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[jaipurbeadsseo]

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[beccagetscrafty]

Below the cut are links to some of my favorite cross stitch supplies.

I'm not getting kick backs or anything for the links below, I just wanted to share what I use with everyone.

Storage

Storage: Plano 23700-20 Stowaway with Adjustable Dividers

Floss Drop Bobbins: Ultimate Bobbin Drops by GWStitchinDepot on Etsy

Floss Reel by CreativeKeepsStudio on Etsy - used to cut precut my floss in equal lengths to use with my floss drops.

My fav bobbins (above) are on the expensive side, but I do have some cheaper ones I use as well.

White Plastic Bobbins

Clear Floss Drops

White Paper DMC Bobbins

For projects, I also have colorful floss organizers so I don't have to have a bunch of bobbins out.

Labeling

I'm a label nerd so I've made all my own labels and printed them on Vinyl sticker paper, but there are ready made labels you can find.

DMC Labels

Scissors

Embroidery scissors - I highly recommend buying a pair meant for embroidery because they tend to have a sharper, thinner tip. You can use a seam ripper to undo errant stitches, but I find embroidery scissors work better for that. You can get these anywhere, I got my latest pair through amazon.

Fabric Prep

Zig Zag Craft scissors - they say that cutting aid with a pair of zig zag scissors keeps it from unraveling... and I have experienced that, however, I also find that it still sheds, just teeny, tiny pieces. I got mine through amazon.

Nylon Upholstery Thread - this is my preferred thread for whip stitching the edge of my aida. I fold the edge of my fabric in two or three rows and then use the whip stitch to go around the edge of the whole project to keep the edges from fraying. I currently use navy blue because that's what I have, but there are multiple colors to choose from.

Gridding

Sulky Metallic Thread - the thread I use to do the gridding on my projects. You can find it on Amazon, but their website allows you to use Amazon Pay and you get a wider selection and better pricing ordering through them directly.

Aida

Plain white Aida - Walmart usually has the best price, but be aware that sometimes that comes with a cost in the form of rectangles instead of squares

Amazon - they have some WILD multicolored Aida for reasonable prices.

Mill Hill - they have a perforated PAPER for cross stitching and I was skeptical at first… but after using it… I love it! And it doesn’t hurt my hands like the plastic Aida I used to use. You can get this product on Amazon and on Everything Cross Stitch.

Wax/Thread Conditioner

Premade Beeswax Rounds in Plastic Containers - I used to use these all the time because it helped with knotting and my thread fraying... but they kept getting soooo expensive.

Now I just buy beeswax. Originally, I bought bars but I found them too hard to cut.

So I melted them down and make my own cubes that I can remelt, remove any thread bits and reuse.

Beeswax - the bars I bought are no longer available, but you can really use anything.

Square molds - I ended up cutting mine into smaller sections because it was easier to handle.

Silicone Measuring Cup - the first time I did this, I melted the wax in a candle making container... but now I just melt them in this on a cheap candle warmer and it works perfectly.

Beading

Bead Storage - this has become more important with me doing Mill Hill designs.

Bead trays - these are meant for diamond painting, but they work great for beads.

Misc

Stitch Starter by Blue Ribbon Designs on Etsy - 3” square ruler to help you find the perfect place for your first stitch

Cross Stitch Gauge by SnugglyMonkey on Etsy - basically a ruler to help you with determine which size Aida you are working on

DMC Thread Color Card - you can get this as multiple places. Most have the printed version, but if you can get (or make) the one that has the actual thread samples… I highly recommend.

Telescoping Magnet - a must for finding needles that fall on the floor. It will happen. Protect your feet.

Silicone Finger Protector - I originally got these for using hot glue, but I found that I use them more for cross stitching. I did end up cutting one so it just covers the my finger to the first knuckle, otherwise I find my fingers get too sweaty.

[catladywriter]

Inotan Fanfic: Inosuke’s White Day Mission - Chapter 3

Family

Inosuke discovers that confessing his feelings for Tanjirou is a lot harder than expected, and the cringey confession penned in his name by Takeo and Hanako certainly did not help matters.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Synopsis: It’s the day before White Day and Tanjirou is busy making chocolates for all the girls who gave him chocolates on Valentine’s Day. Inosuke thinks it’s a stupid tradition. Why should Tanjirou have to return their favours? Shouldn’t Tanjirou be making chocolates for him instead? Of course, he’s not jealous or anything. Definitely not.

Alright, maybe he is a little jealous. After all, he has feelings for Tanjirou and wants to be the one receiving his hand-made chocolates. With a little prodding from Zenitsu and some help from Tanjirou’s family, Inosuke sets out to get the perfect gift to prove that he’s the best candidate for Tanjirou’s White Day chocolates.

Pairing: Inotan (Inosuke x Tanjirou)

Setting: Highschool AU (They’re 17 in here, a couple of years older than their Kimetsu Academy counterpart)

Wordcount: 8500+ words across 4 chapters

Chapters: 1 2 3 4

Status: Complete

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Inosuke burst into the home economics room, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. He found Tanjirou sitting by his clean work table, a tray of chocolates in front of him. There were several cooler bags around it, presumably filled with the White Day chocolates he had been working on.

Tanjirou looked up, his face lighting up with a bright smile. "Inosuke! I'm so glad you came back! This is all for you!" He gestured at the tray of chocolates.

Inosuke's eyes widened as he looked at the tray. They looked good in the photo, but in real life, they looked so much more delectable. The chocolates were all shaped like wild boars, with small, round heads covered in rich, dark chocolate that glistened in the light. The fur was textured and jagged at the edges, and the eyes and snouts were round beads of white chocolate. Inosuke couldn't help but grin as he admired the cute little details on each one.

"Sorry, they're kind of rushed," Tanjirou said, "but I was lucky that the home economics teacher came by and gave me some extra ingredients. I made the boar shapes with a silicone mould that I had Genya buy for me from Tokyu Hands, but it didn't have enough time to set completely. It's the best I can do for now, but next time I'll try sculpting them myself."

Inosuke listened half-heartedly as Tanjirou prattled on about his plans to make better chocolates. He couldn't stop staring at the tray in front of him. The chocolates looked too cute and delicious to eat, even for someone who loved eating more than almost anything else.

"I can't bear to eat it," Inosuke said.

"Don't be silly," Tanjirou replied. "As I said, I'll make more next time, so you'll definitely get to eat them again!"

Inosuke picked up one of the boar-shaped chocolates and examined it. It was velvety and firm to the touch, and he could feel the promise of a creamy texture as soon as he bit into it. The sweetness was just right, not too overwhelming, but enough to make his taste buds dance with joy. He closed his eyes and savoured the taste, feeling the cool chocolate melt in his mouth and warm his entire body. Despite the rush, Tanjirou had put his heart and soul into making these chocolates, and he could feel it in every bite.

Best of all, they looked special compared to the plain squares of chocolate Tanjirou had made for his White Day gifting. Kie was right, he was indeed special to Tanjirou, he thought smugly. Tanjirou watched his reaction, smiling with an air of satisfaction.

Special… Hold up. Inosuke was so distracted by the cute boar-shaped chocolates, he had almost forgotten about his mission.

He shoved the large brown paper bag with his gift inside it to Tanjirou.

“What’s this?”

"It's yours," Inosuke said, feeling a lump in his throat and his stomach churning with anxiety. He looked away and picked up another piece of chocolate, hoping that the gift would speak for itself.

Tanjirou unrolled the edges of the bag with care, revealing the beautifully crafted sunflower basket. His eyes widened, and his mouth hung open slightly. Inosuke couldn't help but grin as he watched Tanjirou's expression transform from shock to pure joy. The corners of Tanjirou's mouth lifted into a smile that reached all the way up to his eyes, which were now shining with delight. Inosuke felt a warm sense of satisfaction spread through him. The sacrifices he made to get this gift was worth it. Tanjirou would understand his feelings for him, and he would confess his own feelings to Inosuke, anytime now...

“Isn’t this Hanako’s work?” Tanjirou cut through his triumphant reverie.

"Hmm?" Inosuke remembered Hanako squealing that she had decorated it. He nodded in confirmation.

“Did Hanako ask you to bring it to me?” Tanjirou asked.

Inosuke hastened to swallow his mouthful of chocolate. “Of course not! I bought it myself!”

“Oh! You did? Thank you!” Tanjirou said, surprised. “Isn’t this expensive though?”

“Your mum gave me the family discount so it wasn’t too bad."

Tanjirou reached for his wallet, produced a 5,000 yen bill, and pressed it into Inosuke’s palm.

“What the hell?” Inosuke almost gagged on a piece of chocolate.

“I’m grateful that you bought this to support Hanako, but she’s my sister, so I should be the one paying for it.”

“No you idiot, I bought it for you ,” Inosuke pressed the bill back into Tanjirou’s hand.

“But why? I haven’t done anything to deserve it,” Tanjirou pushed the bill back.

“There’s no need for reasons to give presents. You always say that yourself,” Inosuke said as he pressed the bill back into Tanjirou’s palm.

“But this must be expensive!”

“As I said, your mum gave me the family discount, so it was all right!”

As they argued, back and forth the money went, like a game of hot potato, each person trying to force the other to take it.

“I know you prefer spending your allowance on food, so you shouldn’t waste money on gifts for me. I don’t need it.”

“Damnit, you’re just an underling! Shut up and don’t tell me what to do with my money!” Inosuke bellowed as he stuffed the bill back into Tanjirou’s hand and pushed his fingers down, so they closed over them. “Don’t you dare give it back, or I will break your fingers!” Inosuke yelled.

Giving presents to Tanjirou was exhausting, he thought. That’s why he didn’t do it.

Tanjirou's cheeks flushed. "Um...thank you for your gift, Inosuke," he said, his voice sheepish. Meeting Inosuke's gaze, he gave a small, grateful smile before stowing the bill back in his wallet. "I'll keep it and treasure it forever!" he added brightly.

"No, eat it. It's chocolate," Inosuke said wearily.

“I will!” Tanjirou exclaimed with enthusiasm. “Let me take some photos so I can preserve this forever!”

Tanjirou whipped out his phone. Soon, he was busy taking photos of the sunflower basket from different angles, while doing a running commentary on how he thought Hanako was so artistic and had good potential to become the food designer of the bakery in the future and yada yada.

Inosuke couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy as Tanjirou continued to heap praise on his sister. He knew that Tanjirou adored his family and all his younger siblings, and his reaction was understandable. But it was the first time he was giving Tanjirou a gift, and he was clearly impressed with it. Shouldn't Tanjirou praise him for choosing such an impressive gift?

Tanjirou had discovered the chocolates inside the basket. He was now gushing over the whimsical design of the wrappers and the excellent presentation. "Our Hanako is so talented!" he kept repeating with excitement.

Inosuke sighed and rested his chin in the palm of his hand, trying to resist the urge to roll his eyes each time Tanjirou praised his younger sister. He regretted having finished the chocolate boars, as he now had nothing to occupy himself with.

All of a sudden, Tanjirou pulled out a square card with a sunflower on it. "A card! Let's see what it says," he exclaimed.

Inosuke furrowed his brow. He didn't remember seeing a card inside.

Tanjirou's eyes scanned over the card, and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. But his smile faded as he read the contents of the card. He blushed a deep shade of red, then looked up at Inosuke with a mix of surprise and embarrassment. He opened his mouth tentatively as if wanting to say something. Then he pursed his lips without making a sound, before finally bursting into laughter. He coughed and gasped for breath as he tried to regain his composure.

Inosuke had a bad feeling about this. He snatched the card from Tanjirou and squinted at the squiggly, childlike handwriting. As he read the words, goosebumps prickled his skin, and a knot formed in his stomach.

“Dear Tanjirou, I think you’re like, the coolest person ever! You're really amazing and smart and you always achieve what you set out to do. You're kind and nice to everyone, and you make me feel warm and fuzzy. I just wish you would notice me more because I have the biggest crush on you!

P.S.: You have a smile that puts all these sunflowers to shame! :D”

Involuntarily, Inosuke clenched his fist, crumpling the card.

"Hey, don't do that!" Tanjirou grabbed the card and smoothed out the creases before any permanent damage could be done.

"I-I didn't write this," Inosuke stammered, his heart racing.

"Are you sure? It sounds like something you would say," Tanjirou teased.

Inosuke's eyes widened in disbelief. "What?! No! Of course not! I would never! Have you lost your mind?! This is so corny and cringy and awful, and-and..." he gesticulated furiously and stormed around. He recalled how Hanako and Takeo had their backs turned towards him while whispering and writing.

"It's them! I should have known they were up to no good. Wait till I get my hands on them!" He balled his fists in anger.

"Hey, Inosuke," Tanjirou said, looking at him with concern etched on his face. He took a step closer and placed a reassuring hand on Inosuke's tense shoulder. "It's okay," he continued in a soft tone as he gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I was joking. Of course, I know you would never write something like that. I can recognise Hanako and Takeo's handwriting from anywhere. It's a harmless prank. Don't be mad at them."

Inosuke took a few deep breaths, his chest heaving as he tried to calm down. Tanjirou's comforting hand on his shoulder helped ground him. He focused on the sensation of Tanjirou’s fingers rubbing soothingly against his skin. The slow, steady rhythm of Tanjirou's hand lulled Inosuke into a calming trance, slowing his breathing and easing the tension in his body.

But as he regained his composure, annoyance bubbled up inside of him once more. He cursed himself for not seizing the perfect moment to confess his feelings. It would have been so easy to say, “yeah, I wrote it, got a problem?” and let Tanjirou take the lead. But Inosuke's pride and impulsiveness got the best of him, leaving him no closer to his goal.

It was all those damn kids’ fault for penning such a cringy confession that his first instinct was to deny it. Even Tanjirou had laughed at it, which only intensified his embarrassment. Couldn’t they have written something cooler? Did this really sound like something he, the great Hashibira Inosuke, would say?

Tanjirou snapped Inosuke out of his thoughts, grabbing his wrist and stuffing a fistful of chocolates into his palm. “Eat up! It'll make you feel better.”

Inosuke nodded, unwrapping a piece of chocolate as Tanjirou did the same. Tanjirou admired the charming sunflower motifs on the chocolate's packaging. He set it aside neatly before disposing of the foil below. Then he took a thoughtful sniff before taking a bite.

"Shigeru helped with this batch. He's heavy-handed with the sugar, as usual," Tanjirou chuckled, shaking his head.

Inosuke raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You can tell who made the chocolates by sniffing them?"

"I can tell if they're made by my parents or siblings," Tanjirou replied with a grin. "I've always had a sharp sense of smell."

Inosuke knew all too well how Tanjirou's sense of smell had helped him to develop a keen palate and talent for cooking. This resulted in culinary creations that left him and their friends wanting more. He took a bite of the chocolate himself. He thought it still tasted good, although it was sweeter than Tanjirou's boar-shaped chocolate

Tanjirou nodded in affirmation after taking a bite. "Definitely too much sugar," he confirmed. "Shigeru has a sweet tooth and he tends to project it onto others. I must have a word with him about this."

Inosuke couldn't help but feel a twinge of self-doubt. If he found the chocolate too sweet, did that mean he didn't like it?

But Tanjirou must have sensed his concern, because he turned to him and said, "Regardless of how it tastes, if it's made by my family, it's perfect for me. Thank you for your gift, Inosuke. It's thoughtful of you and I really appreciate it."

Tanjirou beamed at Inosuke, his eyes crinkling with warmth and a softness in his expression that made Inosuke's heart flutter. His smile was like sunshine on a cloudy day, lighting up the world around them. For a moment, Inosuke was lost in the sight of it, the way it made Tanjirou's eyes shine, the way it made everything else seem unimportant.

Inosuke desperately wanted to say something clever, to make Tanjirou laugh or smile even wider, but he felt tongue-tied. All he could do was blush and scratch his own head bashfully. To fill the momentary silence, Tanjirou launched into a story about the time he, Nezuko and their father baked together for the first time.

Inosuke tried to concentrate, but his mind kept wandering back to his unspoken confession. He couldn't let this opportunity slip away, not after all he had done to get this far. But why was this so hard?

As Inosuke was about to muster up the courage to confess his feelings, Tanjirou yelped, "Look at the time! I have to fetch Rokuta from kindergarten." He rolled up the brown paper bag to cover the sunflower basket.

Inosuke's heart raced with panic and anxiety as he realized that this would be his last chance to reveal his feelings to Tanjirou before he went home. Without a doubt, Tanjirou's mum and his siblings would bring up the matter of his confession at the bakery. Kie and Nezuko had been nothing but kind and supportive. They would be so disappointed in his failure and think of him as a coward. Hanako and Takeo already seemed to think he was lame. They would taunt him endlessly for his inability to confess. And as for Tanjirou… the thought of his reaction alone was enough to make Inosuke's palms sweat. What would Tanjirou make of the fact that the self-proclaimed King of the school compound couldn’t even tell his underling that he liked him?

Wait!" he blurted out. "I have something to say!"

Tanjirou had removed his apron and was folding it into a neat square. He looked up to face Inosuke with a puzzled expression. “Let’s talk on the way, I’m late as it is.”

Impatience built up in his chest as he watched Tanjirou rummage through his bag, trying to find the most suitable pocket to put his apron away.

“Listen to me,” Inosuke leaned over him and grabbed his wrist. Tanjirou looked up at him again. Only this time, their lips brushed against each other's.

Inosuke's heart skipped a beat as he felt the warmth of Tanjirou's lips. The sudden, gentle touch was like the flutter of butterfly wings and left him feeling alive with sensation. For a fleeting moment, he forgot about everything else - the confession, Tanjirou's family, his own insecurities. Lost in the unexpected intimacy of the moment, Inosuke savoured the sweet sensation. But almost as soon as it had begun, it was over. They pulled away, faces flushed with embarrassment and surprise.

Chapter 4

「 ✦ Please support your creators by reblogging ✦ 」

Author's Notes: I've been wanting to have Inosuke say "You have a smile that puts all these sunflowers to shame!" to Tanjirou for a while now, but it never quite fit in any of my stories. I don't think he would ever think of it himself, but maybe someone could have taught him. Regardless, it still seems like he would have a stroke trying to say it out loud, haha! I'm really happy I found a chance to slide it in here. As for Tanjirou trying to pay Inosuke for the gift, that was a last-minute idea that came to me. I'm thrilled with how well it fits with Inosuke's character. It just feels like something he would do - yell and threaten Tanjirou - when giving a present that's meant to confess his romantic feelings. This also sets up the perfect excuse for him to act that way without coming across as too unreasonable (although, let's be real, threatening people when giving presents is pretty unreasonable, but this is Inosuke we're talking about). I'm glad I was able to give Tanjirou some happy times with his family in this chapter, even if it was mostly through remote interactions. I hope I was able to capture his big brother persona that he's known and loved for. Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed my fic, it’d really make my day if you could drop a like, reblog, and/or comment to let me know! This story is also published on AO3 where you can comment anonymously! Although I mostly write for myself, your encouragement keeps me motivated to post and share my work.

[enkisstories]

December 1760. The French have just surrendered the frontier settlement Fort Pontchartrain du Détroit to the British. 

The give or take 500 residents can already tell that their lives won't change for the better, as new taxes get introduced and the new government doesn't display any interest in maintaining a good relationship with the local indigenous people. But they abide... for now. And that is just as well in the eyes of the military governor, seeing that no British settlers are interested in moving into town (yet), but prefer to travel westwards.

Some traders, however, smell opportunities in the changing winds.

John: "There were are! Detroit! This is where our luck will turn for the better!"

Caroline: “John… this is a godforsaken patch of mud stomped vaguely into circular shape. Fort Detroit is that faraway silhouette on the other shore of the river!”

Emma: "How are we getting across?"

John: “We don’t. Not the whole distance anyway. See that belle isle sitting smack dab in the middle of the river? I have plans for it! Imagine, girls: For the same sum other settlers have to pay for a small homestead, I can get the whole island!”

Emma: "So this isn't going to end like the time when you went a-whaling or the other time when you gave driving lessons to the indians?"

John: "Nope, not like that. I've learned my lesson. Workers are what you hire, not become yourself. From here on I’ll stick to buying and selling, no matter how tempting secondary endeavours may sound."

Caroline: "Well, if things go wrong again, at least this time I have a river nearby to drown you in... Only joking! I love you, John. I love each of your crazy ideas, because they make your eyes light up and show me a world that is incredibly richer than the mundane one. Both in the sense of making money and in being deeper, haha! Without you, life would be dull."

John proceeds to unload the contents of his wagon. Truth is, his previous schemes, although each and every of them had failed to make the man rich, have left him with some wealth. The question is now: Will it be enough or will the family have to settle for a homestead in the vicinity of the fort, after all? 

About two thousand settlers make a living from the forest and plains land surrounding the actual settlement. John and Caroline don’t want to end as the 2001st and 2002nd nameless face.

Tawit: “Monsieur Phillips… My name is Tawit Durand, citizen of New France, and this is Gyantwachia of the Seneca nation. We are authorized to negotiate the purchase of Hog Island with you.”

Gyantwachia: “Let me have a look at these pigments! If its good quality vermillion paint, we may already have a deal.”

John: “Only the best! I have six pounds I could part with.”

Gyantwachia: “Six? Mhm, in this case we might need to make this “and all the contents of your wagon””

John: “Your tribe really wants that paint, huh?”

Tawit: “It’s the most asked for trade good at the moment, but six pounds are hardly enough to pay for a whole island.”

Gyantwachia: Not even a strategic liability like Hog Island.

John: “I see. I also have… eight barrels of finest rum… three perfect quality tobacco rolls… some lesser tobacco… and as far as real money goes a wampum belt.”

Gyantwachia: “Show me that belt, will you? - Ah, now we’re talking! You know what? I like how you were honest about the tobacco quality. Very different from the reputation you British have ‘round here. And that’s why I want to propose an additional deal just between you and me: Throw in a scissor, a good tea pot and six glass jars and we’ll teach you about the local currency.”

John: “That sounds fair. I accept.”

Like all the thirteen colonies Fort Detroit, too, is suffering from a lack of actual coins and the colonial governments are forbidden from issuing paper money. Therefore a number of replacement currencies has arisen. Pelts and furs, naturally, and the infamous vermillion paint. Wampum belts made from beads of seashells or snail houses are accepted even in the Old World. But every region has its own specialty and as a newcomer John had no idea of the local goods’ current going rates.

And so a deal is made and an island changes owners.

The land doesn’t much care which nation calls itself its owners, but it sure reacts to individual humans. None of the Seneca has managed to catch its interest in the past, and neither have the Phillips. But soon, very soon, someone will arrive who is different. At the moment that someone would give not just an island, but a whole moon for those eight barrels of rum, but, alas, all he is having is polite tea with the tiniest drop of spirits together with the Captain of a sailship on the way to the New World…

[uniquejewel]

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[ewooxy]

How to choose the right necklace for high neck outfit?

Choosing the right necklace for a high-neck outfit involves considering the neckline's style, the fabric of the outfit, and your personal preferences. Here are some tips to help you choose the right necklace for a high-neck outfit:

Consider the Neckline Style:

Mock Neck or Turtleneck: High necklines like mock necks or turtlenecks cover a significant portion of the neck. Opt for longer necklaces such as pendant necklaces or lariats that can drape elegantly over the fabric.

Crew Neck: Crew necklines are relatively high and rounded. You can complement them with shorter necklaces like chokers, collar necklaces, or statement pieces that sit above the neckline.

Haltered High Neck: If the high neckline is part of a halter top or dress, consider necklaces that enhance the open back or choose delicate pieces that don't compete with the halter.

Match the Fabric:

Consider the fabric of the outfit. Lighter fabrics may be complemented by delicate necklaces, while heavier fabrics can support bolder and more substantial necklaces.

Neckline Embellishments:

Plain High Neck: If the high neck is plain, you have more flexibility in choosing necklaces with various styles and embellishments based on your personal taste.

Embellished High Neck: If the high neck has embellishments, lace, or intricate details, consider simpler necklaces to avoid overwhelming the neckline.

Consider the Dress Style:

Casual Dress: For casual high-neck dresses or tops, you can opt for a range of necklaces, including layered chains, beaded necklaces, or statement pieces.

Formal Dress: Formal high-neck dresses may pair well with elegant necklaces such as pearls, delicate pendants, or necklaces with a touch of sparkle.

Match the Metal Tone:

Choose a necklace that matches the metal tone of your outfit or other accessories. Common options include gold, silver, rose gold, or mixed metals.

Layering:

High-neck outfits may not require layering, but if you choose to layer, consider thin and delicate chains that won't add bulk to the neckline.

Personal Style:

Reflect your personal style. Whether you prefer a minimalist pendant, a bold statement piece, or a delicate choker, choose a necklace that aligns with your individual taste.

Necklace Length:

The length of the necklace will depend on the specific high-neck style. Consider how the necklace interacts with the neckline – whether it sits above, on, or below it.

Gemstone or No Gemstone:

Choose a necklace with or without gemstones based on your preference and the overall aesthetic you want to achieve.

Try Before Buying:

If possible, try on different necklaces with the high-neck outfit to see how they interact. This can help you find the most flattering and harmonious combination.

Remember that these are guidelines, and personal preference plays a significant role in choosing the right necklace. Ultimately, choose a necklace that complements your high-neck outfit, enhances your overall look, and makes you feel confident and stylish.

[furnituretycoons1]

The Ultimate Guide to Choosing the Best Pink Bean Bag Chairs for Your Home

Introduction

Bean bag chairs are not just for kids anymore. These comfy, stylish pieces of furniture are finding their place in living rooms, bedrooms, and even home offices. When it comes to adding a touch of color and comfort to your space, pink bean bag chairs are an excellent choice. But with so many options available, how do you choose the perfect one?

Why Choose Pink Bean Bag Chairs?

Versatility and Aesthetic Appeal

Pink bean bag chairs are incredibly versatile. Whether you’re aiming for a chic, retro look or a modern, playful vibe, the color pink can fit a variety of design aesthetics. Pink bean bags can serve as an accent piece in a neutral room or be the center of attention in a colorful decor scheme.

Comfort and Relaxation

Factors to Consider Before Buying a Pink Bean Bag Chair

Size and Space

Consider the available space in your home. Measure the area where you plan to place the bean bag chair. This will help you determine the size that best fits your room without overwhelming it.

Materials and Durability

The material of your bean bag chair plays a crucial role in its longevity. Some materials are more durable and easier to clean than others, making them ideal for high-traffic areas.

Filling Options

The filling affects both the comfort and lifespan of your bean bag chair. Choose between polystyrene beads or memory foam, depending on your preferences.

Design and Style

Think about the overall style of your home. Are you looking for a modern or classic design? Do you want a plain pink bean bag chair, or something with a bit of flair?

Types of Pink Bean Bag Chairs

There are various types of pink bean bag chairs available, each with its unique design and purpose. Let’s explore them to help you make an informed decision.

Classic Round Bean Bags

The iconic round bean bag chair is a timeless favorite. It’s perfect for lounging and offers a relaxed seating option.

Lounge Bean Bags

Lounge bean bags come with a more structured shape. They provide back support and are great for reading or watching TV.

Convertible Bean Bags

Choosing the Right Size

Single Seater vs. Double Seater

Determine how many people you want your bean bag chair to accommodate. Single-seaters are cozy, while double-seaters offer more room to stretch out.

Material Matters

The material of your pink bean bag chair can significantly impact your comfort and its appearance. Let’s take a closer look at popular material options.

Vinyl Bean Bag Chairs

Vinyl is a durable and easy-to-clean material, making it suitable for households with kids or pets.

Faux Fur Bean Bag Chairs

For a touch of luxury, faux fur bean bag chairs provide a soft, plush feel that’s hard to resist.

Cotton and Canvas Bean Bag Chairs

Cotton and canvas are breathable materials, ideal for warm weather. They come in various patterns and designs.

Understanding Filling Options

Polystyrene Beads vs. Memory Foam

Polystyrene beads are lightweight and mold to your body. Memory foam offers excellent support and retains its shape. Choose the filling that aligns with your comfort needs.

Matching Your Decor

Solid Pink vs. Patterned Bean Bag Chairs

Additional Features to Look For

Removable Covers

Bean bag chairs with removable, washable covers are easy to maintain and keep looking fresh.

Built-in Pockets

Some bean bags come with built-in pockets for storing remote controls, magazines, or other small items, adding extra convenience to your seating.

Maintenance and Cleaning Tips

Proper maintenance is essential to ensure your pink bean bag chair stays in great condition. Regularly fluffing the chair and cleaning it according to the manufacturer’s instructions will help maintain its comfort and appearance.

Where to Buy Pink Bean Bag Chairs

Local Stores vs. Online Retailers

Explore local furniture stores to test out bean bag chairs in person. Alternatively, online retailers offer a wider selection and the convenience of shopping from home.

Budget-Friendly Options

You don’t have to break the bank to enjoy the comfort and style of a pink bean bag chair. There are affordable options available that still offer quality and comfort.

Customer Reviews and Recommendations

Before making a final decision, take the time to read customer reviews and seek recommendations from friends or online communities. Real-life experiences can provide valuable insights.

Final Thoughts

If you’re looking for a cozy and stylish addition to your home, a pink bean bag chair might be just what you need. Whether you have a large or small space, a modern or classic style, or a preference for soft or firm seating, you can find a pink bean bag chair that suits you. Furniture Tycoon offers a variety of pink bean bag chairs from different brands and distributors at affordable prices. Visit their website today and order your pink bean bag chair online. You’ll love how it transforms your living space.

FAQs (Frequently Asked Questions)

How do I clean my pink bean bag chair?

Cleaning instructions vary by material. Refer to the manufacturer’s guidelines for the best cleaning practices.

2. Are pink bean bag chairs suitable for children’s rooms?

Yes, pink bean bag chairs can add a fun and comfortable seating option to children’s bedrooms or playrooms.

3. Can I customize the color of my bean bag chair?

Many retailers offer customization options, allowing you to choose the exact shade of pink you desire.

4. What is the average lifespan of a pink bean bag chair?

The lifespan depends on the quality of materials and how well it’s maintained. On average, a well-cared-for bean bag chair can last 3–5 years or longer.

5. Are bean bag chairs suitable for outdoor use?

While some bean bag chairs are designed for outdoor use, most are intended for indoor spaces. Check the product details for outdoor suitability.

[chouhanrugs1]

Why Jute basket is best for you?

Jute basket is becoming increasingly popular in recent times due to their eco-friendly and sustainable nature. Jute is a natural fibber that is derived from the stem of the jute plant. Jute baskets are available in various shapes, sizes, and designs and can be used for a variety of purposes such as storage, decoration, or as a carrier bag. Chouhan rugs are here with best jute baskets and jute rugs.

Here are some details about jute basket:

Material:

Jute baskets are made of jute fibbers that are strong, durable, and eco-friendly. Jute fibbers are biodegradable and recyclable, making them an excellent alternative to plastic or synthetic materials. Jute baskets come in natural or dyed colours, giving a rustic and organic feel.

Design:

Jute baskets are available in various designs such as round, square, rectangular, or oval shapes. They can be plain or have intricate designs or patterns. Jute baskets can also be adorned with different embellishments like beads, tassels, or ribbons.

Uses:

Jute baskets can be used for multiple purposes such as storing clothes, books, toys, or other household items. They can also be used as decorative pieces in the living room, bedroom, or bathroom. Jute baskets can be used as carrier bags for groceries or as beach bags.

Care:

Jute baskets are easy to maintain and can be cleaned with a damp cloth or brush. However, they should be kept away from direct sunlight and heat to prevent damage.

Benefits:

Jute baskets are eco-friendly and sustainable, which means they have a lower carbon footprint than synthetic or plastic materials. Jute baskets are also biodegradable and recyclable, making them a great option for those who want to reduce their environmental impact. Jute fibbers are also strong and durable, which means they can withstand wear and tear and last for years.

We Chouhan Rugs provides you best quality Jute basket. We make eco-friendly, sustainable, and stylish storage solution. With their versatility and durability, jute baskets are a must-have for every home.

Buy our products from chouhanrugs.com

Previous Blog: — Everything about Chouhan Rugs!

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[icewindandboringhorror]

my “miscellaneous hoard of various shiny things, trinkets, and rocks that I pick up off the ground” is growing... there’s almost not any space for new rocks lol

[golddaggers]

midnight rendezvous

pairing: louis tomlinson x f!reader

warnings: filthy smut with hints of fluffness. period sex. petnames. him calling you baby doll. defo nsfw +18, so my dudes, read carefully.

a/n: it's your renegade writer back with her fantasies. i've written this a while back and though it'd be such a shame to share. if you do like it, make sure to reblog and like. thanks and enjoy *wink* leth x

word count: 3k+

xx

It’s just a bit past midnight when I park home, no one wandering the streets, or children playing about, there’s just the chilled breeze fumbling with the leaves. I don’t notice a second car on the driveway until I’m up close, I blame the dim yellow streetlights and my exhaustion. It had been a particularly busy shift at the hospital, I wanted nothing more than to sleep for about two days straight.

The cold crisp air makes me tremble for a split second, but I am soon welcomed by the warmth of the inside. I kicked off my sneakers, trying to be as silent as possible, I didn’t want to wake him up. A second car meant Louis had come home and he must be tired, it had been weeks since he had a break, we hadn’t seen each other for even longer. The weekends he happened to be around, I couldn’t work my schedule to spend them at home with him. It sucked, and I missed him more than I could put it into words.

A frustrated sigh slips while I walk to the kitchen, filling up a glass of water. After so many years, I should be used to it: the busy schedule, the months spent apart. I’m not, though. And being honest, I don’t think it’s possible to not be in pain when waking up to an empty bed beside me, to not hear the soft humming when he’s doing the dishes, to not miss the press of his lips on mine. I just wanted us to buy a bunch of lands somewhere, live a quiet, happy life, have children, and grow old. Just the two of us.

This was something I would never tell him. Robbing him of his passions wasn’t on my mind. I knew he’d oblige if I did say so. If I asked him, but I couldn't.

I leave a half-drunk glass behind, and go upstairs, taking off my plain white shirt then unbuttoning my jeans. Before I got to the bedroom, however, I froze, strangled sounds coming from there startling me for a second. It's followed by a smile creeping in, I’m very much aware, and familiar, with them.

The door isn’t closed, so I peek in. I see him naked, sheets pooled by his feet, and one hand wrapped around himself, moving up and down with ease, his thumb applying just enough pressure. I feel my mouth watering at the sight, a cramp twisting my belly. Desire gathers quickly, I was so touch-starved that I might as well come undone just by watching him get himself off.

His eyes are closed, thin lips parted. I slide off my pants, throwing both them, and my shirt away, walking inside in just my black lingerie. Even that was starting to be uncomfortable.

“Lou?” I call him, standing with crossed arms. He’s quick to drop everything, shooting me a wide, surprised glare. “Sorry, didn’t mean to spoil your good time.”

I’m half-joking at this point.

“I thought you’d only be home in t’ mornin’,” Deep blue eyes, sparked with lust, stare up at me. I'm very aware of how much I want to be near him again. “C’mere.”

He pats the space on his right side, it’s mesmerizing how quickly he can go from a sex god to a warm loving man. I go, but I don’t stay beside him, instead, I take my seat on his lap, which makes him laugh, rough hands on my waist, squeezing the flesh. I shift, uncomfortable, feeling him beneath me. So hard, so ready. It’s been so long I might just assume I'm a virgin all over again, shamefully responsive to anything he might do to me.

Louis leans in, planting a kiss just between the curve of my breasts. The prickle of his bead makes my pulse rise. It’s the intimacy that gets me hooked. He feels like coming home. A warmth that springs from the tip of my toes to my head, flushes my cheeks, and makes my forehead sweaty.

A “missed ya” whispered on my skin makes me shake, he then kisses the soft spot where the shoulder meets the neck, I let out a groan, moving, seeking friction. His smirk is taunting, both hands going up to my cheeks, four eyes meeting in the middle of a tired night.

“What now?” I say, unsure, panting as his thumb toys with my lips, pushing inside for a moment.

“Do you want a shower first?” He asks, staring at me, a boyish smile on his face.

“I should. I’m disgusting.”

“Nonsense,” The tip of his nose is pressed to my cheek, a ghostly kiss left behind on my jaw. “You look amazing anyway. Why d'ya think I’m so worked up?”

“Were you thinking of me? Getting yourself off imagining my hands around you? My spit and my lips, hmm?”

Louis pants when I grind down on him, slick with the throb of him against me. The fabric of my panties still forbids me from knowing his skin on mine, from sinking and swallowing him whole.

“Yeah, I was. Always think abou' ya', love.”

“I think about you too,” The friction makes me lean forward, sighing against his warm neck. “Nights get so lonely… I miss you so much, you know.”

“Darling…”

“Mmhm, I have to touch myself, grab my boobs,” I place his hands on them, and he squeezes, promptly. Fills his hands. It’s swollen, sore even. I’m burning up.

“Do you say my name when you come?” Louis asks, quietly, sucking a patch of skin. I’ve got goosebumps, I’m reeling from the build-up.

“I do. Over and over and over,” The room feels warmer if that's possible. Sweat drips down my back. I’m aware as to why I’m so sensitive, besides the yearning when it’s been months since he last touched me, my period heightens things up.

For a moment there, I almost forgot it.

“Can I just fuck you now, doll?” It’s a hoarse whisper, I clench in frustration. I’m hot, nearly suffocating. “Want t’ feel yeh so bad.”

His accent thickens, I’m lost, too into the moment to think coherently. I go for his lips, kissing him with passion, biting down on his bottom lip, still moving my hips, rolling against his. He pushes back, groaning into my mouth. It’s sinful. Everything about him is.

“Can’t, sweets,” It slips out, breathlessly. “‘M bloody down there.”

He smiles, soothing, hands firm on my hips. My stomach somersaults, it’s amazing how Louis manages to make me feel 17 every time he gives me that gorgeous smile of his. I feel like one of his groupies.

“Never cared ‘bout that before. C’mon, help me out.”

“Lou…” A strangled noise followed. I’m reaching a point where pleasure mixes with pain, I’m too aroused, too sensitive. He touches me there, trained fingers light to not hurt me but enough to stir me on. “You’re trying to bribe me, aren’t you?”

“Am I getting there?” The double entendre makes me chuckle, nodding. “Good. Let me take those off, hmm?”

“Come,” I untangle myself from him, the cold, empty feeling brings a pang to my lower belly. “If we’re doing this, let’s do it in the shower.”

I slide off my panties, tossing them at him. Louis laughs wholeheartedly, balling it in his hand while kicking the sheets away to follow me into our bathroom.

It’s bright, with mirrors everywhere. My hair looks an absolute mess, strands falling down my shoulders, I’ve got flushed cheeks, and glistening skin, perspiration all over. Five minutes with him just does that to you. He looks impressive from behind me, his brown hair was thrown back, wide blue eyes staring right at me from the reflection. I can see the extension of his tattoos, the tanned skin from being under the sun a little too long last weekend.

Louis is a sight for sore eyes.

We exchange a look then smile. The kind of intimacy that only comes when you love someone, beyond passion, beyond attraction.

He undoes the clasp of my bra. I sigh in relief, gasping when his hands cup my boobs, pinching my oversensitive nipples. I can’t help but toss my head back, resting it on his shoulder. He’s good at this, playing with me, edging me out.

“Missed them even more,” Louis expresses, a half-smile on his face. “You’ve got the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen.”

“You know you’re probably the only man on earth that can get away with saying stuff like that, right?” We share a laugh. “Turn the water on, sweets, yeah? I need to take the tampon off.”

While he busies himself with getting things ready, I put my leg up on the toilet and gently pull it out, being careful not to spill any blood on the floor. I’m mentally grateful it’s not an extra heavy day. I wrap it up in toilet paper and toss it in the bin.

“Water is warm, baby,” Steam starts to fog up the room. “Come.”

“I hope I will.” I wink at him. I don’t know why I’m suddenly so cheeky.

“Don’t tease me,” Lust soaks up his voice, eyes stern. He’d punish me for sure. When I wasn’t expecting him to do so. When we weren’t so desperate for each other. Whenever he’s back home, there’s no games, just tension relief.

He goes in, standing beneath the shower rain, his back facing me. I look at his ass, all perky and round. It’s no secret that I got a thing for it, and I might’ve bitten it a few… hundred times. Whenever I get the chance, really. I grab them, squeezing the muscle, a hoarse laugh falling from his lips. Louis thinks it’s silly, doesn’t see how it’s so great.

We kiss, then. In a brief moment, he spins and pulls me in, tongue rolling ‘round with mine. It’s wet, crude even. I make sounds that would mistake me for a pornstar, groaning when his tip brushes where I’m aching with need. He pulls my hair back, exposing my neck to him, sucking and biting. Leaving behind bruises I’ll have trouble covering. The adrenaline high doesn’t let me focus on that, though.

His hand slides between us, lodging between my legs, his palm pressing my pulsating clit. I call out for him, squeezing his shoulders, whimpering. Just this faint touch sends me into overdrive. It’s borderline ridiculous. How good he is. Or how much I want him. How I crave for him like a junkie craves a fix. It’s the trip of a lifetime when he’s inside me.

I go for his dick, so painfully hard it could cut right through me. There’s something about watching his eyes snap close, or how he moans, but I wobble, my breathing going fitful. He says my name, pressing his soft lips to my forehead, still rubbing me out. My hand seems smaller when it’s wrapped around the width of him. Louis feels heavy and scorching hot.

“I want to do something,” I whisper, high on the pleasure he was giving me. “Would you let me?”

“I want to fuck you, darling,” It’s raw, doesn’t sound dirty, more like a pleading question. “Please let me, hmm? I want to fill you up. Watch it drip down out of you. My pretty baby with cum all over her legs.”

A pained whimper comes out.

The tip of his fingers are stained red, they never really slipped inside me, just circling, creating a build-up that leaves me in discomfort. It’s unusual how much time we are taking with this, at this point, we would’ve fucked about three times already. Either way, I like it. The glint in his eyes, eyes that I adore. Diamond beauties staring down at me, so full of desire. It’s powerful. To know you have such an effect on a man like him.

I place him in the tight space between my thighs, both of us groaning with the stronger contact. I’m dripping and it’s not just blood, he’s thrumming, hips sloppily jerking forward. I feel him almost in me, but not quite. I scream, I’m sure our neighbours would make complaints. I don’t find it in me to care. It's way too heavenly.

Tattooed hands land on each of my love handles, our bodies are almost one at this point. That’s when he lifts my leg, we both can’t do any more foreplay, no more waiting. I help him inside, a little bit of blood gushing before he’s deep within. It takes a while for me to get used to him again, two months can be enough for things to shrink back up.

“God, your cunt is so fucking tight,” He mumbles, out-of-worldly. “You’re gonna make me come and I barely even started.”

“And you’re so fucking big, gonna split me open,” I shoot back, gripping tight on his forearm, trying to balance myself as he starts to pound, slowly at first. “Fuck, baby. This is so good.”

“Tell me who can make you feel so good, baby doll,” A particular hard snap of his hips makes me sway on my step, but his iron grip steadies me. “Use your words. I want to know.”

“You!” It’s a desperate squeal, I feel full, he stretches me to a burning point. Pain mixing with pleasure. It doesn’t take a scientist to tell me I’ll have trouble sitting down tomorrow. “You, baby.”

Louis lifts my other leg, both on the crook of his arms, and presses me against the tiled wall of our bathroom. His teeth clamp around my nipple, biting, sucking. I feel dizzy with the torrential rain of emotions. The water keeps falling on us, warm. It splashes when he thrusts.

None of us is lasting longer. I wasn’t particularly known to do so, not when he was the one handling me anyway. Some people are just skilled. Just know how to push somebody else’s buttons. And Louis knew how to push mine. He knew how to push me into the fucking edge. Coax a string of orgasms out of me if he so wanted. With his fingers, with his tongue, with his dick.

I moan, one hand tugging the hair at the nape of his neck and the other going to where our bodies met. It’s a fucking sight. Watching him go in then out of me. I start rubbing myself.

“You have to be quieter,” He says, our foreheads glued together, still slamming into me like I’m his favourite rag doll. “We don’t need people calling the police.”

“It’s your fault,” My reply is followed by a curse word. “Giving it to me so good like that.”

“Mmhm,” Dark blue looks at me, I can feel him getting sloppier. It’s close.

In urgency, he kisses me, I’m too frail, too putty in his hands. A numbness starts on the tip of my toes, it makes my eyes roll back, I can’t even voice anything anymore, entirely surrendered to him. To the vulnerability of this moment. Being his as much as he’s mine.

Time stands still whenever I’m with him. And right now, I can’t even keep track of it, too lost in him. That’s why I don’t know how long it took, it could’ve been seconds or minutes or hours. But I broke. Went up screaming. Barely registering he was telling me to shush, that it was too late in the night to be so loud. If that was what he was saying at all.

I’m shuddering, that I can tell with conviction, convulsing. That doesn’t happen often. I mean, it’s always fucking good, but like this, like I’m on something, that’s exceptional. At one point, he growls, squeezing me tighter. His hips stutter, face squashed against my chest. He spends himself inside me, as it was promised. I’m beyond satisfied, I’m in a state of bliss no one can reach me. Where the world doesn’t exist, only him.

Louis stays in for a while longer, nuzzling between my breasts, I play with his hair, a bubbly smile on my face. No high higher than this. He helps me down, I don’t trust my feet, clinging to him like a child. A chuckle falls from his lips.

“That good, huh?”

I just nod.

“I’ll help you clean up.”

With a sponge and a bit of liquid soap, Louis rubs down my body, taking his time to bubble me up. I’m still sensitive to touch, I have to pull his hand away when he tries to touch me down there, where I’m probably red and still swollen. I can feel the burn. Good burn, though.

When we both finish cleaning ourselves up, we step out of the shower. He still has a protective hand around my waistline. I wince at the thought of moving away, but I have to, I can tell I’m one second shy of making a mess on the floor.

He fetches us towels while I go deal with the bloody problem. Pun intended. I clean the dripping blood mixed with cum on my thighs, and when I look up, deep blue is fixed on me. As if entranced.

“What?”

“You just look hot.”

A little laugh slips.

“Thanks. You don’t look so bad,” I groan, it’s still sore-ish when I slide the tampon in. “You really did a number on me.”

“Eh, who’s counting?”

Louis winks, helping me up, I’m still weak on the legs. There’s no need to get dressed, so we wrap ourselves under the sheets, our sopping hair making stains on the pillows.

It’s so painfully intimate.

“I love you,” I whisper, half-asleep, minutes later.

“I love you more.”

His voice is the last sound I hear before I drift to the first night of sleep where I feel full, happy, and satiated. Slept like a queen, his arms wrapped around my waist, cheek pressed to my back. I was on my little piece of heaven and no one could ever snap me out.

[cheri-translates]

Headcanon - when he sees a ring on your finger

This work, 当你手上多了一枚戒指, was originally written by 君兮耶君兮 on Weibo, and she has given me permission to translate it 🌸

[ VICTOR ]

It’s a common occurrence for you and Kiki to drift into jewellery shops when the visiting the mall together. Most of the time, it’s mostly to buy items like necklaces or ear studs - things that don’t hold much significance. 

This time, however, your attention is captured by a ring.

It’s a silver ring, the brilliant 99.9% pure silver has a blooming rose at the top. It isn’t big, but it’s exquisite. At the heart of the rose rests a tiny gem.

You slip the ring onto the middle finger of your left hand, fitting you like its as custom made. Kiki comments at the side, “Since it fits so well, just buy it, Boss. It can also announce how you’re being courted by him.”

What Kiki says makes sense. This ring happens to suit your tastes as well, so you take out your wallet and purchase it.

In the evening, Victor picks you up for dinner as usual, and takes your left hand into his out of habit. When he feels something different, he worries that you’re injured, so he flips your hand over to check. The silver ring enters his view. 

“This is?”

Only now do you remember that there’s a ring on your finger. You show it off. “Does it look good?”

He doesn’t answer your question, but scrunches his brows as he looks at the silvery light on your finger. “Who gave it to you?”

“I bought it for myself, of course. I saw it while shopping this afternoon. Wearing it also tells others that I’m in a relationship, so it saves me some trouble.”

After hearing your explanation, his expression returns to its usual calm. “...it looks nice.”

Victor’s lips turn up slightly. “Keep it on. I’ll replace it with another ring next time.”

[ GAVIN ]

Everybody thinks you should get together with Gavin - even you. 

Minor has revealed more than once that Gavin’s interested in you, but you just haven’t seen him making any moves. Heeding Anna’s advice, you wear a ring on your forefinger as a hint that you’re ready to get into a relationship.

You initially thought everything would go according to plan: When Gavin brings you out to eat, you’d deliberately show him the ring and place it on the table in plain sight.

As you wished, Gavin quickly notices the ring. His pupils constrict, and he clenches his right hand into a fist underneath the table. His lips are pulled into a thin line, as though he’s holding back something. 

Sensing that the development is going awry, it suddenly occurs to you that this honest, simple man could have thought all rings convey the same meaning.

Ah, this is a problem.

“Your ring...” Gavin asks quietly, a troubled expression on his face.

It’s happening, it’s happening - this wolf cub is finally on the attack!

You twist the ring on your finger. “I bought it. I’m ready for a relationship, so I’m wearing this to attract attention.”

After hearing this, Gavin visibly relaxes. But once he hears that you’re going to attract attention, he tenses up again, cutting you off.

“There’s no need to do that. What I'm saying is - could you consider me first?” 

[ LUCIEN ]

It’s been said that wearing a ring can prevent unwanted attention. Without hesitation, you pick a ring you fancy, wearing it on the fourth finger of your left hand.

Returning home, you see that Lucien is cooking in the kitchen. You plan to sneak up behind him with a back hug, but the moment you touch him, he greets you.

“Welcome home.”

You hug him fiercely. “Tch, I even thought I could frighten you.”

Lucien sets down the ladle and turns around, planting a kiss on your cheek. “I’m familiar with my little butterfly’s footsteps. Wanting to frighten me is a difficult feat.”

A glint of silver flashes into Lucien’s eyes as you reach out to cup the sides of his face. “All right, I’ll try a different method next time.”

He takes your hand, kissing the ring gently. In a tender voice, he says, “Wash your hands. We can have dinner soon.” 

You comply obediently, washing your hands and preparing bowls and cutlery. Once you’re done, you wait at the dinner table for Lucien to bring the final dish over.

-

After dinner, the two of you go for a stroll to aid with digestion. Suddenly, he pauses in his steps, and you turn to him questioningly.

He gets down on one knee, a felt box in his hand. In it sits a diamond ring.

“Lucien...” you breathe.

“I originally wanted to propose to you in a proper manner. But I think my little butterfly can no longer wait, and has worn an engagement ring on her own.”

Dumbstruck, you peer at the ring on your finger. “Doesn’t this just mean I’m in a relationship?”

Lucien laughs. “So my silly girl wore it on the wrong finger. But that’s fine. This time, I’m helping you put it on, so you won’t wear it wrongly again.”

[ KIRO ]

Ever since Kiro saw the ring on your finger, he’s been casting you meaningful and expectant glances. 

“Miss Chips, your ring looks really good!” He exclaims exaggeratedly.

Giving him a polite smile, you respond, “Thanks, I think so too.”

Kiro tilts his head. Has there been a decline in his tacit understanding with you? Why can’t you understanding what he’s hinting at?

He launches his second round of attack. “Miss Chips, where did you buy the ring from?”

“I got it from a shop of course. I even specially picked this. I like it a lot~” You emphasise on the word “specially”, gauging his expression.

“Miss Chips, do you really understand the meaning of his ring?” 

Does she really not care about me? Kiro wonders.

“I do.” You lift your hand up. “The staff told me what it meant when he introduced the ring to me.”

Kiro looks deflated. “Since you know that this is the couple edition from Bvlgari, do you not have one for me? Miss Chips, do you not love me anymore QAQ”

The small sun is wilting, so you give up and pat his shoulder. “All right, all right. You’re the one who hasn’t seen it. I even placed it in such an obvious place.”

Kiro glances at you, eyes lighting up. “Where is it?”

“The dark corner of the third drawer in your computer room.”

“...Miss Chips, are you sure that’s an obvious place? Why do I feel like you’re toying with me...”

[ SHAW ]

From what you remember, Shaw has worn all sorts of beads, bracelets, gloves etc...

The one thing he hasn’t worn is a ring. 

For this reason, you decide that he doesn’t like wearing rings. It doesn’t surprise you, since even married men don’t wear their rings nowadays.

A brand you frequent just released a set of couple rings which suit your tastes. Since the rings can be sold separately, you buy the female band for yourself.

“Your ring...” Shaw quickly notices the new ring on your finger.

“It looks good, right? I bought it right after it was released. I love this design so much!” You flaunt the ring in front of him.

“This is a couple set, isn’t it?” Shaw grips your hand to take a closer look at it.

Your eyes widen. “You know about it!?”

He turns away. “I saw the magazine you left lying on the table.” He raises his volume for emphasis. “It was just a coincidence!”

You release your hand from his grasp, then cast him a glance. “Tch, what are you doing?”

He stretches out his palm. “Since it’s a couple edition, where’s mine?”

Your eyebrows twitch upwards. “You wear rings?”

“Who says I don’t?” 

He grabs your bag from the sofa, pushing you out of the door. “Bring me to the shop immediately. Right now!”

–

More translated and original works: here

–

[ Permission to translate ]

君兮耶君兮: You can - just note the source of the author

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Never Too Late 1

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (later in series)

This is dark!Steve Rogers and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re turning forty and life seems to be forging ahead on its one way track, that is until you meet Steve Rogers.

Note: No I don’t know when the next chapter will be up or why I’m posting. The last few days have been some of the worst of my life and everything’s fallen apart.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You thought thirty-nine was hard. You remembered it clearly, as if it was yesterday. A whole year. Another year. Gone. You greeted forty as you had every day. At your desk behind the ridiculous protective glass as you renewed licenses and issued permits. 

The same tedious, draining eight hours, the same dull co-workers, the same broken water cooler, the same sign flashing numbers as you beckoned forth the next impatient person. ‘What took you so long?’ ‘This is ridiculous.’ ‘Goddamn pain in the neck.’ 

No one wanted to sit in the old and stiff plastic seats just to get a terrible photo taken and have to wait even longer for the actual card to arrive in the mail. And you didn’t want to help. That became clearer the longer you were there. The job was thankless and dull. Like everything else in your life.

You left as you did every night. You promised yourself it wouldn’t be like your last birthday. No bottle of wine burning in your gut. No splitting headache the next day as you stared into the toilet bowl. Just a little treat that couldn’t possibly turn bitter.

And that was just like you. No risks, no spontaneity. The same old routine. You could hear mother’s voice then. ‘You’re too stubborn. That’s why you never held onto a man. You waited too long. Nothing is ever going to be perfect enough for you… for grandkids.’ Well, she had others. Your sister had a boy and a girl, and your brother was blessed with three daughters. More than enough for her. Unlike you.

It was raining. On your birthday. In the middle of summer. Typical.

You were soaked by the time you got to the train and hesitated to follow through on your planned sojourn. You got off a few stops before yours and climbed up to the street. The downpour slowed to a drizzle. You dipped through the automatic door and the air-conditioned grocer chilled your damp clothing.

You went to the refrigerated glass shelves of pastries and specialty desserts. A whole cake to yourself seemed exorbitant; not just on your stomach but your wallet too. They had single slices of cheesecake but only plain left. You wanted chocolate or strawberry or something that you would slightly regret.

There was a pretty cupcake; chocolate with mocha icing and a drizzle of dolce leche and some garish edible beads sprinkled over. You took the small plastic container and headed for the frozen aisle to grab a pizza; thin crust with cheese. The calories added up along with the years.

You paid for your measly meal and slightly ridiculous dessert and headed back out onto the street. Your flat slipped on the pavement and you steadied yourself with your other foot only for your toe to catch a crack in the pavement. You flailed and fought but in your usual graceless existence, there was little else you could do but resign to fate.

The plastic container was crushed beneath your chest atop the pizza box and your purse fell painfully down your arm as your knees scraped through your wool pants. Just your luck. Just your fucking luck! You cursed in your head and slowly pushed yourself off the mess, chocolate smeared across your blouse.

You wanted to cry. And scream. You wanted to disappear as the apathetic New York rush passed you by. As life passed you by. And the urge only got more intense as a shadow stopped before you. As your eyes glossed over the shoes and followed the long legs up a formidable figure. As the man with the golden hair knelt and helped scrape up the mess onto the pizza box.

“Oh my god,” You grumbled as you took it from him embarrassed. “You don’t have to--”

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“I’d really prefer it that you just…” You shook your head, you could barely look at him. “Just ignore me like everyone else. Please.”

“Come on,” He offered you his hand but you just stared. He grabbed your elbow instead and helped you stand. “I’m sure they have a dozen more--”

“It’s fine.” You swept past him and shoved the box and mess of plastic and icing into the trash. He followed you, barely evading other pedestrians as he did. “ I’m just… Thank you. I’m fine.”

You turned away and he caught your elbow again. He was strong. You turned back, annoyed with him as much as yourself. And now that you looked at him directly, he was familiar. And that was worse. You cringed and wiggled your arm free.

“Hey,” He let go and pointed down. “You’re bleeding.”

You looked and the knee of your pants had soaked through with blood. You sighed and shook your head. 

“It’s just… another nail in the coffin,” You huffed under your breath. “I’ll survive.” You assured him and spun away once more. “Happy birthday to me.” You grumbled.

You heard him behind you then felt him beside you as another New Yorker narrowly avoided him. You were starting to get angry and the humiliation curdled in your chest.

“It’s your birthday?” He asked.

“How--” You glanced over at him. “I...whispered that.”

“I have good ears,” He smiled.

“You would.” You frowned. “Well... Steve Rogers,” You announced as you crossed your arms and stopped again, a snarl hurled in your direction from a passerby. “You saved me. Your work for the day is done.”

“You know who I am?” He mused. 

“I might be clueless but not that clueless,” You said. “Look, thank you. I aready said it once.”

“Let me buy you a cake,” He said. “Then my job is done.”

You squinted at him. Long and hard. No man was ever this nice to you. Not without reason. And this was the Steve Rogers. The Captain America. He was every woman’s dream and every man’s envy. You were a forty year old hermit covered in rain and cupcake.

“Really, you’ve done enough.” You hissed. “I can’t--No.”

You marched away from him but he was relentless. He kept you from the subway as he rounded you and blocked your path.

“You seem like you’re having a bad day. Let me make it better.” He said.

“Why?” You asked. “You don’t know me.”

“Well, you know who I am. So we’re halfway there.” He smiled. “What’s your name?”

You tilted your head as you considered him. If you humoured him, it would be over sooner. You couldn’t imagine what urge drove him to his persistence. Was it a genuine need to be valiant? A compulsion? Pity? Maybe he amused himself with the pathetic missteps of others?

You gave him your name. Begrudgingly.

“There’s a bakery close to here. Established 1934.” He said. “I went to the opening with my mother.”

“You really don’t--”

“The more you insist I don’t, the more I want to,” He interrupted. “So, let me do something nice.”

You stared at him and the mist began to thicken. The rain drops bounced off the awning over the next storefront and ran down the aged brick of the neighbourhood.

“Come on, before you catch cold,” His hand was on your arm again. You let him usher you past the subway entrance; more eager to be out of the rain than anything.

The door rang as you entered. The bell was old and tinny and the inside betrayed its age. Not in a bad way. It was clean and smelled of bread and cloves. The hand painted cards lined before the trays of baked goods and the faded portraits of loaves and bundts were of another time. You felt old and not very all at once.

“Their black forest is good,” Steve said as he shook the rain off his thin jacket; if the rain hadn’t broken the humidity, he’d have been stolid. “Red velvet…” He looked at you. “French Vanilla.”

“Oh, do I seem vanilla to you?” You challenged as you turned to the display and avoided his eyes. 

“It’ll be nice. A treat to take home for the family.” He said. “Husband? Kids?”

You scoffed and bent closer as you read. Your glasses were at the bottom of your purse. A new prescription you were in denial off.

“I’ll take a slice of the cherry chip.” You said to the woman on the other side of the counter. “Please.”

“She’ll take the whole cake.” Steve reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “My treat.” He slid a bill across as you stared at the floor. “No one to share with?”

“My cat died after Christmas,” You shrugged. “I suppose I could bring it in for my co-workers.”

He was quiet as the baker boxed up the cake. The tension between you thickened.

“I know it’s kind of… frowned upon to ask but--”

“Forty,” You interrupted. “A nice, even number, I guess.”

“Ah, a whippersnapper,” He nudged you before he took the cake from the banker with a thanks. “I think I’ve bothered you enough.” He held it out to you. “Happy birthday.” He glanced out the window as you accepted the box. “You should wait this thing out but…” He pulled up his hood and checked his watch. “I got a friend waiting on me and he’s not very patient.” He grinned. “And I was late when I ran into you.”

You watched him go. He swung the door open and the bell rattled again. The rain pattered off his hood as he shoved his hands in his pockets. He glanced at you one last time before he dove into the city crowd and sidestepped the splash of a passing car. You looked down at the dark green box.

Well, at least you could say it hadn’t been an entirely uneventful birthday.

🎂

Break was almost over. You spent your last few minutes in the washroom. You leaned closer to the mirror as you frowned. That made it worse. That new line around your lips… and the crow’s feet. Was that another grey poking through?

Well, it might help if you stopped scowling. You left your reflection behind and returned to your desk. You got settled and punched back in through your computer. The next number flashed across the screen facing the waiting room; G645I. You didn’t watch to see them stand and approach. You grabbed a pen and scribbled on a post-it as the shadow neared.

“And what are we here for today?” You asked as you finally looked up.

“License renewal,” The paper slid through the slot beneath the window as you blinked up at the familiar voice. “Ten years already.”

“Oh,” You took the form and turned to your monitor as you typed. 

Steve Rogers said your name as if to confirm your fears that after a whole two weeks, he still remembered the woman with cake smeared across her front. You bit your lip without thinking as you looked at him.

“Did you enjoy the cake?” He crossed his arms and leaned on the little ledge, as close to the window as he could get. You didn’t miss Gloria’s errant glances as she ignored her own applicant for yours.

“It was good. Thank you.” You focused on inputting his information. You hid your startled realisation as you keyed in 1918. Whatever they had given him, you wanted some. “I think Gary enjoyed it more. He’s just down at counter three.”

“You sure you’re forty?” He asked.

Your lashes flicked up and you rolled your eyes.

“Coming from you…” You muttered.

“Well, I had help.” He chuckled.

You carried on and scribbled across his form.

“I need you to back up to that line. Look at the camera.” You said tersely as you hit a few buttons. “No smiling.”

He couldn’t help a curve of his lips as he backed away but he squared his jaw and wiped away his amusement as he hit the marker. You focused the lens and took the picture quickly. His image appeared before you and you finished up the renewal as he stood at the window.

“Never really thought about Captain America needing a license,” You gathered up his copy and stapled it to the confirmation. You slipped it to him and his fingers somehow brushed yours beneath the glass.

“Even I have rules,” He kidded.

You narrowed your eyes at him and struggled not to shake your head.

“Three to six weeks,” You told him. “It’ll be in the mail. Keep that in your vehicle.”

“And… how was the rest of your birthday?” He asked.

You were quiet. You considered him and swallowed. You could hear the titters of your co-workers. You wondered how he didn’t, or perhaps he had learned to ignore it.

“Better,” You confessed. “Thank you again.”

“No, thank you,” He folded the paper and tapped it on the ledge. “You’re a doll.”

“A doll?” You echoed.

“Forgive me. My age shows.” He laughed. “You have a good day… take care of yourself.”

“You too, Mr. Rogers.” You said stiffly.

“Oh, and… as an elder, can I share with you something I’ve learned over the years?” He paused as his hand rested just on the other side of the glass.

“Sure,” You said.

“Sometimes you gotta break the routine. Do something fun. Something for yourself.” He backed away slowly. “Get a little wild.” Your brows drew together and he winked. “From one geezer to another.”

He turned and strode past the of chairs of impatient applicants. You took a breath and tried to shrug away your discomfort. It felt almost patronizing to have him talk to you like that. Like he knew you. Like he, the laboratory adonis, could relate to the paunch under your waistband or the slowly sagging skin on your arms. It was almost as if he had been rubbing it in.

[isozyme]

i was thinking for Body Politics reasons about what kinds of woman get to be described as sexy and how, and a type of woman who’s almost entirely excluded from that is the sort of “dumpy mom in her late 40s/early 50s”

and i decided to write out things that make her wife want to have sex with her:

the crease of her wrist when it bends, pillowy on one side, thin skin right next to the veins on the other

soft palms, garden dirt or flour mixed with butter between her fingers, kissing her dimpled knuckles

the wrinkles around her mouth when somebody pays too much for something and then tells her it was a great deal

when you take off her bra and there’s marks where it cut in, how she sighs in relief and lets go of her body insecurities in front of you, and that’s special, and you run your finger along the red skin and she shivers so you dig your fingernail in and do it again

touching up her roots for her, the acid smell of hair dye. How she primps in the mirror afterwards, and smiles

rounded, sloping shoulders, with freckles on them and a vaccination scar

the gravity of her; the way the world pulls her into whatever she sits on, especially if that thing is you. The way her body changes depending on how she sits, complex like an artist’s model, filled with detail to obsess over

thighs you can sink your fingers into, places you can access only by using your hands to push her open, the give and spread of skin

her eyes crinkle almost shut when she smiles

she wears sweatpants and loose t-shirts around the house, washed-out colors and soft fabric, but when she dresses up it’s all bright colors and big gaudy jewelry because she’s here to light up the room, and she asks you if it’s silly to love the chunky turquoise bracelet so much, the one you got her because she’s always restraining herself from buying too many beads and it was exactly the kind of thing she’d be excited to wear but worry wasn’t tasteful, but if it’s a gift from you she’s allowed. And if it’s holiday themed she’s allowed, and if it matches the theme of an event she’s allowed, and some of them are genuinely hideous but they make her so damn happy, and they make the people around her happy, and later she’ll take them all off and be plain for you again.

pulling her hair up when it’s humid into a frizzy pile on top of her head, wisps of it escaping to tickle over her neck, kept in check by an oversized hair clip. It keeps slipping and she keeps tsking at it and eventually you come over to fix it up properly and you can’t make it stay either, so you give up and massage her scalp for a bit instead and the noise she makes is decadent

when you kiss her in the summer she tastes like lemonade and her hair smells like bbq smoke

[barnesandco]

Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy (2/14)

Story Masterlist

The plum seller at the farmer’s market saves Bucky from being captured for the attack in Vienna that he didn’t commit, but is she really all that she appears to be, or are ulterior motives involved?

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo​ 2020. Word count: 3061. Square filled: “Car Accident”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Blood, wounds, car accident, angst, dead body, assassination, nightmares. Please don’t hate me.

A/N: I’m so happy with this one, so I hope you like it, too! Thank you to everyone who reads and comments - it means a lot to me. Updates on Sundays, and you can follow and turn on notifications for @ayeshaupdates​ to be notified when I post.

Something’s wrong. A late June morning has blossomed with a sun that seeks to burn, and he can smell the smoke already, walking down the stairs to run his weekly errands. Something’s wrong, and if he was superstitious, he’d laugh at himself, but another reminder of his time under Hydra is the instinct to follow his gut, and right now, his gut is blaring a fire alarm. He knows why the moment he steps out of his apartment, and is greeted by the woman he buys plums from at the farmer’s market. No smile in sight.

“Get back inside,” she says in Romanian, hisses, rather, pushing off the car she was leaning on, a newspaper in one hand and an urgent gesture for him to follow with the other. He’s just blindsided enough to obey this person he doesn’t know, and she starts climbing the stairs he just came down with a peek above the banister at every single one of the four landings to his apartment, with the air of someone suspecting guns blazing at each of them. A familiar gesture, to him.

“Look,” she says, opening the newspaper with a rustle of paper, huddled next to the door of his apartment. His stomach sinks. Winter Soldier kills 12 in Vienna. There’s a picture he definitely shouldn’t be in, a grainy still from CCTV footage, somehow still identifiable as him. Throat dry and blood rushing, he stumbles back until she reaches out and steadies him. A fierce grip on his right sleeve, a stronger hold on his eyes.

“I know it wasn’t you. I saw you in town yesterday. Listen, this isn’t going to make much sense, and you have no reason to believe me,” - damn right he doesn’t - “but I can help.” A pause. A dip in her voice, a nervous swallow around nothing, and he watches her eyes flit back and forth between his. Searching and desperate, and entirely untrustworthy, but something in them beckons nonetheless.

“I’m not going with you,” he says, unlocking his door and moving to the plank his emergency backpack is secure under. Pries it up and pulls the bag out, trying to tell her with his eyes what his words cannot convey. The lack of cheer on her face is almost as disconcerting as her smile was, but he has no time to dwell on that now. The frown lines on her forehead mirror his.

“Where are you going to go? And how?” She asks stepping into his apartment, her eyes frantically following his movements as he packs up the journal on the fridge, and the knives secured to the side of the sofa, under the kitchen table, and beneath his pillow. One goes in his ankle, another in his waistband, and the last in his bag. “Please, Jame-”

“Don’t.” He finishes securing his bag around his chest, and turns back towards the door just as she’s uttering his name. Just as her eyes widen at the sight of the shy person she must have gotten used to turning into this. 

“James,” she says again, and he’s frozen to the spot. Doesn’t know how much more time he has, only that seconds are passing like hours in the fear in her eyes. He’s seen good actresses, and he’s seen liars, too, and she isn’t one. Not now, at least, not in her genuine pleas to aid his escape. The idea that she might be a ruse to get him out without collateral damage is swatted away quickly to the back of his mind, where it niggles unpleasantly at his brain, but he doesn’t trust her. He can’t.

Shouldering past her with a stabbing in his chest, he storms down the stairs, hears her shut the door before her footsteps are behind him again. Down the stairs, clutching desperately at the rails so as to not fall forward in her momentum, she struggles to keep up with him.

“James, you have to listen to me,” she says, as he exits the building and they arrive on the street, everything moving grey and fast and loud around them. It’s all so much, and his heart is pumping straight adrenaline around his body, and he needs to get moving. “Bucky!”

There, the world stops. Blood running red hot and mind icy cold, he turns around to look at her where she stands, chest heaving and desperate, urgent, her hand stretched out, with something shiny in them. Car keys.

“You’ll never make it out on foot and stealing a car’s going to get you caught. If you won’t let me help you out of the city, go by yourself, but take my car,” she says, coming closer. Voice low and quiet, imparting assistance in a way that, to anyone watching from across the street or a window above, would look like a lover’s quarrel. A small disagreement, about who gets to drive, in the way he hesitates to lift a shaking right hand that takes the keys from her, grazing a palm that is smooth, soft, held out to him with the patience of someone feeding a bird out of one’s hand. Right now, she could be feeding him poison and he’d take it. Maybe she’s hoping he gets in the car and she’ll follow him on another. Take him away from the city, no witnesses, no civilians. Maybe she’s working for someone else that wants him, too. Maybe she wants him for her own means. 

So, he does the only thing he can think of. Picks a poison.

“I can’t leave you here,” he says, unlocking the car and opening the front passenger door. “They’ll have seen you now. They’ll catch you.” Clenching his hands into fists at his side, he waits. Watches her give a second thought to how she came to his rescue at a moment’s notice. Wonders if she’ll call in the squad that might be waiting in the shadows already. And, if she’s innocent, he allows her to contemplate the consequences of her decisions, a wheel she has already set into motion by parking her car here, by entering his building, by being seen with him. Meanwhile, he listens to the echo of his childhood nickname bounce in his head, and he wants to address it, he wants to say something or ask something because “James” is fine, but how the Hell does she know about Bucky?

“Yeah, of course. Let’s go,” she says, getting in the car, and he goes to get in the driver’s seat. He ignites the engine, and then:

“Wait, where are you planning to go? Because I was going to drive us to Popesti-Leordeni and lay low for a while, until-” he cuts her off, before she can elaborate on her intentions to stay in a small town a short distance from Bucharest, somewhere to hide in plain sight.

“I have a cabin near the Bulgarian border,” he says, adjusting his hands at ten and two, and sets the car into motion. Turning onto a road leading southeast, he hopes that they’ll make it half as far.

---

She’s fallen asleep. He doesn’t know how, given the circumstances, but he’s grateful for it. It somewhat alleviates his concerns about her having a plot to kidnap him for herself, or an employer; criminal masterminds don’t fall asleep next to their victims, and neither do spies-for-hire.

Not to mention that asleep, she can’t question him about the cabin any longer, and he honestly doesn’t know if he has it in him to tell her more than he has. The cabin is, of course, not his. Despicably so, it’s Hydra property. Or was, anyhow, till it went out of commission a few decades ago. 

He didn’t even know it existed until a nightmare last month. Thunderstorms had rattled his windows, and the turbulence had made its way into his subconscious, where a mission in the Bulgarian city of Plovdiv replayed in his mind like a horror movie. October of 1989. It had rained then, too, and he had been soaked, leather tac vest sticking to his body as he lay on a rooftop across from a ballroom where socialites had been mingling, alcohol in hand and orchestral music crossing the street to reach the Soldier’s unyielding ears. One shot, shattered glass, splattered blood, and chaos. Escape, for the Soldier, to a cabin north of the town, concealed by dense forests, where he had awaited extraction.

Bucky had awoken in as distraught a state as those standing next to his assassination victim, sweat beading on his forehead, lightning illuminating the room he walked across to get water. It had taken two cold glasses for his hands to stop shaking enough to open a journal in order to document the dream and the location of the safehouse.

He checks the map splayed across his unwanted passenger’s lap and verifies that he’s going the right way, towards the Danube river that separates Romania from Bulgaria. Flexing his hands on the steering wheel, he forces his shoulders to relax, let the ache subside so he doesn’t have more to worry about. He has enough of that, a whole seatful of concern, in fact, dozing next to him like she hasn’t just made herself an international fugitive.

Questioning her motives is a given, and he’s been doing it since she held out her keys for him that morning, but speculation has yet to produce any fruitful results. Her use of his nickname - a word he hasn’t heard since Washington D.C. two years ago - has shaken him more than he cares to admit. Clearly, she knows more than she’s telling him, and that, along with her continued assistance of him after knowing that he’s the Winter Soldier, is worrisome. He doesn’t trust her.

Perhaps it’s because of the way she used his name against him, a weapon to stop him in his tracks that has him utterly perplexed. Perhaps it’s the confusing, paradoxical mix of her soldier-like discipline and intensity coupled with the emotion, the soft, rounded corners of her words permeating his mind like fog, dulling his senses like the alcohol he can no longer drown in, and lulling him into a fallacious semblance of comfort. Whatever it is, he needs to be wary of it, and her.

Circumstances have forced him into a position where he can’t leave her behind, otherwise, he’d have dropped her off at the small town of her choice, but it isn’t safe. And whoever she is, she offered him aid, escape, and he isn’t the Soldier anymore. Can’t leave someone for dead like that, not Captain America in the river, and not this woman to fend for herself in front of law enforcement that lays special emphasis on the word force. 

They wouldn’t be kind to her, and even if they didn’t hurt her, he doubts she’d see more than prison cells the rest of her life. No, he isn’t the Soldier - he can’t leave her at someone else’s mercy, or lack thereof. 

“They’ll know which way we went,” she says, still in Romanian, although he is convinced that she is not, and Bucky turns his head sharply to look at her upon the first two words she has spoken in as many hours. She rubs her eyes, wiping remnants of a solid catnap away from her face, and he turns back towards the road. 

“How much further?” She asks in English now, yawning, stretching, feline movement lazy and lithe. He clears his throat, and prays that his cheeks are clear of red. At least she’s stopped the Romanian pretense.

“Not long,” he answers gruffly, his peripherals observing her connect the dots between the road sign at the ramp they travel off of, and their location on the map. They’ve branched off into a smaller road, which they’ll depart from on foot close to an illegal pedestrian bridge, with no border control to worry about. He checked this route after that dream, planning an emergency exit in case of an event just like this one, and it’s paying off, but there is no pride in this preparation. The closest thing he had to a home has been snatched mercilessly from him again.

The day seems to be mocking him for his dull misery with the stark contrast of its bright sunshine, and the beautiful scenery that the Romanian countryside offers. The road is framed by lush, green flora, and the change from the greys and blues of the city is appreciable, but for the situation in which they find themselves in. Traffic is scarce, with nothing behind them in his rear-view mirror, and vehicles only occasionally passing them on the other side, in the opposite direction. This can’t last for long, he is aware. He doesn’t know how right he is, until she shouts, having been focused on the horizon far ahead than the road he was watching.

“That car is swerving, James, watch-” 

It’s true, what they say about car crashes. Every millisecond before is vivid, in screaming color and molasses-thick slow motion; the sound of fear from the passenger seat to his right, the smell of burnt rubber and scorched asphalt as his car tries to decelerate rapidly, he sees it all, but the impact itself is hard to grasp, sand between his fingers. Impact is blurry, every moment after metal meets metal like he’s seeing the world through a thick layer of syrup. The airbags inflate and his neck is on fire, whiplash burning down his spine. 

His ears are ringing, as he blindly fumbles for his seatbelt and then the door, stumbling out of the car and to the other side. Everything is spinning, the blue of the sky and the green of the land, and the grey of the asphalt a carousel around him, while he moves to the other side of the car. She’s conscious, bleeding profusely from a cut in her temple, but conscious and making weak efforts to get out of her seat. He helps her out, gets their bags from the back seat, and leads her to the side of the road, before going to check on whoever was in the other car. 

A fair distance from the driver’s side window, he can smell alcohol. Whiskey and scotch, the burning stink of which grows stronger the closer he gets. Pushing the airbag aside, he sees that the driver is alone. Was alone, because now, all he is, is dead. A shard of glass from the windshield penetrated his carotid, and the blood is everywhere. Red, branding the inside of the car and the outside of the door, where Bucky lurches back with nausea.

Backing off quickly, he turns tail and hauls his injured partner up. Puts her arm around himself, makes himself her crutch, to guide her into the forest, away from the scene, somewhere he can stop and heal her wounds. Thinks about how he spoke too soon, how he distanced himself from the Soldier too soon. Clearly, Bucky Barnes is as capable of leaving a man for dead as the Winter Soldier was. Only difference is, this time, he didn’t kill the corpse he’s abandoning.

The road is frequented enough that the accident will be discovered within half an hour, and reports will travel to higher authorities that will swarm this area with heat-sensing cameras on helicopters and hordes of sniffer dogs. They have to hurry, but they can’t like this. She might be concussed, she’s definitely bewildered and off-balance, figuratively and literally, and he has a cut in his face that he’s starting to feel, now that the buzz of adrenaline is wearing off. 

After ten more aching, gasping minutes, she lets out a plaintive sound of pain that he has to stop at. 

“Just five minutes, James, please, I can’t,” she says, sitting down on a nearby boulder. They’ve been moving at as fast a pace as he could make himself go with her on his shoulder, and now he kneels beside her. First, he gives her a bottle of water, and then takes out the first aid kit and starts cleaning her wound. The sting of antiseptic has her hissing, and then gritting her teeth. 

“You didn’t ask about the driver,” he says, raising his other hand to push back the hair that’s getting in the way of the wound. It’s a thin cut, along her hairline, but head wounds bleed like no tomorrow, and this one is deep, too. Surely a glass shard, too.

“Hmm?” Her eyes are closed and he repeats the question. “I thought you’d take care of it,” she says, and he doesn’t know what to make of that. That she trusts him? He really needs to check for that concussion.

“Open your eyes.” She does as she’s told, and looks at him with a startlingly clear gaze. Doesn’t look confused. However, she’s unnervingly calm for having just gone through a car crash, so he tries to test her memory. 

“What’s my name?”

“James Buchanan Barnes.” Her voice is calm, a quiet, soft tone that soothes the ringing in his ears, accompanied by birdsong from the forest canopy above. She’s likely in shock.

“How do you know that?” He can’t help but ask, gently putting pressure on several points around her head, before deciding that she doesn’t have a concussion. In the time that it takes for her to formulate her answer, he’s dressed the wound, which begins staining red quicker than he’d like. Head wounds. They bleed so goddamn much.

“Read it in a history book. I had a crush on you in 8th grade, you know,” she says, taking the first aid kit and getting off the rock to sit next to him. He doesn’t answer, and she lifts a clean cotton pad to his cheek, just as surprised as he is that he doesn’t flinch. This, the casual tone of voice, the calm, fairy-like lilt to her previously intense tone, is probably the shock talking. Him not being repulsed by her touch must be shock as well, and so is the way he watches the shadows of the leaves above slide and shift across her face. 

“It’s Murphy’s Law, by the way,” she murmurs, breath fanning out across his face. “And just our luck, too. Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.”

[ewooxy]

How to choose the right necklace for V-neck outfit?

Choosing the right necklace for a V-neck neckline involves considering the depth and shape of the V, as well as your personal style. Here are some tips to help you choose the right necklace for a V-neck:

Consider the Depth of the V-neck:

Shallow V-neck: For a shallower V-neck, you can opt for shorter necklaces like chokers or collar necklaces. These styles can complement the neckline without overpowering it.

Deep V-neck: If the V-neck is deeper, you have more flexibility with longer necklaces. Pendant necklaces, lariats, or longer chains can enhance the elongated shape of the neckline.

Match the V-shape:

Pointed V-neck: If the V-neck has a pointed or angular shape, consider necklaces with similar lines, such as a pendant with a pointed end or a V-shaped necklace.

U-shaped V-neck: For a U-shaped V-neck, necklaces with rounded or softer shapes, like round pendants or curved bar necklaces, can complement the neckline.

Neckline Embellishments:

Plain V-neck: If the V-neck is simple and plain, you have more freedom to choose statement necklaces or delicate pieces based on your personal style.

Embellished V-neck: If the V-neck has embellishments or details, consider simpler necklaces to avoid competing with the neckline.

Consider the Dress Style:

Casual Dress: For casual V-neck dresses or tops, you can opt for more relaxed and playful necklaces, such as layered chains, bohemian styles, or beaded necklaces.

Formal Dress: For formal occasions, consider elegant necklaces such as pearls, delicate pendants, or a simple chain with a subtle gemstone.

Match the Metal Tone:

Choose a necklace that matches the metal tone of your outfit or other accessories. Common options include gold, silver, rose gold, or mixed metals.

Layering:

Experiment with layering. You can layer necklaces of different lengths to add depth and interest to your look. Ensure that each necklace complements the V-neck without overwhelming it.

Personal Style:

Reflect your personal style. Whether you prefer a minimalist pendant or a bold statement piece, choose a necklace that aligns with your individual taste.

Necklace Length:

Consider the length of the necklace in relation to the V-neck. If the V-neck is deep, longer necklaces can help create a balanced look, while shallower V-necks can be complemented with shorter lengths.

Gemstone or No Gemstone:

Choose a necklace with or without gemstones based on your preference and the overall aesthetic you want to achieve.

Try Before Buying:

If possible, try on different necklaces with the V-neck outfit to see how they interact. This can help you find the most flattering and harmonious combination.

Remember that these are guidelines, and personal preference plays a significant role in choosing the right necklace. Ultimately, choose a necklace that makes you feel confident and enhances the overall look of your V-neck outfit.

[generic-fandom-name]

I thought I'd share another beginning to a fic I may or may not continue

The naked Hag, as the name suggested it was not a luxury inn, However it was crowded, humid and very popular. The inn was a hub of activity with the hum of conversation, song and roudiness. Drunkards sang with arms slung over one another, ale spilling from their tankers. The elder men debating over clay pipes and heavy smoke. Perverse folk pulling unsuspecting girls carrying food into their laps and a slap on the backside for humour.

"Two rooms, and one horse." Geralt said to the innkeeper, and set his coin purse upon the counter.

The innkeeper trembled slightly his eyes wide with panic and shook his head. "I'm sorry witcher, we have but the one room left."

"Fine, but is there room for a horse in your stable?" Geralt asked leaning closer hoping his voice travelled over the crescendo of a drunken song.

With a nod the inkeep wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. "Aye witcher. Round the back is the stables."

"We'll take it." Geralt empties the amount of coin onto the counter between him and the innkeeper - each coins clatter lost amongst rest of the bar.

The innkeeper held his hand against the side of the table pushing the coin into it.

Geralt made his way back through the wade of people, his boot sticking ever so slightly to the floor. He pushed open the entrance to the inn and back into the fresh night air of the town.

Jaskier was lent against the broken wooden fence, hip tilted to one side and legs crossed. In a town of greys, browns and shit he stuck out like a flower on a war trodden battleground, in his silk doublet left unbuttomed to reveal a lace under shirt which in turn was open slightly to reveal tufts of chest hair.

Jaskier stood straighter once he realised it is his companion exiting the lopsided tavern.

'So-' jaskier grinned, arms raised to his side. 'Any luck? Were you able to procure some accommodation? Did you use your natrual charm?"

Geral hummed and nodded to his oldest company and took roach by her reins. She bashed her head affectionately against his chest. "I'll take roach to the stables, and get her settled. You, get us some food and drink."

"Anything for you Geralt! Ah I shall order us a bath too." Jaskier beamed his grin far to infectious, Geralt could feel the corner of his mouth twitch in response only letting a small smile slip once the bard had made a start for the inn door.

"15 years that bastard has been travelling with us." Geral mumbled and lead roach to the stable. "Sometimes I forget what is was like to travel alone. Not seeing the garish colour against a backdrop of blood and hardship."

The stable was- sturdy. That's all it needed to be. Geralt gently steered roach into the vacant stall and offered her a heavy pat against her neck before he set to work of removing her kit. "Do you remember when it was you and me girl?" He smiled and his eyes soften. He placed her saddle effortlessly on the wall of the stable and roach munched on the fresh hay already in the corner of the stall.

Geralt rummaged through one of the saddle bags until he found the brush he was looking for and approached Roach once again. He brushed her in silence for a number of minutes finding calm in the task and beauty in the dust that fell from his most trusted companion. "Perhaps we should look into getting Jaskier his own horse. It would make travelling more efficient."

"Well I'll be, geralt! Is that you?" The voice came from the other stall. Geralt pivoted to meet approaching footsteps "they'll just let anyone stay here won't they?"

"Eskel?" An unexpected grin pulled at Geralts lips. Geralt stepped closer, two hands clasp at his shoulders and all too familiar golden eyes smile back at him. "What brings you here?" Geralt took a few steps back and put the brush back into his pack and removed his and Jaskier's bags from the saddle.

Eskel stood cross armed and a smile still on his face. "Passing through, we had to stay here for a few nights- longer than I would have preferred but I've not had any trouble."

"Hmm that's good to hear." Footstep fell into unison as the two witchers made their way back to the entrance of the tavern. Eskel grabbed on of the bags with little protest from Geralt.

"But no doubt that will all change now that you're here." Eskel eyes twinkled and took no heed from Geralts offended glare.

"And what is that supposed to mean."

"You know what I mean Geralt-" eskel let out a huff of a laugh and held the door open for Geralt.

The crowd seemed to notice two witchers and so the people easily parted. Nothing either is not used to. Geralt raised an eyebrow to his brother as he thanked the crowd as they passed through.

The stairs to the rooms were narrow, only one person wide. Geralt took two steps at a time followed by eskel. The noise of the bar thankfully muted by the time they reached the vacant room that will be Geralt's and Jaskier's.

The two witchers had to bend to fit through the wonkey door but the room itself was suitable. Plain but clean, a double bed in the centre pushed up against the wall and folded down sheets that had seen better days but Geralt had had worse. The tub had already been brought up but remained empty for the moment.

Geralt placed the bag he was carrying upon Jaskiers side of the bed already knowing where he prefers to sleep and eskel did the same on the other side.

"Does this mean I get to meet your infamous bard?" Eskel made his way back to the hallway.

"He is downstairs, getting food and drink." Geralt said, and pulled the room door to a close behind themselves and made his way back down the stairs.

"And will he sing?"

"That is entirely up to Jaskier."

Back in the main room of the inn the crowds had barely thinned. Geralt strained his neck to look over the patrons to find who he was looking for and quickly a flash of baby blue showed him the direction of the bard.

"And who is it you are travelling with? Dont think I didnt notice you say we." Geralt quipped with a slant in Eskels direction. Immediately he sensed a brief hesitation in his brother's aura.

"Like you, I have met someone along my travels."

"How very poetic of you Eskel."

"Shut up, it's not like that, she-" Eskel paused. "She was very lost and I happened to find her."

Geralt smirked. "I thought you didnt get involved." He turned on his heels and made his way through the crowd leaving Eskel to falter with his response.

Jaskier had somehow found a table located in one of the smaller rooms to the side of the main bar area. The room was a lot quieter with patrons more focused on their meals and drink than loud conversation.

"Ah Geralt i was starting to worry you somehow had been murdered between where I left you and here-" Geralt watched For Jaskier's reaction once he noticed there were now two witchers in his presence. Geralt was not left disappointed.

Jaskier's mouth bobbed like a fish and he stumbled to stand, knees hit against the low table and then he winced in pain. But the bard was quick to recover and offered Eskel a devilish smile. "Well now, aren't I lucky! The company of two witchers, allow me to buy you an ale!' Jaskier's head flit from side to side 'oh barmaid! A drink for my new friend here!'

The 3 man get seated at the table, jaskier moved instinctively to allow the 2 witches two sit with their backs to the wall.

Geralt was quick to fill his mouth with food to prevent any questions getting thrown his way by eskel or Jaskier.

Eskel extended a hand across the table toward Jaskier who accepted the shake readily. "So, you must be the famous bard of the white wolf. I must give my praise to you. Not only have you helped with trade but you have successfully put up with this grumpy bastard for over a decade."

"Why thank you, my dear witcher. At least someone-" jaskier rolled his eyes to look to Geralt. 'appreciates my talent!'

"Please call me Eskel."

"And I Jaskier." The bard took a quick swig of his ale.