#Cross Stitch Spring Summer Lawn

[lyricalimerence]

10 Things I Hate About You • 002

masterlist • 001, 002, 003... coming soon

Chapter Two — Heinous Bitches & Cliché Bets

summary: intro to kacey & the bet is made between kelce + topper

word count: 2196

warnings: mentions of smut like two or three lines total, swear words, and high school stupidity. oh, how i miss the dickstains i go to school with 😌.

a/n: i actually love writing kacey's character. n e who, this is for @popcsheyward because i'm making jj simp for u

Deep in the heart of the high school, a class of bored and inattentive seniors doodle in their notebooks and up the exposed skin on their arms; others text, their phones “hidden” beneaths their desks. Kacey Brooks was in the middle of it all. Everyone knew her, whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. It was the advent of spring, encroaching on summer, and on an island, that means it is hot. But, there Kacey sat, in baggy denim jeans, cuffed above her ankle so the hems didn’t drag along the floor. Her hands were tucked underneath her denim-clad thighs as she leaned over the desk, tracing the looping font that said “Romeo and Juliet” on the cover of the book on her desk with her eyes. God, she hated that book. They read it in Sophomore year, and she didn’t understand why they had to read the stupid play again.

The English teacher, Mr. Martin stood from his swivel chair, picking up his own copy of Romeo and Juliet just to drop it down on the podium, catching the drifting seniors’ attention. “Okay, slackers. What did you think of the play?”

A girl in the back of the classroom, another clean cut Kook with pink lip gloss and tight crop tops raised her hand. With a smile, she rushed into her opinion, not bothering to get permission to speak. It was a well known fact that in the Outer Banks it was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. “It was so romantic. I loved it.”

Kacey’s brows stitched together, not mulling over her personal rebuttal for more than a moment before looking over her shoulder at the girl. Her eyes were glossy, lost in her romanization of the play. Ever since the second semester of her freshman year when she just snapped, she had been braving each day, treating it as a singular battle in the war against high school ignorance. “Romeo and Juliet was not romantic. It was two people having a teenage rebellion and wallowing in their own angst. They simply wanted an escape from their family lives. And Shakespeare? He was a racist, anti-semetic misogynist who is praised when he couldn’t decide on one way to spell his own name.”

The entirety of the class rolled their eyes, including Mr. Martin. It hadn’t been the first time Kacey had spoken out on her take on the social issues that came with the authors of novels and how they correlate to modern day society. Kelce, a Kook Prince of the highest degree and sitting to the left of Kacey, pokes at the metaphorical bear. “As opposed to a friendless, holier-than-thou wench?”

The girls pining after Kelce for his looks or trust fund giggled, despite his dig into the girl next him not being all that funny. Mr. Martin slapped the wooden podium with his Folger Shakespeare Library copy of Romeo and Juliet. “Pipe down, Slick.”

Kacey pulled the hem of her army green crop top to cover the slight bit of tanned skin exposed before quipping, “I guess having a dick and being a dick makes you entitled to our time.” The brunette pushed the hair falling over her forehead out of the way before waving her copy of the play in the air. “What about Sylva Plath or, I don’t know, Emily Bronte for all I care.”

Before Mr. Martin could respond with his own activistic rebuttal, Rafe Cameron walks into class, holding up a copy of the first Harry Potter book and raising his eyebrows, silently questioning whether that was the right book. He knew it wasn’t. “What’d I miss?”

A Pogue who was a known theatre nerd started humming the tune to the song from Hamilton titled What’d I Miss while Kacey all but spun in her seat. “Just the patriarchal values that run this lovely institution and corrupt the minds of dimwitted Kelce’s everywhere.”

Rafe nodded along to Kacey’s statement and through to her next breath, not having stopped in between words to breathe. “Good.” After his simple response, he immediately turned on his heel and walked back down the hall, rather enduring more uncomfortable conversations with the Dean than English class.

Kacey and Rafe had no ill will towards each other, only being able to base an opinion off the presumed stereotypes of each other that get passed around the school. Kacey and Rafe had known each other for a long time. When they were six, Kacey’s father was Rose Cameron’s obstetrician, seeing as he’s the best on the Outer Banks and the Camerons are the richest on the Outer Banks. That’s where they met: outside his stepmother’s hospital room, playing chopsticks with their fingers while they sat cross-legged on the tile floor, drinking apple juice from juice boxes. That’s where their friendship ended. They hadn’t really spoken since, only having that snapshot into reality before the doors were closed. Kacey was popular, had many more friends than Rafe did, and boys trailed her. When freshman year rolled around, he kept his distance because he knew he would walk away with a sharp pain in his groin. That was just how she carried herself, and he carried himself differently.

Mr. Martin attempted to call after Rafe, only to hear the cicadas buzzing outside.

“Mr. Martin, do you think we could get Kacey to take her Midol before class?” Kelce asks, his signature smirk gracing his face as he continued his quest to make Kacey’s life a living Hell. Snickers erupted from the class, causing Kelce’s smugness to go to his head, lifting himself onto his selfmade pedestal.

“One day, you’re gonna get bitch-slapped right across that brazen face of yours, and I’m not gonna do anything to stop it. Kacey, thank you for your input.” As Mr. Martin took a brief pause, Kacey smiled to herself, please that her social activism finally was justified by authority. He continued, “I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you to overcome upper-class, Kook oppression. It must’ve been awful.” Her chest puffed out with pride deflated at his words. She knew he was right. “But the next time you storm the school board campaigning for more recycling bins or whatever you white girls complain about, ask them why they can’t buy a book written by a Black man!”

“Understood. Anything else?” Kacey asked, looking straight past Mr. Martin and out the window overlooking the quad behind him.

“Yeah, go to the office, you’re pissing me off.” Her neck whipped to look at her English teacher at his words, opening her mouth to argue, but he shot her a stern look and pointed towards the door. In Kacey’s rageful frenzy, she decked Kelce in the face with her bag as she stormed out of the classroom towards the office.

The Dean sat in her office, her rouge painted nails clicking against the keys on her keyboard as the sleazy thoughts in her head transferred onto the Word document housing her novel. She whispered to herself as her fingertips ghosted the letter labeled keys on her laptop. She snapped her head up, calling out to the secretary, asking for her to look up another word for ‘engorged’ despite being able to pull up the thesaurus on her computer.

“Tumescent?” Kacey suggested as she walked into the small, pink office.

The Dean snapped her fingers, pointing at Kacey as she morphed her hand into a finger gun. “Perfect!” Kacey swung her bag off her shoulder and onto the ground next to the chair in which she seated herself. “I hear you’re terrorizing English class again.”

“Last time I checked, it wasn’t just English class, and expressing my opinions is not a terrorist action.” The eighteen-year-old raised her eyebrows indignantly, her head nodding slightly in authoritativeness.

The Dean smiled sarcastically at Kacey, “The way you expressed your opinion to Topper Thornton? His testical retrieval operation went quite well, if you’re interested.”

“I maintain he swung his own golf club up his legs like a field goal.” Kacey crossed her arms over her chest. She settled into her chair. Her conversations with the crude woman in front of her always went the same way; Mr. Martin threw her out of class for existing, and her previous deeds suddenly have updates that the Dean thinks Kacey should know about.

“The point I’m trying to make is that people think you’re a heinous bitch and you should work on it.” Her eyes flickered to her still open laptop and back up to the eighteen-year-old. “What do you think about blood sex?”

“Okay, yeah, this has been lovely, however,” grabbing her backpack, she swung it over her shoulder as she rose from the uncomfortable chair. “I think I’ll let you get back to Chris chokeslamming Jackie into a wall.”

As Kacey left the office to walk the halls of Kildare County High School, the Dean seemed to take her words into serious consideration, whispering Kacey’s final sentiment under her breath as she typed the word ‘chokeslam.’

. . .

Kelce leant against the stone wall that surrounded the courtyard and only rose to about waist-high of even the shortest of students. His best friend and fellow poster child for the effects of affluenza, Topper Thornton ( who is very acquainted with Kacey Brooks and her golf club swing ), stood next to him, the two of them surveying the inhabitants of the grassy lawn in the back of the school. Topper noticed Gracie walking through the gap in the stone wall, her Spanish textbook pressed to her chest as she nodded along to what Arianna said next to her. The familiar breeze carrying the scent of the ocean and the feeling of home blew the short strands of Gracie’s hair that framed her face in almost an angelic way, and her sundress that fell to her mid-thigh swayed as she walked. Gracie and Arianna were picturesque, almost like they actively strived to be compared to Cher and Dionne from Clueless.

With a carnal smirk, Topper elbowed Kelce, muttering “Virgin alert” as the sophomore passed the two guys, smiling and waving at Kelce as they went.

“Lookin’ good, ladies.” As if Kelce’s remark was a que, Gracie and Arianna pushed forward, leaving the hormonal teenager guys watching them like they were prey for them to catch.

“No way, Bro. They’re outta your league.”

“No one’s out of my league.” Kelce’s eyes didn’t leave Gracie as she distanced herself from them.

Topper pulled fifty dollars out of his pocket, “Wanna bet?”

“Nah, I’ve got money. This’ll be for fun.” Kelce pushed Topper’s hand that was holding onto the bill away and dapped up his empty hand, sealing the deal. Kelce was about to embark on one of the most cliché, tropical bets of his high school experience.

“Just look at her, man.” JJ watched Gracie and Arianna pass him, John B, and Pope. He followed her with love struck eyes and wistful pining.

Pope tilted his head, the cap that sat on his head almost falling off his head as he tried to understand his friend’s mindset. “She’s just so…”

“Perfect?” JJ offered.

John B and Pope shared a glance, rolling their eyes at JJ’s suggestion. “I was going to say ditzy.” John B replied.

“How can you say that?” JJ turned to glance at his friends who were totally unimpressed by the girl that captured almost all the guy’s hearts at the high school. “She’s totally…”

“Narcissistic?” Pope said, getting a nod from John B in agreement.

“That’s her sister, c’mon, guys.” JJ waved his hand in the air for emphasis. There was no way Gracie was like Kacey. They were too polar. “There’s more to her than you think. See her smile? She’s totally pure.”

“Yeah, pure money. She’s a Kook, dude.” John B ran a hand through his overgrown brunet locks. “What’s there is a snotty princess wearing a dress that was purposefully planned to make Pogues like you realize you can’t have her and Kooks like Kelce and Topper want her.”

“Besides, JJ, you know the rule. It’s not like she could date you even if she wanted to.” Pope added on, readjusting his baseball cap to fit snugly on his head.

“Put her in the Spank Bank and move on, Bro.” John B and Pope started walking in the opposite direction, lunch was about to start.

JJ jogged to catch up, shaking his head in denial. “Nah.”

“Move on, man. Jizz Wizz and then dip.” Pope reiterated John B’s sentiment as JJ held his arm out, stopping them in their tracks in front of the bulletin board to the right of the door into school.

“She needs a Spanish tutor,” He ripped the paper advertisement off the cork board.

“You can’t even speak Spanish.”

“What do you mean?” JJ looked at John B as he traced Gracie’s phone number printed on the paper.

“Broken Spanish and fantasizing about lobsters from Yucatan doesn’t mean you know Spanish.” Pope pulled the paper out of JJ’s hand, ready to tack it back to the board before JJ took it again.

“Okay, so I don’t know Spanish, but I will.”

tags — @perkily @mortifiedposts @poguequeen @abigailpankow @curlybrownhairedboys @steverogers123 @outerbankslut @jayjaymaebank @jjssarah @whOreforharry @wowitswondergurl @anonymous0writer @kodi8314 @outrbank @aestheticcraze @kylosleftbuttcheek @x-lulu @dailygrace06 @calswildflower95 @insanitysparkles @prejudic3 @ilovejjmaybank @apoguecalledjj @xxxxxxxxxxxxxooooooooooooo @calumbroutledge @rudys-pankow @bxllasanosa @write-from-the-heart @thelocalpogue @fandomsinapile @starkeymarkey @lovingxjj @beatement-l @drew-starkey @beckester @butgilinsky @kayak-huesgen @everydayimfangirling @delinquentstarkey @g4bster @crumpetsandmarmite

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[stupendoustrashmagazine]

A 10-pp. selection of poems

Personage The terrace offers a point. From this point a view. It's only a stop-off; it assumes the motion requisite for temporary stays will continue. The speculative friction required to stop those passing through would require planned extinction; would require war against generations of persistence across biome, suffering & misery magnified it remains threatened always. Building requires digging. Digging creates hollows to be filled. A move past botanicals—it doesn’t exist. A pulse in the web. Walk toward beyond the view: journey’s luck to close in on production. Pace picks up, dusk’s dis- appearing light invites one in: welcome.   Prelude Tonight the act of naming fell through the floor. We speak permeable solids inflected by light. Skull’s grid moves units indistinctly: windshield & palette cross paths, hatch an Ovidian shift, difixiones to devotio; the faux-gorithm teases pantheon from closet, traces flotilla’s down, hot air balloons, celebrating you or prairie fair. You’ll learn to kill that hunger for thunderhead drift. I follow shapes of your speech, attend to your syntax, taste your configuration; to keep up I sketch stick figure, code hypertext script cascading in style, the result of which confirms, again: we’re lost. Plot is a plait’d plat, flatland destination & another assemblage? I want aura to invite aural meiosis, aurora splitting into rural roads, for the bassoon quartet to be forgiven for plastic bag reeds on my direction, for aria to, moody, move into a different mode & travel out through spring’s open window; I want the racket splenetic melancholy, for dynamic accompaniment fit for unfashionable passion, the like. That state of exilium you described as a quantum between. Always pain hover triangulated. Frame Matisse with me, guilty stokes both— say the magnolia blooms shall remain & not at the expense of any other but they do not. Creek diverted, river dead: suck’d dry wax & cone though still dragonflies are purple, abdomen metallic sets of curvature & husk. Nearby: field of lightning. We walk through fjords of light forking down, resisting electrocution, naturally. The taste of our nakedness waking in early in your bed, black walnut leaves catching first October light. If I leave the house or library I sit on benches in Walmart or go to the Coralville mall alone, growing frosting in my chest & English ivy in my sinuses, scribble notes with my fork-tongue alone. Walk with me this once, again, into notional forest, ash-grey landscape dotted in umber, newborn beetles radiating, cobalt blue.   Skykomish in Summer In Goldbar Washington boys crossed river with driftwood staves feet slick-step between slime & rock, underbelly of serpentine but liquefied, algal nets stretch’d between toes, Like scales without edge—stiffened Cold after crossing they crawl’d up & into caverns allowing in fractions of sun but they felt cradled in a way shielded, intimacies there before they dove into round pools spun by spit current’s swirls, the bank of the cove gritty enough for a grip as they’d climb out out of sorts, alive they’d look at the congregation from which they just emerged tangle of nets, sunken conflagrations their bodies against the wake pressed a force there, quiet, endless, sound moving through medium beckoning, shape taking a form inky jar, turbine spat out from the bottom of an oil well.   Grass Cuts Nyanza Street. South Tacoma—we’re on A hill & approach it, tall grass, foreclosure. Blackberry brambles thick on the lawnslope purple, thorns & stickers, irritable touch. Boss climbs roofs with too steep a pitch; Hauls mowers from mud when I mire it Good in a ditch. His daughter today works with us, we weedwhack waist-high grass, rake clippings & tufts long enough to be hay in neat quadrants. They steam mornings we make it out as early as seven. A canopy borders the two-acre lot. I stare – emptying’s substance against nothingness of total inattention’s default setting. Metal asphalt shingles, roof’s pitch steep Low ground valley & everywhere: unhinged Botany thrives. Ivy plaits helices Around five-feet in diameter firs, in follow some twenty feet up when Jamie grabs a pitchfork. See something. It skitters through raked mounds, Goes through tunnels punctured By tines or cleat-roller aerating the lawn She shanks its body up against weed- blocker & brick. A metallic pling rings fades, she scoops it somewhere— this brought up her enjoyment killing, dressing, & cooking fowl. We move more grass I looking for insects, think of meat saws yawning day & night do they Day & night, fumbling—sound like chain saws or Colorado cattle feedlots, cottonwoods standing by during a drought, the sugar factory’s honey-butter burnt hair & soccer cleats left for week in a car. Mulch, juncos, midmorning sun on, sun off, Rake, return, pile, killing rabbits once we snapped their necks wrong, twice partial Breaks, botching it, both shaking we Shared an acute horror in our optics. Then we crushed their skulls with a hammer, But that’s when we lived near the volcano, when the halcyon sensation when standing at the bottom of Nisqually glacier, the sheaves of receding rose-grey gravel in aggregate felt like meteoroid field sent to grave resting place, armatures of old growth First & hemlocks in steep fractals jagged landings in glaciated river so thick with silt it looked an ash-blue sleeve. We take HUSKY 55-gal. trash bags of grass to the organic waste dump. We smell like gasoline & two-cylinder oil & grease. When I get home my house mama says Pew-whee! You smell like Marty; you smell like something that kills.   Shards What was it that came out the water in a sled a Wayward gesture young-&-stuffed Mess to common rendition Duchamp’s Pearl Neckless? In his version The sledgehammer fell square to carcass/shard/caress. You wanted/saved like anyone else wanted, A sequence of diadems, diamondic scales on A yellow python’s back. Be-figure, a mole Amongst slag pits, a slog truce from igneous slab. Bats tunnel boroughs, funnel rigmarole We keep one ray or dot of spun molybdenum— Torque at the end of the…—that glint relieves Grog, luster, a clutch lets cable go its single, slackening line. True fundament! come to the party— From up there, from below? Come beat through this bog’s Excrement, creakily swung skew joints, fallen centurions, Carve away gluttony,—an economic model Levels the field of every thistle’s purple demarcation. Remains disappear. Binary caskets Glisten polyurethane on oak grab it… If - you – get – to – the – place To – get – you – the – records: Prefabricated dirt tastes discard bottles, Skittling crevice, crick or face, collections Binding fractures. That which goes unseen. Make & model, blue castes. Signature mummies. Huffing. That kinetic thrill Pushing hammers through Masonite, Bulls snorting horns at a flag The very requiem of the horse’s eye A black so dark it blued the muscle in deafening Postures of grey fog: a way: body: yes, a shard, Blight-bit, a descending distend, steep bends— A weather system approaches Centripetally, a large unformed cat, To distillate—nothing—to pray to the grommet, One ventricle, alas—poor valve, the idea Of the river. The river. Is. Itself. Course vessel in a Losing resonance a tributary vacillation tip-toed beyond A materiality that is, is not, any old trick.   Spilling the Flour Began not thrush’s stamp, nor cardinal blue whistle but The sour flack going out, the waist line spilt. Emptying cylinders combed in sheet metal corrugate, Fill another vision, the conveyor belt muscle Persuasion. Sometimes a harvest sits like pheasants Before buckshot, freeze-frame, promise cannon— What will be. Corn stalks chopped at maggot root twist Wind crowing a parade, sans confetti, sans soleil. Platoon the distant mist, forgetting it’s metal multiplied In numbers not quantity. Not fog. That’s fire But the wound continuum in ears splits hair mimics a mime Brown cerumen flax spreads flat lays down in- To a line. Elements bind fetch needle & borrow thread Stitch from denim you see the voices hear. Spiders don’t mean to. Bats garner a wick of light Against normalcy of shadow. When is not Important. Con memory commemorate ingrown toe- Nail sunk into rib-line fleshed out for sake Of sake of being. Forsaken lake: equivalent to constrictor Vine, not theorem. Carpet moves imagined Equestrians run between alder beetles the abandoned Horses heaving in the meadow along the orange Vector. The chemilume incision furcates the dark shells Guarding liquefied innards, the many legs.   The Awful Cutlery Traveling by Greyhound between Dominguez- Escalante and Grand Mesa National forest, We’re full enough In the filled up four-wheel lurch on blacktop I-70 elegantly swung across Secluded Rocky Mountain scrag. “This shit’s too country” a woman remarks. You see what she means. The rosaries Of apricot, peach, cherry, and plum disintegrate Vineyard to vineyard to bottle To California, mid-stride Maybe she means. Maybe Damian The off-shore welder tells me about hanging above The water, rigged up, slung out, strapped in, Gluing thousand-degree metal to solid stack Rigs, working twelves till three months pass So he can go—“I go everywhere”—to complicate Home—“Love Alabama but I need to see it all The whole shit.” Dusk is a disk with a predictable arc. I’m here twenty years, this red land. From bottom canyon ditch combs Of bygone eon drag across mesa, leaving scar, Evidence of water, wind, shaggy coats left To bear, bear themselves, on other creatures Pitching, tent-by-tent, a story, a new story, old. The mother tells you, you & me, of Rocky Mountain Flats, the Climax Uranium Mill, A fire beginning with a crack, croaking a Groan to a glow, plutonium then, dizzied in dust, Vapored amoeba flung across the whole Front Range. Cows were the first to show up Without usual parts: eye, ear or triple-tongue. Do I believe anything I say anymore? Set that head against Plexiglas. Feel the chill— A lavender fork makes an albino tarantula Of sky, yet there’s a merge, the speech Corks off. Into each direction, asymmetry Between passengers a music nonetheless, The hiddenness behind tall sediment walls Now, this cutlery mass Stalking hungry movers, clawing at the dirt To reveal the intact pores of a distant femur.   Safe/Way Courtesy Clerk In the aisles of nondescription halogen baleen Sifts shop-cart rift-racket & geriatric dances. Old/new toothpick paradigm cues a mist/turn: Old is to new as young is to old, meaning Painting the urn in synthesizer blue still undoes. The unheard chambers are sweeter. Polyethylene is a mon-on- monomer ladder of Chain-stacks, bindings, writes the blurb We’re all in this together. Savings save you From it, from it you’ll be saved the lapse: Western tanager memorizes its own memory Launched in citrus beneath the varied canopy. Really: in this Safeway a woman chutes Hundreds of one-liters into the re/cycle Machine. She leans on cart rail, no wheel. Her child helps he laughed he threw them into The bin, the coins emerged. Someone said Music moves from a fix-point fence post, studded Down into ground. He’s right—what is there to do But do, bag up a customer’s purple cabbage Dreams stuff them sweet potato mush- Room into room, sacked. They’d blister From oxygen’s lack they’d try to make it, try To survive. Wouldn’t it be courteous To curtsy before bags bulge as balloons stuffed With vision? Even in tulip & rose section I Hand out the foxtail elixir, all the loot; were they Bodies turned down, turned into what now, soup? The day is butternut squash but wouldn’t A lizard do today let’s get all the gutter newts Recalling now how Scooby returned From a long drive he threw an iguana On the chopping block on the counter top In the apartment he was making soup He sawed off its head. What was inside The eyes? Nothing much. Eye cones con, resemble The black glass of a tick’s back. You’ll try To reach in & what — find out who looks back Tell yourself that’s you looking back. A gaze. Scooby ran cool water over the head, on it. Its jaw opened and closed again & again. “This is good soup that’s what happens After the head’s cut off.” What would the body Do after, what voice would reclaim itself, Would reconvene re — gather protest against scores Settled, dust made fall silk, unnoticed? What takes when taken back, how’ll things Exactly as they are be exactly as they’d been? What music shapes the marina, the guitar Rustling out a poison ivy arpeggio to become The place and the things of things as they are? How do you bargain or take the lead For the dreaded duet? The mouth opens cilia Tongue juts out pink premonition the sky boom Nitro’s paisley maize radished in the Word-Ward. Blue pollen doesn’t exist but when the man Who looks one-hundred buys the dyed-blue orchid & says “it’s for my” I cut him off & ask but He just laughs & says “it’s just a flower it’s just An empty bag” & walks out, away, toward Automatic sensor doors, glass partitions that open Like megafauna with a belly full of a world on fire.

[everybodygotawaterbuffalo]

The Signs as Really Specific Nostalgic Things

Aries: waking up before everyone else at your grandparents’ house, bringing a book out to the living room with all the windows but not reading, just feeling the leather couch beneath you, absorbing all the emotions from the cross-stitches hung on the walls, being surrounded by the scent of home and watching the birds dance around the feeder as the sun rises

Taurus: sitting in the upstairs room of a quaint little coffee shop tucked between two residential streets, in high summer, the light filtering in the window tinted green from the leaves outside and the rough wood table, and his hand, warm under your fingertips as you sip at your drink and laugh over words you’ve since forgotten, though the lightness in your chest remains

Gemini: visiting Power Hill Park at midnight and giggling all the way there, leaving the telescope set up nearby and just laying back and feeling the grass beneath your thighs and shoulder blades, looking at the stars, unfiltered, pointing out constellations to each other and making up ones you don’t know, singing lullabies to the stars who’s dying light hasn’t reached us yet

Cancer: listening to muffled thunderstorms, rain pattering and thunder rumbling, sounding for all the world like a content cat running across your roof, distant and almost comforting from where you are in the basement, vaguely watching as a movie plays quietly and munching on popcorn, enjoying the time before the world quiets and time begins anew

Leo: driving to Excelsior on a summer night and wandering around as the sun sets, wading waist-deep into the lake and laughing about the most absurd things, getting ice cream at Lick’s as the sky fades to dusty mauve, the solid concrete beneath your converse and humidity pressing in, but who cares when you’ve got cheese curds from the lakeside restaurant

Virgo: sitting on an armchair by the window, wrapped in a soft blanket with a warm cup of cocoa, on a winter morning after a fresh snow so the whole world’s covered in a layer of soft white and watching the world slowly light up as a doe and her fawn make their way across the yard, peaceful and graceful in a way nothing else quite is

Libra: going to the state fair, the air hot and humid, almost suffocating but somehow reassuring instead, the world smelling like fire and horses and every food imaginable, sidewalks and streets indistinguishable beneath your feet, shouting at the rides and the games, licking cotton candy and whipped cream off your fingers, wandering aimlessly but never needing a purpose

Scorpio: walking through chicago on a crisp autumn night, warm enough for shorts but chilly enough for a soft sweater, feeling the last bits of humidity cling to your hair, looking up to see the city lights flirt with the constellations, and hearing all the sounds of a never-sleeping city muted and distant, a halsey song playing faintly from a neon-lit store you pass

Sagittarius: walking slowly through the rose garden at the Arboretum on a late summer morning, just before the heat sets in, the stone path beneath your feet and clear blue sky above your head, maybe together, maybe alone, feeling a soft inescapable sadness at the temporary beauty around you but reassured by the gentle comfort the flowers radiate, dripping in faerie dust

Capricorn: ice skating on the pond across the street under overcast skies, the air crisp but not biting, the sun hiding but not dampened, wearing mittens and hats but no coats, laughing and running into each other, stumbling at first but gaining confidence as rarely-used muscle memory catches up, looking from a distance like little jewels dancing in a desaturated world

Aquarius: seeing bright sunlight, but only in the swaying golden stripes between cerulean and turquoise, filtering down five feet deep into a lake to where you are, right at the border between warm and cool, floating for as long as your lungs will allow, and feeling the infinite calm that comes from breathing in the silence beneath the waves

Pisces: going outside your friend’s house at night to grab something from your car and just being absorbed by the northern lights, the nighttime spring breeze crisp and relaxing on your skin, your face still damp from taking makeup off, then seeing the horses across the lawn: warm, kind, calm, and crying softly, silently, warm spring tears for no real reason

[youngmagazin]

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Cross Stitch Spring Summer Lawn 2017

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Cross Stitch Spring Summer Lawn 2017 Cross Stitch Spring Summer Lawn 2017 Get a breath of fresh air in this gorgeous yellow design from Cross stitch S/S 2017 Lawn Collection.

[takingcourage]

A Blanket of Fog

A Desire & Decorum Gothic AU (Part 1 of 4)

Pairing: Harper x MC 

Word Count: 2,589

Summary: Against the backdrop of the “Year Without a Summer,” Helena is desperate to find a means of escaping her betrothal to the vile Duke Richards. She weighs her options, seeking comfort from the one her heart truly desires. 

Note: I’ve been planning and plotting some kind of Gothic AU for months, but it was the end of Book 1 that really got me writing. I’d originally planned for my feisty Sinclaire MC, Millicent, to be the heroine of this piece. After the Book 1 finale, however, I realized that there’s no doubt in my mind that Millicent will get her happy ending within canon. For my Harper MC, I’m not so sure. 

Helena is a gentle soul. Unlike Millicent, she doesn’t take to London Society with any ease. Family is all that she has ever wanted, and the promise of titles and riches holds no allure for her. A marriage of convenience is never going to be a satisfactory conclusion to her story, and an AU -- particularly one with gothic tropes -- provided a prime opportunity for me to construct a resolution better suited to her character.  As befits the genre, some elements of this story are a little bit wild. I’ve tried not to go overboard, but in later parts it may be necessary to suspend some measure of disbelief. This story has taken me out of my comfort zone in all of the best ways. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it. : ) 

Words could not express how stifled Helena felt on that May afternoon. From her place on the settee, she could see little but grey shapes outside the window. As if following the preternatural fog outdoors, the house had fallen under a hush broken only by the occasional shuffling of servants and the incessant flapping of a bit of trellis which had detached from the side of the house. With every new howl of wind, it knocked wildly against the window’s outer trim, agitating Helena’s nerves as well as the painted wood.

The weather had taken a turn almost immediately upon their return from London. As the social season passed, so too had any notion of spring or warmer weather. The coolness had come first, then the oppressive fogs. This was a time when daylight should prevail through much of the evening, yet it had been days since Helena had truly seen the sun.  She settled further into the cushion to relieve the chill that passed through her frame at the thought of how long it had been since she’d seen blue sky.

During one of their morning conversations, Briar had mentioned the servants trading stories about sunspots and earthquakes. Neither woman knew enough of the sciences to guess whether there was any merit to the explanations. Helena knew only that the world around them seemed to mourn as she did.

She’d been shut up in the house for weeks now with little to occupy her time, every moment passing languorously. Beside the fire of the drawing room, it was bright enough to read easily, but on most days she was too anxious to be able to concentrate on any volume. Abandoning her favorite pastime, she’d resigned herself to knitting. That skill, at least, could be affected by touch with little need for light or thought. 

This morning, she’d woken feeling almost grateful for the terrible weather. In light of her recent betrothal, any delay to the impending marriage was welcome. At least if the world is ending, I don’t have to marry Duke Richards. The thought crossed her mind as she came to the end of her row, dropping the wooden needles to her lap as she took another long look out the glass.

She knew that it was foolish, but she felt so utterly alone. Mr. Marlcaster was one of the only people in the house whom she had opportunity to speak with, but she had seen little of him since their return. Happy as she was for the improvement of his marriage prospects, breaking off his engagement had removed the one natural companion that she might have had during this time of seclusion.  

Helena sighed, considering the other women of the house. Countess Henrietta had remained in her room for days on end, leaving Helena to assume that the woman viewed socialization as useless when there was no opportunity for manipulation. Her grandmother, in spite of many protestations, refused to see reason, insisting that she would come to thank her for the marriage she’d so lately arranged. Helena’s pleas about the liberties the duke had taken with her fell on deaf ears, leaving a strained relationship in place of the reconciliation she had sought.

Helena had been in routine contact with Briar, but today the maid had been employed with other tasks after dressing her mistress in the black crepe gown she now wore. More than anyone else on the estate grounds, the servants had been affected by the excessive rains and erratic temperatures which oppressed the earth.

Weary, Helena forced the stitches down from the pointed edge of the needle and laid aside her knitting. Her restless fingers traveled to her skirts, brushing against the smooth metal object tucked between folds of fabric. Her fingers laid hold of the coin Luke had given her, finding solace in the solid, immutable metal.

Go and see him, came the silent, familiar beckoning. She knew in an instant that she would obey. His presence was the only reason her sanity had not entirely left her these past days.

As long as it was not raining, venturing out of doors posed little danger to her safety, but the house had been rife with superstition and few dared to cross the threshold unless absolutely necessary. Her insistence on tending to Clover every afternoon had been interpreted alternately as a flimsy excuse to leave the house and a sign of madness, but she little minded. She took great comfort in knowing that her late father would have supported the decision.

Helena rose to her feet and pulled her shawl around her shoulders, tugging the ends into an untidy knot at her breast. Quitting the room, she wound her way through the halls until she reached the set of doors in the entry. She slipped between these quietly, hoping to cause the servants no further distress.

There had been no rain since yesterday, but without the sun, the grass was still saturated from previous storms. The cold was quite discernible through the thin soles of her shoes. At once, her shiver returned, leaving a pang of tension in its path. The stiffness in her neck had been ever present since she’d woken from her bout of fainting at Duke Richard’s ball.

Unbidden, she wondered what it would feel like to have Luke’s strong fingers there to relieve the tension. Her own ginger hand rose to the aching muscle as she traversed the lawn, lost in memories. Their journey through the night seemed a lifetime ago, but she had forgotten nothing of the gentleness in his practiced hands. Despite the cold air, her skin flushed at the thought of his warm skin.

Helena passed through the stable door, eyes adjusting to the light as the hinges creaked behind her. The cheerful glow of the lanterns and the earthy undertones of hay and horse brought a feeling of belonging that she had missed while inside the house. Mr. Harper glanced up at her from behind Prospero’s flank, his movements calm and methodical as he brushed.

“Lady Helena,” his steady voice had the strange effect of setting her heart to race. “Have you come to see how Clover fares this afternoon?”

His knowing smile prompted one of her own, and she ventured to the edge of the gelding’s stall to get a better view. Mr. Harper stood upright, pulling the strap of the dandy brush from his palm. She extended a hand toward the horse’s muzzle, stroking the bristly hair on his lips. “You know me too well, Mr. Harper. I always enjoy my time with Clover, but I must admit that I had hoped for an opportunity to speak with you as well.”

“Then the horses and I are fortunate indeed.” His free hand traveled to hers, resting on the fingers that rubbed the horse’s soft skin. Mr. Harper squeezed her fingers slowly, his calloused palm lingering against her fingers for several moments longer than polite society might have allowed. She sought his face again, the spark in his hazel eyes doing much to reassure her.

Unable to keep up the pretense any longer, her mouth betrayed her feelings in a racing whisper: “I love you, Luke.”

The tenderness of his gaze stopped the heart that had so recently seemed ready to burst from its place in her breast. “And I, you. We’ll work this out, Helena.”

“We could run away to Grovershire this evening,” she proposed. Some measure of peace had accompanied her declaration of feeling, and she found herself able to leave his side in order to see to her horse. Clover met her with an affectionate nuzzle, and she offered the animal a lump of sugar while waiting for Mr. Harper’s response.

“We aren’t desperate enough for all of that, my lady.”

Struggling to keep her voice even, she soothed the velvet fur of Clover’s ears. “I find it difficult to remain patient.”

From somewhere behind her, she heard the latch of the stall door close, and she tried to visualize the places where she heard his footsteps fall. She wasn’t certain, but she thought she could make out a sigh before he responded. “As do I. But your father wanted you as the heir to his estate. As long as you stay, there’s a chance that you can fulfill his wishes and have what is rightfully yours.”

Tears welled in Helena’s eyes, and Clover’s face blurred as her hand ceased its motion. “Father wished me to be happy with you,” she said simply. The rest, he knew already. Much of yesterday’s conversation had been consumed with her desire to leave this life behind her. Edgewater was no great prize to have won without her father there at her side.

“We will be, Helena. But I respect your father and his wishes too much to go about compromising. And if everything takes a turn for the worst, we’ll be leagues away before the Duke has any hope of getting to you.”

“Perhaps this weather has bought us a bit of time,” she mused, the thoughts familiar from her morning of pensive knitting. “Grandmother would not hear of my marrying until the banns have been read. After my father, she’s very particular about conventions...” Her mind caught on this last word, thoughts straying to how much she wished that all of her grandmother’s ideals might be thrown as chaff to the wind.

“And the countess?”

She knew he was wary of the woman, especially now that Helena’s fortune seemed secure. It was for this reason alone that they had endeavored to maintain appearances. Neither wished for the countess to have anything to say against them, and, much as she might wish to, spending too much time in the stables would have given rise to gossip that she could ill afford.

“I have seen nothing of her in days. Briar thinks she has been taken ill.”

The silence that met her words spoke volumes. Weaving her fingers through the horse’s coarse mane, she lifted her face to see Luke walking toward Clover’s stall. He stepped into the space quietly, footsteps shuffling over the hay which littered the flagstones.

“You’re a lucky girl, Clover,” he greeted the horse with his customary smile. “None of the other horses at Edgewater have masters who come and tend to them like your lady Helena.”

“They have you to look after them,” Helena insisted. “And with that they are far better off than any horses in all of England.”

“I fear they’ll soon tire of my fiddle. They’ve heard all of my war ditties many times by now.”

“I’m sure they take comfort in it, all the same.”

Although her view was blocked by the horse’s frame, she heard the telltale noises of his brush on horse hair. Helena combed through a section of mane, her fingers idly setting to braid. She wanted to say how much she looked forward to their next music lesson, but he spoke first.

“I’ll do anything I can to calm them.”

“I know.”

Comfortable silence prevailed for many moments as her mind wandered familiar trails. Being alone had afforded her much time for contemplation, and she was certain it was the same for Luke as well. This morning’s musings weighed heavily on her mind. 

“Luke?” she asked finally, her voice just above a whisper. She ceased her braiding and leant her head against Clover’s neck. Their close proximity gave her courage to drop formality as she had done before.

“Yes, Helena?” his response was swift.

“Would you really be satisfied if I married Mr. Chambers and did not take you as my legal husband?” The thought had plagued her for the past several mornings. On the night of the ball, she had been so elated at the prospect of a relationship with Luke that she had little thought of what it would mean for their future.

Luke was quiet for the space of several breaths. “I do not want to lose you, Helena. How can I scorn any path that allows us to be together?”

Her eyes pricked again, and she closed the lids tightly, seeking comfort in Clover’s familiar scent. “I wish to find another way. If I break off my engagement to Duke Richards and marry Mr. Chambers, I will gain Edgewater, but I will never be able to be seen with any other man. That may be fine for a time, but what will happen years from now? Our children will never be seen as legitimate, and I would not put them through the trials you and I have known.”  

There was a knot in her stomach at the thought of the children they might have together. She had passed a startling number of hours picturing them in her mind. But as much as she might desire children that were a perfect combination of their features, she knew that there was no possibility of them passing as Mr. Chamber’s offspring.

She sensed his presence beside her and looked to him with shimmering eyes. “Aye, my Helena.”

“I have no wish to leave Edgewater, but I would happily leave it for you. I want all of you.” Even as the words fled her lips, she knew that they were selfish. For if they left, she would not be the only one to make sacrifices. Edgewater had provided a comfortable position for Luke, and although he may be able to find modest work in some other place, there was no certainty in that path. 

“There are many decisions to make,” he offered quietly, leaving the rest unspoken.

And who will make these decisions? Helena tortured herself with the question, not content with the prospect of allowing others to control their lives. When Mr. Chambers had suggested their arrangement she had agreed to it without hesitation, seeing it as the fulfillment of hope she had hardly dared to look for. Now, in a time of such uncertainty, she couldn’t stave off thoughts that there must be some other way. 

“Then you are still content to wait?”

“Until this storm lifts or the world ends. We will make a way for ourselves, Helena. I swear to you.”

“I will go on thinking.”

“In the meantime, it is likely best for you to return inside. We don’t want to raise suspicions.”

She caught his eye meaningfully. “I only do so because I know a day will come when I no longer have to leave you.”

“I’m counting on it,” he agreed, taking her fingers in his strong grasp for just a moment. “Until tomorrow, my love,” he pressed a quick kiss to the back of her hand before releasing it. Their whispered words were a stark contrast to the howl of the wind on the other side of the thick walls, and her heart felt sick at the thought of leaving this refuge for the emptiness of the estate.

“Goodbye Luke.”

She left the stables then, her mind racing for a solution to their predicament. Had her eyes not been trained on the shoots of grass before her, she might have noticed the unfamiliar pair of eyes that surveyed her from an upper window.

[katsuchako]

87 from the prompt meme please! (:

87. “You were never just my friend.”

Thank you for requesting!! Anyone up for a college au piece?

In celebration of hitting 100 followers on @katsucha-fanfics, we’re currently taking requests! Don’t forget to follow the page and request a one-shot. ♥

Blossoming flowers and a cool spring breeze never felt better. He absolutely hated winter; there was just something about the bitter cold, and the sharp bite of wind that came along with it, but most importantly, it was the last time he ever saw her bright and shimmering eyes. Winter always made him uncomfortable beneath the surface.

It had been well over a year since they parted ways – but it was for the best, he thought.

She never knew the effect she had over him – whether it be the warmth in her eyes, the bright smiles, or even her lovely laugh that hummed in his ears and made his heart melt – he always felt his chest swell with unfamiliar emotions when it came to Uraraka.

His ruby irises remained on the ground as he walked, the toes of his boots kicking through a puddle of melted snow, while droplets of water splashed in every which way. Small feet covered in some color he didn’t even know the name of, nor did he fucking care, shuffled the moment the water splashed up on them, and the shout of protest caught him off guard.

“Hey–” 

“Don’t stand next to a fucking puddle, ass–” but he was completely caught off guard the moment his eyes met hers, and the feeling of life had completely washed out of him. “Uraraka.” He breathed out slowly, and although winter was melting away, that tint of ice never left his tone.

“Bakugou-kun,” she greeted with warm eyes and a smile that rivaled sunshine. “How’re you?”

And he couldn’t help but narrow his eyes, his brows stitching themselves together as he looked at her. Her small, petite frame bundled up in a pea-coat, while her pink scarf covered any exposed skin she might’ve had from underneath her jacket. A pair of denim jeans tucked into those ugly boots he caught sight of earlier, and her bag weighing down on her shoulder as if she had some business to do at her previous university. 

“The fuck are you doing back here?” It wasn’t what he wanted to say, because he had gone over the many different scenarios in his mind if he ever saw her again. He had thought of what he would say to her, and he had thought of what he would do as well. But seeing her in person and being right in front of her canceled out all of those thoughts; she was only taunting him, mocking his feelings and angering him.

“I’m actually going to be transferring back in the fall. I’m mostly visiting my family, at the moment and I’m stopping by for Deku-kun, as well. I never thought I’d run into you outside in the cold air, though!” As hard as he fought all those familiar yet angering feelings away, they came back to him almost instantly; a boomerang in full effect.

He swallowed hard before letting his lips pull back, a low hum reverberating from the base of his throat. Why the hell would she visit that shitty kid and not him? Out of all people to run into today, and it just had to be her.

“I’ve got shit to do,” he muttered before walking by her. He found it amusing how seeing her just once made his chest feel funny things, and how his mind tried running back to the past; a past where they would hang out on the lawn of the campus, his back pressed into the fresh grass, eyes closed and Uraraka would continue on about what she thought she wanted to major in. Warm summer air reminded him of Uraraka’s eyes, while winter reminded him of the pain that followed when she left.

He just couldn’t win.

“Wait!” Her quick call followed up by her arm linking through his, her hand resting just atop his wrist and it took everything he had not to fall to his knees – they were weak after all. 

With his hands shoved deep in his pockets and her body linked with his, it began to feel like old times. 

“Hey, we’re friends right?” They were the first words she had ever spoke to him, and instead of telling her to fuck off, or get lost, he simply glared into her testing eyes. He never found fear swimming in her chocolate orbs, nor found that she ever faltered around him. Painful fucking memories.

“You’re wasting my time. What do you want?” He barked through parted lips. He was refusing his body’s need to turn and look at her adorable face; refused to give into that urge because he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back.

“You never answered me. How’re you doing?”

Bakugou felt himself swallowing hard, his throat dry and head aching as her presence continued to surround him. Why the fuck would she care how he’s doing? She had shitty Deku to meet up with, and she had her parents to see, and every other thing that was more important than asking how he was doing.

“You really wanna know?” He turned, his face turning to find her sweet, sweet lips and shimmering eyes. The corners of her mouth pulled into a smile, a faint blush dusting her already pink cheeks and hell – he couldn’t hold himself together when it came to Uraraka. Her eyes widened with interest, urging him to go on, that same smile never leaving her lips.

“You fucking left! You didn’t even say goodbye, you didn’t tell me, you just up and left!” His ears became hot, his cheeks filling with air while his chest heaved with anger. His hands were now balled into fists from within the confines of his pockets. The longer he stared at her with fiery, burning eyes, the tighter his jacket became and the hotter his face grew. 

The look of worry that melted in her eyes only pissed him off – he hated being pitied. Especially by some girl that lifted him up, only to let him fall in her tracks the moment she left. Instead of looking at him with sorrowful eyes and down-turned lips, he soon found her body embracing his; his heart clenched, breath hitching as she wrapped her stupid arms around him awkwardly, her face nuzzling into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, and her voice sounded like a fucking dream come true – close and warm, like Uraraka herself. “I was too scared to tell you I was leaving.”

He wanted to shake her body off, rid himself of her shitty yet inviting hug, but he just couldn’t. His heart slammed against his ribcage, his mind raging with thoughts while her sweet, intoxicating scent trapped him where he stood. Uraraka was always sweet, always kind, warm, friendly, stubborn, strong; she was everything he wanted, everything he needed.

“Why the fuck would you be scared? You’ll sit there and talk about stupid, meaningless shit all the time, but when it comes to leaving you keep quiet. How stupid are you?”

His bottled up feelings finally came rushing out, his breath getting caught in his throat as he looked down at her silky, shiny hair that curled just at the ends. He could only see the crown of her head, as she still had her face pressed into his chest. 

The feeling of golden rays of light blanketing them and a chilly wind crossing throughout the empty campus had been forgotten, because when she looked up at him, he felt so lost and confused in all his thoughts, that he hadn’t even felt his chin lower, his lips coming in contact with hers.

Bakugou still breathed hard, hot puffs of air through his nostrils, but having Uraraka’s soft lips against his only made him that much more flustered with what was going on. He no longer felt angry, or upset, or even relatively confused about what was going on between the two of them, because in sheer moments, she moved from beneath his lips, only to deepen their kiss.

They molded together, turning to one like the perfect jigsaw pieces, and when she finally pulled away, it took all he had to inhale the slightest bit of air. He felt cold on the outside, but a fire ignited in his heart before she blushed lightly.

“Because I fell hard for you, and it only would’ve made it harder to leave.”

Her words rang through his head, stirring his heart and making his mind explode in triumph. Bakugou couldn’t believe the words that fell from her lips, because in his mind, he never thought her feelings were mutual. Finally, a smirk broke through on his lips before he pulled her in for one last, chaste kiss.

She was coming back; not only that, but with all their feelings out there, they wouldn’t be just friends anymore.

“About fucking time.”

[kulsoomn]

What makes the brand Zara Hayat stand out from the rest?

It is made up of organic cotton, well, now what is organic cotton?

Organic cotton is grown organically from non-genetically modified plants without the use of any agricultural chemicals such as pesticides or fertilizers

It is usually produced to promote and enhance biodiversity and biological cycles

Inspired by blossom blush season and its hue, now let us understand what is blossom blush season

Blossoms are the fruits of stone fruit trees that flower for a while during the spring season

Blossom trees tend to lose their flower petals covering the surrounding ground in petals and this attribute tends to distinguish blossom trees from other flowering trees

When we talk about the hue blossom blush, we can associate all the colors which relate to the spring season which are different hues of pink, peach, white and plum

Another quality is the use of fancy embroidery and embellishment. What is fancy embroidery and embellishments?

Embroidery is an art of decorating fabric using a needle and thread to make it look prettier whereas an embellishment is to add a decorative detail or feature to something to make it more attractive

What is a fancy embroidery ??? Incorporating materials in embroideries such as pearls, beads, quills, sequins, gold and silver threads can make the simple thread embroidery work fancy

Similarly, adding basic techniques of stitches such as chain stitch, buttonhole or blanket stitch, running stitch, cross stitch and satin stitch can make the embroidery appear simple yet elegant

Use of gold and silver zari work

Let us look into what is zari work

Zari or (jari) is an even thread traditionally made of fine gold or silver used in traditional garments

It is manufactured by winding and covering a flattened metallic strip made from pure gold and silver

Zari can be used in various forms such as zardozi, kataoki bel, tilla or marori work, gota work, and kinari work

Nowadays, it can be broadly divided into three types viz real zari, imitation zari, and metallic zari

Real zari is made from pure gold or silver threads which are drawn from gold or silver alloys whereas imitation zari is made from copper wires drawn from copper alloys

Extensive use of organza fabric in creating the collection

What is organza fabric?

Organza is a thin, sheer fabric traditionally made from silk

Modern organza fabrics are woven with synthetic fibers such as polyester or nylon

Organza fabric is mostly used for bridalwear or eveningwear

Use of ornamentation

What is the meaning of ornamentation?

It is referred to as the materials or features used for decoration

Fabric ornamentation adds beauty and enhances the look of any garment, the main idea of fabric ornamentation is to add an element of interest. The most common materials used for fabric ornamentation are

Mirrors

Beads

Sequins

Threads

Wires

Button

Glass crystals

[originalofficial-blog1]

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[logicalbaat]

via Cross Stitch brings its lavish Spring/Summer Lawn Collection 2019 https://ift.tt/2Wvudc4

[pkgarments]

New Post has been published on Pakistani Clothes & Fashion Dresses Online

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Cross Stitch Spring/Summer Lawn Collection 2018 #Fashion #Glamour #Lifestyle #Celebrities #Events #Models #Designers #Brand #CrossStich #Lahore #Karachi #Islamabad #Pakistan #EntertainmentEvents

[trendpk]

This summer lawn dresses by Cross Stitch comes along with outstanding styles, prints, colors, patterns and designs which are different from its all previous collections.

Cross Stitch Lawn Summer Unstitched Collection 2018 Explore your different sides with a new look each day with Cross Stitch lawn 2018 spring/summer collection. This latest lawn collection is ideal to steal the show of any function, street or shopping mall during this spring/summer season.

The most noticeable thing is that each and every lawn dresses will be showing a different concept of designs and styles. Hopefully according to the plan the awaiting clients of cross stitch will be enjoyed a good collection.

Cross Stitch is Pakistan’s leading fashion retail clothing and fabric brand. The product range includes embroidered fabrics, prints and ready to wear! This is the latest impeccable collection which is definitely gonna be a addition to your wardrobe with embroideries that component the subtle hues.

You can perk up your wardrobe with all that you need during this spring/summer season 2018 and feel on top of the festive season. Everyday looking good is not that tough if you are wearing any dress from Cross Stitch summer lawn collection 2018.

Especially new designs, Cross Stitch Lawn summer Suits Collection 2018 for Women are many sorts of surface and weaving is connected in which pleasant wear and formal outfits are open. If we talk about shirts particular materials are used on the cutting edge, back line and printed chiffon dupatta is empowered with the plans.

Cross Stitch show day shalwar kameez and dresses of different sorts, for instance, short shirt like frok are perfectly healthy nowadays young women get a kick out of the opportunity to wear free and short shirts with shalwar and jeans. As every single one of you appreciate that winter season has gone and summer is coming, thusly people need to live according to the time. I hope some pictures of Cross Stitch Lawn spring Suits Collection 2018 for Women as blow.

Awry botanical Rs. 2,550

Mint verve Rs. 2,350

Beryl forge Rs. 5,550

Trifling rave Rs. 6,450

Palm beach Rs. 6,350

Botanical garden Rs. 4,450

Novel vista Rs. 2,350

Cerulean sea Rs. 6,350

Oblique forest Rs. 5,950

Regal verdant Rs. 6,550

Royal serenity Rs. 6,350

Hibiscus eminence Rs. 6,450

Clematis aubergine Rs. 6,150

Chahar bagh Rs. 6,550

Misty fortress Rs. 5,550

Ebony stitch Rs. 6,550

Iris grate Rs. 6,450

Dusky passel Rs. 6,150

Floral arcade Rs. 6,550

Cross Stitch Summer Collection 2018 This summer lawn dresses by Cross Stitch comes along with outstanding styles, prints, colors, patterns and designs which are different from its all previous collections.

[saeeg-blog]

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  Latest and stylish winter wear sana safinaz printed and stitched dresses designs may you select according to your choice also download image. Today you know that all famous fashion trend are focused the today recent latest fashion women like the digital printing fabric which is make you stunning and stylish look. There are many of beautiful silk and khaddar winter dresses available which is more gorgeous designs for casual wear party. From Standard to standout Ready to Wear 2017. Shirt Price:PKR 9,990. Clutch Price: PKR 2,590. Now available in all stores nationwide and online at Name: Dessert Dusk. Price: PKR 7,490 Timeless Luxuries. Shoe name: Bubbles. Mark your calendars because the most awaited sale is here! FLAT 70% OFF starting from November 18th at Lucky One Mall, Karachi.

Sana Safinaz Winter Sale Slik & Chiffon Full Catalog With Price

Pakistani women winter dresses with price. As you know that in market a lot of famous fashion brand. But there are something new for your winter fashion. We suggest you if you want to buy something for winter season. Women dresses wear idea by sana safinaz new arrival in this winter season. This dresses may you wear in causal dresses best catalog and silk and chiffon collection 2018.Shoe name: Eva Left Price PKR 2,990 spring and summer Silk Chiffon Collection 2018 Look effortlessly stylish in our Muzlin collection 2018 for women wear Price Rs.2690. sna safinaz favorite Natalia Khalid spotted wearing Ready to Wear. Sana Safinaz Winter Collection 2018 With Price .

Tennis Slides: PKR 2990 Tennis Sneakers:PKR 3490 Cross Body Bag: PKR 3190 Fringe Bag: PKR 3790

  PKR 2,590

  PKR 3,355

  PKR 2,590

  PKR 2,590

  PKR 2,590

PKR 3255

PKR 2,590

PKR 2,590

Pakistani Women Wear Winter Dresses Designs 2018

Stand tall in Sana Sfinaz Muzlin Winter Collection 2018 latest dresses, in-stores. Indulge in the striking palette of rich colors and delicate prints with our Sana Sfinaz Muzlin Collection Winter dresses. Price Rs 3150 Fabric: Printed shirt front on slub fabric with Blend Chiffon Printed dupatta (Embroidered Bunch on Organza included). Be the true definition of grace and elegance in shades of blue from our Sana Sfinaz Muzlin winter Collection. An alluring approach to femininity, this unstitched outfit from our Sana Sfinaz Muzlin Winter Collection is a defining piece on its own. Classic shades of blue with enchanting floral prints are a fashion favorite. An elegant fusion of bright hues and geometrical prints adds the perfect finish to your evening look. Intricate floral prints blended with vibrant hues. Silk and linen stitched dresses are avaialbe with reasonabel price. Sana Safinaz Winter Collection 2018 With Price.

Sana Safinaz Winter Collection 2018 With Price On this page may you see the Sana Safinaz Winter Collection 2018 With Price for women wear?

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THREDZ Ready to Wear Spring Summer Collection 2017

Thredz Lawn 2017 With Prices has been released online and all the leading stores and outlets in Pakistan. THREDZ is a famous fashion brand of Pakistan. It offers a wide selection of hand weaved unstitched fabrics, ready to wear kurtas for both men and women, and formal wear.

A soft creamy color with a beautiful print with floral designs. Accompanied by a dupatta which is printed in different floral patterns and brick like designed borders.

In a designer wear, every woman will be able to fit herself easily. she can look decent as well as outstanding in the fitting of her outfit. This fashion label provides amazing styles in all seasons. It is the sign of new creations in fashion field for both young girls. Everything that suits you, can enhance your beauty in a perfect way. This threads arrival of lovely designer dresses is also suitable for all those women who have crossed the age of 30. From this catalog which I have posted, you can stitch your summer dresses and you can give them branded look.

About THREDZ

Founded in 2004, with a strong emphasis on high quality, ready to wear clothes, as well as providing its customers with the latest trends in fashion. We strive to inspire and excite your senses with our vibrant color palettes, trendy designs, and handpicked accessories. We understand your fashion needs, which is why we are one the leading designer brands in Pakistan.

THREDZ offers a wide selection of hand weaved unstitched fabrics, ready to wear kurtas for both men and women, and formal wear. THREDZ provides simple, but timeless cult pieces that have set the bar high as a prestigious fashion label. Whether you need a brand new outfit or an entire wardrobe- our in-house stylists are more than happy to provide you with assistance to make you feel you are very best.

In a short span of time, THREDZ has expanded in many locations across Pakistan and internationally in Houston, Texas as well. Follow us on Facebook to be the first to know about our new collection, latest trends, and exclusive giveaways!

THREDZ Ready to Wear Spring Summer Collection 2017

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THREDZ Ready to Wear Spring Summer Collection 2017 THREDZ Ready to Wear Spring Summer Collection 2017 Thredz Lawn 2017 With Prices has been released online and all the leading stores and outlets in Pakistan.

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A wide range of women unstitched spring summer collection is available at cross stitch store. Visit us and grab your favorite one. https://crossstitch.pk/collections/lawn-19

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Cross Stitch Spring/Summer Lawn Collection 2018 #Fashion #Glamour #Lifestyle #Celebrities #Events #Models #Designers #Brand #CrossStich #Lahore #Karachi #Islamabad #Pakistan #EntertainmentEvents