy Dirt        .

39. Cody Johnson - ‘Til You Can’t

40. Luke Combs – Going Going Gone

41. Chris Stapleton  - Tennessee Whiskey

42. Lainey Wilson – Roadrunner     *album vd week

43. George Jones – Tender Years  

44. Willie Nelson – Angels Flying Too Close To The Ground

45. Darius Rucker – Wagon Wheel

[adarkroomandawallflower]

Thank you so much for the tag @spocks-bikini-and-datas-bra! This was tricky, but still super fun.

A - "Already Over" by Red

D - "Disco 2000" by Pulp

A - "A Little Faster" by There for Tomorrow

R - "Remember This Bridge" by Modern Chemistry

K - "Kill Beautiful Things" by DED

R - "Rock Bottom" by Neck Deep

O - "Out of Touch" by Hall and Oates

O - "Oh My Heart" by R.E.M.

M - "Message in a Bottle" by The Police

A - "All Hallows Evil" by Fearless Vampire Killers

N - "Nights in White" Satin by the Moody Blues

D - "Done with Everything" by Line So Thin

A - "A Song for a Broken Heart" by A Static Lullaby

W - "Welcome to the Chaos" by Fame on Fire

A - "Armistice" by Phoenix

L - "Losing My Religion" by R.E.M.

L - "London Beckoned Songs About Money Written by Machines" by Panic! at the Disco

F - "For Whom the Bell Tolls" by Metallica

L - "Let Me Down" by New Year's Day

O - "Only Happy When it Rains" by Garbage

W - "We're All to Blame" by Sum 41

E - "Earth Angel" by Marvin Berry and the Starlighters

R - "Rainy Day" by Ice Nine Kills

23 letters...I definitely don't know that many people on here, so I'll just spiritually tag all my followers and invite any of you who want to do this to do it!

URL song tag game

thank youuu @yesireadbooks

RULES: spell your url with song titles and then tag as many people as there are letters.

*dramatically removes the cloth from the board*

AHEM

F- family line by conan gray

I- idontwannabeyouanymore by billie eilish

R-run and hide by sabrina carpenter

E-exile by Taylor swift

-

B-boys will be bugs by cavetown

U-until i found you by stephen sanchez and em beihold

T-tennis court by lorde

-

A-almost is never enough by ariana grande

S- strawberry blond by mitski

H-habits by tove lo

E-easier than lying by halsey

S- seventeen by ryan mccartan and barrett wilbert weed (from heathers the musical) -

T-this december by ricky montgomery

O-o my heart by mother mother

O-overwhelmed by royal and the serpent

oh my god 15 letters that was long.

@holdmyteaplease @spicymochi @guessillcallitart @escapetheinevitable @cabbojage @maewrites13 @macabremoons @briannaswords @tea-and-mercury @ashwithapen @blackcrxwking @lycaens @iannicellis @anonymousfoz @fioreshere

(did i choose specifically people with relatively long urls? yes.)

[thebluenoteblog]

Chasing After You

Summary: Matthew just can’t let you go, no matter how hard he tries. Unluckily, you have the same problem.

Player: Matthew Tkachuk

Word Count: 2000

Warnings: I don’t know... a lot of drinking. A few bad words.

Authors Note: Be gentle, this is the first thing I’ve written in a really long time. It might be (probably is) a dumpster fire.

You come over when your wine's all gone

Always catch me when I'm not that strong

Then you wind up staying all night long

Ain't nothin' new

Matthew had finally reached rock bottom, he had to admit that, though to no one other than himself. Sitting home alone on a Friday night. No game to play, no practice to keep his mind busy, no friends to hang out with. Just him, a beer, the temptation of something stronger, and nothing on the TV. 

It was really pathetic. The guys wouldn't believe it if they saw him right now. Or maybe they would. Maybe pathetic was his new style, it was certainly starting to feel like it after all.

He grabbed the remote off the couch beside him and began to flip channels, eventually settling on a baseball game. He wasn’t paying close enough attention to the game to tell you the score, he wasn't sure he even knew what teams were playing. 

Just a few minutes into the game that he was sort of watching, there was a knock on his door. He checked his watch, 10:34. You were earlier than usual. 

He pushed himself up off the couch and made his way to the front door of his apartment. He knew it was you. You were the only one the front desk let up without calling him. He still didn't know how you had managed that. Did you sweet talk the workers? Probably. 

He pulled the door open and there you were, bottle of wine in hand. “I finished one already, but I thought you might be open to having a drink with me.”

There were a thousand alarm bells going off in his head, but he stepped aside and let you into his apartment. You kicked off your shoes in the entryway and followed him into the living room. Neither of you bothered with grabbing glasses, you uncorked the bottle and took a sip before passing it to Matthew.

He knew where this was going, he always did. He couldn't tell you why he never stopped it. Or maybe he could. Maybe he knew and he didn't want to admit that even after everything you had done to hurt him over the years, he was still unbelievably, irrevocably in love with you. 

Then I wake up with you on my chest

You got a way of making me forget

Girl, with you the answers always yes

Every time you call

He was warmer than usual. It took him a minute to register you in his arms, head positioned comfortably on his chest. The way you used to sleep almost every night but now reserved for nights that you’d downed your alcohol a little to quickly.

Matthew was afraid to move, he knew that as soon as he stirred you, you’d be out the door just as quickly as you'd walked through it the night before. Just like that you would burst his bubble all over again. Just like you had a hundred times before. 

Eventually your eyes fluttered open and he watched as you scanned the room, taking in where you were. “Morning,” he said. 

You smiled, “Morning.”

The smile gave him hope that he squashed down just as quickly as it appeared. “Stay for breakfast?” He asked.

You shrugged, “Do I have to cook it?”

“I’ll order in,” He laughed softly. He would never let you cook for him again if that was all it took for you to stay. It wasn't, but he could dream.

You nodded, “I’m going to take a shower. What time do you have practice?”

Matthew glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “I’ve got a few hours still.”

You pushed up off his chest and he immediately missed the warmth of your body. He wanted to tell you to come back, just for a little while longer but he knew better. So he let you go, because having you in his shower was better than having you in an uber on the way back to your apartment. 

But I know, yeah I know it's a matter of time

'Till you walk, 'till you walk back out of my life

Leave me standing here lonely feeling like a fool

You stretched up on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to Matthew’s lips. It was soft, barely there. “I’ll call you.”

He knew you wouldn’t.

He nodded, “Text me when you get home safe.”

You nodded. “I will.”

He knew you wouldn’t.

You turned away from him and he watched as you disappeared down the hallway toward the elevator. When he couldn't see you anymore, he pushed the door closed and made his way back to the living room. 

Here he was again, a fucking idiot with a broken heart and nothing but time to kill.

Every time, every time you say we're done

You come back to the love you were running from

Don't know why, don't know why I let you but I do

Guess I love chasing after you

Matthew glanced down at his phone, tuning out the guys as he scanned the message, What are you doing tonight?

He typed out a response before anyone could realize who he was talking to. Nothing important.

Your response was almost immediate, I’ll be over in an hour.

Matthew rose from his seat and shoved his phone into his pocket. “Hey guys, I’ll catch you later.”

Johnny sighed, “Don't do it man, you're going to regret it.”

Matthew shook his head, “You have no idea what you're talking about.”

They looked at each other before turning back to him, “Man, this is getting ridiculous. She isn't good for you.”

“How do you know what's good for me?” Matthew asked, crossing his arms and widening his stance. “I think I can protect myself, I'm a big boy.”

Johnny sighed and waved a hand in his general direction, “Whatever, do what you want. Just don't come whining to me when she disappears again.”

Matthew snorted, “I don't plan on it.”

Then he was gone, phone in hand calling an uber.

Listen

Wish I could quit you but it feels too good

If I could turn it off, you know I would

But somethin' 'bout you makes me think we could

Make it after all

There was nothing in the world that made you angrier than your inability to walk away from Matthew. After everything the two of you had put each other through, there was no reason to keep going back. Yet… here you were. Standing outside his apartment after what was essentially a booty call.

You almost wished that Matthew would tell you to fuck off just so you could move on with your life. He wouldn't do that though, you knew Matthew too well and he knew you too well too. That was the problem. You had been with each other on some level for so long that you couldn't remember what it was like to be apart.

You hadn’t knocked yet, you could still leave. Go home and do the responsible thing for once. 

“Y/N.”

You turned toward the elevators, and there was Matthew. He looked amazing, t-shirt tight over his chest and shoulders, hair just a little bit in his eyes, the way you loved. There was no chance that you were leaving now. You were in this for the night now, not that this was bad news. You had never intended on leaving without seeing him.

“You’re early.” He said, running his hands through his hair.

“Yeah, I know,” You said, “I was bored.”

He nodded, “I can fix that.”

But I know, yeah I know it's a matter of time

'Till you walk, 'till you walk back out of my life

Leave me standing here lonely feeling like a fool

Why did he always think it would be different? Why was he always so determined to let himself think that there was a chance things would work out this time or next time or the time after that. There was no logical reason to believe that after all this time, anything would change, yet here he was, once again, surprised on some level that you had left him high and dry.

He closed the door, you had long since disappeared into the elevators, and he collapsed onto the couch. There was no way he would be hearing from you again for a while, so he buried his face in the throw pillow and decided to take a long nap.

After all, he had gotten no sleep the night before.

Every time, every time you say we're done

You come back to the love you were running from

Don't know why, don't know why I let you but I do

Guess I love chasing after you

You were always the one to end things. You had never, in your life, had your heart broken. You never let things get that far. You loved love, but you hated the idea of being hurt. So you kept everyone who tried to love you at a distance. Matthew was no exception, in fact he was the blueprint. There was no way you could ever give him your whole heart, there was no way you could ever trust him with a part of you that you had never given to anyone.

Oh, but you wanted to. More than anything, you wanted to give him every part of you in every way. You knew he loved you, on some level you knew that he would never hurt you, but here you were, three years into a mess of your own creation with no idea how to fix it.

“Y/N, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

You glanced up from your hands, eyes scanning the massive wall clock hanging above your therapists desk. Your appointment would be over in twenty minutes and you had yet to say a word to her. “I don’t know where to start today.”

She nodded, “What is bothering you today? Let's start with that.”

You sighed, “Matthew.”

“What about him?” She asked, tapping her pencil on the notepad that rested on her crossed legs.

You resisted the urge to sigh again. “I just…” You looked down at your hands, “I wish that I could let myself be happy with him.”

You come over when your wine's all gone

Always catch me when I'm not that strong

Then you wind up staying all night long

Ain't nothin' new

Two firm raps on the door had Matthew freezing as he poured his drink. He set the bottle down and made his way to the living room. He pulled the door open and there you were, beautiful as ever. Hair pulled up in a messy bun, hands in the pocket of your coat. “Hey, Matthew.”

Matthew smiled his eyes wondering over you, memorizing every inch as he stepped out of the way to let you into the apartment. “No wine this time?”

“No, no wine tonight..”

He laughed as he pushed the door closed behind you. “It's okay, I have some.”

You kicked off your shoes by his front door before turning to face him. “Actually, I was thinking maybe we could try this sober tonight.”

Matthew stared at you, his expression some strange mix of confusion and hopefulness. “Why?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. You wanted to tell him that you were working on your shit, that you were trying to be less scary and damaged, but you couldn’t find the words or the courage to share that with him. Instead, what came out of your mouth was a joke, “What, do you have to be drunk to enjoy my company?”

The corners of his mouth slowly turned up, “No, not at all.”

He followed you into the living room and took a seat beside you on the couch. Like always he gave you space. This time you scooted closer to him. His eyebrows rose for a split second, then he put an arm around your shoulders and grabbed the remote from the end table. “Want to watch a movie? I hear there’s some new Netflix original thats really good.”

You nodded and sank into his side as he scrolled through the selections.

Maybe this wasn't so scary.

Maybe you could get used to this.

[myelocin]

the love in life which keeps us young | matsukawa issei

synopsis: in which matsukawa issei thinks of you as he says his vows.

characters: matsukawa issei, issei anon you

genre/wc: fluff, 2000+

a/n: no thoughts brain v empty only issei

-

“Do you wanna write out our vows or do you just wanna repeat after whatever the dude says?”

You look at Issei, his eyebrows knit together in the way that tells you he’s serious about his question, then at the faraway look he has on his face as his eyes zeroes in on the wall behind you. You laugh; the kind that fills you with a sort of giddiness that you don’t think you could ever get sick of, before taking a quick sip of your drink and thinking about his words.

“This is the one time in our lives where you get a chance to make me feel like a Y/N in front of a crowd, Issei,” you laugh.

Across you, Issei pops the straw of his drink out of his mouth as he focuses his eyes on you and sighs with a pout.

“You mean you don’t feel like Y/N already?” he asks, and you smile when he shifts his focus back to the straw of his drink, as he tries to aim for the remaining balls of boba at the bottom of the cup.

“I do,” you answer, and Issei grins because he hears nothing but honesty in the tone of your voice. He knows you mean it, but none the less he pries.

“So on a level of one to Oikawa’s breakdown when his team won the Olympics, how hard do you wanna cry?” Issei asks again, pushing his emptied cup to the side before he leans forward and smiles at you.

He looks a little sleepy, you think. Issei’s kept his hair a little longer than how he used to back when you were still in high school, and when he didn’t style his hair—like now—the wavy ends of his bangs always just hung around the front of his eyes.

His eyes, you think. Its deep brown hue that always reminded you of the oak trees from back home. And when he blinks, soft and slow in the way that never failed to make him look a little sleepier than he really is—you feel warm.

Maybe you do have moments where you feel like the main character of a book.

“You’re smiling all weird,” Issei comments, and when he grins it looks and feels just as familiar with the cotton of your most worn sweater.

“Just please don’t slip in a meme during the vows,” you plead, but instead of seeming concerned, you only let out a laugh that breaks your attempt of hardening your expression.

“We’ll have to see about that,” Issei across you hums, then closes his eyes as he lets out a light chuckle.

“Issei,” you start, but only break into laughter again when he folds his arms and lays his head on the table, his face facing the open window as he pretends not to hear you.

Despite your halfhearted protests towards him, Matsukawa Issei thinks he likes the moments he spends with you the most when it’s like this.

He knows he loves you every hour of everyday. But, it’s in the in between of life stopping and starting where he sits down across you, in the same tea shop you’ve become regulars at, sitting in the same table he was first hit with the thought that he loved you in, where Issei is overwhelmed with the feeling of pure gratitude.

The fan on the other side of the wall—the one right behind you, continues to whir even though he’s currently facing an open window. The grandmother who used to serve the two of you your favorite kind of tea is now retired, but her grandson who took over the business a little over two years ago brews your tea the same way. Your notebook—the one you used to write your random ideas in that you hardly ever expand anyway is now switched with a laptop that you bought when you graduated, but he knows that somewhere in there are files filled with the scattered pieces of dialogue that comes to you during the most random parts of your day.

Your hand, years ago adorned with the promise ring that took him a few shifts at his uncle’s convenience store to buy for you, is now worn next to the engagement ring he still had to spend a couple paychecks on.

Issei smiles. Consistency despite the inevitable change.

Familiar despite the new.

And he acknowledges change, he realizes. Because the only thing constant in the world is the fact that for as long as the world keeps spinning, the people—and the world—will continue to spin into a new era.

So when he closes his eyes, basking in the sunlight, sometimes Issei likes to imagine that the teashop he’s in is still the one from ten years ago. He imagines the open field that’s outside the window he faces and smiles when he thinks of how the sun would look against fields of wheat.

But before he even opens his eyes, he hears a man’s voice calling out orders instead of the grandmother who’d just ring a bell. He hears you tapping away at your laptop’s keyboard instead of the steady scratches of the pen you used to favor using. The sound of the street outside isn’t as quiet now that there’s a busy convenience store in place of the wheat fields who’d only woosh with the breeze at its loudest sound.

“You finally awake?” Issei hears you ask when he finally opens his eyes and sits back up. And much like how it used to be almost ten years ago, his heart skips a beat from just the sound of your voice. The look in your eye is still the same.

Somehow he feels like he’s still ten years back in time.  

“Just thinking of what meme I can slip into the vows,” he laughs when you snort at him and roll your eyes at his comment.

“I swear to god, Issei,” you warn, puffing your cheeks when he sticks his tongue out as his choice of a retort.

-

“When I said I’ll make you cry, I hope you know what you were getting yourself into,” is how Issei begins his vows when the microphone was given for him.

You look at him, already a little teary eyed despite him just starting to speak his vows.

“First off,” he says. “I love you.”

Maybe it’s just how the light of the afternoon sun is hitting him, you consider. Issei’s always looked good under the sun, you think. Perhaps there was just something a little more magical in the sunlight today that struck a chord with you.

“I’ll admit that by saying I love you, that’s probably as accurate as I can possibly get my feelings to,” Issei continues, and from behind the veil you laugh as you see him start blinking with his words. Then when he says I love you, again, you notice how his hold on the paper turns a little shaky as his right foot begins to tap steadily on the ground.

It was slight enough where it could have well been unnoticeable for others, but you knew him better. You always knew him better.

These were all telltale signs that Issei was about to cry.

“I rewrote these vows over and over again until I reached the point where the more I felt—the less I could write in the paper,” Issei across you laughs. “Just ask Makki, he’ll back me up.”

From behind him, Makki shoots you a thumbs up. “It’s true,” you hear Makki quip and so you laugh with the crowd.

“But I think that’s how it’s supposed to be, you know?” you hear him continue. “Love, with you has always been more of a feeling instead of just words. I could read every sentence or every story that talked about what love is supposed to feel like and in some way I’ll agree with it—because it’s just like that.”

You notice how Issei shifts his eyes from looking at the paper then back at you as he begins to sniffle with his words.

“Love,” he begins, then stops as he corrects his words. “—no, you, have made me agree with words I’ve never even come across before. There’s always something in everything that has me connecting it back to you even if that something is the most unfamiliar thing in the world.”

“And believe me,” he adds, “—as a dude working with dead bodies you see a lot of shit.”

From behind him, you laugh at the way Makki, Hajime, and Tooru snicker with Issei’s choice of words. The minister in front of you clears his throat a little awkwardly, motioning for Issei to continue.

“Honestly, I could talk about what I want to promise you and what you deserve, because right now I feel everything I wanna say—“ Issei says, then stops when he takes a few moments to look up and wipe the corners of his eyes with the sleeve of his tuxedo.

“This is your fault,” he laughs, sniffling as he looks at you with a smile.

You laugh with him, the figure of him already blurred with the tears that welled up and slid down your cheeks.

“But I know words and promises will never come close to the value of my actions,” Issei finishes, folding the piece of paper to which you now notice barely even has sentences in it, and tucking it into his pocket.

“In this moment all I know is how I realized I loved you when we were sixteen sitting in that teashop while I drank the tea you said was good—which you lied about,” he interrupted, then laughed with the crowd, before continuing with, “—and how deep that feeling just hit me.”

“Even though we’re literally marrying each other now,” he continues, and you can only cry even harder when you hear his voice soften with his words. “I still feel that. Every moment with you still makes me feel like I’m sixteen and just realizing that I’m so in love with you over and over again.”

You’re as quiet as he is when he stares straight at you with glassy eyes.

“Love with you is something that I know is constantly changing and shifting with the world, but at the same time it’s the one thing that feels timeless. You’re the one thing that feels timeless. God knows how many times we’ve moved apartments or have changed cars, but you telling me welcome home still feels familiar. The way you always forget your chapstick in the car and then accuse me for stealing it a week later is still the same,” he laughs.

“Because everything in the world is moving so fast, I think that love is that one thing that grounds us back to the more steadier flow of time. You’re the reason why I wanna buy a house instead of jetset around the world. You always talk about that herb garden you’ve been wanting to start and we can finally get to that when we have a house. You noticing the weirdest things around every corner and smiling about it is the reason why sometimes sitting in traffic isn’t so bad anymore.”

“We’re all just trying to run somewhere with a destination we aren’t even sure of yet but you make it feel like we’ve already made it.”

“So for better or for worse, richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish—till death do us part— I’ll love you.”

“You’re crying,” you whisper when he lifts your veil and stares at you with tears already sliding down his cheeks.

“Shut up,” Issei laughs, hands cupping your face while his thumbs wipe the tears on your cheeks, his face already leaning in towards you.

 -

[howlinchickhowl]

Alright this is happening. The other day @mickeyssleevelessflannel made this post about Ian being sick and not wanting to give in to it, but then giving into it and then enjoying Mickey taking care of him, and I maybe got a little obsessed with it and ended up writing something as a sort of post-script to the actual post. 

I’ve called it Song of the Hearth, and it’s basically 2000 words of Mickey making Ian soup and you can read it here under the cut, or here on A03. Enjoy?

The ringing phone is too loud in the quiet of the kitchen and Mickey quickly thumbs at the volume button to bring it down a couple notches while he waits. Next place they live they’re gonna have some doors.

 It’s usually not a problem, it’s just the two of them and it’s not like either of them have a strong attachment to privacy. A lifetime of sharing bedrooms with innumerable siblings followed by six months of shitting in front of each other in the joint takes care of that sort of thing pretty quick.

 But Ian’s finally passed out on the couch after spending most of the day feverishly insisting he isn’t sick and doesn’t need a nap, and Mickey wouldn’t mind if the little kitchen he’s currently hovering in had some kind of closeable door instead of just a corner to hide around so he could take care of his shit without waking the little drama queen up, is all.

 The call rings through to voicemail. Fucking typical. He hangs up without leaving a message and is leaning against the countertop where he can watch Ian shivering unhappily under his ratty star blanket when it starts to ring.

 He glances quickly at the caller ID before bringing the phone up to his ear.

 “Hey.” He mutters, trying to keep his voice as low as possible while still being audible at the other end. “Thanks for calling back.”

 “I saw your number on my missed calls list and I thought I was having some sorta hallucination! Is everything ok?” She’s trying to play it off for laughs but the question, her concern, is very real. In retrospect he thinks he probably should’ve just texted.

 They text each other sometimes. Every now and then Mickey’ll see an article about some kid getting eaten by a ‘gator at Disneyworld and text it to her with the raised eyebrow emoji because Florida’s a dumbass fucking place to choose to live.

 Sometimes he wakes up to pictures of a sunrise over the water or some frolicking fucking flamingoes or some shit and an inspirational quote because Fiona Gallagher is an idiot who moves to swampy shitholes but she is also a first class fucking troll who loves to waste his time.

 Sometimes she’ll text him to ask about Ian. Sometimes he answers.

 He’s never called her before, he should’ve known it would set off some kind of alarm bells.

 “I need your soup recipe.”

 Best tactic for dealing with a concerned Gallagher sibling is to cut them off and then confound them. Don’t give them a chance to work themselves up into a fit, just get straight to the point.

 “My…My what?” He thinks it’s worked, worry in her voice giving way to confusion and amusement.

 “Your soup recipe. For soup.”

 “Mickey, I don’t think I have a soup recipe.” Maybe he’s confounded her too much?

 “Ian says you used to make soup when he was sick.”

 “He’s sick?” She’s worried again. And Christ he gets what Ian means when he says she can over-react. Understands why Ian doesn’t always want to let her know when something’s going on with him. Mickey can practically hear her planning what to pack in her fucking suitcase when she gets off the phone so she can come up here and nurse him back to health.

 In the living room, Ian shifts under his blanket, his huge-ass feet in faded white athletic socks sticking out from the bottom end look so small as they rub against each other. His face is scrunched up in a grumpy frown that Mickey thinks is pretty cute, even if it’s because he’s not feeling good.

 It irks him, Fiona jumping into battle mode. Ian’s a grown ass man and he’s doing real good and he doesn’t need Big Sister Energy barging in here trying to take care of him. He can take care of himself. And when he can’t, well, he’s got Mickey. And it pisses him off just a little bit every time Fiona implies, even if she doesn’t mean to, that that’s not enough.

 “It’s just a fuckin’ cold man, he’s fine. But he hasn’t eaten a lot and he keeps yackin’ on about your fuckin’ soup so I figured I’d make it for him for dinner.”

 “Mickey –“ God he can hear her fucking melt, the affection creeping in when she says his name like he’s some sort of sweetheart fucking marvel for wanting to make soup for his own fucking husband. He’s gotta shut that shit down straight away before it gets out of hand and she starts thinking it’s ok to start calling him Sweetcheeks or whatever it is she calls Ian.

.

 “Look he’s gotta eat something alright? Just give me the damn recipe so I can make a list for Wholefoods.”

 “Wholefoods? You hit your head there Milkovich?” Yeah that about did it, cut-off and confound, works every time. Her saccharine lovey-dovey-voice has been replaced with her give-Mickey-shit-voice and that’s a spot he’s much more comfortable being in.

 “Yeah, on your baby brother’s rock hard cock, just tell me what’s in the damn soup?”

 Fiona laughs quietly and he can hear her moving around, rustling something. Ian (Mickey and Ian, Ian would insist) bought her a kettle for Christmas last year and he can hear it start to whistle. As she tells him,

 “It’s nothing special.” The whistling stops as she pulls the kettle off the stove and clanks around with cups and spoons and whatever else you use to make tea.  “You probably don’t even have to go to the store. I never had the money for Wholefoods. I just used to dump a whole buncha Herb-ox into some hot water and stir in whatever vegetables were in the freezer and bits of chopped up bacon.”

 Mickey processes all of that information with a grimace.

 “Jesus. That’s the greatest meal Ian’s ever eaten?” That does not sound like soup. That sounds like salty lumpy chicken water with stuff in it.

 “Yeah. It was pretty disgusting, honestly?” She chuckles like it’s a joke, but Mickey definitely agrees with her. “It was just hot and salty and cheap, and only when they were sick, no sane or healthy person would be asking for it.”

 “Alright, well guess I don’t gotta go anywhere then, pretty sure we got Herb-ox. What flavor?” Quiet as he can, he starts pulling open the cupboards where Ian keeps all the herbs and dried shit. Pantry cupboard, he calls it, cute little grin on his face because he likes the idea of them having a pantry, even if it’s just a cupboard that he’s decided to call that. Mickey’s face can’t decide whether to grin or roll his eyes when he thinks about it. It probably ends up doing both.

 “Whatever we had? If you have both I would do two parts chicken, one part vegetable. And if you’ve got any of that wagon wheel pasta he likes you could throw some of that in as well.”

 “Yeah alright I’ll check.” He’s pretty sure they have some of that stuff, Ian makes it for Franny when they babysit.

 It’s quiet for a minute, Mickey looking for the ingredients for the world’s worst soup in the cupboards and trying to figure out how to get off the phone now that he has what he needs without seeming ungrateful or impolite or whatever.

 “It’s nice of you to do that for him Mickey.” She’s gone soft again, like she’s smiling at him, like she’d give him a hug if they were in the same room, and that’s enough for him to stop caring about being polite.

 “Yeah I’m gonna go now.” He tells her and he can hear her grin on the other end.

 “Give Ian my love?”

 “Nope.” He drops the call while she’s laughing and sets to boiling up some water for the “soup”.

  Fifteen minutes later he sets the bowl down in front of Ian on the coffee table and touches his fingers to the little curls on top of his sleeping head, stroking through them gently until Ian stirs and snuffles his way into consciousness.

 “Whassit hmm?” Ian murmurs, rubbing his eyes and scrunching up his cheeks, flushed with illness and with sleep, cute as a fucking button.

 “Gonna have to try that one again man, whatever you think you said, it wasn’t words.”

 “Hmm, sorry, m’sleepy.” Ian still hasn’t fully opened his eyes but he turns over and stretches, trying to wake up properly.

 “I know, but I got something for you.”

 “I don’t think I can have sex right now Mick.” The little shit pats him on the knee with a smug smile that would be really fucking alluring if he wasn’t wearing yesterday’s pyjamas and a layer of fever-sweat. “Maybe in like an hour.”

 “That’s adorable that you think I want anything to do with your sweaty ass, probably fucking contagious dick right now, but no. I made soup.” That gets Ian to crack an eye open. One full, one squinting at him suspiciously.

 “You made soup? Like you bought soup?”

 “No, like I called your bitch of a sister down in God’s waiting room and I got her to tell me how to make her soup. And then I made it.”

 It’s the mention of Fiona that gets Ian really to perk himself awake, using his elbows on the arm of the couch to lever himself up to sitting as Mickey passes him the steaming bowl of sad, pathetic, poor-people soup that he really hopes is gonna be as good as Fiona’s would have been. Ian accepts the bowl and the spoon and stares at it a little goofily.

 “You did that?” He beams up at Mickey like he’s done something real, and Mickey can feel his face start to flush with the pleasure of it. He tries to tamp down his smile a little bit as he lowers himself down to sit next to his husband.

 “Yeah, Raggedy Ann, I did that. So now you owe me a BJ for the soup, and probably also one to make up for me having to have a conversation with Fiona.”

 “Fuck you, I’m at least Andy. And you like Fiona, you don’t get blow jobs for talking to someone you like.” Ian has returned his focus now mainly to the soup, stirring it around a little, blowing on it to cool it. Mickey’s arm stretches itself out along the back of the couch and his hand finds its way into the hairs at the base of Ian’s skull, just stroking through a little in the way they both like.

 “Alright. We can argue the fine details later, right now you gotta eat.”  And Ian does.

 He takes a spoonful and brings it up to his mouth with enthusiasm, but residual lethargy. Mickey can’t help but watch his face for signs of disgust or disappointment. And he’s not ashamed to say he loses his breath a little bit when Ian’s face lights up after swallowing his first mouthful. 

 He turns to Mickey, licking his lips and smiling the biggest, shiniest fucking smile and whispers, like it’s a secret, like he’s awestruck, “this is Fiona’s soup.” And Mickey could cry with how happy Ian looks in that moment, like Mickey’s given him the greatest gift.

 The rest of the soup disappears within minutes, Ian making happy little slurps and hums as he brings the spoon to his mouth over and over again. And Mickey just watches him, fingers rubbing in his hair, and thinks about how he never expected to feel happy like this. Never in a million years would have thought that happiness was watching your feverish husband eat shitty soup on a rented couch on a Wednesday afternoon. But it is. It fucking is and Mickey will never get used to feeling this happy, will never get enough of it as long as he lives.

 Ian finishes the soup and as soon as he’s set the bowl down he’s shuffling over to wedge himself against Mickey’s side, properly under his arm, face buried in his neck huffing hot shallow breaths into his skin as he falls quickly back to sleep. Mickey shifts a little so that he can press a kiss into Ian’s hairline, he’s still warm, skin tacky and honestly pretty gross. Maybe after he’s slept a bit Mickey can get him in the shower.

 He reaches for the remote and spends a few minutes flicking through the channels idly while Ian shuffles around and makes himself comfortable using Mickey as his pillow. Discovery channel is running an afternoon of dinosaur documentaries that looks pretty interesting, so he puts on the subtitles and turns the volume way down, settling himself in for a lazy afternoon.

 “Hey Mick?” Ian mumbles, fingers clutching at the material of Mickey’s hoody, like he’s trying to hold on to being awake for just another minute, like he’s got something important he has to stay awake for.

 “Hmm?”

 “Thanks. For th’soup.” Mickey chuckles. Real important shit to say Gallagher. Good job keeping yourself up for that one.

 “Yeah yeah, you’re welcome.” He tells him, too fond, always too fond. “Fucking soup junkie.”

 “Mick?” Fingers tighten in his hoody again, and it’s stupid cute that Ian seems to be using that as a grounding tool.

 “Shhh,” Mickey whispers into his hairline, smoothing back his hair at the front with his free hand. “C’mon man go back to sleep.”

 Ian smacks his lips and loosens his death grip on Mickey’s sweater, and then, as he’s drifting into deeper breaths and his eyelashes start to flutter against the skin of Mickey’s neck, he breathes,

 “You take real good care of me, y’know?”

[erelavent]

My ranking of the F1 Vanity Fair photos from Worst to Best

There was a 2-way tie for last place, but this photo just makes me uncomfortable. The clothes are a part of it, but it’s not just that. The entire composition gives off an infantilizing effect. It’s the obsessive photoshop that removed all wrinkles coupled with the sailor boy outfit and the pose. I hate the entire direction. 0/10

This photo is giving me Ali Baba and the Forty thieves set in 2022 and not in a good way. It’s giving Disney Hannah Montana and Shake it Up levels of layering. The floral harem pants with the gingham jacket and organic print button up could have gotten a pass IF they didn’t pair them with the gold loafers. It’s too discombobulated for all of it to work. 0/10

I feel like I’m shitting on Este a lot but I just don’t feel like they put a lot of effort into choosing his looks. This look also ranks low because it looks like it's trying to be a modernized, formal version of a Canadian tuxedo seeing as it's imitating a distressed denim top and bottom but it lacks the texture of actual denim so it falls flat. It just looks like wrinkled silk. I also don’t know that anyone has ever looked good in a Canadian tuxedo (Britney and Justin included) so was there really a need to modernize it? I didn’t know people still wore Canadian tuxedos unironically. 2/10

Mon petite pilote Pierre, they also did you dirty with this nautical theme. Not as bad as Lando but still pretty bad. All those in favor of banning horizontal stripes say I. Adding grandma’s pearl floral brooch doesn’t help either. 4/10

I like this look. Shamrock Green is the color of the season (even though I think Valentino made an argument for Pink PP). It’s bold but also very simple. If I could find this look in my brother’s closet or Zara, it shouldn’t be in Vanity Fair. 4.5/10

The jacket is the only thing giving this jacket a high score. I want to know what it’s made out of. The tailoring is immaculate. The texture is great, the crisp lines are *chef’s kiss*. 5/10

Danny just lives and breathes bright colors. To me, I feel like this is the grown up version of Lando’s nautical look. The almost transparent cashmere knitwear with the ocean blue suit and the scarf that looks like it's supposed to imitate rope knotted into a belt makes me think of a sailor who opened a commercial cruise line lol. 6.5/10

I’m a slut for asymmetrical suits. The strong shoulders are obviously very masculine but the single button and bell bottom pants soften the look. There’s an interesting aspect of innocence in the direction of the whole photo. I like it. 7/10

I like this look. I don’t want to because monogrammed LV prints should have died in the early 2000s, and the shirt and pussy bow look like my deceased grandma’s carpets, but it just kind of works? Idk, I’m confused about it too, but it's such an interesting mix of very early and very late 19th century fashion that it kinda slaps. 7.5/10

This look is everything. I mentioned how Pink PP instead of shamrock green should be the look of the season and this is why. The glorious bright pink, silk jumpsuit is what I wish race suits would look like (but I know hell would freeze over first). There is enough contrast between his jumpsuit and the vibrant violet blue socks that I don’t even mind the severity of his black oxfords (I think they're oxfords anyways, it’s hard to see). 8.5/10