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shortkingvi · 6 months ago

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🌞🕶️⛱️ shortkingvi's ultimate guide to cool butch fashion in the summer ⛱️🕶️🌞

Hello friends! At long last, I come bearing the summer fashion guide I promised a little while back. As a young kid looking to butch up my wardrobe, I found it rather difficult to find sufficient inspiration for some with my body type and goals. It can be - and is! - difficult to find decent fashion guides geared toward butches by butches, and even moreso for the summer season when the typical butch fashion fallbacks (layers, boots, etc.) just aren't realistic.

And so, as someone who spends a lot of time putting together fun outfits that fit me well and bring me joy, I figured I'd put something together in hopes that someone on the lookout for help figuring out their style might make use of this!

Below you'll find:

Information on determining your style goals

Tips on creating outfits and combinations that are undeniably butch/masc

Advice for butches who might not be safe to shop outside the women's department (you can still make a masc outfit out of women's clothes, I promise!)

Outfit inspirations

The best places to shop as a butch/masc person

...and more!

So, click on the read more if this sounds like it might be useful to you! Feel free to shoot any questions my way, as well; I'm happy to help you out with some more specific advice.

Section 1: How the hell do I figure out what I want to look like?

Before we can get into the specifics, it's crucial to figure out exactly what you're going for on your butch fashion journey, especially in the summer. Butch/masc fashion is not a monolith, and you likely have seen some popular butch trends that you absolutely do not like. That's great! That gives us a perfect place to start.

There's no shame in using celebrities, fictional characters, or even friends and family as a jumping off point for your style. Hell, I recently watched Love Lies Bleeding and have been incorporating muscle tanks into my wardrobe more than ever before. It makes things a whole lot easier if you have an idea of what you'd like to go for with your fashion choices.

I recommend ignoring full ensembles and thinking about the micro details of an item of clothing or outfit that you really enjoy. Consider things like:

Length - is there a sleeve or pant length that you'd like to try out?

Colour - is there a colour you feel like you look good in? A colour you think others look good in? Do not fall into the "x skintones can only wear x colours" rhetoric - that is the devil speaking and we do not do that here. Every colour can be worn by anyone, so long as you style it well!

Vibe - have you been wanting to try out streetwear? Country/cowboy style clothing? Soft academia? It never hurts to pick a vibe and look for inspiration from there. Google, in this case, is your best friend

Pattern - do you enjoy florals, perhaps? Start thinking about what you'd like to incorporate this into

Body type - is there something you'd like to highlight on your body? Maybe a cool tattoo, your newly flat chest, strong thighs, or even a fun haircut you've gotten. It's always great to feel confident about your body in whatever you're wearing

Once you've thought through some of these things, it makes it infinitely easier to establish a baseline. You might really want to buy a Guy Fieri style button up: go for it! Use that as your anchor point, and start to build out the rest of a look from there.

Section 2: I am a butch who doesn't know how to make clothing fun if I can't layer! Help!

Trust me, I get that. Sometimes it feels a lot easier to present more masc when I can wear a hoodie and jacket with some loose jeans, but this does not mean your summer need only be full of plain t-shirts and 9" inseam shorts. Creativity is absolutely possible in the summer.

Take this outfit, for example:

Pretty standard, pretty basic, right? It's a pair of sneakers with a t-shirt, shorts, and a baseball cap. And yet, it's not boring. The shorts are patterned and bright blue, which means they'll be the focal point of the outfit. The shirt, as a result, should be a bit plainer, though it doesn't need to be soulless. I've got a fun little graphic tee on here - theres a larger design on the back - with just a touch of blue in the numbers to match the shorts. The hat is in keeping with the blue and white theme (I am a big fan of matching your hat to your outift. Though it's not absolutely necessary, it makes things look much more intentional on an otherwise simple outfit).

Brief interlude to talk about shirt lengths and sizing here. Though this is not always the way I feel, in shirts like this I tend to prefer to reduce the prominence of my chest. I'm not dysphoric, personally, nor do I bind, but I do enjoy the aesthetic look or a uniform body shape when I'm in a combo like this. In order to achieve this, I buy shirts a size up from what I usually wear. I typically am an XS, so when buying shirts, I'll look for a small size most times. I also almost exclusively purchase my shirts from the men's department because the cut of the shirts follows a rectangular shape and in turn cut a more angular chest to hip shape on the wearer - you'll want to look for shirts labelled "regular fit" to achieve this.

(We'll talk about shorts later on in this guide)

Back to the outfit breakdown. The shoes are Jordans. Disclaimer: I am a big sneakerhead, so my shoes mean a lot to me, but you in no way need to spend the big bucks on your shoes! A simple pair that. again, is in keeping with the theme go a long, looooonnngg way. I also urge you to leave the standard ankle socks behind; low length ankle socks give your outfit a really harsh cutoff. A pair of slightly higher ankle socks - or even a low crew sock - work much better to highlight the muscle lines in your legs and bring that more masculine feel to your lower body clothing.

All of this is to say that while yeah, you might not be able to layer as much as you would like, you can still create pretty simple looking outfits that are engaging, unique, and give you that distinctly butch feel - in a well put together kind of way.

Section 3: I want to wear muscle tanks, but everything I try on looks weird!

Ah, the muscle tank dilemma. My mortal enemy. My eternal plight.

I have bested this, though, and today I'll introduce you to two different ways I've done so.

First and foremost, sleeve length. A good, more masculine looking muscle tank should have sleeves that cover the entire top of your shoulders - without going past them (you'll be edging into cap sleeve territory if that's the case, and that'll move the needle toward a more traditionally feminine style).

Next, please stop falling for the extended sleeve hole propaganda. While a sleeve like this

might be what you have in your mind when I talk about muscle tanks, it is absolutely not doing you any favours in butching up your wardrobe while also keeping it stylish and flattering. These are great for the gym, but not always the best at cutting the body shape you might be looking for in a tank.

What you want instead, is this:

See how the sleeves follow a tighter line around the arms but then cut a more uniform shape down the body? This'll give you wayyyyy more room to play with presentation. You can find tanks like this at almost any clothing store (athletic is your best bet) - this one comes from Champion, and is about $18 CAD.

But maybe you reeeeeallllly don't vibe with store tanks; they might be boring or constantly have logos and sayings that are that specific kind of millennial cringe that makes your teeth ache (sorry millennials, we do not rise and grind here). Well, my dear reader, let me introduce you to my (semi) foolproof method of creating your own muscle tank! Go read that tutorial if you’re interested in cutting your own, and then come back here so we can chat about it.

Ultimately, what you're looking for here is a tank that gives you a slightly boxier shape without absolutely dwarfing you in it. This'll draw attention to the parts you want to show off (in a muscle tank, that's probably arms and shoulders) and reduce focus on your torso's figure.

Section 4: Can we go back to the layers discussion? I need help with that!

Though I have, for the most part, moved out of the layers realm when it comes to my summer fashion, I still love and appreciate the occasional button up situation.

I typically have two rules when it comes to layering that I'll explain here.

Figure out the focus before you put on the outfit

I'm not a fan of a patterned button up paired with an equally busy tee; I think they both end up pulling focus from each other and leaving the outfit looking cluttered. To make sure the outfit does what I want it to, I typically will either do a patterned button up with a solid colour tee or tank underneath, or a simple button up with a graphic tee:

2. Understand that length and fit are everything

It's easy to assume that all button ups are created equal; this is WRONG. Sleeve length is crucial, and simply cuffing your sleeve can make the shirt look much more flattering in the long run. It'll also add some dimension to the layers you're wearing to make sure that they all fit each other appropriately. Your top layer shouldn't be shorter than your bottom layer (there are occasions where this is fine, but typically, it looks messy), so finding a top layer that hits at the waistline or can be tucked in and look good is critical.

Layering in the summer can be tough because of the heat, but many short sleeve button ups are made with lightweight material and are breathable by extension. I like to shop at Hollister or American Eagle for my button ups, but ASOS has a great selection in a wide range of fits and styles, as well!

Section 5: Shorts... just shorts.

Shorts are tough; it seems like the moment you find a length that works for you, the trends move on or you start to hate it. I think that the best rule of thumb for shorts is to buy what works with the style of shirt you tend to wear.

If you wear a slightly looser shirt, but not one that hangs super low, a 3-5" inseam is best for you. It'll do well to cut a taller figure by exposing some more leg, but also provides you with a good selection of looser fit shorts to go with. These shorts in this photo are roughly in this range and look pretty solid with the looser, skate style/streetwear shirt I personally prefer:

A tighter shirt or tanktop typically works better with a longer short - I don't LOVE shorts beyond like a 7" inseam, but there are definitely ways to wear them in a fun, flattering way. I enjoy a longer short when I'm going for that 80s-90s style butch look. If I'm doing certain kinds of cropped muscle tanks, a longer short gives it the messy ratty kind of vibe I like:

Also, don't buy into the jorts slander! They'll always be a simple, classic look that is easy to pair and style. I like to turn my older jeans and longer shorts into shorter jorts when I get tired of them, which gives me the lived in look I prefer from denim.

Shorts, really, are about what you want your figure to look like more than anything. If you're a short lil guy like me, a shorter inseam will almost always help elongate your figure. Buying a short that fits straighter gives your legs an opportunity to not get squashed by something too tight. There's 100% a space between tight femme shorts and baggy basketball shorts, and it's all just a matter of determining what that space is for you.

Section 6: I can't stop wearing Vans and I need to be free

I am taking your hand gently as I say this: there is a whole world out there beyond the skate shoe. Come with me as I take you there.

Please, PLEASE invest in at least one pair of sneakers. I personally wear Nikes most often because I really enjoy the chunkiness of the shoe, as well as the vibrance of most of the designs.

Here are some of the styles I enjoy most:

Dunks: These come in high or low tops and are typically a bit chunkier than other styles. They're sleek but casual and look great with a looser pant.

Air Force 1s: Are a similar shape to the typical Dunk, but are a bit smoother and simple. Don't be fooled by the argument that the white AF1 low is a feminine show - that's the gender devil talking, and we don't like that here. An AF1 is incredibly versatile.

Jordan Spizike Low - if you love Jordans and crave a pair of J4s like I used to, the Spizike is a more affordable option. It's dynamic and fun and looks great if you're wanting to edge into the streetwear realm.

These are only a few examples of Nikes specifically that I think do well to help spice up an outfit or edge into the masc/butch territory if you're not ready to fully dive in.

I've also become a big fan of Vessis recently because they're 100% waterproof and provide some nice casual to semi-formal options.

Summer shoes, ultimately, are about comfort on the move while also looking fun and exciting. I think sneakers do a good job to help with this.

Side Note: if you wear anything under a Women's US 8.5, you can fit junior sizes and save yourself money on shoe costs! I wear a Women's US size 8 and so I exclusively buy Junior US 6.5s and subsequently save myself $100 at times.

Section 7: Nightmare blunt rotation - formal wear in hot weather

It suuuuucks most of the time, I know. But this is probably because you've been lead to believe suits are your only option. Spoiler alert: they're not! I don't have the time to run through all your options here, but I'll give you some general directions to start heading toward that are both butch AND can be tweaked if you're not able to/not comfortable dressing fully butch quite yet.

First up, the short sleeve button up:

One of my best friends got married last May, and I knew that a long sleeve shirt would be FAR too stifling for that kind of weather. SO, the short sleeve white dress shirt came in to save the day:

With this look, I took a rather simple shirt (I don't think it cost me more than like, $50 at the most) and made it formal by adding a tie, a racing stripe dress pant (purple was the wedding theme), and a collar clip that added a pop of gold where I would typically include a necklace. This look got me plenty of compliments, and by cuffing the sleeves and adding a brown belt and shoes, I ensured it looked super clean and formal enough for the setting I was in.

The other semi-formal to formal look I enjoy is the vested pant suit:

I LOVE this look; I recently wore a vested pant suit to a bridal show and it was SUPER flowy and breathable but didn't at all feel too femme for me.

My rule for this is that if you're wearing a loose or baggy pant, leaving the vest open and wearing a tank underneath looks best. I did this and paired them with a chunky platform oxford, and the look came out pretty solid, I think!

If you're interested in a more fitted look, however, a closed vest and a slimmer pant looks incredibly nice; it can almost edge into that punkish middle ground that still is acceptably formal, like this:

Whatever your choice for formal attire, remember that the most important thing is your comfort in hot, sunny weather. Lighter colours are better, but shade and water are most important!

Section 8: Hey, I'm not able to shop for mens clothing yet, what should I do/ where should I shop if I still want a butchier look?

I get that and sympathise; I've only recently (the last few years) felt fully comfortable buying mens clothing. Luckily, we are in an era where even women's trends are veering toward baggy, straight fit clothing, so it's entirely possible to creep toward a masc presentation regardless of the department you shop in.

ASOS has a huge selection of clothing, and they carry quite a few unisex items as well.

I find that Hollister's mens section can also be passed off as just like... baggier womens clothes, so that may be an option.

Sport and athletic wear tends to trend toward gender neutral as well. In the same way, streetwear like Fear of God or Supreme will cut the same look while still giving you a softer transition into buying and wearing masculine clothes.

The most helpful thing, in my opinion, is to find people who dress the way you want to dress and start leaning on that to determine what'll work best for you. It was a lot of trial and error for me and I certainly am still evolving in my clothing decisions, but establishing a baseline of what makes you happy will always result in more confidence and a longer lasting wardrobe.

Section 9: Shortkingvi's Outfit Reference Guide - if You're Looking for Somewhere to Start

Here are some outfits I've put together that are simple and casual and may give you an idea of what you'd like to go for. Not all of these are summer looks, but they do well to show the sort of fit I like to aim for and what I think really affirms my personal expression. Feel free to ask for links to certain items if you'd like to know where they're from!

#i hope this helps at least one person maybe solve a fashion dilemma they've been having!#as you can tell i enjoy a hat and this is because currently i can't cut all my hair off lmao #so i accommodate to get the look i desire!#anyways here are some tags for reach #lgbt #lgbtq #butch #masc #lesbian #gay #bisexual #transgender #pride month #lgbtqia+#fashion #queer fashion #queer #happy to get this OUT of the drafts finally

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all-the-things-2020 · 11 months ago

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Late Night Talking - Chapter Two

Summary: Emily and Dieter go on their first date.

Rating: PG-13

Tagging @rhoorl because Working Title inspired me to write this

I spent most of that Friday getting ready. A mani-pedi and eyebrow wax at the salon, a mini makeover at Ulta, and a blowout and style at my hairdresser. I’d debated buying a new dress, but decided to spend my money on the beauty treatments instead. I wore my favorite dress, a comfortable but clingy teal blue wrap that showed just enough cleavage.

By the time I was done at the hairdresser, it was almost 3 o’clock and I headed for Pasadena. Traffic on the 210 could be a bitch at any time, but was especially bad on Fridays, so I didn’t want to take any chances. Better to get there early and have to kill some time than to be late. Objectively, I knew that if I got caught in traffic, I could text Dieter (everyone in SoCal understood getting stuck in traffic) but I didn’t want to have to make him wait. So I left ridiculously early and for once traffic was light. I pulled into the parking lot behind Vroman’s at 4:08.

Well, might as well browse the store a bit, I thought, rather than sit in the car. It was summer and too bloody hot to sit in a car without the A/C running. I walked into the bookshop and took a deep breath. The smell of brand new books filled my lungs and helped settle my nerves a little. Just a little, though, because I was on the verge of an anxiety attack every time I realized I was actually going on a date with Dieter Bravo.

I hadn’t told anyone about my plans other than Sam. I was fully aware of the rumors about Dieter’s past, and I knew at least one if my friends would try to warn me off. I was also very aware that he’d done a stint in rehab and had stayed out of the headlines ever since. I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

I wandered the aisles, reacquainting myself with the layout of the store so I could impress Dieter with my knowledge of the place. I’d talked it up so much but it had been a while since I’d had the chance to visit and I didn’t want to look like an idiot. Really, though, I was just nervous and trying to keep myself busy. Finally, at 4:30 I gave up and went into The 1894.

I took a seat at the bar and ordered a glass of wine. Maybe that will settle my nerves, I thought. I asked the bartender if I could save the seat next to me. “I’m meeting someone at five,” I told her. “I got here early.”

She shrugged. “Sure, but I can’t stop anyone from sitting there if we run out of seats.”

I understood, but so far the place was only about half full. Most people hadn’t gotten off work yet. I sat my purse on the empty seat next to me and sipped my wine. Twice people came up to me and asked if the seat was available, and I told them no, someone was sitting there. They moved on without a fuss, but it was a little annoying. When the third person walked up, I was about to roll my eyes and make a smart remark, but before I could turn, a familiar voice said, “No fair starting without me.”

I picked up my purse and he slid onto the seat, leaning his arm on the bar. He was wearing a pale blue short sleeved button down shirt, the top few buttons left undone, and a pair of dark blue slacks. Nothing too fancy, but a definite step up from the t-shirt and jeans from the other day. His hair was mostly tamed, but still a bit messy. It was a good look on him.

“Hi,” he said, with a smile.

“Hi,” I said, smiling back. “I got here super early. Traffic wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I got here faster than I expected, too,” he said. “Guess the freeway gods wanted us to start things early.” He winked and I melted inside. “That dress looks great on you, by the way,” he went on. “The color really brings out your eyes.”

Now I really was blushing, and it wasn’t from the wine. “Thanks,” I said. “You look nice, too.”

He shrugged. “I clean up fairly well.” The bartender came over and asked if she could get him anything. “I’ll have the same,” he said, pointing at my wine glass. “And put it on one check, please.”

I picked up my glass and took a sip. “The feminist in me wants to insist I’m perfectly capable of buying my own drinks,” I said, “but my bank balance is telling her to shut up.”

He laughed and laid his hand on mine. “Tell your inner feminist I respect her very much, but I agree with your bank balance that she needs to mind her own business for a while.” He rubbed his thumb against the back of my hand and I took another sip of wine to allow myself to recover a bit of composure. Fortunately, the bartender brought his wine and he let go to take his glass.

“Cheers,” he said, tipping his glass toward mine.

“Cheers,” I replied, as we clinked our glasses together. He maintained eye contact as he took a drink.

“Nice choice,” he said after he’d swallowed. He pulled a menu closer and waved the bartender over. “Can we get a meat & cheese board, and some olives?” She nodded. “Sorry,” he said. “I got sidetracked this morning and didn’t get lunch before my meeting.”

“No worries,” I said. “Who knows if or when we’ll get around to dinner. I don’t know about you, but I can spend hours in this place.” I nodded toward the bookshop proper.

He smiled. “Great minds think alike,” he said. There was that smile again. I found myself smiling back, sure I looked like a total goofball. He reached out for my hand again and gave it a little squeeze. My insides turned instantly to goo.

“So, um, how was your meeting?” I asked.

His face lit up. “It was really good,” he said. “I’m in talks to do a TV series.” He took a sip of wine. “The producer has a couple of different options for my character, wanted my input on which one I liked best.”

“And let me guess, you can’t say a word.”

He grimaced. “Nope, sorry. They’d feed me to the … what’s that thing that ate Boba Fett in Star Wars, that giant sand worm thing?”

“Oh, yeah, I know what you mean,” I said. I searched my brain for the arcane Star Wars knowledge that I knew lurked in there somewhere. “The sarlaac? Is that it?”

Dieter shrugged. “Sounds about right. Whatever it’s called, they’d feed me to it.” Just then the bartender brought our food, and he popped an olive in his mouth.

“By the way, thanks for not giving me the Look,” he said. He nodded toward his wine glass. “Everybody knows I’ve been to rehab, so I usually get the Look from someone when they see me drinking alcohol.”

“It’s none of my business,” I told him. “You’re an adult and so am I.”

He smiled. “Well, thanks again,” he said quietly. “I’m in a pretty good place right now. I have my rules and they’re working for me. A lot of people judge me too harshly.”

We nibbled on the food, ordered another glass of wine, and chit chatted about work, the weather, and other boring stuff that actually seemed important and enthralling because it gave us each a glimpse into the other’s life.

He offered me the last morsel of cheese on the board, but I declined and he ate it, then drained his glass. “So,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Are we going to buy some books or what?”

I finished my wine and smiled. “Let’s do some damage to my bank account,” I said. He laughed, asked for the check and paid it in cash, leaving a ridiculously large tip that made the bartender break into an appreciative smile. I wasn’t sure if he was normally a large tipper or if he was just trying to impress me, but either way, I was happy for the bartender, who had been running herself ragged as the bar started to fill up with people stopping by for after work drinks.

“Shall we?,” he said as we stood up. He let me walk a half step ahead of him, and I felt his hand at the small of my back, gently guiding me through the maze of tables and customers toward the bookstore.

“Where do we start?,” he asked when we reached the sales floor.

“Anywhere you want,” I said. “Fiction? Nonfiction?”

“Definitely fiction,” he replied. I took his hand and led him toward the fiction shelves, glad I had scouted out the store layout earlier.

We wandered the shelves, pulling out a book here and there.

“Have you read this?”

“Oh, I love this one.”

Our reading tastes were not exactly the same, but we overlapped quite a bit. I pulled a copy of The Eyre Affair off the shelf. “Please tell me you’ve read this,” I said.

He shook his head, taking the book from me to read the back. “No, I haven’t. Wait, what the hell is this?” He laughed. “Dodos?”

“Don’t knock it,” I said. “It’s virtually impossible to describe this book without it sounding like the stupidest thing ever, but trust me, it’s brilliant.”

He raised one eyebrow and gave me a look of disbelief. “Interactive Shakespeare,” I said. “Time travel. An independent Wales. Neanderthals. And Jane Eyre is missing!”

He laughed. “Okay, okay, I’ll take your word for it.” He started to put the book back on this shelf but I snatched it from his hand.

“No, I’m buying this for you,” I said. “You have to read it. Non negotiable.”

“And what if I don’t like it?,” he asked.

“Then I’m afraid I’ll have to kill you,” I teased.

“I knew it,” he said, with an exaggerated groan. “My characters almost always die. It’s this face. People just want to kill it.”

“I like your face,” I said.

He leaned against the shelf. “Really?” He seemed surprised. I just gave him a look and he laughed. “Okay, so if I don’t like the book I die; what happens if I like it?”

“Then you become One of Us and must be initiated,” I said.

His eyebrows shot up. “This initiation … am I gonna like it?” He stepped closer to me.

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “You’ll love it. But you’ve got to read the book first.” I tapped him on the chest with the book. He chuckled and shook his head.

“Okay, but now I get to pick out a book for you,” he said. He took my hand and led me up and down the aisles, making a show of picking out just the right book. All the while, our fingers were entwined and he idly rubbed his thumb against my palm. Finally, he decided on a novel by an obscure Lithuanian author that sounded rather depressing to me, but which he insisted was better than the cover blurb would lead you to believe.

We continued to explore the shop, finding something interesting in every aisle. I picked up a tiny Jane Austen doll, which he insisted on buying for me. He admired a leather key fob with a Steinbeck quote, which I insisted on buying for him. Eventually, we each had a small stack of books and little trinkets picked out for each other.

“Ready for dinner?,” he asked.

“Yeah, we’d better get out of here before I find anything more to buy,” I said. We went to the registers, made our purchases and then traded bags.

“So,” he said when we’d stepped outside. “Any good restaurants around here?”

“I know a nice tapas place in Old Pasadena,” I said. “But we’ll have to drive there. It’s like five or six blocks away.”

He laughed. “Oh, you are such a Californian,” he said. “If you’d lived in New York, you’d know five or six blocks is nothing.” He slipped his arm around my shoulders. “Come on, it’s a nice night, let’s take a walk.”

We walked west on Colorado Blvd. It was still light out but starting to get dusky in the shadows of the tall buildings. I’d always found downtown Pasadena a bit “big city” and overwhelming, which I mentioned to Dieter. He laughed. “I’ll take you to New York City sometime,” he said. “Then we’ll talk about what constitutes a ‘big city’.”

I held my tongue, but the fact that he’d casually assumed we’d have a future together of some sort gave me a thrill. Even if we were just friends in that future, I’d take it, although of course I wanted more.

The walk to the restaurant was leisurely, after Dieter realized I couldn’t walk as quickly as he could (the curse of being a short person walking with a tall person), which was perfectly fine with me. He kept his arm around my shoulders as we navigated the foot traffic that always filled the sidewalks in Pasadena, especially on a Friday night. Only one person stopped us to ask for his autograph, although several others did a double take as we went past them.

We reached the restaurant and fortunately didn’t have to wait too long for a table. Most of the customers were crowded in the bar and lounge area, but we were tucked in a corner at a table.

“Nice place,” Dieter said, looking around appreciatively. As soon as he opened the menu, he grinned. “Ooh, they have oysters!”

I made a face. “What’s that face for?,” he said.

“I’m not a big fan of seafood,” I admitted.

“Well, I’m still getting oysters,” he said, with a wink. Our waiter came over and Dieter ordered a gin martini and a half dozen oysters to start with. I opted for potato empanadas and a mojito. By the time the waiter came back with our drinks and appetizers, we’d decided on a pizza to split for our main course.

“Trade you,” Dieter said, offering me an oyster after he saw how good my empanadas looked.

“Ugh, no,” I said. “Those things are disgusting. I’m very picky about what I put in my mouth.”

He nearly spit out his martini and I felt my face go red as I realized how that sounded. “I just mean, I’m a picky eater,” I protested, but he was already laughing so hard he had to wipe his eyes with his napkin.

“Oh, my God,” he said when he’d managed to catch his breath. “That was priceless. But the offer still stands. Those empanadas look really good.” He made puppy dog eyes at me and I shoved an empanada into his mouth.

“Mmph,” he said. When he’d managed to swallow it, he picked up an oyster and waved it in front of my face. “Come on,” he said. “Just try one. I bet you’ll like it.”

I shook my head.

“If you eat one, I’ll give you a kiss,” he offered.

I pouted at him. “I was hoping I’d already done enough to earn a kiss,” I said

“I meant, I’ll give you a kiss right now,” he clarified. “You’re definitely getting a kiss before the evening’s over.” He did that thing with his jaw that always turned me on.

I closed my eyes. “All right, in that case, I’ll do it, but if I don’t like it I get to spit it out, okay?”

“Deal,” he said. “Open up.” I opened my mouth and he tipped the oyster in. I shuddered a bit at the slimy texture and briny taste. “Just swallow it,” he said. I did and almost gagged, but I managed to get it down. I opened my eyes and he was smiling mischievously at me. He leaned across the table to press a gentle kiss against my lips. He tasted like gin and oysters and empanadas. “Worth it?”

“Definitely,” I replied with a lazy smile. “But I’m never eating one of those things again.”

“Fair enough,” he said. We talked about favorite (and not so favorite) foods while we waited for the pizza to arrive. After it arrived, we talked about movies and hobbies and a million other things. Finally, we’d eaten as much as we could and the waiter dropped off the check. Again, Dieter took care of it, this time with a credit card. I made a feeble attempt to ask what my share was, but he waved me off. “Tell your inner feminist she can pay next time,” he said.

We walked slowly back to the parking lot behind Vroman’s enjoying the cooler air now that the sun had gone completely down. We reached my car first and I dug out my keys, unlocked the doors and put my bag in the back seat. “Well,” I said, not sure exactly what to say.

“Well,” he said back, stepping closer, almost pressing me against the side of the car. He sat his bag on the ground and took my face between his hands. This time, the kiss was still gentle, but lasted longer. It was followed by a flurry of shorter but fiercer kisses that made my toes curl. I slid my arms up around his neck and his hands fell to my waist, pulling me closer.

“Mmm,” he murmured. “I had a wonderful time tonight.”

“Me, too,” I replied. He kissed me again.

“We should probably say good night,” he said. I nodded, and kissed him back.

“Someone’s going to wonder why we’re making out in the parking lot,” he said.

“Yeah, we should probably stop,” I said. We didn’t stop.

Finally, a woman and her kids walked past and she made a snarky remark. Dieter laughed and pressed his forehead against mine. “Okay, I think that killed the mood,” he said. He stepped back. “Text me when you get home, so I know you got there safe,” he said. “I’ll call you tomorrow and we can figure out where to go next time.”

“I will,” I said, fumbling with my car keys, which I’d somehow managed not to drop during all that. I opened the car door and dropped into the drivers’ seat. Dieter leaned in to press one last kiss against my cheek.

“Drive safe,” he said, then picked up his bag and headed for his own car, two rows over from mine. I couldn’t resist watching him walk away, admiring the view.

When he got into his car, I turned away and slid my key in the ignition. I’d need the long drive home to calm myself down.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

NOTES: Vroman’s is a real bookshop in Pasadena. If you ever get the chance to visit, do so! And do it soon: the owner is retiring and the shop (as well as Book Soup) is up for sale. Fingers crossed they find a new owner who wants to carry on the 100+ year tradition of this indie bookshop. The restaurant is loosely based on a little place I had lunch with friends during a conference in Pasadena. The Eyre Affair is a real book and it is AMAZING. The obscure Lithuanian author is completely made up; I figured Dieter would be into something out of the ordinary.

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction

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archangeltwins · 3 months ago

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Peter

cape town native, probably has dual citizenship / passports for SA & Canada/US

'upper middle class' but his outfits are described as "two paychecks away from homelessness" because his sense of style is disastrous

prefers t-shirts and longsleeves to more formal dress

casual social drinker, but only one or two beers. father was probably an alcoholic and grew up in a turbulent home and does not want that to be him

total momma's boy

bibliophile, lover of books, words, and likes to book-bind as a hobby

user of pet names to the max. even in other languages

very soft-spoken and a giver of awkward smiles, unfortunate reflex with anxiety

"guy you'd sit in a coffee shop with" vibes

coffee and tea lover

man who would cook his gf / bf breakfast, and serve in bed, after a night's romp in the sheets

he'd be the one to get his girl / guy a bouquet of roses ( or several ) on v-day

is likely the one to stop and re-tie his partner's shoes if they've got their arms full as a cute gesture

type to carry a puppy around the pet store in a chest-carrier while looking for necessities

would be the one to give forehead kisses and snuggles after disagreements anyways

wears his heart on his sleeve all the time

raker of leaves only to grab his gf / bf and jump in the pile

s'mores and hot chocolate on cool autumn nights lover

man who has one of those "kiss the chef" aprons for baking / grilling

takes a ton of pictures of the cat in the laundry basket kind of guy

he'd be the hand-swing / piggyback ride bf on fall walks

"spilled your apple cider? take the rest of mine. i can buy another. it's no problem" total sweetheart

gets excited about fall / summer festivals guy

man who makes oatmeal raisin cookies but leaves out the raisins so he can playfully toss 'em at his partner

rainy day umbrella holder because he doesn't want his partner getting soaked -- whilst he looks like a scraggly cat

man who calls out of work to stay in with his partner when they have cramps / pains / a general bad day

probably experiments with ethnic ingredients for dinners, often disastrously, but he has the Spirit(tm)

" lovemaking, not fucking " type of guy

#inescapable ( 2012 )#inescapable peter #n.sft cw #n.sft tw #mdni #headcanons

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daisymakesstuff · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 3 - The Morning After

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 |

Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles

Relationships: Morgan x Female Detective (Neveah Desanto)

Chapter Word Count: 4,386 Total Words: 10,391

Description: It is a strange and terrible thing to wake up the day after a loved one has died. Thankfully, Unit Bravo is there to get the detective through it.

Read on AO3

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

The Next Morning, in Morgan’s Bedroom

Neveah wakes to the feeling of a hand soothingly stroking her hair. She hums softly, savoring the sensation.

Seemingly in response to her pleased sound, Neveah gets a series of kisses along her jawline. Leaning into the touch, she eventually opens her eyes to the sight of stormy grey irises and warm freckled skin. She gives Morgan a drowsy, affectionate smile—

— and then Neveah remembers what happened yesterday. Her eyes glaze over with grief. Morgan’s hand comes to cup Neveah’s cheek, as though trying to draw back the moment of joy.

It’s a futile effort.

“Come on, Nat has breakfast going for you,” Morgan says, rolling out of bed with a heavy sigh. Slowly, Neveah gets up and plods to the bathroom, so Morgan figures she’s safe to get her own clothes on. The rest of Unit Bravo aren’t exactly fond of her wandering around the warehouse nude.

Morgan skips the leather cords this morning, just pulling on her jeans and burgundy T-shirt in case Neveah suddenly needs her in the few seconds it would take to put them on. When she doesn’t, Morgan makes the bed. It’s routine, but it’s also a way for Morgan to keep her hands busy while she waits and listens.

Neveah does a pretty shit job at brushing her teeth from the sound of it, but she rubs toothpaste on her teeth with the toothbrush and that’s good enough for Morgan. There are a few strange starts and stops, but they never last more than a minute. Farah would never let her live it down if she knew that Morgan was in here counting the number of seconds it takes for Neveah to go from opening the cap on her toothpaste to actually brushing her teeth.

Finally, the bathroom door swings open.

“The bathroom’s all yours,” Neveah says, voice unusually soft and mousy. Reluctantly, Morgan goes to brush her teeth. The experience of it is unpleasant enough to keep her distracted for a couple of minutes, even with the soft bristle toothbrush and unflavored toothpaste that Morgan, begrudgingly, lets Neveah keep buying for her.

She comes back to find Neveah standing in the middle of Morgan’s closet with one of her sundresses rumpled in her hand, and that thousand-yard-stare on her face again. This is exactly the kind of thing Morgan was worried about.

She appraises Neveah’s nightgown. It’s knee length with little puff sleeves, nothing too sheer. She rarely cares what Neveah wears to bed (unless there’s a chance she can get Neveah out of it), but there are some nightgowns Neveah’s not comfortable wearing around the warehouse.

This one’s probably fine though, Morgan decides. She wraps one arm around Neveah’s waist, pressing a kiss to her shoulder to try and draw her attention back. Morgan’s other hand tugs the dress out of Neveah’s grasp, dropping it back on the shelf unceremoniously.

“Forget it. Let’s just go.” Morgan leads her by the hand upstairs, only because they can’t both fit through the doorway at the same time.

Meanwhile, in the Warehouse Kitchen

It’s a crisp summer morning, the kind that comes before an inevitably sweltering day. Bright sunlight filters through the windows, filling the dining room with natural light softly diffused by a set of sheer curtains.

Nat has Neveah’s favorite— crepes— cooking on one burner, and has been stirring a cup full of raw eggs for the last three minutes.

“I’m pretty sure they’re dead, Natkins,” Farah quips from the table. Sighing, Nat looks down and confirms that the eggs are indeed thoroughly mixed together, before dumping them in the pre-warmed pan to cook.

“I’m just worried about Neveah,” Nat admits. Her anxieties haven’t hampered her cooking skills at all, though. She moves between both pans with expert skill and timing, a pile of perfectly folded crepes piling up on a plate beside the stove. The eggs cook up to be a, very fluffy, sunshine yellow.

“Neveah is resilient, she will bounce back,” Ava says, entering the dining room with the team’s blood pouches carefully balanced on a tray in one hand.

“I know. I just want to make sure she knows she’s not alone in this.”

“I’m pretty sure she knows. She and Morgan are basically attached at the hip,” Farah says, fidgeting with the edge of the tablecloth. Ava grunts in agreement.

“We may need to make sure she gets the space she needs, instead.”

“I suppose that’s true…” Nat considers as she plates the scrambled eggs. Neveah tends to favor having people around, but everyone needs space sometimes.

“I don’t know about that,” Farah shrugs, “Neveah’s never been much of a space person.”

Nat brings the last of the food over, completing the table setting. Between the eggs, Neveah’s place setting, her glass of orange juice, the serving tray for the crepes, and the little ramekins Nat has meticulously filled with Neveah’s favorite toppings, about half of the table is dedicated to her.

“Just…behave. Alright, Farah? Neveah had a hard day yesterday,” Nat almost pleads.

“I was there too you kno–” Farah’s complaint is cut off by Nat when Neveah and Morgan walk into the room. Or, more accurately, when Morgan walks into the room, towing a listless Neveah behind her.

“Good morning, Neveah!” Nat smiles sweetly at her. Ava flicks her gaze over to Neveah only briefly, but Morgan catches a flash of sympathy in her eyes. A beat later, Nat seems to remember something “ — and Morgan.”

Morgan rolls her eyes, and Neveah gives a half-hearted wave of acknowledgment. The fact that she doesn’t even try to smile or say good morning seems to weigh heavy on the air. It’s a relief for Morgan when Nat takes over.

“Come sit,” Nat urges, gesturing to Neveah’s usual chair, “breakfast is ready.”

Shuffling over to her chair Neveah sits down, staring through the food on her plate more than at it. Morgan swipes her blood pouch off the table and brings her usual chair a couple of feet closer to Neveah’s, close enough so their thighs touch when Morgan sits down. She keeps telling Nat to just leave the damn chair there, but Nat insists it ‘throws off the look of the room’ when the chairs are unevenly spaced.

Farah, after sucking down her blood pouch in record time, waves a hand in front of Neveah’s face.

“Earth to Nev? Anybody home?” Farah calls. No one else calls Neveah ‘Nev’, but that hasn’t stopped Farah. Morgan bats Farah’s hand away, growling low in her chest.

“Neveah?” Nat reaches out instead this time, resting her hand gently over one of Neveah’s and plastering on a gentle smile. She has to ask a couple of times, but Neveah blinks and looks up at her.

“Yeah?” Neveah croaks.

“You should eat something. It will help,” Nat urges, gesturing to the food.

“Yeah.” Neveah picks up her fork. When nothing happens for the next few seconds, Nat shifts the plate of eggs in front of Neveah and takes the empty plate away, filling it up with a couple of crepes. Farah jumps in to ‘help’ Nat pick out toppings, eager for a distraction from the weight of the emotions in the room.

Neveah mostly pushes her food around on her plate, but about midway through their awkward, mostly silent breakfast Neveah’s phone vibrates from the pocket of her night dress. While generally very adamant about no phones during mealtimes, Nat simply purses her lips when Neveah goes to check the notification.

Whatever it is does something to bolster Neveah. She scrubs her hands over her face and puts away a few more bites of food. It’s not much, but it’s more than Nat could have expected under the circumstances.

“I’m going to go take a shower and get dressed,” Neveah says. She stands, starting to collect her dishes, but Nat covers Neveah’s hand with her own to stop her.

“Don’t worry about it, we’ll take care of it,” Nat assures with a soft smile.

“We?” Farah asks. “I did not volunteer for this.”

“You have now,” Ava states, swirling her wine glass. Neveah opens her mouth to protest.

“Go take your damn shower already. We can handle a few dishes,” Morgan orders. Every pair of eyes in the room turn to her in shock, but Morgan grits her teeth and ignores them. They know damn well Morgan’s head over heels for her, so you’d think they would stop acting like it's new every time she shows it.

In the Hallway

Reluctantly, Neveah leaves the dishes where they are, letting Nat take over stacking them. In the background, she can hear Farah chattering (unnecessarily loudly for a group of people with super hearing) about her latest obsession. The sound is surprisingly soothing.

Neveah unlocks her phone again, re-reading the message on her screen:

Calloway Pierson has been returned to the Pierson residence under the care of an Agency-assigned nanny. Visitation permissions have been granted to Agent Neveah Desanto. Other members of Unit Bravo may attend as needed for security purposes.

Neveah thought she knew grief, but this grief is different. It seeps into everything like water and periodically swells up like the tide, threatening to drown her. And if her grief is the ocean, then the empty halls have their own gravitational pull.

The warm cream paint and wood paneling usually make her feel safe, but today the walk just feels long and lonely. It gives her too much time to think, to remember that the only reason she was looking forward to this message is because her best friend is dead. Her husband is too, leaving their child an orphan. And the worst part? It’s all her fault.

When Neveah gets to her room she heads straight for the shower, rushing to get the water on before she bursts into tears.

Back in the Kitchen

The relatively pleasant banter between Unit Bravo comes to a sudden halt. They all hear it at the same time: a distant weeping over the running water. Nat and Farah pointedly look away from the noise.

“Give her space,” Ava orders Morgan, who is already halfway out of her chair. Morgan hesitates, but she cards her fingers roughly through her hair and sits back down with a scowl.

“So, this is pretty awkward…” Farah says to break the silence.

Nat busies herself taking the dishes over to the kitchen’s double sink and filling one of them up with soapy water. Farah goes back to fidgeting with the tablecloth, and Morgan gets up to pace back and forth across the dining room.

“Morgan, do you want to come dry the dishes?” It’s an instruction not a request, but Nat phrases it as a question to be polite. The expected scoff or snarky comment never comes. Instead, after Morgan crosses the length of the dining room two more times, she grabs a dish towel and starts drying the dishes.

“Wow. It must be bad if you’re actually helping,” Farah says, staring at Morgan drying the dishes with about as much shock and awe as she had given the actual aurora borealis. “Neveah’s not even here.”

“Farah,” Nat chides.

“If you have time to be underfoot that must mean all your reports are finished, then?” Ava asks, fixing Farah with a stern look. They both know those reports aren’t finished.

“Well…about that, I— Let me just go look!” Farah takes the opportunity to flee the room. Ava stands up once she’s gone.

“I have work to do as well,” she announces, leaving Nat and Morgan alone in the kitchen. For a couple of minutes, they sit in silence, Nat washing the dishes and Morgan drying them before setting them in the draining rack. The quiet never lasts, though.

“How are you handling what happened?” Nat asks.

“Why are you asking me? Not like it’s my friend who died,” Morgan scoffs.

“That doesn’t make it any easier to see the people you love in pain.” Silence settles in again while Morgan processes that statement.

“I don’t know how to help her,” she eventually admits.

“You already are helping her,” Nat assures.

“Yeah right.” Morgan glances in the direction of the bedrooms, where they can both still hear Neveah crying.

“I’m serious, Morgan. You’re making sure she is loved and cared for. That’s the best thing we can do for her right now.” Morgan only grunts in acknowledgment, but the thoughtful look on her face assures Nat that she has taken the words seriously.

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

Morgan doesn’t stick around long after the dishes are done, hoping to walk off some of the anxiety vibrating under her skin. She finds herself most of the way to Neveah’s room before she remembers she is supposed to be giving Neveah space. Instead, she leans against one of Nat’s decorative tables she keeps in the hallway.

When Neveah finally leaves her room, her hair is still wet and undone. She’s not wearing earrings or makeup like she usually would either, but she’s no longer wearing her nightgown and has her purse slung over her shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Morgan asks. Neveah startles, not having noticed her until now. It’s not exactly one of her usual haunts. She relaxes once she realizes who it is.

“They brought Cal back to Tina’s house, I’m going to go see him,” Neveah explains.

“I’ll drive you.”

“You don’t need to do that. It’s just in town.”

“You could barely get dressed this morning,” Morgan scoffs. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you drive. Go get in the SUV.”

The words sting. It’s less about the tone (Neveah has long since gotten used to that), and more that she doesn’t like the reality of them. How is she supposed to be useful when she loses track of entire minutes at a time, and every little task feels like swimming through molasses?

“I’m sorry,” Neveah says, looking down at the ground.

“Don’t be,” Morgan says with a shrug. Pausing to make sure Neveah is alright with the touch, she puts her arms around Neveah’s shoulders. Some of Neveah’s guilt eases off immediately; Morgan’s small gestures always seem to be the best balm for her emotional wounds.

In the SUV

It’s not unusual for the two of them to drive in silence. Morgan enjoys the quiet, and Neveah is easily pleased by the smallest of things. Sometimes, when she looks particularly enamored with whatever is outside the window, Morgan asks what she’s thinking about. It’s usually followed by excited commentary about some animal she sees, or something she likes about the sky, or some other inane feature that’s caught her attention.

Today though, the silence between them is thick and heavy. Neveah’s expression in the reflection of the window is blank and dour. Morgan can’t tell if Neveah’s thinking, or if she’s just checked out again. The answer comes when Morgan puts the car in park in front of the familiar primrose yellow house and has to nudge Neveah lightly with her knee to get her attention.

“We’re here,” Morgan announces.

Beech Street has been left almost entirely untouched by the last half-decade other than some mild wear and tear on the houses. Nothing demolished, nothing new built, no major additions added to any of the homes. Until yesterday, the most exciting thing to happen to the neighborhood was when Adrian finally fixed the old squeaky gate in front of Tina’s house.

If there was any damage from yesterday’s events, the Agency has already taken care of any evidence of it. Morgan’s sure the same has been done on the inside of the house as well.

“Thank you,” Neveah grabs her purse from beside her feet, preparing to open the car door and get out. Morgan’s hand on her arm draws her attention back.

“I love you. Call me when you’re ready and I’ll come get you,” Morgan says, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“I love you too,” Neveah says quietly. She gives Morgan a small smile and heads up the walkway to the door. The car stays idling until a grey uniformed Agent lets Neveah inside, at which point Morgan drives off.

That Evening

Neveah is quiet when she gets into the passenger seat of the SUV, looking more stressed and despairing than she had this morning. The skin around her eyes and nostrils are red and raw from all the crying she’s done in the past 24 hours.

“What happened?” Morgan asks, tone gentler than usual, though still edging on a demand.

A trembling hand creeps onto the console. Morgan takes the hint, twining their fingers together. The sound of the engine revving breaks up the quiet of the evening but, otherwise, their drive back is dead silent. The touch, at least, seems to help. By the time they arrive back at the warehouse, Neveah smells less stressed and feels less shaky.

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

Neveah draws to a stop before they head into the warehouse, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, as though trying to steel herself. Morgan looks her over with concern.

“Nat and Farah are home. I’m supposed to head out once I drop you off. Do you want me to stay?” Morgan asks. The simple question tests all of Neveah’s willpower. Morgan would, if Neveah said yes, but she shouldn’t.

Between Rebecca and Ava, the patrol rotas are meticulously planned to be as efficient as possible. If Morgan stays, someone else doesn’t get their rest time, as much as keeping an eye on Neveah at the warehouse can even be counted as a rest.

“I’ll be alright. I’d rather you worry about keeping the town safe,” Neveah says, flashing the best smile she can muster up.

“I don’t care about the town. I care about you.” Morgan’s brows furrow as she inspects Neveah. Ultimately though, she decides not to push the issue, nodding her head toward the entrance to the foyer.

In the Foyer

Nat and Farah are both waiting inside. Nat has her hands shoved in her pockets while Farah rocks back on her heels. Otherwise, the foyer looks much the same as usual— except the cushions of the loveseat are missing, leaving the underlining and supports visible.

When Neveah opens the door Farah throws her hands up in the air.

“You’re finally here!” She exclaims excitedly. “Come on! I made you a pillow fort.”

Farah grabs hold of Neveah’s wrist and starts tugging her toward the living room. Neveah briefly glances back to Morgan, lips turned up in just a hint of a smile. Morgan thinks it’s supposed to be reassuring…it’s not.

“Go. We’ll take good care of her,” Nat promises with a smile, no doubt having heard their exchange outside. Nat will at least, but even Farah is trying. Morgan can hear her chattering excitedly about movie options from whatever monstrosity she’s built in the living room.

“Yeah…thanks,” Morgan grunts. She still scowls as she leaves anyway, though.

In the Warehouse Living Room

The pillow fort takes up the majority of the living room. Most of the cushions in the house seem to have been dedicated to its outer structure, as are many of the household chairs, and a variety of clips and straps that are probably meant to be tactical equipment.

Farah gleefully gives Neveah a tour of the outside of the fort before ushering her in through a set of sheets acting as curtains. The inside is just as cozy, with a blanket covering the floor, pillows everywhere, and even more blankets folded off to the side. A large monitor has been brought inside the fort, connected to the other living room electronics by a chain of extension cables that is almost definitely a fire hazard. Next to the screen is a tall pile of DVDs.

“What do you want to watch?” Farah asks.

“Why don’t you pick?” Neveah suggests. She can’t muster up the energy to do so right now. Thankfully, Farah gleefully takes to sorting through the movie pile.

“Neveah, do you want anything to eat?” Nat pokes her head between their makeshift curtain, stooped over at an awkward angle to be able to see the two of them. Neveah shakes her head. Nat purses her lips but then flashes another soothing smile.

“Then how about hot cocoa?” Nat tries.

“Sure, thanks,” Neveah answers, though it's mostly to appease her friend. The smile on Nat’s face becomes just a little more genuine.

“I’ll bring it to you when it’s ready.”

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

About twenty minutes into the movie, Farah realizes that maybe she should have picked something that she’d seen before. In her defense, the movie was supposed to be a comedy. How was she supposed to know there would be a funeral in the middle of the movie?

There is a small hitch in Neveah’s breath.

“Crap! Sorry, I didn’t know,” Farah speaks quickly while she scrambles to try and hide the movie. She pauses and unpauses the film 3 times before she slows down enough to get it to stay there. When she realizes the screen still looks very funeral-y, she jabs her finger on the off button of the monitor, leaving the two of them mostly in the dark.

“It’s fine. It’s just…” Farah fidgets with her pajamas, trying her best to stay quiet long enough for Neveah to say what she needs to. “The Agency called while I was at their house.”

“They did? What did they want?” Farah asks, interest piqued.

“They finished the autopsy and were asking about funeral arrangements.” Neveah rubs at her eyes again to try and stem the tears hard enough she can see small colored splotches behind her eyes.

“Jeez,” Farah flops back into her pillow pile with a heavy sigh, “they never give you a break do they?”

“No. I guess they don’t,” Neveah says between the occasional sob. “They said an open-casket funeral is off the table.”

“A what?” Farah asks, tilting her head in curiosity. Does the Echo World even use caskets? Neveah shakes her head to clear the errant thought.

“Uh— like when they open the box the body is in so everyone can see it before burial. They’re supposed to look like they did when they’re alive, so you can see them one last time.”

“Who wants to stare at a dead person?” Farah’s expression twists with displeasure at the idea but she doesn’t linger on the subject long enough for Neveah to actually answer. “Why can’t you have one?”

“The…remains weren’t in good enough condition.” That’s the final straw before Neveah gives up, openly weeping.

“What do you—? Oh,” the situation seems to dawn on Farah with a wince of sympathy, “that bad huh?”

She sits up and tugs Neveah into a side hug with just a little too much force and speed. Neveah squeaks at the sudden movement. Farah rushes out another quick apology. It only takes about a minute of crying before Farah is visibly stiff and uncomfortable, patting Neveah’s shoulder to try and soothe her.

“Think of it this way: now Tina won’t have to get buried wearing a bra, right?” Farah suggests hopefully. The noise Neveah lets out is difficult to describe, a strange amalgamation of conflicting emotions. It’s enough to shock Neveah out of her spiral of grief, and Farah latches onto the moment like a lifeline. “If you can’t have a whatever funeral then we’ll need to find the best picture of Tina ever! I can totally help with that!”

Farah spends the next few hours with Neveah, going through photos of Tina and Adrian, cracking jokes, and helping her pick the best ones. It helps, to still feel like she’s doing what her closest friend would want. Eventually though, with Neveah’s blessing when Farah gets too fidgety, Farah bounces off to do something else as things progress into less fun arrangements.

The Middle of the Night, Still in the Pillow Fort.

“Neveah?” Nat asks softly, peeking in through the pillow fort curtain. Her eyes flick briefly to the half-drunk cup of cocoa she brought by earlier in the evening.

Neveah looks up over the screen of her laptop, her eyes taking a few moments to adjust to the darkness of the room. The persistent blue light from the computer helps to highlight the angles of Nat’s face and the satin fabric of her pajamas.

In contrast, Neveah’s sundress from this morning is crumpled, and she has a line of spit-up down the bodice. Her eyes are bloodshot from staring at the screen of her laptop for too long. Nat gives a soft, disapproving tsk .

“What are you still doing awake?” the vampire asks gently.

“I need to handle these funeral arrangements,” Neveah murmurs, rubbing at her eyes. The skin around them is starting to feel sore after the last 36 hours.

“That’s not something you need to worry about. The Agency will take care of all that.”

“Tina would kill me if I let the Agency give her a dour grey funeral.” Neveah’s eyes are glossy with unshed tears, but her laugh is genuine. Nat chuckles too.

“There aren’t any family members to take care of this?”

“No, just Verda and I, and he doesn’t know so…” Neveah trails off, resting her head in her hands. “I never even called him. Crap!”

Neveah unlocks her phone, starting to swipe at the screen. Nat gently places her hand over Neveah’s, guiding the device back to the floor

“Neveah, take a deep breath.” Nat models a deep inhale and a long exhale. Despite her best effort to replicate it, Neveah’s breath comes out shaky and oddly timed, her entire body taut like a bowstring. “All of this can wait until the morning. I know it can feel…unbearably lonely to lose a loved one, but you’re not alone. We are all here to help you.”

Neveah opens her mouth to respond, but all that comes out are yet more sobs. Nat bundles her up into a tight hug, rubbing her back in slow but sure motions and murmuring soft platitudes. Unlike the others, affection and comfort seem to be second nature to Nat. It’s an unexpected relief for Neveah to finally be able to put down all of her grief, without worrying that whoever is with her won’t know how to handle it.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc morgan #twc fanfic #my fanfic #neveah desanto #series; stained glass

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dearnovella · 1 year ago

Text

Aina's Style, Phone, and Bedroom

── Daily

Her style is pretty versatile. As long as it's baggy, she'll wear it.

She mostly wears oversized hoodies and jumpers, so she hates summer because she has to wear t-shirts.

She is known for only wearing one pair of white New Balances with almost every outfit.

Her members have tried to buy her new shoes but she politely declines them and returns their gifts because she knows she won't wear them (she only wears one pair of shoes at a time).

She rarely wears short sleeves because she hates showing her arms (despite showing them all the time on stage).

── Airport

A couple of knetz have come at her for her airport fashion, saying it's 'too casual' and 'giving homeless', especially compared to her other members.

But she said practicality >>> fashion any day, and didn't really care.

── Practice

For their normal practices, she wears short sleeves and sweats because she's just around her members and their dance teacher.

If it's being recorded, she'll wear a long sleeve shirt instead.

── Sleepwear

While walking around the house, she wears old oversized t-shirts and sweats/shorts.

She just sleeps in just a t-shirt no matter how cold it is because she finds the waistbands of trousers uncomfortable.

── Body Mods

She has 12 piercings (1 rook, 2 helixes, and 3 lobes on both ears).

She has no tattoos because she's too indecisive and afraid she'll regret them.

── Accessories

She actually barely wears jewellery despite having like 12 piercings because she forgets to put them in and also just can't be bothered most of the time.

Same thing for necklaces and bracelets, except she does have one necklace with her initial on it that she wears the most often (so like 5 times a year).

She does like to wear rings, though, because she can fiddle with them.

For their 5th year anniversary (technically, it hasn't happened yet, but oh well), they all bought friendship rings, and thats probably the only piece of jewellery that she wears consistently.

── Phone

Her phone is the Samsung Galaxy Z Flip5 in cream.

(Yes, she is the only Samsung user).

She has a variety of cute cases, but she normally uses a clear case with a little charm/bracelet thingy (top left).

Her lockscreen and homescreen are the same, a heart pattern with a cream background.

── Bedroom

Her room is all white/cream.

She has a desk with a computer and laptop for music/gaming purposes.

Her bed is full with various plushies that she's gotten as gifts/bought herself.

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unwokeswag · 7 days ago

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ragefitofficial · 28 days ago

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