#Leopard Skin Blazer

[womenofwrestlingfashion]

Winter Faux Fur Fluffy Bucket Hat in Burgundy from Major Wear (£19.99), Oversized Metal Square Sunglasses in Purple from Guess ($92), Crown Button Up (£90) & Leopard Skin Blazer (£250) from Claudio Lugli, Sexy Faux Leather Micro Short (sold in set with jacket - $49.99) from Fashion Nova & Beibr Boots from Guess (n/a)

[aangelinakii]

Request - you’re surprised by how affectionate/clingy Bruce can be when he’s barely running on any sleep

HOW WAS YOUR DAY?

— hold you tight, squeeze you right.

summary : your husband isn't always the biggest fan of physical affection. however, you come to find that when his body is exhausted, the only thing it can think to do, is look for you.

note : thank you so much for requesting ! i also got a request very similar to this for jason, so if that was you or you're reading this, so sorry i haven't published it, i'm so blocked trying to write it 😭😭 hopefully i can publish it soon, but hopefully this is good in the meantime :)

note 2 : also the moodboard ??? the leopard print ???? making me feel expensive asf

although batman was known as the superhero to actually not be super, you felt your husband did have a superpower of his own; being able to run on fifteen minutes of sleep, if that.

so it was a surprise to you that, when bruce returned from work at the office, after a long night of patrolling the dingy streets of gotham, the toll of lack of sleep was taking over. neatly-gelled hair sticking out in places, thin skin beneath his eyes dark, his inability to smile at you as he pushed through the door to your shared bedroom.

you'd already gotten in bed, teeth brushed, face washed, tucked up in the sheets, when he finally came home. the pages of a book were open in your lap, room illuminated by the amber gleam of your bedside lamp.

"hey," you smiled up at him, tearing your eyes away from the print, only to find him walk straight through thr door into the adjacent en suite.

must've been a tough day; and you were back to your reading.

from the bathroom, you could hear the flush of the toilet, the rinse of the taps, the scrubbing of teeth, a few coughs here and there: the sounds of your husband washing away his day, preparing to settle in bed beside you.

when the door finally opened, and you glanced up, bruce's tie was undone and hanging beneath his upturned collar, the buttons down his shirt had been let loose and his toned torso was left on display, and his grey blazer was hanging from two fingers, the sleeves just barely dragging along the floor.

he seemed slightly worse for wear, but with the kids on patrol tonight, hopefully that would change by the morning.

obviously, it had not been easy convincing bruce to stay home tonight, but everyone agreed he should take it easy for one night, at the very least. his dedication to this city was admirable — one of the very reasons you had married him — but even the heroes need to save themselves sometimes.

"you okay, honey?" you piped up, slightly worried by his appearance now, and lack of communication since he'd returned home. eyes remaining on him as he pulled open the ornate wardrobe on his side of the bed, you folded a cat ear on your page and carefully closed it on the front cover.

only a couple beats passed before bruce blearily swirled around, the smile at the corner of his mouth not quite reaching his eyes as he tugged the snake of a necktie from his collar. "just exhausted like you wouldn't believe," he managed to chuckle, turning back around to the wardrobe to remove and hang his white shirt.

"i think i could believe." placing your closed book on your side table, you shifted under the sheets to face bruce as he swapped out his slacks for the pair of linen trousers he wore to sleep. "i didn't get to see you at all today. you weren't here when i went to sleep last night, and you were gone by the time i woke up."

it was difficult to not sound upset, which bruce noted as he peeled back the made covers on his side of the bed and slipped in beside you.

as soon as his aching body hit the memory foam mattress you shared, it was like the shadow of sleep took over, the way he sighed graciously and closed his eyes; but he was determined to stay awake, to talk with you, the one he had married.

marriages don't succeed if each night and morning is the same — a cold bed to fall asleep to, a cold bed to wake up to.

one of your husband's muscular arms pulled you in close, so his head was tucked below your chin. the musky scent of his hair wax filled your nostrils, an indication that, along with the stony form of it, he had failed to wash out his hair.

"how was your day?" the movement of his lips brushed against your chest, and the shiver that ran down your body only caused him to hold you closer, a second arm miraculously squirming beneath you. his voice was low, half-muffled by the fabric of your sleep top, half-muffled by the sleep threatening to take over.

the hum of a laugh brushed past your lips, and your fingertips came up to brush along the nape of bruce's neck, the spike of his coming-in hair after his most recent haircut prickling against your skin.

"probably not even half as bad as yours," you chuckled in response, fingers grazing higher, breaking through that cast of waxed-down hair. at your touch, your husband sighed against you once more, nuzzling in closer; as if close wasn't close enough.

you allowed a few beats to pass before continuing. "work went smoothly today, nothing too horrible. how about—"

the tickle of a stubble on its first legs brushed against the soft skin of your collarbone as bruce's lips, smooth after brushing his teeth, pressed a kiss against the base of your neck.

"how about yours?" you managed to ask after a beat, unconsciously tilting your neck. "and your night — i haven't seen you since you got home yesterday."

vibrating against your pulse, bruce's reply was gravelly, almost incoherent. "long, tired," you think he said. "want to sleep, but i missed you."

you're sure he fell into slumber after that, with the way his soft breaths against your neck fell into rhythm, and the way his lips fell slack, no longer concerned with kissing or speaking.

perhaps, although selfishly, you wished he would come back from work tired every day.

[sapphic-biohazard]

catra’s fashion style in the real world

A metal and punk-y twist on femme fatale

It’s rebellious and risqué, edgy and sharp with a touch of femininity, definitely non-conformist.

She prefers figure-hugging and skin-tight silhouettes, like a gymnasts, or a tiger. Oversized clothes make her feel small, like a child playing dress up.

Evert must outfit include fur (a homage to her etherian species) or leather. Either as jackets, sleeve or hem trims, or shoes. Black florals. She’d like animal feline print like leopard and cheetah, if it weren’t for the dead animals.

Her centric colors are either deep reds, deep purples or deep pinks. With black or brown as complimentary. She hates white and gold (until adora).

Almost all her clothes are ripped/torn, mostly intentionally. she liked cutouts too, but not too many, just a flair.

All her tops are either sleeveless or strapless or backless or with a low cut neckline.

she prefers low rise pants instead of high waisted. Not skinny jeans but also not baggy, a secret third thing (bell bottoms). She draws or sews patches on the knees or ankles.

She prefers shorts almost always, anyway.

She’s picky when it comes to skirts, she doesn’t like poofy or restrictive ones, she likes something that allows for mobility, where she can also add her own touch to it. Either leather or pleated skirts.

She doesn’t wear shoes until she absolutely have too, which usually means formal settings, so heels. But not something too high. Pointy toe shoes. Thigh-high boots. She adores stockings though.

Angel bites/fang piercings are non negotiable.

Nails are always long and sharp and red-black.

Playsuits, she owns too many, for when she wants to doll up but doesn’t want to wear a suit or a dress.

Matched sets. Top and skirts or top and pants. 

She prefers suits when it comes to her formal look, she still adds her own flare and touch to it, unbuttoned buttons and untied ties, cutouts at the blazer, ripped pants or replacing with shorts, absolute creative freedom when it comes to the undershirt (from bralette to cropped button up to vests to nothing). She doesn’t usually prefer dresses, but when she does she prefers ones that are sleek and tailored towards her body, ones that make her look mature.

Significant accessories: spikes and studs, fingerless gloves, fishnets, metal chains, lace holes, buckles.

Visual examples:

[femmefatalevibe]

how do you get monica belluccis vibe (with short wavy hair)?

Use nourishing shampoo/conditioner with a leave-in, anti-frizz conditioner. Let your hair air-dry

Apply ultra-nourishing facial moisturizer to the skin with SPF

For makeup: Use a satin-finish foundation with medium to full concealer underneath to cover imperfections; apply a golden brown bronzer as a contour and a pearly-highlighter to the cheekbones& high points of your face if not oily (tip/bridge of nose, cupid's bow, chin, middle of forehead); Fill in your brows so they look full but natural with a match brow pencil/powder shade; Create a grey-brown smokey eye with a golden bronze/taupe eyeshadow as a base on the lid with a smokey grey in the crease and black shadow on the outer corner(if desired); Apply a thin layer of black liner to the top of the eye with a subtle, classic wing and to the water line/tight line (inner rim); FInish off the lips with a matte or satin finish pink-brown lipstick (or a "your lips but better" hue)

For clothing: Tailored black wardrobe staples in high-quality fabrics – sharp wool/leather/silk blazers, crisp moto jackets, Pima cotton tops or silk camis/blouses, cashmere/leather bodysuits, tailored straight-leg or bootcut black trousers/denim, black slip dress/bodycon knit or heavy-fabric dresses, long tailored black coats in wool, leather, or silk with accents of black lace/red/leopard print

For accessories: Statement crystal, pearl, or classic chunky necklaces with sleek black heeled boots or pumps with a pointed or almond-shaped toe, black tights & hosiery

[patron-saints]

Hand over your favourite Headcanon(s) of Olivier and/or Izumi!!!

hello my friend !!! i feel like you know most of mine for them already!!! but let’s start w the basics and see where we get:

olivier:

- autistic (food sensitivities, loves loopholes, takes things literally & has a hard time expressing her emotions to name a few) and masks a lot, relying on rules and societal expectations to cover for her when she’s not able to “act normal”

- trans! mtftnb, transitioned at 18, didn’t tell her family shit and they found out when she became the “first female general in amestris”, her second transition is more personal/internal, just a sense of realization in her 30s that she’s less binary than she thought (getting called “sir” is kind of nice, actually, and so is wearing suits… etc)

- buccaneer was not only her right hand but also her best friend, they met in boot camp and had almost exactly the same assignments their whole careers. he used to tease her a lot when they were alone - he’d never undermine her authority in public but he also never let her forget their history as pranksters lol

- she’s ambidextrous AND fights ambidextrously! not based on anything on the show i just think it’s fun. maximum efficiency etc.

- her uniform is VERY comfortable for her in both a literal and an autistic sense but you bet your ass she loves fashion too. she has a very like… you know that like… flavor of women’s fashion that’s like… blazers, jumpsuits, like… Formal But Still Somewhat Androgynous? that’s her vibe out of uniform. you will Never catch her in jeans and a t shirt. never worn a cozy sweater in her life. (this will change. she’s dating izumi.) she sleeps in like… a tank top and boxers probably. i think she’s also… modest isn’t quite the right word, but like, she’s particular about showing skin? so her bathing suits are like, trunks and sports bras, rather than bikinis etc.

- she’s extremely tidy and very organized and a lot of that is due to practice and training! she probably would be uncomfortable w messes anyway, but her ability to deal with them quickly and maintain her space comes from boot camp more than anything else. you know they had servants at armstrong manor. YOU KNOW.

- she’s a lesbian. always has been, always will be. there is a universe where she dated mustang and then came out immediately afterward but that is NOT. my universe. it is funny tho.

- (relatedly i also think she’s stone! you know the post that’s like. “i love locking my door at night. like, you’re not coming in. lmfao.” that’s her but about like. the northern wall, her emotional state, her sexuality, probably her actual door,)

- i think the fact that her and catherine are over 10 years apart in age and i think the fact of catherine being close to alex both means that olivier… kind of didn’t know how to have a relationship with her that was close and meaningful. i think catherine does admire her in some regard, but i think they just didn’t really have a chance to get to know each other and i think it would be rly cool if they did

- not really a headcanon but more of an anti-canon i simply do not think about the two middle sisters ever. to me they do not exist.

- this is already so long but i wanted to come up with new ones cuz i feel like you knew them all already shit and we still have to do izumi, but here’s one more:

- her daemon would be a snow leopard, and she didn’t fully understand why until she was 18 years old stepping off the train in north city, feeling the cold air hit her cheeks, and looked down at her daemon perfectly suited for snow, and then she was like, oh, i’m home.

izumi:

- let’s be real. she’s probably also autistic. who else would expel their students just so they could have a conversation.

- izumi is also trans. what’s her agab? what’s her gender? what was her transition like? to these questions she would either say “what are you, a cop?” or “I’M A HOUSEWIFE!!!!” this is normal and good. (my gender hc for are super flexible and i like different things at different times but i know she’s not cis i know it)

- not exactly a headcanon but she was 18 and sig was 17 when they met, and she attempted human transmutation only a year later. every time i think about the fact that she was only 19 i want to CRY.

- i hc her as mixed race, mostly black & japanese but maybe a little bit of whatever flavor ethnic group white people in amestris are. also i think all izumi flashbacks should have curly hair. i think she does have curly hair, but that’s something you’d only get to see in flashbacks, because i think sig does help her with the maintenance and upkeep of her braids on a regular basis.

- clothes wise i think she’s in a weird space between comfy and formal? most of clothes are actually pretty nice looking but her ass is always in those SLIDES. like those are her fuckin shower shoes??? please. i think she does have a taste in fashion, somewhat influenced by east asian fashion (that one flashback w training the boys she had a mandarin collar shirt that was super cute?) & also that she likes to feel pretty, but i think it’s way more fuss than it’s worth to her, so she saves makeup, jewelry etc for fancy occasions only. actually idk if she EVER wears makeup but i think she does like dresses. (she probably has like. full on pjs for sleeping. and she’d wear a black one piece with a scarf tied a skirt around her waist and a huge sunhat for a beach day!!)

- also super tidy but this doesn’t come from training this comes from an inherent housewife ability she’s had since birth. it’s destiny. magic. true power. i wish i was her.

- sexuality wise i think bi is probably a safe call but i think also “what are you, a cop” applies here too, like it’s a handwavery sort of thing when it comes to gender but in terms of like… i think she’s probably ace/aro spec because. well okay let me put it this way. i don’t think olivier was in love with anyone before izumi and i don’t think izumi slept with anyone besides sig before oliver. so there’s something. going on there. for both of them.

- for a really long time i’ve headcanon’d mason as sig’s nephew but i also think it’s really funny if one day izumi says smth abt this to sig and he’s like. “i thought he was your nephew!” and she goes “my nephew? you know i don’t have any siblings!” but it doesn’t matter anyway because, he’s family

- relatedly, the elrics are also her family. i don’t think she ever says out loud like, “my sons” and i don’t think they ever call her “mom,” and i think that’s important, but i also think it’s important that they ARE her boys!! they can’t replace what she lost, and she can’t replace what they lost, but. they have each other.

- her daemon is a bear. because of course it is.

[lichfucker]

[image description expanded from alt text: a 3-by-3 grid of images where the center image is a photo of me, the artist (a white nonbinary person with long hair), and the surrounding images are all works of art I drew in the past year (some of which have been cropped for size).

1: a drawing of Ingot the Feather-Light, a tiefling, and Z'ress, a drow, cuddling by a campfire, drawn with black line art and soft shading. 2: an elaborate painting of Eliah Hendricks from the Fetch Phillips Archives, a pale elf with long curly red hair, wearing a blue velvet blazer over a sparkly satin jumpsuit. 3: a drawing of Levseis the Malignant, a red-skinned devil, looking down and snarling, drawn with black line art and soft shading. 4: a drawing of Vie, an undead drow, holding a lantern. the drawing is composed entirely of chunky polygonal shapes in a limited palette. 5: a photo of me. I'm a white person with long brown hair and glasses, wearing a green velvet blazer over a purple shirt and leopard-print pants. 6: a dramatic portrait of Ingot, painted entirely in shades of blue. 7: a drawing of Avriel from the Birdhouse Mysteries, a brown-skinned aasimar with curly white hair, staring at a bubbling beaker, drawn with green line art and flat colors. 8: a drawing of Moment's Pallor, a southeast Asian woman with sleek black hair that's shaved on one side and glasses with red lenses, drawn with red line art and chunky shading. 9: a drawing of Attra Rose, a light-skinned woman with long silver hair, with her head tilted and her eyes closed, drawn with sketchy pencil-like line art and soft shading.

end id]

art vs artist 2023!

this year was about variety, I think. I did a lot of new things, and I did a lot of familiar things in new ways. 'twas a good art year overall; had a very difficult time narrowing it down to just eight pieces

[zippers]

i'm not mad at my boss for saying my outfit today looked like pajamas (though I am going to email him letting him know it came across as a sexist comment, only because I just attended a training about workplace microaggressions yesterday) BUT i have decided that since he did not appreciate my super cool (and industry relevant) Dada art print shirt, leopard print slacks, Willie Wednesday braids, and silver necklace (and, okay, hiker crocs and no bra, but those are just... natural parts of my anatomy that i will not be shamed for!!! plus he knows I'm trans???) tomorrow I will wear into the office:

-Shirt of forum post screenshots arguing over whether or not metal gear characters are gay, which is literally in a museum

-Oversized, bubblegum pink Pantsuit pants

-Vintage flower-print blazer that I wore as Master Shaggy

-Camo print @shapeshiftersinc binder (check them out!!!!) that may or may not be visible through the MGS shirt

-Every single piece of jewelry my step-grandmother has ever bought for me

-Roman emperor belt

-Can't decide between my elk skin and my eel skin boots, will update when the time comes

-I will also make myself some big earrings tonight, haven't decided what, maybe whole clementines? (I think it would be funny to wear a pair of old crocs as earrings but I think that might be going to far.)

Hopefully this all goes over well and I don't dig myself into a deeper hole than I'm already in!

[clubdeals]

Fashion trends to have on your radar in 2023

Spring 2023 fashion

In the UK, the season of cuddly lambs and blossom showers officially begins around the middle of March, although as many of you are well aware, the weather can still be quite chilly. The key to mastering the ever-difficult transitional dressing period is to become an expert layered. Change your go-to wool maxi coat for a fringe-trimmed, lighter-weight crochet knit instead of a chunky polo, and look for a different denim jacket (think asymmetric hems or unusual hardware detailing) to replace your chunky polo.

Summer 2023 fashion

We are all prepared to show some skin once summer arrives. While trends like knee-high splits, geometric cut-outs, and translucent fabrics all lend themselves well to a sultry skin moment, amplifying the drama is simple with a hooded gown inspired by 1970s It-girls for the inevitable outdoor soirée. To go to Alaa, run, don't stroll.

Tailoring

At Valentino, slouchy, oversized blazers were in style, and Chanel chose whimsical pink relaxed-fit versions of its iconic bouclé jackets. Fortunately, Victoria Beckham came through with straightforward tailored jackets that served as tiny dresses if you're a die-hard fan of fine tailoring.

Short dresses

Speaking of the devil, short dresses are back, and for SS23, the texture is king. Givenchy's pearl adornments and Chanel's belted LBDs added a touch of grandeur, while Versace's bright purple chromes felt flashy in the nicest way possible.

Lace

Many designers favoured sweeping maxis with stylish cutwork, and lace was everywhere. Burberry's tardy London Fashion Week presentation featured items inspired by baby blue lingerie, while Dior and Versace exuded gothic glamour.

The high splits

The dramatic split that we are used to seeing on the red carpet is now appearing in SS23. Givenchy's silk slip dresses, Dries Van Noten's vibrant florals, and Prada's glossy midis are leading the way and are extremely into it.

Denim

Who would have guessed that designers could make denim seductive for SS23? While Bella Hadid's buckle Givenchy buckle bra emanated utilitarian sultriness, asymmetric fitting shirts worn with soft brown co-ords at A.W.A.K.E. had a certain hippyish grandeur.

Cutout dresses

With its elastic geometric patterns, British innovator Poster Girl has been setting the pace for the cut-out trend. Nevertheless, for the upcoming season, we're enjoying cut-outs with greater proportions, taking influence from designers like Andreadamo, Valentino, and A.W.A.K.E.

Animal Print

"The animal print trend is very much marmite in the fashion world; everyone has an opinion on it. On the one hand, I adore zebra print, particularly when accessorising, "Clarifies Laura. "I find it difficult to understand the leopard look. As a result, come summer, I very likely may be wearing an Alessandra Rich twinset."

Mermaidcore

Designers have been hard-hit by the news of Disney's impending live-action adaptation of The Little Mermaid. Anticipate fishtail silhouettes, glittering fabrics that flow over curves, and dramatic ornamentation inspired by scales. For your fix, look to brands like 16 Arlington, Valentino, and Elie Saab.

Grunge

The SS23 runways have been covered in tartan, indicating that the grunge is making a comeback. Keep it casual with a plaid shirt from Bottega Veneta, or keep an eye out for items with botanical embroidery à la Maison Dior.

Sultry Hoods

By choosing a beautiful hooded gown and raising the stakes, channel your inner Grace Jones and take inspiration from Saint Laurent, Alaa, and Valentino.

Texture Galore

Even while feathers, sequins, and fringe are party favourites, they are also officially appropriate for the spring and summer, according to the runways. Use the post-Christmas bargains to start 2023 with a textural flourish.

Rich Red

Moving on from cobalt blue, Hello! Fashion's Editor Jill Wanless thinks there is a new primary to master. "Red seems incredibly new again, especially when worn from head to toe. The silky dress, tights, and mules at Eudon Choi [centre] caught my eye just as much as the short dress and go-go boots at David Koma [right]."

3D florals

At London Fashion Week, many prestigious labels have the motto "Spring florals, yet groundbreaking." While Richard Quinn and Paul & Joe collections favoured the floral corsage, a staple of the 2000s, Susan Wang favoured frothy, ethereal-hued looks.

Hope you get to know about some great trends to follow in 2023

If you want to know more about fashion and lifestyle then follow @clubdeals

[worldwiddesign]

Designing and creating patterns in a way that looks good

The simplest method to demonstrate that you’ve given your wardrobe some serious care is to incorporate a striking print and patterns. A print is a design that has been printed into the cloth as opposed to being woven or embroidered, whereas a pattern is any repetitive design. Both phrases are frequently used to refer to any non-solid-colored clothes.

The following are some of the most well-liked designs and prints:

1. Gingham is a cloth with a checkered pattern manufactured from cotton yarn that has been dyed, typically in white and one other color.

2. There are many various types of stripes, from the traditional French marinière T-shirt with its characteristic blue and white horizontal stripes to pinstripes (extremely small vertical stripes that frequently occur on dark-colored suits).

3. Wild animal stripes, spots, and scales are reflected in animal Skin patterns. Although zebra, snake, and leopard prints are striking, there are subtle ways to use them.

4. Tartan, commonly referred to as plaid, is a woven fabric that was historically created from wool and is currently a popular design for flannel shirts. The vertical and horizontal stripes in multicolored plaid are repeated and come in different widths.

5. Flowers of all kinds are featured in floral patterns. Floral patterns can be little and ditsy or big and intricate. They could be monochrome or multicolored. They give so much variation, making them enjoyable to work with as patterns.

6. A pattern of identically sized circles is known as a polka dot. They might be huge or small; bigger dots tend to make a stronger statement. Smaller dots typically look more neutral.

7. Shapes like triangles, squares, and trapezoids can be seen in geometric prints. They can be more abstract or detailed and repetitious. A repeating geometric pattern in two colors is houndstooth.

8. The Persian pattern known as paisley has a teardrop shape with a bent point. The interior of the teardrop frequently features elaborate geometric or floral patterns. Silk accessories like ties and scarves are likely to be patterned with paisley patterns.

9. A fabric (often twill) with a V-shape weave and a recurring pattern that resembles a fish skeleton is called herringbone.

4 Tips for Mixing Patterns and Prints

Contrary to conventional belief, some of the most fashionable dressers frequently blend patterns. Combining patterns can boost your self-assurance and inject some excitement into your ensemble. Here’s how to successfully combine pattern images.

1. Become familiar with your base printing. Start with timeless, straightforward prints like pop art prints, polka dots, florals, and stripes. Then add a bolder print on top. Consider wearing a traditional striped T-shirt underneath a more interesting geometric print. The simple stripe will serve as a neutral and the lines in both patterns will complement one another.

2. Accept the struggle for power. It’s not always necessary to follow trends. There is a lot of strength in choosing two prints that are completely unrelated to one another, despite the fact that pairing strong patterns like leopard print and plaid may appear like a fashion faux pas. Use a neutral piece to anchor the ensemble, such as a black blazer or denim jacket.

3. Pick patterns in various sizes. Layering patterns with two distinct scales is one of the easiest ways to combine patterns. The lower scale can function as neutral when paired with a large-scale design. In this approach, you can create a grunge appearance by pairing a skirt with a little floral print with a large-format plaid flannel.

4. Employ color. Colors should be carefully considered when working with mixed prints. Wildly varied patterns in a more colorful color scheme can be balanced out by strong patterns in neutral colors, such as black and white. Combining a monochrome pattern, such as a red-and-white polka-dot, with a multicolor pattern that incorporates the color from the monochrome pattern, such as a red floral print, is one tactic.

[hyper-lynx]

Chapter 2: Gilded

Featuring Lurien, Hemi, and Liam again. It's a shorter chapter this time, so there's no big others' character features, except an excerpt from @wizblr-blue-moon-ball's writing here and a few allusions to people who might be more prominently featured in Chapter 3.

The place beyond the gates nearly defied belief. The main hall had a ceiling as high as any cathedral, yet it was devoted not to a god, but a family. Lunar sapphire was the crystal of choice for mineral-encrusted golden chandeliers and glowing sconces mounted on the walls. Portraits and tapestries adorned the perimeter, depicting hundreds of fantastical places and long-gone people against a background of whimsically painted wood. Above them, blue banners were embroidered with the symbol of the moon, and above those, gilded supports branched out in an almost organic fashion, holding up a rendition of the star-studded sky against stone as black as night. Numerous doors branched off from the atrium, though curiously their knobs had been replaced with golden plates, each adorned with the crescent moon emblem of the ball, so there was only one path towards the main junction ahead. The path was further emphasized by a deep blue carpet rolled out along the center of the space, covering some grand stonework of marble cut into the floor.

The vaulted air was alive with the warm babel of merriment in waiting, originating from what must have been over fifty guests of great variety. Hemi peeked around a gap in the crowd and noticed that a velvet divider had been placed just before the junction ahead -- presumably, the path to the dance floor itself was past there. Of those he could see, Hemi counted many humans and elves and similar, a handful of beastfolk, and many creatures that were a bit harder to characterize. The one common thread between them (well, most of them) was their elaborate and impressive manner of dress. The men wore a wide assortment of blazers, vests, and suits with triangular adornments on one side. A surprising number had taken to the more traditionally feminine style, however, as Hemi himself had. Dresses of all varieties dominated the collective wardrobe -- many far more elaborate than Hemi’s own. Some of them looked custom made for this very event, even. Hemi blinked and swallowed some spit, trying to avoid nervously grooming. No one paid him any mind, of course, as they were occupied in their own pre-existing groups.

As he looked into the distance, his open hand suddenly felt the presence of a cold surface. He started, only to find that somehow a glass of something had appeared there. He noticed, just as it was leaving, the faint outline of a spirit or specter of some kind -- perhaps a servant? A gentle sniff revealed that the beverage was alcoholic, but was not, as he feared, grape wine -- a poison to his species. He took a gentle lap of it, and it tasted of honey, with an underlying richness that reminded him of vanilla. 

“This is incredible!” Liam practically bounded towards Hemi, nimble despite his manner of dress. “It’s like if a cathedral was for dancing!” The leopard seemed to be gravitating towards the crowd, so Hemi steeled his resolve and followed into the fray.

They dug deeper into the crowd. On one side, they passed what could only be described as a dark angel. Golden wings and a glowing halo accompanied a face like a mask and red, wavering veins of fiery power that crawled along his skin, accentuating tattoos of stars and chains on his arms. It spoke to a lady made entirely of verdant, living moss, whose head was adorned with a hundred flowers. Beside them, the trio of gnomes from before were speaking at the knees of two near-- no, fully identical cloaked figures, who reverberated with a strange energy. A pair of men, one with hair alight in flames -- a man with the distinct aura of a waterfowl in a blazer -- a raven on the shoulder of an animated construct of twigs, whose eyes flickered with firelight. In the confusion, Hemi and Liam walked closer beside each other, snuck glances at each other, as they became yet another duo of the gilded menagerie. The divider was removed, so the whole crowd moved into the ballroom. The marble floors here were uncovered, revealing the elaborate designs of concentric patterns that the room had been built up around. There were probably a hundred other fantastic details, but in the crowd, neither cat could pay attention to the room itself. Instead, the electric feeling, the anticipation, began to boil over.

When everyone had reached the main floor, a voice rang over the others, and the other voices quieted. Lurien stood atop the banisters, looking down over the room. He took a breath, then spoke. "Good evening everyone! I'm honored to see so many of you in attendance. For those I haven't met in person yet, my name is Lurien. I look forward to getting to know you all tonight. The intent of this ball is to bring together members of our community and celebrate the arcane— so I raise a glass in toast of new friendships forged and old ones strengthened," Lurien raised his glass, and in concert with the other guests, Hemi did the same. "To new friendships and broadening horizons, may you all enjoy the festivities tonight!"

A resounding shout echoed off the walls, and everyone took a sip. Somewhere, music began to play -- it was time to dance!

Two Cats Attend the Blue Moon Ball

Chapter 1: Dusk

Featuring @wizblr-blue-moon-ball's Lurien and @flowers-the-sun-witch, along with Hemi and Liam of course. This is the first chapter of probably several that I will make for some of the prompts. Character appearances will vary and can be removed on request!

A calm wind blew over Wizard Island Island’s coastal region, bringing a mild warmth over the old stones and dozens of pointy-hatted towers dotting the landscape. The sky was overcast, but it was clear despite this that the sun was near the horizon. The shimmering line of the ocean adorned the horizon. Along a path of well-trodden cobbles, the air bent and tore, until, with a burst of chromatic power, two felines landed onto the earth. Hemi, wreathed in the gentle fabric of his deep indigo dress, felt the lukewarm air suddenly about his legs until the dress behaved itself. The emblem of the moon was dim in the low light, but still plainly visible. Shortly behind him, Liam practically flowed out of the rift. His gown had the general design of the lunar hibiscus -- pink and, in Hemi’s opinion, somewhat bulbous, but still quite elegant. He held the corners of the dress in a way that suggested he had experience landing from a dimensional vortex in such attire. Once both cats exited the distortion, reality was quick to mend itself.

“Aha, we’re-- um.” Hemi looked around, then let his head tilt. “Where’s--”

They stood at the long-forgotten gates to a property that was seemingly completely absent. There was not a trace of any building -- in its place, an immense crater marred the landscape. The only thing that remained was a tarnished silver archway and a few mana crystals that poked out from the ground at the edges of the place.

Liam gasped. “Did something--?”

“Impossible. If something this big was -- gone, I’d have heard about it. Besides, that gate… must have been abandoned for a hundred years.” Hemi closed his eyes and tried to visualize the route on the invitation he’d been given, but he was certain it led to this general area, and there shouldn’t be any other large estate in the vicinity. Were all his days of anticipation really --

“Oh--! Hemi, look!”

Hemi opened his eyes to the sight of what looked like an angelic being descending through the clouds. He plummeted rapidly and then came to a sudden stop in the air just beyond the gate, not displacing any air or showing any discomfort in the process. An elf with radiant wings, blue into yellow, clothed in shining white silks. Despite his short stature, the elf had a golden power behind his eyes that commanded respect. The emblem of the Blue Moon shone in iridescent stone, adorning his crown.

“Greetings! Hyperlynx Hemi, I presume?” The elf spoke with a quiet tone that nonetheless carried through the emptiness. “I see you’ve found our ‘back entrance’.”

“Oh--! Um, hello, sir--?” Hemi stammered in response as both cats approached the gate.

“Lurien is fine. In any case, I’ve arranged transport for you and your partner. Please proceed through the gate.”

Hemi tilted his head to the opposite side and gazed into the spiky, terrifying chasm just beyond the rusted passage. “Um-- I ah, don’t have any flight spell active…” He glanced at Liam, who shook his head silently.

“That’s fine, sir. I assure you there are accommodations for all creatures at the Blue Moon Ball.” He looked down at some kind of brass handheld timekeeping device. “Although, I would insist you move swiftly. The event will be starting momentarily.”

Hemi huffed softly and looked to Liam, who took the lead. Liam gathered his gown about his feet and cautiously stepped through the gate. He half expected the world to suddenly burst into light and color around him, but no such thing happened. Instead, his foot met with a soft resistance, an invisible surface. It felt a bit like walking across a mattress. Seeing the leopard defy gravity, Hemi followed suit.

“Impressive spell, but where is--” Hemi was cut off when the platform was suddenly thrust skyward. The earth fell away, and waves of amber light emanated from the invisible surface above them as it blocked the wind. Lucien cracked a soft smile -- the emblem across his chest shimmered softly as the three beings were brought up. Even the clouds broke around the barrier above them, until--!

The sun, from its place ever-lower on the horizon, lavished golden light across a wondrous skyscape. A great layer of clouds the size of mountains formed the base, speckled with tiny sections of floating stone -- likely pieces of distant floating islands that came in the wind across the sea. Beyond the shelf of clouds, the light glinted on the water. Above it all, though, a grand estate was situated. The main island consisted of an immense floating mansion. In a way, it was almost more like a town  -- the lower section was something of a hull, with docking ports for flying ships and tiered gardens protruding from openings in its sides. Atop, the mansion sprawled across a massive expanse of once-natural earth, with what must have been hundreds of rooms and halls. Near the center, the peak of a wizard’s tower wis visible, adorned with the same lunar emblem.

Lucien watched the two cats take it all in as he platform moved in a grand circuit through the air above the venue. “Sunset really is wonderful at this altitude, isn’t it?” He noted. The light cast off everything, and the shadow of the floating manor lengthened forever across the clouds. Hemi took a moment to glance down at Liam, whose eyes were literally wide with wonder. 

Their dutiful invisible chariot let them down in the plaza just before the main gates. It seemed nearly everyone else was already somewhere inside, since this courtyard was otherwise occupied only by a trio of gnomes who seemed to pay the cat-men no mind. Lucien directed their attention to a statue of a human woman, depicted 20 feet tall in marble stricken with veins of some shimmering blue mineral. Water flowed from small slots below the woman’s feet into small channels that fed this section of the gardens.

“This is the original owner of the manor, Mistress Areth Lunacai. It’s said she discovered the arcane properties of lunar sapphire, and therefore mastered the art of permanent levitation. In her time, her genius was not recognized, so she wrested her family’s estate into the skies, where it still remains.”

“Wow…” Liam looked up at her. Hemi, however, was already distracted by looking at the venue itself. As the light of dusk began to fade, Hemi crossed his arms over his chest.

“Lucien, sir?” He interjected. “Are we late for-- anything?”

Lucien raised an eyebrow. “You accuse me of being late to my own ball?”

“Um--! Well, no, I--”

The host smiled. “No, it’s understandable. You are actually somewhat early. While most attendees have made their way to the main hall and its waiting rooms, the formal schedule will not commence for half an hour at minimum. Plenty of time, no?” Hemi nodded and looked to the side. He thanked the gods for the impenetrably thick fur that hid his now-red cheeks from view, then took a deep breath. There was no great rush. This was an event for fun, after all. The sleepless night before preparing… the weeks of anticipation… It all led to this night, where everything was arranged for him. He walked closer beside Liam.

Lurien turned over his shoulder, towards a figure in a blue dress who had appeared amidst the gardens. “Ah, I see a new guest has arrived. Excuse me.” Lucien bowed and began to gracefully stride towards the newcomer.

“Hey Hemi, do you want to go meet them? The person over there, I mean?”

Hemi looked to the newcomer, then back at the red wisps of frozen clouds high above. “I think I’ll watch the sunset for now. You go ahead -- we’re all going to the main hall anyway, right?”

Liam nodded and followed Lurien’s path through the gardens as quickly as he could without letting any dirt get on his outfit. By the time he arrived, the host was already leading the other person back up a scenic route along the terrain’s edge towards the fountain. Their long brown hair -- adorned with red flowers -- was tied into a set of four pigtails that dangled about elven ears and onto the shoulders of a truly cute blue dress, tied with a red belt bearing a once-live sunflower. They looked up at the approaching beastman with only momentary confusion. Lucien, without even looking in Liam’s direction, nodded. 

“I’ll allow you two a moment to become acquainted. There’s a matter I’ll need to attend to.” Lucien announced. A moment later, a great eagle flew dangerously close to the edge of the island and began circling the courtyard. Lucien sighed and, with a subtle movement of his wings, lifted off to redirect the bird’s rider.

“Oh gosh!” The witch put a hand against her mouth and giggled.

Liam shook his head. “Some people…” He turned his attention back to the immediate environs. “Well-- ah, greetings!” Liam gave a curtsy. “My name’s Liam.”

The witch returned the favor. “I’m Flowers, the Sun Witch. It’s nice to meet you! I like your dress.”

“Thank you~!” Liam twirled around a little. “Yours is very cute.”

The witch smiled, but didn’t reply verbally. The two watched for a moment as the now distant eagle followed Lucien -- from this range, a point of light -- towards the arcane beast stables on the lower levels. “I’ve not seen a dress of that style in a while. Lunar hibiscus, right?” Liam’s head tilted slightly. “How did you--”

“I don’t call myself ‘Flowers’ for no reason. The color’s pretty accurate, too. Though, those flowers are pretty rare on the island…”

“Ah, I’m not actually from here. I’m not even properly a wizard -- that title belongs to my partner. I’m his plus-one.”

“Oh!” Flowers looked along the rim of the floating landmass. “Is that him?” She pointed out Hemi, sitting alone on an outcropping, watching the redness leave the sky as night took over.

“Yeah…” Liam put his hand behind his head. “He’s a little shy. I’m sure he’ll warm up when things kick off.”

“Flowers nodded, then tapped her foot. “I hope the host is back soon… I hope everything’s alright with the bird situation.”

As if on cue, on a beam of light, Lucien appeared next to the two guests. “I apologize for the wait, Mx. Flowers. I hope you’ll forgive  my cutting your tour short for the moment, as the floor will open momentarily. I suggest you both make your way to the main hall and meet some more of the guests in the meantime.”

“Ah-! Of course, thank you.” Flowers began to walk down the garden path towards Hemi. Lucien, apparently satisfied, vanished into light.

“Um--” Liam trotted after her surprisingly quick gait. “The fastest path is to the right.”

“We need to collect your partner, don’t we?” The sun witch glanced back at him. “Besides, I need to compliment his dress, too.”

By the time they arrived, the sun had completely set, so Hemi was just staring off into the swirling expanse of the clouds below. His ears were somewhat askew-- when Liam approached, they swiveled to face him.

“Hey, we’re supposed to go inside soon.” Liam let a gentleness into his tone.

Hemi stretched and stood. He used a quick gesture to disconnect the dirt from his dress’ fabric, so it became fully clean in an instant. When he turned around, he started at the sight of the witch who accompanied Liam.

“Oh--! Um--” Hemi gave a clumsy bow. “Hello-- I’m sorry, I didn’t notice you.”

The witch extended her hand. “I’m Flowers. What’s your name?”

“...Hemi.” He said, and shook her hand with his paw. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You as well. I like your dress~!” She told him. Hemi’s ears flipped, but he smiled in response.

A latch sounded at the main door. “Ah, it seems it’s time to enter. Have a wonderful time, you two--!” Flowers curtseyed again, and was off.

Liam looked at Hemi with a soft grin..

“What? I was surprised…”

“Nothing, nothing.” He took Hemi’s hand. “Another adventure, right?”

“--Right.”

The two cats proceeded towards the gathering group of wizards and the great oaken doors. The blue moon shone bright overhead.

[lordjoshallen]

Lord Josh Allen - Leopard Skin 

https://www.youtube.com/user/Lamat771

[seokustic]

➝ three months into working for min&kim, coming across the forged company audit is the last thing you’d want in your plate. and min yoongi isn’t convinced that you’d keep your mouth shut.

➝ yandere!ceo!yoongi x secretary!reader

➝ 2 242 words

➝ warnings: dub-con, blackmail, coercion, unprotected sex, stockholm syndrome

➝ author’s note: read the warnings. don’t proceed if those elements make you uncomfortable.

―

“please, i won’t tell anyone,” you can taste the fear on your tongue as you gaze into yoongi’s unbending eyes.

“i understand i’m not in any position to make demands but please let me go home and i’ll forget this ever happened,” words of desperation and submission leaves your lips faster than the ‘sorry’s you owe every possible colleague that works under you.

“self-aware. i like that,” he husks, tossing the sleek black blazer of his onto the couch as he begins to undo the buttons of the cuffs around his wrists, “no wonder namjoon’s eager to keep you to himself.”

at the mention of that name, a bleached blonde haired man with the kindest dimpled smile flashes at the back of your mind. you remember shooting up from your seat and bowing as he passed by you whilst words of “have a good evening, mr. kim,” leaves your pretty wine red coated lips.

‘will i be able to meet him again?’

the thought chills you to your bones.

‘why wouldn’t i meet namjoon again?’ you internally laugh. if it was an audible one, it would have sounded pathetic yet hopeful.

to think you’re worrying about the future when your present is shriveled with uncertainty.

you watch as the man he calls his brother and partner amble towards you with leisure but dominating steps. like a hunter sizing up his prey.

if yoongi was black leopard, you’d be a white little bunny who’s trapped between the recliner and the glass desk, unable to move even though you’d spot him in your line of sight.

“i-is it money you want?” the words slip past your lips before you can even register them.

when you’re mentally hitting yourself for asking the co-owner of the firm you’re working at if he wants what little savings you have in your account, yoongi is already chuckling. it sounds melodic for someone who looks like he’s about to eat you alive.

“you and i both know i’ve got more money on my wrist than you do in your account.” he stops in front of you, feet wedged between your heeled ones.

as if on cue, the rolex on his wrist glints. as if mocking you as he pulls open the top most drawer, pulling out a miniature tripod with a phone readily attached to it. all you can do is continue to watch as he unlocks the screen.

the sound of you sucking in a sharp breath is the only thing that fills the silence when you see yourself reflected in the square frame. the time played over your wide-eyed gaze begins at 00:00:01.

“oh, that? don’t mind that. i like to look back at the time we’re about to spend together and... reminisce.” he wears a smirk on his face and pushes the hem of your dress up with his hand.

yet the billion dollar smirk you’d be dying to see and would fawn over with krystal from afar now makes your stomach knot with disgust. your heart’s palpitating but the sweat trickling down the side of your face is cold.

“please,” your head shakes, as if that little gesture could touch his heart and make him stop what he’s doing.

the metallic sound of his belt clicking as he undoes it drums it your ears, “get on the desk, sweetheart.”

when silence and your disbelieving stare is all he gets as a response, yoongi’s voice rises higher than the usual smooth, husked tone you’re used as he passed you and bade you good morning these past three months since you started working and min&kim.

“fucking do it!”

you scamper to hoist yourself over the flat surface of the table. both your ass and palms feel ice cold against the glass material.

“spread your legs.”

the tip of your heels teeter on the edge of the desk as you force your legs apart, gaze thrown to the pen holder on the opposite side of where the camera phone is set to capture every angle of your disgraceful position.

a whimper escapes your mouth when you feel something touch you through your panties.

“i must say, i didn’t peg you for a lace girl, ___.” gone is the rage in his voice once you did what he asked and in its place, a deep, appreciative purr. as if it’s supposed to be a compliment.

“won’t you even look at me?” he sounds almost devastated, as if your silence and refusal physically hurts him.

“look at me!” he roars a second later, giving you no time to ponder nor prepare yourself for it.

you meet his gaze with furrowed brows and bitten lip, trying hard not to show how much they’re trembling.

“pretty,” he holds you by your jaw, turning your face to the left and then right, as if conducting some kind of observation, “if only i didn’t take rose as my secretary... we would’ve had so much fun, you and i.”

“i can ask to be transferred here! i’ll keep your secret. just please... don’t do this.” gaze boring into his with sheer disgust while you beg with desperation while the cold nips on your exposed legs.

at your words, his hand seems to stop just millimeters from your clit. as if he’s truly considering the offer. the heart that blooms with hope gets crushed in that same instant as a smile stretches across his face.

“you really think you’re in a position to be negotiating?”

nimble fingers pulls your panties to the side before you feel his digit teases you, “sweetheart, you’re dripping wet.”

as if only realizing the juices leaking down your ass and the full view he has, your legs start to close, only to be tightly gripped by his free hand. you wince. that’s going to leave a bruise.

but before you can think of what excuses you’d use to wear skirts longer than your usual mid-thigh ones, the sound of the zipper grazing as it gets pulled down - brushes your eardrums.

“no, please! i promise i’ll do anything! everything you want! just please! don’t!” s series of pleas pour out of your lips like a broken tap. you don’t realize you’re crying until yoongi’s tall, lean figure becomes blurred from the tears.

“shhh,” he coos, sweet as honey but pushes himself in to the hilt.

the sigh the leaves yoongi’s lips makes your stomach twist.

‘how can he enjoy this?’

your palms clasp over your face and eyes as tears wet your skin. your back is cold as you lose all energy to hold yourself up. your body shifts upwards with every thrust.

but it’s the way he slides right into you that burns you with self-loathe. the way the discomfort you felt in the beginning gradually morphs into flames of wonton as you taste blood in your mouth, biting on your lower lip as hard as you can to not make a sound.

because you’re not sure if it’s a plea for him to stop or a plea for him to fuck you harder that will come out.

and you silently sniffle as yoongi turns you on your side, bent over to hold your body that’s wrecked with sobs and pleasure. the groans that brush your ear sickens you to your stomach but makes you clench around him harder as you near your climax.

“don’t be shy, moan for me, sweetheart,” he says grunts, tugging on your wrist as if trying to get you to stop covering your face.

as if he wants to see you break. see the tears cascading down your cheeks. see the shamelessly pleasured face you’re making as your heart beat to the staccato of his thrusts.

“stop...” you whimper, “stop, please, don’t- stop- ah! oh!”

“what’s that? don’t stop?” he laughs, “i’m not wearing a condom though. you sure you want me to but a baby inside you?”

“fuck, just like that. yeah- yoongi-ah right there- oh!”

you should’ve kept your mouth shut. because once the moans pour out of your lips like an open floodgate, there’s no stopping the salacious sounds from filling the room.

you don’t even realize yoongi pushed you to lay on your back again. don’t even realize how your legs clench around his waist whilst your ankles lock together on his lower back as he fucks you raw like he’s never fucked a woman in a long time.

you don’t even realize your lipstick smudging that area on his shoulder as you bite into his flesh, unable to take the surge of ecstasy coursing through your veins before a scream scratches your throat, your back arching as you see stars behind your eyes.

the warmth of his cum spreads through your lower belly as you lay limply on the desk, muscles still twitching from the sparks of electricity of your after orgasm. your legs dangle off the edge of the desk, still parted and in full view of the cum that pours out of you and onto the carpeted floor.

it takes you what feels like hours to push yourself up. gather your broken pieces, put your panties back on and pat down your skirt, feeling the warm, sticky cum drip down your legs and soils your skirt.

the heat of yoongi’s gaze digs into your pores. even when you’re all dressed up like the way you first walked in and saw the open email of the files of the unaudited expenditure of the firm’s income and the forged one. underneath the email, signed victoria song, the head accountant.

“come on, i’ll drop you home.” he says, the blazer he tossed now draped over his arm.

it’s as if he didn’t just smirk as he rewatched the first few seconds of the video. the sound of your desperate pleading commanding the silence while you laid like a lifeless corpse on the desk, trying to make sense of what just happened.

he’s acting as if nothing happened.

“i’ll take catch a cab,” you send your thanks to the gods for venom in your voice and the glare in your gaze.

“i said,” his husks, ever so gently with a threat that he will have no problems executing, “i’ll take you home.”

the whole ride is silent save for the sound of your sniffles yoongi pretends not to hear.

how gentleman-ly of him.

when the car rolls to a stop in front of your apartment building, you meet his gaze with round, terrified eyes. heart palpitating uncontrollably as he smiles like he’s dropping off his girlfriend after a date.

“how do you know where i live?”

you were too busy wiping away stray tears and gazing out the window to worry about giving him directions.

supposed he doesn’t need it after all.

yoongi doesn’t answer. he dodges it as smoothly as he dives in for a kiss. you recoil, pushing yourself up against the door and as far away from him before realization hits you like a pang of ice cold water in winter.

the glint in yoongi’s eyes is telling enough that he isn’t pleased with the trick you just pulled.

even if it was no trick at all. even if you truly only want to leave.

but there’s a video of you in a phone stored inside his desk 20 minutes from here. and you’d be a fool to think he didn’t airdrop it to his personal phone when he was rewatching the video after that.

who knows how long it’ll take for it to hit the internet if you so much as piss him off more than you do now.

the answer is a no brainer.

in a matter of seconds, min yoongi could ruin your life and rebrand you as a licentious woman who sleeps her way to the top.

those pleas for him to stop?

easily overridden by the way you clung onto him like you don’t want to let go.

“sorry, i was just... surprised,” you blink back the tears, lips curling into one of your professional smiles, heart thumping at the way his expression lightens into a pleased one at your own change of expression.

with a trembling hand, you touch his cheek. it feels soft under your fingertip. you wonder how it’ll look if you’d graze it with your fingernails.

your lips brush his and your stomach knots in discomfort. he deepens the kiss, pulling you by your hair, tongue slipping past your lips, tasting the fear that lingers like an unspoken truth on your tongue.

but it’s the way your arms involuntarily wrap around yoongi’s shoulders, kissing him back without even a word of command - that’s what makes you want to hurl your insides out.

it’s the moan that slips past your lips that makes you push him away. eyes wide. you look at him like a deer caught in headlights.

“i-i’ll see you tomorrow.” it’s almost as if waiting for his reaction has become an instinct to you too fast and too soon.

“yeah, see you tomorrow,” when yoongi reaches out his hand and wipes away the corner of your mouth that might’ve been lipstick that got smudged from the kiss, you grope for the door handle.

and you slip out of the car and walk to the entrance of your apartment building, not looking up even when you hear the amicable “good evening, miss ___, working late, are we?” from the security.

you keep walking until you’re inside the elevator.

and only then do you let out a breath you didn’t know you’ve been holding. then the sob wrecks through your cold body.

funny how being trapped inside a metal box gives you more security than any human could provide.

[highlifestyleindia]

Hedi Slimane, the designer of Celine, sent out a line-up of bare-chested models in sheer, unzipped blouses and dazzling blazers on Sunday night to close Paris Fashion Week and announce the return of the French label to menswear.

Models walked down a long runway with sunglasses and their hands thrust into their front pockets as spotlights flashed.

Infused with an androgynous rock mood à la David Bowie, Celine's summer runway show was packed with clothing, from sequin-embellished shirts to low-cut, skin-hugging pants and a sparkly crocodile blazer.

Slip-on shoes and raw edged jeans were given depth by a long beige coat worn over a leather jacket, as well as by an ultra-slim tie and a white shirt.

Short sleeve shirts with leopard and coconut tree landscape prints were worn with large necklace plastrons.

The spectacular backdrops Slimane picked for his livestreamed presentations during the pandemic, with swooping drones and Renaissance castles, contrasted with the plain concrete halls of the show venue — the Palais de Tokyo, a Fashion Week mainstay.

Crowds flocked to the area's streets in anticipation of seeing South Korean celebrity Park Bo-gum, Blackpink's Lisa, and V, whose real name is Kim Tae-hyung, the vocalist and lyricist of BTS.

[fascination-street-writing]

Be With Me Tonight | Guido Mista x F!Reader

Regret is a sickening temptation - and you have ruined everything.

Content Warnings: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content (Oral & Implied), Implied Past Attempted Sexual Assault, Potentially Dubious Consent, & Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics (Past & Present)

You said you would do your own makeup. And yet, here you sit on a thrifted barstool – never mind the tweed upholstery that digs into the underside of your skirt-clad thighs, when you paid less for the stool than you would a loaf of bread – and flinch as your sister nearly prods your iris with the mascara wand clutched in her tremoring hand. She smells of hair spray and counterfeit perfume. You look to the mirror that hangs above the vanity.

“You really should change before we go,” she tells you while returning the wand to its tube. Fingers toil through your hair: she scrutinizes your appearance as though you are a porcelain doll and she your maker. You suppose that, in a way, she is. “You won’t catch anyone’s attention dressed like that.”

The reflection of your cherry-red lips mimics the frown upon your face. “Maybe I don’t want to ‘catch anyone’s attention,’” you retort. “I’m not even ready to start dating again.”

She groans. “You’re not still caught up on that perdente, are you?”

You do not have to bite back a quip because you do not have one. Instead, you bite your stained lips and look away. Though the relationship with your most recent ex had ended on mutual terms, the separation stings nonetheless.

“You know, you’ve always had bad taste in men,” your sister continues. Varnish to a wall, she rubs powder across your cheekbones. “First there was that pervertito when you were fifteen, and now a convicted murderer.”

“Can you stop?” you demand, clenching your fist. “He’s not a murderer. It was self-defense.”

“Regardless of what you think, he still killed three men. I can’t believe the landlord hasn’t changed our locks yet. I asked him almost a year ago now, ever since he was released from prison,” your sister insists, ignoring your plea. “You should’ve asked for his key back.”

“He has a name, you know.” Guido Mista – a name that once tasted like honey on your tongue, now bitter as cigarette smoke.

And your sister refuses to speak it, for she hates the taste of cigarettes. A hum dies on her lips. Her smirk bequeaths to you an urgency to cower in shame; however, the distressed look in her eyes tells you how much she fears for your welfare.

As if she has anything to genuinely be afraid of.

Guido Mista has, for most of your life, been something of an extended acquaintance to you. His is a recognizable presence in crowded hallways; after all, who else amongst the student body could muster the same courage to break the dress-code by donning a purple beanie cap atop their head? You will admit to him that you look forward to the days when a teacher confiscates his cap because it means that you get to admire his rich chocolate curls all day long from your seat at the back of the classroom. He will chuckle in response and press a sloppy kiss to your cheek while running his calloused fingers over the sides of your belly, drinking in the laughter that bubbles through you, as if you are the fountain of ever-lasting love itself.

But it was not always this way. Before Mista came a boy whose name you will etch from memory in time – remembered as a boyfriend, but never as a partner.

At your locker, he leans over you, waiting for you to stack your textbooks away. You are fifteen, and he asks you to join him behind the bleachers of the gymnasium. No more than a pet tethered by a chain, you follow him blindly to where his companions wait. You know their pubescent faces but you seldom speak to them. Their names do not matter anymore, either.

In a school dress, pitted against three boys who surpass you in height – you never stood a chance.

The squealing of the gymnasium doors and the slamming of the lock is not enough to stop them. It did little more than encourage your perpetrators to wedge you between their clothed bodies as they fist your hair and tug at the skirt that your father has only just purchased for you after you spilled grape juice over the previous one. You spot the purple beanie over your boyfriend’s blazer-clad shoulder and cry out to him – to Guido Mista.

His cap has fallen from his head, and they beat him until he gasps for air and spews bile from his throat. But he never begs them to stop because it keeps them from attacking you again. He can hardly put up a fight when every attempt to stand is quelled by the diving of a loafer-clad foot into the pit of his stomach Your boyfriend grabs him by those beautiful curls and ushers his face against the waxed floors. The glint of a pocketknife catches your eye.

The school-bell blares. The boy who had held you back throws you to the ground. The pocketknife clamors with you, just beyond the grasp of the tips of your fingers. Your ex-boyfriend (for you no longer consider him as anything more) and his boyish companions dust off their blazers, straighten their ties, and hurry off for their next round of classes. They leave you with your unsettled clothes and a boy with a broken nose.

Clutching the rungs of the bleachers, Mista pulls his body upwards:  a buoy in the sea, and you the only vessel on the horizon. You press his discarded beanie – which you cannot help but to notice smells comfortingly so of cedarwood – to his nose. Red blossoms seep into the delicate threads.  “Are you okay?” he asks you with a cough and a grimace for, as you will come to discover, he has cracked a rib.

“Yes.” Compared to his injuries, you cleared the scuffle relatively unscathed. Mista had stepped in before anything beyond the tearing of your uniform could happen. And yet, his concern is of you and not for his own well-being. “Thank you.”

He flashes you a lopsided grin. You are glad to see that, though laced with the blood that seeps into his mouth, he has not lost any teeth. His repose is infectious, and his ease illuminates your own composure. You help him to stand and together you walk to the nurse’s office, his arm slung over your shoulders and yours around his waist. Your attackers are expelled; their testimony of falsified innocence could not hold a candle to security footage, or a pocketknife engraved with damning initials. Despite everything, you make a new friend. The two of you will become lovers at sixteen – utterly inseparable.

Until the very end.

You prefer sweeter cocktails, but you accept the gin and tonic from your sister and lift it to your lips anyways. The relief of the ice pooling in the cavities of your mouth is a reprieve from the suffocating atmosphere of the nightclub. Too many bodies, too much sweat – too many different smells, and suddenly your mind whirls. You place the emptied glass atop a table and only then do you realize that you never juiced the translucent lime wedge curled around the rim.

The circle of women whom you find yourself dancing with are strangers; you sway as though you have all known each other for a lifetime. You do not understand the words of the American pop song that resonates from the wall speakers, but it does not matter; after all, even an illiterate man can read rhythm. Across the dancefloor, your sister drags two men with her towards the restroom.

A pelvis presses against your backend – or perhaps, it is your backend that leans into the nook of the clubber swaying behind you. A pair of hands falls to your hips, though you take the lead in rocking side-to-side to Laura Branigan’s cadence. Over the sound of music, the woman to your left suggests that you all swap cellphone numbers. The woman to your right agrees with a drunken nod of her head and, giddy with excitement, clasps your hand. The woman directly across from you offers to order a round of shots to commemorate this newfound comradery. Instead of a tray filled with cinnamon whiskey, she returns with an olive-toned man clad in orange leopard print pants and a blue cross-patterned sweater that exposes his midriff.

“Hey, ladies,” the woman calls out to your circle. The lights ripple across her flushed skin like water. “This is Mista.”

You freeze, your hips suspended mid-beat. Your dance partner pouts and pulls away. Mista does not look to you, and you are grateful . . . Until his coffee-colored eyes do fall to your face after a hiccup jostles your chest. His brows furrow, gaze darting between you and the man behind you. Before his steadily parting lips can utter your name against the clapping of the bass, you are gone because you are not ready.

The winter breeze makes you shiver. The nightly chill is preferable to the sweltering sanctuary behind you, where only moments ago you bobbed along to pop songs and impulsively contemplated friendship with intoxicated patrons who will not remember you in the morning.

The green dial of your cellphone flashes and reflects upon scattered puddles.  You text your sister and tell her that you are going home – don’t wait up. Your affinity for clubbing has gone sour.

“I thought that was you.”

Your heart races quickly, so much that it might burst from the nook between your breasts and land on the ground before his white boots. “Yeah, it’s me,” you say. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“You too. So, what’ve you been up to?”

“Just stuff. And things.”

Mista laughs. “Stuff and things?”

“Y’know, work,” you tell him with a nod. “More work.”

“Me too.” You fidget with your purse. “I saw your sister – or, the back of her head, actually. How’s she doin’?”

“She’s good.”

“Good.”

A man stumbles through the door. He reeks of cheap bourbon and rye. You and Mista step aside and watch the man as he struggles to walk away from the club. The scene has created a lull to your painfully cumbrous conversation; you reap the opportunity, for it becomes your self-proclaimed cue to leave. You open your mouth to bid Mista adieu. The taste of your own lipstick leaves you sputtering.

“Hey, so uh, are you busy?” he suddenly asks, cutting you off. You have always believed that he could read minds. In this moment, it is as if he knows your intent – as if shuffling in your heels and tightening the grasp on your purse were not telltale signs of your discomfort.

“Not really,” you insist. “I was about to head home.”

“Cool, cool. I was just wondering because you left something behind at my apartment. I’ve been meaning to give it back, but I didn’t think it’d be right to just show up at your doorstep or something.”

“It hasn’t stopped you before,” you chide.

“I know, I know. I just figured it’d make sense to stop at my place, since it’s on the way.”

It gnaws at you – the voice in your head that tells you to leave him be, here and now. It will not do you any good, stepping back into walls once sacred to you. He stares at you, wide-eyed, and gages your reaction. Dark curls poke out from beneath the rim of his cap. You wonder if he still uses that cedarwood shampoo.

It would not do you any good to go with him. The prospect of sipping a glass of wine whilst soaking in a warm bath beckons you home. There is little trouble that you can muster with an idle night, for the night is still young and you have not given up. Though the moon has reached its peak, you cannot surrender. You have made your choice.

“Sure.”

But you never intended to make the right one.

You were sure to slip on a set of shoes before stepping outside. Through the hallway, down the elevator, across the lobby, and onto the street you wander with little more than the glow of streetlamps and passing headlights to guide your way through the dark. You find him in the alley between your apartment building and the next. The stink of a prison cell has imprinted itself onto his skin.

He slips a single nickel-plated key into your hand. “Your sister probably wouldn’t appreciate me having this,” he says.

“You can keep it. I’ll tell her you forgot it.” When he does not accept the return, you reach out and tuck the key into the pocket of his cargo pants. “Just so you have something to remember me by.”

The look in his eyes – the sheen of gloss that coats his irises – churns your stomach. In that moment, Mista reminds you of a dog scorned by his owner. In a way, that is exactly what he is. “You still have that sweater I sent you, right?”

Mustard-yellow, and one of your favorites. And one of Mista’s, too. You had sent it to him during his second week in holding. “Yeah.”

“Keep that, too.” A revolver rests in inside the waistband of his pants. It is a new addition to his appearance. It does not unsettle you, because you know that this man who killed three mobsters without hesitation would never hurt you. “Mista, I’m sorry.”

“I am too,” he sighs, kicking at a discarded soda can that had drifted from a nearby trashcan. “But it’s for the best.”

“It is.” The soda can rolls your way. You stop it with the sole of your foot; it crinkles beneath your weight. “Maybe one day, after you’re tired of working for that Bucciarati, we can pick up where we left off.”

“I’d like that.”

You smile. “Me too . . . Well, I should get going before my sister realizes I’m gone.” In your final moments together – before a pair of lovers once again becomes two separate beings – you embrace. Face buried into the crook of his neck, you speak: “You’re a good person, Mista. No matter what happened between you and those men or whatever does happen, you will always be good.”

He clutches you tighter.

“Don’t let them get to you. Don’t let this job get to you. And please, stai al sicuro, amore: stay safe.”

Back in your bedroom, you shed your clothes and don a mismatched set pajamas. Ever the optimist, you retire for the night with a heart not yet ready to be broken.

And an inescapable evocation of loneliness.

You are shocked to see the stack of hastily packed cardboard boxes. The words fragile or giunca are crudely scribbled with black marker across each one. All that remains is a worn couch with springs that poke into your skin and a square television, which sits on a box labeled libri e altra spazzatura – books and other trash.

The uniform pinholes in the barren walls are a reminder that imitators of your face, frozen in time, used to adorn the room.

“You’re moving?” you ask Mista as he tosses his hat aside and runs a hand through his hair.

He stops and looks to the boxes. “Yeah, actually,” he confirms. “The rent’s too damn high to afford on my own. I’m moving in with some coworkers.”

“You mean other gang members?” You do not miss the way he bites his lip in response. You regret your words as soon as they leave you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“N-no, it’s okay – you’re right anyways.” He trails off. “So that guy you were with. He your boyfriend or something?”

You struggle to recall your dance partner. “Oh, no,” you insist, caught between a scoff and a laugh. “I don’t even know his name.”

Something flashes behind his eyes. He hides the smile that creeps on his face behind the back of his hand, though he does not speak. Not another word is spoken.

It does not sit well with you, the silence that manifests in the still of the room. You are a trespasser – but so is he, for this realm no longer belongs to him, either. “Um, where’s this thing I left behind?” you finally ask; your voice echoes through the emptied space. It makes you shiver.

Mista disappears past the threshold of the bedroom that you once shared  – you wonder if he still uses the cream-colored sheets you bought for him as opposed to his preferred navy blue – and returns with a shirt: it is your mustard-yellow sweater. It is wrinkled and smells just like him and something new (gunpowder, perhaps). The dried drool marks tell you that he sleeps with it bundled in his arms. “Here,” he says, holding it out to you.

You do not move to take it. “I gave it to you,” you remind him. A crushed soda can is under your foot and again, you are back in the alley saying farewell to your love. “I want you to keep it.”

But there is no alleyway – only a vacant apartment suite. He does not wish to return it; in a hasty, split-second decision back at the nightclub, he wagered his ownership over what has become his most cherished possession. Just for the chance that you might say yes.

Just for the chance to spend one last night with you.

He rolls his wrist, extending his arm further. “No. It’s for the best.”

And so, you pluck it from his grasp and tuck it inside of your purse – the final harvest from the tree, to be seeded and planted elsewhere. “I’d better get going,” you tell him. “I wish you all the best. It was good seeing you again. Really good . . .”

The doorknob hovers under your palm. “Wait,” Mista suddenly calls. You stop. He rubs the back of his neck. “Would you like to stay for a bit?”

“I shouldn’t. It’s late.” Your tongue betrays your heart. It is treason within your very soul. “Besides, it’s probably for the best if I go.”

Your reverberation of his words makes him wince. More than anything, you want to drop your purse and climb into his arms – to feel his warmth again. You need to leave. Yet, you step away from the door and take a seat upon the flattened cushions of the couch. You still remember where to sit to avoid the broken springs. “Unless, I mean . . .  I guess if you really wouldn’t mind.”

Mista perks up. You mirror his grin. He takes the spot beside you, careful to leave a considerable amount of distance between your bodies. He reaches for the remote. The reception has not improved – it remains fuzzy, pixelated, and colorless.

“I’d offer a boardgame, but . . .” He gestures to the boxes; you get the hint. The channels flash by. “Any preferences?”

“I’m fine with a cooking show,” you tell him. “Or a movie.”

He settles for the latter. At some point, you leave Mista to fetch two drinks from the kitchen. The refrigerator is nearly empty, save for a few bottles of water. When you return with your beverages, you find that he has fallen asleep. You leave him be and watch the reminder of the movie with nothing more than his heavy breathing and the voices of the actors to keep you company.

You turn the television off once the end credits begin. Mista has not moved. If not for the heaving of his chest, he might have been a dead man. Without a clock on the wall, you cannot tell the time. Prediction is all you have – and so, you predict that it is just after midnight. Regardless, you have overstayed your welcome. It is time to leave.

Your fingers brush across his arm as you lean over his hunched form to rouse him from his slumber.  You would hate to leave without saying goodbye. “Mista . . . “ you coo; your speech slurs and it is only then that you realize your own exhaustion. “I’m gonna go home, ‘kay?”

He stirs beneath you. Eyes puffy from sleep, he ogles at your figure. You hover over him, your breath close enough to ghost his cheeks. His long, dark lashes twitch when you breathe too sharply – when he parts his legs for you to slide in between them so that he might capture your lips with his own. One hand to the base of your neck, the other to your waist: he pulls you flush to his body, caging you with arms that feel unfamiliar. More muscle, you suppose.

You press against his chest and detach. His grip loosens, although only enough for you to raise the back of your hand to puckered lips to wipe the saliva from your face. He has already lost you – once more and it will become a life sentence.

“Mista,” you warn, turning your head away to resist his second kiss. The twinges of early love bloom again in the core of your belly. You want him. But you cannot have him. “We can’t.”

Your lipstick stains his mouth. It makes him look undeniably pretty.

“One night,” he pleads – yet his hands leave your body. “I know what you said, about waiting until I’m finished with Passione. But that was easier said than done. I can’t leave them; not now, maybe not ever. They’re mia famiglia. And so are you.”

Your head falls limply. “You can’t have us both.”

“Why not?” He speaks your name when you hesitate to answer. A finger hooks beneath your chin, tipping your head so that you must meet his gaze. “Why not, cara?”

He demands a truth that you have never professed. Not to him, nor your sister – and never to yourself. “I’m scared, Mista,” you finally admit. Confession weighs you down in his grasp. “Because I know the day will come when you won’t come back. It’d be better if I’m not around for it.”

A faint smile, laced with sorrow, etches upon his face. “Do you have that little faith in me?” he asks.

Faith? It was never for the lack thereof. You trust Mista with every fiber of your being because he saved you. And it was not just you – he took the lives of three men to protect the virtue of a woman whom he had never met because she could have been you. She was almost you. That night, when he had heard that woman’s screams and saw the man crouched over her bruised form, Mista felt as though his body had projected itself back into the gymnasium of the school you once attended together. Only this time, he knew how to put up a fight. He acted in the way that the constraints of boyhood had once held him back from.

No, you do not place your mistrust on Mista – you place it in the souls of every man and woman that poses a threat to his safety. The fact that you do not know how to convey this to him mystifies you. Actions are far easier than words, and so you press your lips to his once more. You feed off his touch alone.  

You recline against the backing of the couch, hands pressed flat against the cushions. keening into Mista’s palms as he slides your skirt down – past your thighs, past your knees, and past your ankles. Your panties follow suit. His mouth presses against your slick folds; as touch starved as you have become, it takes little more than his kisses to stir your core. As if commanded by muscle memory, your legs coil around his shoulders and yank him closer the moment his tongue slips past your heat. He groans against you, low and gravely. It makes you gasp when his teeth graze over your hardened nub. When he brings his finger to join his tongue, you find that you are unable to stop your hips from rocking against his lips. A second finger coaxes you, and then a third – you come undone in his mouth, heaving for air.

You cry out his name in prayer. Mista pulls away, letting your legs fall back down. The spasm of your thighs turns your abdomen to jelly. You cannot move. You draw him in for another kiss, savoring the taste of your balm that coats his skin. He mutters his desires and you nod, eager to feel him fill you again. He hoists you into his arms and carries you to the bedroom.

It fills you with gratification to see that the rumpled sheets and folded pillows beneath you are in fact the color of sweet cream.

Soft snores leave Mista’s lips. He sleeps on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, and the other tucked beneath your head. Unlike your lover, you are wide-awake. You stare at the browning wallpaper of the bedroom wall, willing yourself to believe that the stagnant flowers are truly billowing against the wind in a field elsewhere.

You toss the duvet from your body and stand, careful not to wake him. The mattress breathes in the absence of your weight. In the darkness, you collect your discarded clothing and don your clubbing attire. You cast one final look to the sleeping dark-eyed boy before clicking the heavy door shut behind you.

A tiny voice cries out – a child from the next apartment suite perhaps, startled by nightmares no doubt. Though, as your ears strain and listen, it almost seems as though the child is calling your name. It is a ludicrous idea. Still, it unsettles you, for there is something familiar in its tone. You tighten your grasp on your purse, readjust your heels, and leave.

Regret is a sickening temptation – and you have ruined everything. 

| 4291 Words | Masterlist |

[peachpety]

hiii, idk if you’re still taking requests but if you have the time could you do 49 or 50? also, you write so well and i can’t get enough of the feel good vibes :))

flannel is a love language

Mature Rating

* * *

It begins with a Saint Laurent choker.

Harry catches a glimpse, a flash of silver, beneath the crisp collar of Draco’s tailored oxford buttonup. The risotto sits barely sampled on Harry’s plate the entirety of dinner, celebrating Hermione and Theo’s engagement, so fixated is he on a wicked smile over a glass of wine and how cold metal would feel on his tongue.

At brunch the following week, Draco’s nails match the crimson leaves that rustle on the trees outside the window of the cafe. Harry drinks too many mimosas and freely divulges his thoughts about tongues on metal while grey eyes darken like asphalt wet with rain. Under the table, Draco’s hand strays to Harry’s thigh, and Harry decides red contrasts nicely against denim.

In the guest bath at Theo’s flat two weeks later, Harry discovers that the white lace knickers Draco wears underneath his pinstripe trousers match exactly the pearl caught in the mouth of the snake bracelet encircling his wrist. Draco sucks a bruise onto Harry’s neck as he ruts against him, skin hot under soft lace, and Harry comes in his pants like a teenage boy, gritting out Draco’s name.

They fall into each other’s lives and into each other’s beds as easily as autumn leaves falling from the trees. Their friends laugh and smirk and lament that they always knew even back then. Harry smooths away Draco’s scowl with his lips and later peels away designer floral trousers like a gorgeous candy wrapper to suck and savor the mouth-watering treat underneath. 

It’s the unexpected hints of incongruity Draco deliberately and tastefully fashions, sometimes noticeable, sometimes hidden that makes Harry’s heart careen against his ribcage and his skin tingle. He often daydreams about Draco in luxurious fabrics, in delicate laces, in polished metals. Every meet-up Harry can’t wait to see what Draco will wear next. 

It’s at an event for the Granger/Nott bridal party — another luncheon or whatever — when Harry first notices it. 

A hint of red and black peeking out from underneath the collar of Draco’s Gucci leopard-print blazer. 

Draco winks at him from across the room, and slips loose the jacket button to reveal Harry’s buffalo plaid flannel. Harry spends the next five minutes apologizing profusely to Mrs Nott for spilling champagne on her silk dress, and then spends the next hour half-listening to conversations with his hands discreetly touching Draco’s forearms, biceps, back, shoulders.

And then he spends all night worshiping pale angles softened by cotton flannel.

Sometimes Draco styles the shirt with leather, sometimes with creamy white wool, and that one time with that bloody Saint Laurent choker that Harry now knows feels deliciously cold on his tongue slipping underneath sterling links. Every time Harry sees red and black against alabaster skin, three little words rise up from his core to wedge behind his heart lodged in his throat. 

Harry’s not sure what possessed him to do it. It could have been Draco’s scent in the flannel fibers or the memory of Draco in the flannel that morning, misbuttoned over sleep-warm skin, bare legs tucked up, softly sipping morning coffee. But Harry slips on the shirt and pins on one of Draco’s brooches, the snake one with the emerald eyes, a Malfoy heirloom. 

Draco doesn’t notice until Harry shrugs off his jacket at the rehearsal dinner. His grey eyes darken like asphalt wet with rain as he trails crimson-tipped fingers sinuously over the metal. He stays by Harry’s side all evening, always within reach. They leave the party early, falling into bed and into each other, hands and bodies as urgent as a heart’s confession.

Three little words falling from lips as softly as a shirt removed and whispering to the floor.

* * *

Day 26 of Autumn Drarry Drabbles, y’all! This arrives a bit late...I’d hit a bit of a wall yesterday, in this the home stretch of these little ficlets i’ve embarked upon to write. so, dear anon, first, thank you for that lovely ask! you are too kind. and second, this is what i have to offer. this was a struggle, but it helped me realize how much i enjoy this process, and to write, even when difficult, is worthwhile. i hope you like it (i kind of love it ngl). oh, btw, my inspiration is Ezra Miller from THAT PHOTOSHOOT, y’all know the one. Enjoy! xo peach

Read on AO3

Link to the Masterlist!

Day 25 || Day 27

[thesimpanions]

⭐️ N E W  V I D E O ⭐️ The Sims 4 | AMBITIOUS HAIRDRESSER 💇🏾‍♀️ | CAS & Lookbook + CC Links

Hey everyone! Today I'm creating Jade, a beautiful hairdresser who struggles  with commitment issues.

▶️https://youtu.be/Y-PK-z96hYI

CC Links

GENERAL Hair: https://simandy.tumblr.com/post/618396998961332224/thought-i-was-dead-didnt-you-yea-me-too-this-is Nose Preset: https://evoxyr.tumblr.com/post/614868024722407424/wavybaby-nosepresets Teeth: https://mellouwsim.wixsite.com/mellouwsim/post/highbeam-3d-teeth Eyes: https://baieyu.tumblr.com/post/179216040640/still-feel-eyes-previews-heavily-insp-by Skinblend (Essentials): https://simbience.tumblr.com/post/188756610020/d-o-w-n-l-o-a-d-patreon-free-1-2-info Face Overlay (Xigua): https://heihu.tumblr.com/post/168522486651/i-did-a-little-spring-cleaning-of-my-blog-and Nosemask: https://pyxiidis.tumblr.com/post/129428280796/summer-skeletons-v2-a-skin-by-pyxis-hi Face Shine: https://nesurii.tumblr.com/post/182508085171/amaryllis Eyebags: https://ratboysims.tumblr.com/post/188237560445/kiwi-eyebags-updated-1110-2019-by-ratboysims Freckles: https://simbience.tumblr.com/post/186476902945/%CB%8F%CB%8B-info-download-below-%CB%8E%CB%8A-%CB%8F%CB%8B Tattoo: https://crazycupcakefr.tumblr.com/post/180355338030/its-been-asked-i-deliver-xd-let-me-know-what-you Tattoo: https://www.thesimsresource.com/downloads/details/category/sims4-sets/title/cryptis-tattoos/id/1418723/ Tattoo: https://simtone.tumblr.com/post/181402565260/floral-tattoo-set-tattoo-4-swatches-more

MAKE UP Eyebrows: https://adiec.tumblr.com/post/185708180915/eyebrow-set-1-some-cute-lil-eyebrows-i-made-in Lashes: http://kijiko-catfood.com/3d-lashes-version2/ Blush: https://simandy.tumblr.com/post/174144122581/hi-guys-im-happy-to-be-here-with-genetics-again Blush: https://www.thesimsresource.com/downloads/details/category/sims4-makeup-female-blush/title/biscuit-blush/id/1453076/ Blush: https://simandy.tumblr.com/post/613202637416988672/its-not-a-hiatus-come-back-if-i-dont-make-a-new Highlighter: https://www.patreon.com/posts/34636205 Eyeshadow: https://crypticsim.tumblr.com/post/613974349191561216/the-blossom-collection-this-collection-is-a-collab Eyeliner: https://simandy.tumblr.com/post/171605780781/made-an-eyeliner-actually-4-but-yea Eyeliner: https://caelhinn.tumblr.com/post/190809835077/heart-shaped-wing-an-eyeliner-by-caelhinn Lipgloss: https://alhajero.tumblr.com/post/183977915480/this-are-lazy-previews-yes-but-even-though Lipgloss: https://grimcookies.com/post/618986221656588288/savvy-x-grimsavvysweet-and-myself-are-so-happy-to Lipstick: https://weepingsimmer.tumblr.com/post/156537086931/arkay-lipstick-yet-another-subtleneutral Nails: https://simlaughlove.tumblr.com/post/163327412088/sll-rainbownails

EVERYDAY Top: https://mlyssimblr.tumblr.com/post/155965123683/simpop-culture-tucked-in-t-shirts-hi-ive Bottom: https://nolan-sims.tumblr.com/post/172306756418/nolan-sims-here-after-many-days-of-work-i-can Shoes: https://sssvitlans.tumblr.com/post/159295739339/heypixels-low-top-all-star-conversion-by Earrings: https://www.thesimsresource.com/downloads/details/category/sims4-accessories-female-earrings/title/piercing-set-n09/id/1360679/ Rings: https://www.christopher067.com/glimmer-rings?lightbox=dataItem-k9z4sh612 Bracelet: https://www.thesimsresource.com/downloads/details/category/sims4-accessories-female-bracelets/title/s-club-ll-ts4-hand-catenary-n01%28f%29/id/1307432/

FORMAL Outfit: https://grimcookies.com/post/618986221656588288/savvy-x-grimsavvysweet-and-myself-are-so-happy-to Shoes: https://www.patreon.com/posts/35228475 Earrings: https://www.thesimsresource.com/downloads/details/category/sims4-accessories-female-earrings/title/zeus-earrings--christopher067/id/1472199/ Necklace: https://www.simsdom.com/de/download/die-sims4/item/hocus-pocus-necklace-christopher067-174126

ACTIVE Top: https://dear-solar.tumblr.com/post/187077139650/dear-solar-the-chuuuuu-collab-this-is-a-korean Bottom: https://www.thesimsresource.com/downloads/details/category/sims4-clothing-female-teenadultelder-everyday/title/workout-empire--camo--booty-shorts/id/1412637/ Shoes: https://mmsims.tumblr.com/post/611005735890993152/s4cc-mmsims-cb-thunder-sneakers-download

SLEEP Top: https://jfc-sims.tumblr.com/post/147843884390/nudes-for-all-for-females-and-males-teenelder Bralette: https://love4sims4.tumblr.com/post/173766973518/plumbelles-halter-bralette-accessory-simple Bottom: https://fluffusnow.tumblr.com/post/190839269172/1000-followers-gift-tori-jeans-7-swatches-please

PARTY Top: https://www.thesimsresource.com/downloads/details/category/sims4-clothing-female-teenadultelder-everyday/title/trillyke--drip-accessory-top/id/1469251/ Blazer: https://www.thesimsresource.com/downloads/details/category/sims4-clothing-female-teenadultelder-everyday/title/trillyke--sassy-me-blazer/id/1488642/ Bottom: https://casteru.tumblr.com/post/188430482522/leopard-mini-skirt-mock-neck-sweater-tou Shoes: https://tunayegit.tumblr.com/post/187577862556/better-than-mosc-boots-hoi-guyss-welcome-to-my Earrings: https://www.thesimsresource.com/downloads/details/category/sims4-accessories-female-earrings/title/piercing-set-n09/id/1360679/ Necklace: https://www.simsdom.com/de/download/die-sims4/item/hocus-pocus-necklace-christopher067-174126

SWIM Swimsuit: https://gvbesims.tumblr.com/post/185126083949/inakhs-80s-swimsuit-recolors-i-absolutely Sunglasses: https://casteru.tumblr.com/post/181406722897/cat-eye-sunglasses-tou

HOT WEATHER Dress: https://sulsulhun.tumblr.com/post/190587503287/sulsulhuns-almost-1k-followers-gift-hiya-so Shoes: https://www.patreon.com/posts/mmsims-dr-molly-25334773 Earrings: https://www.thesimsresource.com/downloads/details/category/sims4-accessories-female-earrings/title/piercing-set-n09/id/1360679/ Socks: https://www.thesimsresource.com/downloads/details/category/sims4-clothing-female-teenadultelder-everyday/title/trillyke--labyrinth-socks/id/1477630/

COLD WEATHER Top: https://alexaarr.tumblr.com/post/188703498686/10k-followers-gift Bottom: https://pleyita.tumblr.com/day/2019/07/16/ Shoes: https://www.patreon.com/posts/mmsims-dr-molly-25334773 Earrings: https://www.thesimsresource.com/downloads/details/category/sims4-accessories-female-earrings/title/piercing-set-n09/id/1360679/