#Significant Wardrobe Shift

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

It was rather significant that the 11th Inspector dispensed with his taupe-coloured Macintosh following Reggie’s disappearance near the end of Series 8.

When he returned to the screen, the 11th Inspector wore the now-iconic blue longcoat, but didn��t give up his yellow ascot.

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Do You Still Love Me?

masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here!

in which, harrys been acting shifty lately, when your looking for a shirt in his wardrobe, he gets hostile, when you say your going to go and shower, he gets hostile and for some reason doubts start to creep into your mind about what he’s been doing, so when you confront him about it, he tells you of his secret all along.

word count - 3.1k

23rd December, 2023.

The December air in Holmes Chapel holds a crisp chill, and as you sit in the cozy living room of Harry's family home in Manchester, the warmth envelops you. The room is adorned with festive cheer – a beautifully decorated Christmas tree takes center stage, casting a soft glow of twinkling lights.

The two of you had decided to spend Christmas at his family’s like you do every year, you’ve blended into a member of there family, as if you were always there. Anne considered you as another daughter, and sometimes on accident you sometimes referred to Gemma as your sister, so spending Christmas with them was undoubtedly a no brainer.

You were going to be staying for a total of three weeks, arriving two weeks before the big day and then going home January 1st.

You find comfort on the sofa, admiring the personalized stockings that hang from the mantelpiece, proudly displaying everyone’s initials. One for Harry, one for you, one for Gemma, one for Anne as well as one that is put up every year, an R, for everyone’s angel Robin. The stockings serve as a poignant reminder of the shared holiday traditions and the presence of loved ones, including a thoughtful tribute to his late stepfather.

As you await Harry's return from the grocery shop with his mother and sister, you revel in the tranquility of the moment. The crackling fireplace adds a soothing soundtrack to the scene, enhancing the coziness of the room. You can't help but reflect on the significance of spending Christmas in this familiar space, filled with memories of the past four years.

However, amidst the festive atmosphere, a subtle unease lingers. Lately, you've observed a shift in Harry's demeanor. His actions and words have become increasingly shifty, leaving you with a sense of uncertainty.

He dances around conversations, offering vague responses that only intensify your curiosity. It's a stark contrast to the openness and connection you've shared over the years, causing a quiet concern to settle within you.

You gaze at the stockings once more, the embroidered initials a testament to the bonds that tie your lives together. Yet, as you sit in the glow of the Christmas lights, a question lingers in the air – a question you can't quite bring yourself to voice. The flickering flames cast shadows on the wall, mirroring the uncertainty that clouds your thoughts, which happen to consist of the three moments that you’ve caught him acting weird.

15th December, 2023.

The date was December 15th, and the evening held a quiet tension as you sat on the sofa in Harry's family home, the soft glow of lamplight illuminating the room.

Anne, occupied herself with knitting a jumper, a rhythmic pattern of needles clacking together in the stillness. The warmth of the room, usually comforting, now seemed to underscore an unspoken discomfort.

Around eight at night, the front door creaked open, and Harry entered, an unusual weariness etched across his features.

He had gone out around two, and it was now evening, he just explained to you that a few friends from school wanted to meet up before Christmas, but there was a hint of doubt that remained in your brain.

You couldn't help but inquire about his whereabouts, a hint of concern in your voice.

"Where've you been, Harry?" you asked, eyes searching his face for answers. He shrugged nonchalantly, a vague response that only deepened the unease settling in the room.

Attempting to break through the tension, you pressed further, a furrow forming on your brow. "What's wrong?"

The question hung in the air, met with a dismissive reply.

"Just tired, m’love. Think I might hit the hay early tonight," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact. The words lingered, laden with unspoken weight, leaving you with a sense of disquiet.

As Harry made his way toward the stairs, you couldn't let the matter rest. Concern etched across your face, you followed him, determined to understand the source of his unease. His hand halted you mid-step, a silent plea for space. Unbeknownst to you that it pained him, because he was doing it for the right reason.

"I'd like t’be alone for a little bit," he uttered, the distance in his eyes leaving you feeling shut out.

Left standing at the foot of the staircase, a chasm seemed to widen between you and Harry. The uncertainty echoed in the air, and as he ascended the stairs, the door to understanding remained firmly closed. The normally familiar and comforting surroundings felt alien, the clinking of Anne's knitting needles a somber soundtrack to the unspoken rift.

That night, as you lay in bed, questions lingered in the darkness. The echoes of Harry's vague responses resonated, and a sense of foreboding cast a shadow over what was once a haven of warmth and connection.

19th December, 2023.

The chill of December hangs in the air as you step through the front door, returning from the farmers market with Gemma. The aroma of fresh produce lingers on your clothes, and a shiver runs down your spine as the warmth of the cozy living room beckons.

The house is quiet, save for the faint sounds emanating from the kitchen, where Harry is preparing a cup of coffee for himself.

You navigate the familiar space, following the scent of brewing coffee that wafts through the air. The kitchen is dimly lit, and there he is, Harry, standing by the counter, lost in the quiet ritual of making coffee. His silhouette is a comforting sight, a presence that adds to the warmth of the home.

You make your way up the steps, wanting to be comfy when you greet your lover boy.

The December cold clings to your skin, urging you to shed the layers of the outside world. A yearning for warmth and comfort consumes you, and the thought of slipping into one of Harry's oversized shirts becomes a tempting refuge. The familiarity of his presence in the adjacent room promises solace in the face of the winter chill.

As you move toward the bedroom, the creaking floorboards beneath your feet seem to echo in the quietude of the house.

Gemma strolled into the kitchen, the door swinging gently behind her. She found her brother,

Harry, leaning against the counter, sipping on a cup of coffee. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee beans hung in the air as he greeted her with a cheerful " ‘Ey, how was the market?"

Gemma looked up, offering a warm smile. "It was good, got some nice stuff.

Harry hummed before tilting his head to the side. “Where’s (Y/N)?”

Gemma mirrored his smile, her eyes lighting up. "She went upstairs to get changed, though."

Harry nodded, his attention momentarily diverted as he took another sip of his coffee. However, a realisation dawned on him, and he furrowed his brow. "Wait, she's upstairs?"

Gemma, unaware of the subtle shift in Harry's demeanor, nodded. "Yeah, she mentioned wanting to warm up and change. Why?"

Harry's gaze darted toward the staircase, a sudden sense of urgency gripping him.

"No reason, just wanted t’check on ‘er. Be right back," he said, placing his coffee mug on the counter.

With a quick stride, he headed toward the stairs, a mild curiosity turning into a subtle concern. As he ascended, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. When he reached the top of the staircase, he spotted you about to enter the bedroom, ready to change.

"Hold on a sec," he called out, hastily covering the distance to stand before you, his expression a mix of surprise and tension. "Y’not allowed in there."

Because in his head, if you wanted to get changed, you’d go to his section of the wardrobe because he knows that you’d want one of his shirts, and then you’d find the surprise and he wasn’t planning on ruining that any time soon.

You paused, mid-step, your brow furrowing. "What do you mean, not allowed? H, I'm just getting changed."

His features tightened with an unexpected intensity. "I said, y’not allowed in there," he repeated, the words hanging heavily in the air.

Confusion and concern painted your expression as you took a step back. "Harry, what's going on? Why can't I go into our bedroom?"

His gaze remained fixed, a wall building between you two. "Just... not right now. I need Don't go in there."

You sighed, a heavy breath escaping you, and nodded in resignation. "Fine, whatever. Just get me some clothes, please."

Harry's shoulders tensed, and he hesitated before nodding. "Ye’okay. I'll get y’some clothes."

22nd December, 2023.

You can't help but replay the scenes in your mind—the December evenings, the vague responses, the moments when he seemed to withdraw. Each memory adds a layer of doubt, and as you connect the dots, a stray tear rolls down your face. The fear of him cheating on you lingers, casting a shadow over the warmth that once permeated your shared space.

The absence of Harry, his mother, and sister intensifies the solitude, and the room feels emptier than ever. The Christmas tree, adorned with memories, offers little solace in the face of the growing suspicion. You contemplate the significance of the three instances, questioning the foundation of trust that once defined your relationship.

In the quiet of the room, the tear on your cheek becomes a silent witness to the emotional turmoil within. The fear of betrayal, the uncertainty, and the unanswered questions create a palpable tension, leaving you to grapple with the haunting possibility that the person you love may be slipping away.

As the front door creaks open, signaling their return from the grocery shopping trip, Harry, his mother, and sister step into the living room. The warmth of familial greetings fills the air, and they collectively acknowledge your presence with smiles and hellos. The shared laughter and banter among them, however, are met with a strained silence on your part.

As Harry approaches, intending to seal the reunion with a customary kiss, you rise from the sofa. The heaviness in the room seems to amplify as you avoid his attempt at affection. You make a deliberate choice to distance yourself, turning away from the warmth that once brought solace and comfort.

With measured steps, you ascend the staircase, each footfall echoing a growing emotional distance. The decision to retreat upstairs becomes a silent declaration of your need for space, a momentary escape from the complexities that have woven themselves into your relationship. The unanswered questions and the lingering fear make it challenging to engage in the familial camaraderie that unfolds below.

As you walk away and ascend the stairs, the atmosphere in the living room subtly shifts. Anne, Harry's mother, notices the change in dynamics and glances at her son, concerned etching her features.

"Everything alright, love?" she asks, a mother's intuition sensing the unspoken tension.

Harry, removing his jacket and shoes, offers a dismissive smile. "Ye’, just gonna check on (Y/N) . Be right back."

His attempt to brush off the situation adds a layer of ambiguity to the air, leaving Anne with a lingering worry that she can't quite shake.

Upstairs, Harry follows in your footsteps, the silence between you palpable. As he enters the room, he finds you standing near the window, gazing out into the night.

"Ey’," he begins tentatively, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty. "S’going on? Are y’okay?"

Tearfully, you turn around to face him, emotions laid bare in your eyes. The air is thick with a mixture of sorrow and uncertainty as you pose a question that lingers in the silent space,

"Do you still love me?"

The vulnerability in your voice cuts through the room, leaving an atmosphere heavy with the anticipation of his response. Harry, caught off guard by the rawness of the question, searches your eyes for understanding.

Harry, caught off guard, furrows his brow defensively. "F’course, I do. Why would y’even think otherwise?"

His tone carries a mixture of hurt and frustration, an instinctive response to the implication that the love between you might be in question.

The room becomes charged with an anguished tension as you gather the courage to voice the unspoken concerns that have festered. "It's just... you've been acting so differently lately. There are these moments, these instances when you seem so distant. I can't help but feel like there's something you're not telling me."

Harry's defensive stance persists as he denies any wrongdoing.

"M’don't know what y’talking about. S’nothing going on," he insists, avoiding eye contact. The weight of his denial adds another layer to the unease in the room, leaving you to grapple with the growing chasm between you two.

The frustration builds, and you press further, "Harry, you can't just brush this off. It feels like you're hiding something, and I deserve to know what's going on."

The plea in your voice is met with a guarded expression from Harry, his defensive walls standing tall.

The room seems to tighten with each passing moment, the emotional stakes escalating.

"M’not hiding anything," Harry asserts, his voice tinged with exasperation. "Y’reading into things, making a big deal out f’nothing."

As the back-and-forth continues, a sense of despair settles in.

"Harry, I need honesty. We can't move forward if you keep shutting me out," you implore, the depth of your emotions exposed. Yet, his walls remain intact, and the elusive nature of the truth becomes a palpable barrier.

The echoes of their laughter from downstairs seem like distant memories now, drowned out by the intensity of the conversation unfolding.

"Just tell me, Harry. Tell me what's going on,the time you stopped me coming upstairs with you, the time you stopped me coming into the bedroom and had a go at me for wanting to go on your phone " you plead, your voice cracking under the weight of the unresolved tension.

The emotional exchange reaches a breaking point, leaving you on the floor, sobbing, desperate for answers. The weight of the uncertainty, the unspoken tensions, and the fear of losing the connection you once cherished overwhelm you. The room becomes a backdrop for your vulnerability, the walls echoing with the sound of your heartache.

Amidst your tears, you hear Harry sigh, and the rustle of a box catches your attention. He crouches down beside you, the heaviness in the air momentarily shifting.

"Look at m’please," he implores gently, his voice carrying a tone of sincerity that cuts through the emotional fog.

Hesitant, you raise your tear-stained eyes to meet his. His gaze holds a mixture of regret and determination, and he asks you to stand up. Every fiber of your being is hesitant, a cocktail of emotions bubbling beneath the surface. Reluctantly, you rise, uncertainty written all over your face.

As you stand, Harry, now on one knee, pulls out a small box. The room seems to hold its breath as he meets your gaze.

"V’been acting shifty because v’been planning this," he confesses, his voice soft yet earnest. "I wanted it t’be a surprise, but the timing... it just got all messed up."

"From the moment we met, m’life gained a sparkle that I never knew I needed. V’been m’confidante, m’partner in laughter, and the steady warmth that completes every corner of m’world. These past four years ‘ave been a journey f’growth, laughter, and endless love. Y’seen me at m’best and m’worst, yet y’loved m’unwaveringly."

He lets out a soft sigh. “Will y’make m’the happiest person in the world and say yes?"

Overwhelmed by the heartfelt speech and the flood of emotions, you fall into Harry's waiting arms, the warmth of his embrace grounding you in the reality of the moment. His arms wrap securely around you, and you find solace in the familiar comfort of his presence. With tears of joy streaming down your face, you look into his eyes, a silent affirmation of the love that binds you.

In a tender exchange, you press a loving kiss to his lips, the connection deepening as the weight of the proposal lifts from the room.

"Yes," you whisper against his lips, the word echoing with the promise of a shared future.

"Yes, Harry, a thousand times yes," you repeat, each affirmation punctuating the joy that now fills the space between you.

The room seems to shimmer with the shared happiness, and Harry holds you closer, his own eyes reflecting the relief and joy of the moment.

"I love you," he murmurs, the words a gentle reassurance that lingers in the air.

Harry tenderly tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch a gentle reassurance.

"M’sorry f’being so sneaky and, well, a bit harsh," he admits, sincerity coloring his gaze. "I just wanted the proposal t’be a surprise, but I guess v’already messed that up."

A light laugh escapes him, the sound a blend of amusement and relief. "Guess I couldn't keep it under wraps as well as I thought."

You join in the laughter, finding the humor in the unexpected twists of the evening.

"Well, surprise or not, it's the most wonderful thing that could have happened. I can't wait to be Mrs. Styles," you express, your eyes reflecting the genuine excitement that courses through you.

Harry's eyes soften with affection as he hears those words, and he leans in to press a sweet kiss to your forehead.

"M’can't wait either, m’love," he whispers, his voice carrying the promise of a shared future.

The room becomes a haven of shared laughter, love, and the promise of forever. Harry, still on one knee, takes your hand and delicately kisses the engagement ring.

"S’ring represents the love we've shared and the life we're about t’build together," he says, his words a poignant acknowledgment of the significance of the moment.

The room, once filled with questions and uncertainty, is now brimming with the certainty of love and the anticipation of a future together as Mr. and Mrs. Styles.

[theinsidiousdice]

Things to know before starting dragon HRT

When your scales come in, they will itch. Have scale polish and hydrocortisone handy. Remember, proper care now will lead to shinier, tougher scales in the future.

Remember what it felt like to have braces? Your mouth is going to change shape even more, and all of your teeth will be replaced. During this part of the process, you'll need to stick to liquids and soft foods.

Your horns, wings, and tail will hurt coming in, and they'll affect your balance until you get used to them. It's recommended to keep a cane handy in case there are some days where you can't keep yourself upright.

Likewise, when your legs shift to digitigrade, you'll need to plan for time to stay off your feet, as well as dedicated time for physical therapy to relearn how to walk. When this happens varies from person to person, so when you notice your legs hurting, make sure to call your xenoendocrinologist as soon as possible to schedule your PT.

Some people's tongues will split, and some don't. We don't know why. Regardless, it's good to keep in mind that it may not happen to you, so you can keep your expectations at an appropriate level.

Your changes will most likely be less pronounced than the people held up as golden examples of "what transition can do". Regardless, nearly all people report significant satisfaction with their results.

Breathing fire (or other elements) requires surgery to implant a special sac that does not grow in through the use of hormones alone. The exception to this is breathing carbon dioxide, since most people do this by default.

The mental changes are more subtle than the physical. You'll likely notice an increase in hoarding behavior, a preference for dim light, and heightened emotional sensitivity.

Your entire wardrobe will need to be replaced, or at least modified heavily. Make sure to look for pants that can accommodate a tail and shirts that can accommodate wings.

Expect an increase in both muscle and fatty tissue.

If you live somewhere with pronounced winters, be prepared to bundle up to counteract the effects of cold weather on the cold-blooded.

Once your wings come in, resist the urge to fly until you've had the proper training. Flying before your wings are ready can result in permanent damage.

The effects of hormones will be able to be hidden for roughly the first three months or so. Past that, if you're not out of the closet, you will be soon.

No matter how frustrating and slow the process may seem, have patience and enjoy the feeling of growing into your body!

[ereardon]

Homecoming [Jake Seresin x Reader] Chapter 2

Summary: Returning home to California after six years abroad in England, you found everything has changed. Jake Seresin, your father's former college roommate and lifelong best friend, is now a widower and has purchased a new vineyard in Montecito, only a few miles from your childhood home. Your parents’ marriage is on the rocks, your brother is struggling with what to do with his life, and you’ve grown up and are starting your own counseling practice. So what happens when you find yourself falling for the man your father calls his best friend? And worse, what happens when your parents find out he’s falling for you, too? 

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader

Warnings: Age gap, eventual smut, cursing, alcohol

Word count: 2.2 K

Chapter overview: Y/N starts her first day at work at Jake's vineyard

Author's note: This fic references a significant age gap, as reader is the child of Jake's best friend. However, she's in her mid-twenties, and he's been only a small part of her life to this point as he spent the majority of his time traveling with his late wife. This fic does not depict grooming, but if you are concerned with any of the themes please read at your own risk.

Masterlist here

Colin, despite being eleven months and five days older than you, was your first patient. Although neither of you realized it at the time.

You remembered it clearly. The two of you sitting on the edge of the pool, toes swinging in the water, the sun glinting off the surface and bursting into a million shards of light across the tile bottom. 

“I’m mad,” he said. 

You looked over but his eyes were trained on his feet, thrashing in the chlorinated pool. “Why?” you asked. 

He shrugged. “I don’t know.” 

“Is it because of mom?” you asked. Another head shake. “Is it dad?” There was a pause. You sensed a shift in his demeanor, even at eight years old. You pushed. “He thinks you’ll like it. Make friends.” 

Colin turned to you, his shaggy hair covering one eye. “I have friends.” 

“I don’t count.” 

“You might like it,” you whispered. “Camp is fun.” 

“Cowboy camp,” he replied, frowning. 

“Horses are cool.” 

“You think that because you’re a girl.” 

Your eyebrows knitted together. “At least dad is letting you go to camp.” You pulled your legs out of the water. “He won’t even let me out of his sight.” 

Colin’s small shoulders sagged. “That’s because he loves you more.” 

Your mouth dropped open, but nothing came out. Just air, filling your lungs, mounting so much pressure in your chest you were scared to let it out, lest you collapse. Colin’s back stayed turned away from you. 

And then it was over. And you went inside, wet legs sticking to the edges of your capri pants. 

***

“What do I wear?” you asked your mom, standing in front of your open closet. Everything in it felt wrong. The dresses you wore to the nightclubs in Berlin, the jeans that spent nights at the pub, your old high school wardrobe that was seriously dated. God, you needed new clothes. Something that said young professional, but not in a sad way.

“I have no idea, dear.” Your mother picked up a lace thong that you had tossed on the bed and frowned. “I’ve never been to the vineyard.” 

“What?” You swiveled around. “You’re kidding.” 

“Your father is the one who goes,” she replied with a shrug. “He and Jake have always been closer.” 

It was true. Jake and your father had been college roommates at USC, randomly paired together freshman year. They couldn’t have been more different, but somehow they made it work. 

You grabbed a blue dress with a tie in the middle and turned back toward your mother. There was something about her gaze, the way she was looking out the window. “Mom?” you asked. “Everything OK?” 

“Of course,” she replied instantly, but her voice caught at the end, a small lift that set off a warning sign in the back of your brain. 

You frowned. “Alright. Well, I’ll see you guys tonight at dinner?” 

She stood up, smoothing her hands over her linen pants. “Have a good first day.” 

You turned toward the mirror, angling the dress over your body before tossing it on the bed. You couldn’t afford to fuck this up. It wasn’t just that you owed it to Jake. You owed it to yourself to show up and prove that you could be successful outside of an academic environment. 

***

Thirty minutes later, you stepped through the vineyard doors. The sound of your heeled boots echoed in the vast entryway. “Jake?” 

“Sparky.” Jake appeared from your left, wiping his hands on a towel that he then slung over his shoulder. You breathed a sigh of relief. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a loosely buttoned shirt, a pair of loafers rounding out the look. You sent up a silent prayer that you had also worn jeans, albeit a tight pair with a slight flare, and a silk sleeveless turtleneck. “Ready to meet the crew?” 

You nodded. Jake spent the next hour introducing you to everyone, from the waitstaff for the tasting room to the food engineers helping to bottle and test the wine, and the farmer he had on staff to cultivate the small garden where they grew fresh vegetables to include in charcuterie plates. 

“Your job is to be the puppet master,” Jake said as the two of you emerged back onto the main floor. “There’s two hostesses. If they’re both gone, you can man the front table. At the end of the day, you and I will sit down and look at the books and go over how things went and where we need to make changes.” 

A silent scream rose in your throat. This was too laissez faire for your taste. You needed rules, regime. 

Jake grinned, putting one hand on your upper arm. His touch was warm, inviting. Once again, you looked down at his bare ring finger and felt a longing for Jenny. “You’ll do great,” he said. “Trust me, you’ll know what to do. It’s intuitive.” 

“Where will you be?” you asked. “If I need you.” 

“You won’t need me,” Jake asserted. “But if you do, I’m around.” 

“Helpful.” 

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Is that how you talk to all your bosses?” 

You flushed. “Oh my God, I’m sorry, I didn’t even–”

He laughed. “It’s OK, Y/N. I know it’s a weird dynamic, because we know each other. I don’t expect you to call me Mr. Seresin or anything like that. I trust you, and that’s why I’m giving you free reign of the place.” 

The blush was still inching down your neck. You nodded, gulping. Jake reached out, squeezing your upper arm gently. “I’ll be in my office, alright?” 

Jake disappeared down the staircase and you swiveled around, nerves worming their way through your body. Just as you were about to flee into a corner, the doors swung open and a young couple stepped up to the podium. 

“Hi, we’re the Kellers,” the woman said. “We had a one o’clock reservation?” 

Jake and Amy, the host, had shown you how to use the tablet. Your fingers shook as you pressed buttons on the screen, pulling up the reservation, a sigh of relief bubbling in your throat as you found their names. Ethan and Whitney Keller. 

They sounded as white as they looked. 

You looked up, smiling. “Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Keller. If you’ll please follow me.” 

Jake had been right. A part of you cursed him a little. It came naturally. Floating around, asking people how they were, chatting lightly about the wine. All those years in Europe had done nothing if not given you a taste for alcohol. 

Plus, you liked talking to people. You always had. You listened and gave them thoughtful responses. You could read people – if there was tension, if someone in a group felt left out, if they wanted to be left alone. 

It was almost like therapy. With wine. For a split second you wondered if you could get a liquor license for your clinic before realizing that was an insane thought. 

At the end of the day, once all the tables were wiped and the floor was mopped, the wine was put away and the rest of the staff had gone home, you found yourself outside on the bench at the edge of the patio, overlooking the vineyards, a small tree above you gently blocking the setting sun. 

“Can I join you?” 

You turned just as Jake slid into the spot next to you on the bench. 

“You were amazing,” Jake said. 

A blush crept up around your cheeks. “Thank you.” 

He threaded one arm against the back of the bench, behind your head and shoulders. It was casual, not cloying or weird at all. His scent, that familiar crushed stone fruit smell, wafted over you as the soft breeze carried your scents together, melding them in the air. 

“Do you have dinner plans?” 

You thought about your parents, sitting at home in the Spanish Villa they had built when you were three. About Colin, who you still had barely seen since you returned from London. 

“I’m free.” 

“Good.” Jake stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans. “I’ll make you dinner. Hugo will be excited to see you. And we can taste the new crop of wine.” 

As you watched Jake walk back up the hill toward the building, a strange sensation built in your stomach. For the first time ever, you realized that Jake Seresin was more than just a family friend. 

***

“It’s hot.” 

“Ow, ow, ow!” 

Jake laughed as you let your mouth hang open, pasta tumbling back onto the plate. You closed your mouth, wiping it with a napkin. “OK, ew, sorry you had to see that.” 

“I warned you,” he replied, twirling a fork in his bowl of creamy vodka pasta. “You just don’t listen. You never have.” 

“That’s not fair,” you said, breaking off a piece of bread and sliding your hand down to your thigh, feeding Hugo under the table. He greedily chomped at the bread, and you wiped your fingertips on your thigh. 

“I saw that,” Jake countered and you laughed. “Don’t spoil him too much or he’s going to stop liking me and he’ll only want you.” 

“That’s the plan,” you replied, patting the Golden’s head. 

Talking to Jake was easy. It wasn’t until the two of you sat down to dinner that you realized in all the years you had known him, Jake and Jenny flitting in and out of your life as they returned or started a new global trek, you had only limited interactions with Jake. 

Before taking the job at the vineyard, you had only one distinct memory of Jake Seresin. On your nineteenth birthday, right before you left for London after your gap year, Jake and Jenny had been staying at your parent’s house. After dinner, as everyone sat around with glasses of champagne, Jake handed you a gift, wrapped in silver paper. 

Inside was a delicate gold necklace with a pearl dangling off the edge. You looked up in surprise. 

He smiled. “I saw it when we were in Vietnam and had to get it for you.” 

After dinner, as Jake cleared the table and you sat on the floor playing with Hugo, you reached up and touched the pearl necklace underneath your turtleneck collar. It was hidden, but it was there. 

“Drink?” Jake asked, emerging with a bottle and two glasses. 

“Do you ever get tired of wine?” you asked, standing up and stretching, the hem of your shirt coming untucked for a moment and you reached back down, sticking it into the top of your jeans. 

“Never.” He grinned, pouring the dark red wine into a glass and handing it to you as you settled onto the couch. Jake poured himself a glass, sitting in a wingback chair near the fireplace. 

“How are you?” you asked quietly. On the mantle was a picture of Jenny. She had been beautiful. Dark hair, piercing green eyes. A laugh that could fill a room. 

Jake stilled. Hugo sensed it because he left his place at your feet and made his way to Jake, nudging his head against Jake’s thigh. “It’s quiet,” he replied after a moment. “Being alone.” 

“How so?” 

“Leaves you alone with your thoughts,” Jake said. “A good thing, and a bad thing.” 

“I understand,” you whispered. 

Jake cocked his head to one side. “Do I need to pay you for this?” he joked. 

You hid your face behind your wine glass. “Sorry, force of habit.” There was a pause. Then, “Have you, um, dated? Since?” 

“A few dates, yeah. But everyone I met, they just didn’t hold up to her.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“She loved you,” Jake said. “That time that we came to see you in London and the two of you went shopping at Harrods? She came back to the hotel practically giddy. Said that even though the two of you had an age difference, she felt like you were a friend she could count on.” 

“I loved her, too,” you replied, a tear forming in the corner of your eye. “I’m so sorry I didn’t make it back for the funeral.” 

Jake shook his head. “Really, don’t worry about it. Jenny wasn’t one for funerals. Neither am I, for the record. If it ever comes to that.” 

“It won’t,” you replied instantly. “Jake Seresin? You’re unstoppable.” 

“So was she,” he said softly. “Life happens, Y/N. You can’t predict it. You just have to keep going and hope that you find something else that makes you happy.” 

“Have you?” you asked. “Found something else that makes you happy?” 

“I’m working on it.” 

Tag list:

@lyn-js @seresinhangmanjake @bobfloydsbabe @blue-aconite @clancycucumber230 @dempy @allbark-no-bite @teacupsandtopgun @na-ta-sh-aa @katiedid-3 @bradshawburner @xomrsalliej4787xo @xoxabs88xox @kmc1989 @shanimallina87 @rosiahills22 2 @emo @horseshoegirl @eminyourjeans

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Mystical Items & Objects

Examples in Mythology and Literature

Pandora's Box

The god Prometheus stole fire from heaven to give to the human race, which originally consisted only of men

To punish humanity, the other gods created the first woman, the beautiful Pandora

As a gift, Zeus gave her a box, which she was told never to open

However, as soon as he was out of sight she took off the lid, and out swarmed all the troubles of the world, never to be recaptured

Only Hope was left in the box, stuck under the lid

Anything that looks ordinary but may produce unpredictable harmful results can thus be called a Pandora's box

Hermes' Winged Sandals

Also called the Talaria of Mercury

Are winged sandals, a symbol of the Greek messenger god Hermes (Mercury)

They were said to be made by the god Hephaestus of imperishable gold and they flew the god as swift as any bird

Cintamani Stone

Also referred to as the Chintamani

A wish-fulfilling stone that features across both Hindu and Buddhist religions

The stone features as one of many Mani Jewel (i.e., several gems that are mentioned prominently in Buddhist literature) images that can be found in the scripture of Buddhism

In Hinduism, the stone is connected to the gods Ganesha and Vishnu

Usually, it is depicted as a jewel in Vishnu’s possession known as the Kaustubha

The Kaustubha acts as a sign of divine authority

Arcane Artifacts & Objects

Offer a gateway between time past and time present, bringing layers of ancient history and new-world intrigue to a narrative

Such items are typically represented in fiction as works of long-lost knowledge, primordial features or landmarks, and curious objects of mysterious origin

Often lying dormant until the pivotal moment of discovery, these items invite characters and readers alike into a dance with the unknown

Examples: Necronomicon, Genie's Bottle

Necronomicon

Also referred to as the Book of the Dead

It appears in stories by H.P. Lovecraft

A dark grimoire (i.e., a magician's manual for invoking demons and the spirits of the dead) of forbidden knowledge

Used to open gateways of unearthly powers and cosmic horrors

Genie's Bottle

The classic magical item from mythology, also featured in Aladdin

A vessel of wish fulfillment that often leads to dramatic and unexpected consequences

Doorways & Portals

Doorways in fiction serve as gateways between worlds, dimensions, or states of reality, providing characters with universe-hopping capabilities and genre-defying journeys

These portals, whether physical structures or fantastical mechanisms, open up limitless storytelling possibilities, allowing for sudden shifts in setting and introducing elements of surprise and surrealism

Examples:

C.S. Lewis' wardrobe in The Chronicles of Narnia serves as a secret portal to a fantasy world, bridging the mundane with the fantastical

The eponymous board game in Jumanji transports its players into a wild and perilous jungle adventure, wrenching them from the safety of their living room

Jewelry, Gems, and Garments

Along with other various accessories, these serve several narrative functions, from symbolizing power and status to bestowing unique abilities upon their wearers

These items can act as plot catalysts (i.e. MacGuffins), embody character traits, or hold deep cultural or magical significance within a story’s world

Example: The Amulet of Mara in Skyrim not only reduces the cost of Restoration spells but also unlocks marriage options for the player, integrating gameplay with the narrative

Legendary Objects of Power

Carry with them stories of grandeur and lore, passed down through generations and intertwined with the fates of those who wield them

These are the objects that make or break worlds, bestow immense strength, and are frequently considered among the most powerful items in fiction

Example: Though it's never actually been seen, the Kusanagi Sword from Japanese folklore is a fabled sword that represents valor, said to be endowed with divine powers

Machinery and Technologies

Stretch the boundaries of physics and logic to offer a glimpse into what could be possible in alternate or future universes

These innovations, whether grounded in current science or verging on the fantastical, propel narratives forward and deepen the complexity of the story’s world

Writers can leverage these technological wonders to enhance their storytelling, using them to explore themes of power, ethics, and the human relationship with technology

Example: The body shields in Dune generate a protective forcefield around the wearer—advanced technology that current militaries can only dream of

Mundane Everyday Items

Possess extraordinary storytelling potential to transform the unassuming into the unforgettable

Seemingly ordinary, these objects can surprise both characters and readers, unveiling hidden depths and abilities when least expected

These seemingly mundane objects could fall into unsuspecting hands and create chaos or catalyze a hero’s journey

Additionally, they might only reveal their true nature to those worthy or capable of wielding their power, which can set the stage for narratives that are centered around discovery and mastery

Example: Oscar Wilde’s Portrait of Dorian Grey presents art as a vessel for dark magic, encapsulating the protagonist’s sins while he remains untouched by time

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[pendwelling]

Venetiaan vs. Riester fashion🌷

(ft. model Yeseo and Cédric's imagination~)

Additional notes! :D

Venetiaan fashion:

Inspired by 16th-century Western aristocratic clothing (as confirmed by Sookym). Supporting that, both Losna and Werner have been shown wearing furs and robes!

Round cheongsam-like collars

Wide and flowy sleeves/arms/silhouette

Buttons are distinct from Riester's

Riester fashion:

19th?-century inspired

Suits, vests, button-ups! Neckties are in style since the collars permits it, unlike Venetiaan's high and round collars

Typically slim silhouettes for men (with the exception of cloaks and tailcoats)

(Honestly I just think of it as the typical RoFan webtoon visual fashion LMFAO)

This is just my interpretation haha, it's sorta what I gathered from the info given by Sookym in both in-novel and their notes! Distinct fashion/culture between Venetiaan and Riester has always been interesting to me, especially since Jesse (and Johann) have been noted to switch clothing styles once they become more concretely affiliated with the Riester Empire. (I tried giving Jesse more colourful/darker attires for his Venetiaan wardrobe like in my references pics, but his palette works best with whites/light colours so I couldn't bring myself to do it wkdhdkdksk)

When we first meet Johann, he is distinctly from Venetiaan, wearning its clothing and even greeting Jesse, the prince from said country, as "Your Highness" (which is what people from Riester call Cédric) rather than "prince-nim" (which is what they call Jesse, and what Jesse calls Cédric), displaying his nationality and the royal family whom he serves. He only begins dressing like a citizen of the Empire once he pledges his life and abilities to serve Empress Frédérique and become one of her people!

And as for Yeseo, he only begins to be dressed by his attendants in the attire of the Empire following his 'resurrection', and we can see more of this sort of shift when he goes from being addressed less as "prince-nim", and more as (마마—) "gungju-nim" (palace lord). There's also him eventually being referred to as the Moon of the Empire, instead of the Moon of the Holy Kingdom 🥹

I'm really fond of the webtoon because if there's one thing it does right, it is absolutely how it captures the lighthearted charm, atmosphere, and vibe of the original novel—though one thing im lowkey sad about is that the visual distinction between Venetiaan and Riester culture via clothing seems to have been lost :') It's a small detail on the surface, but it's actually a pretty significant and symbolic shift when Jesse gradually begins to be dressed less like "Prince Jesse Venetiaan", and more as "Marquis de Sérénité of Riester", the Palace Lord of Juliette :')) But of course, making a webtoon is hard work and I still immensely appreciate the artist's work nonetheless (btw I am eternally grateful for them giving Yeseo an ahoge/hair antenna, it is GENIUS chara design and so so so very cute, i love webtoon jesse so much hahajhsjh)

[genz420]

Beauty of Scars & Flowers - Chapter 7: Gift and Embraces.

Master List

Previous Part - Next Part

The morning air was crisp, and the chill nipped at the exposed skin of Lyanna’s neck and chest. When she heard the Southern ladies complain about the cold, she should have understood that her definition of cold and theirs were two completely different things.

Lyanna liked the cold. She preferred it much more than the heat of the sun. She enjoyed the feeling of the wind kissing her skin and the warmth that spread from her chest. Yet as she stood in the courtyard, watching all the ladies being fussed over, she regarded every listening to the unknown ladies. 

Her attendance at the outing was not her idea but her uncle's. It seemed that, with each passing day, Larys was more eager to give her away to any man who gave her the slightest attention. She was unsure who was hosting the event but knew of the people that would be in attendance.

Lyanna was determined to find out if Ser Alan was serious in their courting dance or if she was just another pretty thing for him to play with. She had thought that Ser Alan would have been a good match for her when she had first met him, but with each passing day and the presence of a certain prince, her confidence that he was serious about his attenuation shrunk. 

She watched from beside the horse that was assigned for the day as the ladies of the court gathered together, laughing and whispering with one another. The fact only reminded Lyanna that she was an outsider among the people of the Crownlands. 

Perhaps she should start to assimilate herself more with the customs here. She is sure Helaena would happily have her company during the masses that the Sept holds on the holy day. Or she could change her yellow and blue wardrobe to green. It seemed like she was going to be there for the long run. 

Lyanna continued to run her bare hand over the horse's mane as she watched longingly at the ladies. Not paying attention to the words that her uncle was saying. 

She had not paid attention to the words since he insisted she spend her day outside the Keep, choosing to act childless and pretend that her uncle did not exist. Larys would have been offended, but Lyanna always acted childishly when forced to do something she did not want to do. 

Aemond watched from his post within the threshold of the courtyard as Lyanna petted the horse in front of her. The second he took the step out of the keep, he could not turn back once he was spotted. 

The prince took a deep breath before straightening his back and making his way toward the two Strongs within the courtyard. The sword at his hip felt like it suddenly weighed a ton, and the gloves in his hand became as hot as Vhagar's wither skin. 

Larys noticed him first. The cripple bowed his head to the prince and stepped away from his niece, allowing the two young adults a moment to themselves. Aemond should have known that Larys had heard of the blossoming friendship between him and Lyanna; it always seemed that Larys knew the things happening around the keep before anyone else. 

“My Lady Strong,” Aemond broke the silence between them, his hands gripping the gloves in his hand to the point his knuckles turned as white as them. 

The prince's voice was enough for Lyanna to tear her gaze away from the ladies. As Lyanna turned to face the prince, she quickly curtsied to him before offering a kind smile. Before Lyanna could return the greeting, Aemond held out the pair of gloves in his hand. 

They were cloth, Lyanna noted, as white as fresh winter snow with a few different colour flowers embroidered along the cuff. They were beautiful, yet she made no move to accept them, just looking at them as if they were made of fire. 

Aemond waited for Lyanna to move to accept them, making a slight shift of his weight. He had spent the last few days reading about the culture of the first men, and he knew the significant meaning of a gift of gloves, but maybe this was too soon. Perhaps he should have started with letters and not moved straight to a piece of clothing.

Larys stood to the side, leaning on his cane as he watched the duo with narrow eyes.

“These are for you, My Lady Strong,” Aemond said again. His voice made Lyanna look away from the gloves and toward his face. 

He could see the slightest tint of pink on Lyanna's cheeks. So faint that if he did not have her face committed to memory, he could not notice a difference. Aemond watched as Lyanna swallowed and smacked her lips together before she pulled her eyebrows together.

“You did not have to, my prince,” Lyanna finally spoke up, taking a deep breath after she finished speaking.

Lyanna took a step away from the horse she had been petting and toward the prince. So close that Aemond could smell the floral perfume that she was wearing. It was so intoxicating that Aemond could not help himself from stepping toward her, closing the gap between them even more. 

“I insist,” He told her, his voice slightly softer and quieter than before. 

Lyanna looked back down to the gloves, one hand gently moving toward grasp one of them. Aemond could only watch as her fingers moved along the embroidery, waiting to see the reaction she would have. 

But before Lyanna could speak up, Larys joined the two of them. The clubfoot looked between his niece and the prince and the gloves that he was holding. Larys might have spent most of his life in the crownlands, but he remembered the customs and traditions of his people. 

“Say thank you, Lyanna,” Larys told her, and for the first time, it seemed like his niece did not fight his words. 

“Thank you,” she said as she took the gloves and looked back up at Aemond. She held them against her stomach, tracing her fingers over the embroidery while offering him a smile.

“Will you be joining us today, Ser Larys?” Aemond turned his attention away from Lyanna, not fighting the smile on his face. 

“I am afraid not.  My foot prevents me from riding. I trust you will after my beloved niece?” Larys asked Aemond as he taped his cane against the cobblestone. 

Lyanna could not help but snicker at her uncle's words as she looked down at her shoes and tried to bite away the smile on her face.  Beloved niece was the most humorous statement that her uncle had said so far.

“Of course,” Aemond assured Larys, who quickly gave the two of them a curt nod before leaving them. 

Lyanna watched as her uncle left, feeling like she could breathe again as he left her presence. She felt as if she could act like her true self without the nagging feeling that every move she made was the wrong one in her uncle's eyes. Lyanna looked back to Aemond, gently playing with her new gloves. 

“I did not know you would be joining us,” She told him as she returned to the horse. 

Aemond rested his hand on the pommel of his sword as he mirrored her movements. Standing not even an arm's length away from her, he patted the horse's rump. 

Helaena had been the one to inform him that Lyanna would be spending the day away from the keep with the rest of the young courtiers. Revealing to him, she planned to find out Alan's true intentions.  It just so happens that his training season had been cancelled, and he had the day free to do whatever he pleased. 

“I thought it would be fun to spend the day with my fellow young courtiers,” He answered as he looked around the courtyard. 

Lyanna did not stop the laugh that escaped her. 

She knew that Aemond held an interest in the lives of the courtiers. Only enjoying hearing the gossip about their lives but never socializing with them. 

“You think spending the day with Ser Alan will be fun?” She asked as she looked at Aemond; her words and smile were one of jest. 

That smile made Aemonds stomach feel warm. 

The morning sun made her skin glow, and Aemond wished he could thank whatever handmaid had dressed Lyanna. For the dress she wore hung off her shoulders. The skin of her shoulders and collarbones were free to soak up the sun's rays, and Aemond could feel his mouth drying at the thought of what it might feel like against his skin, against his lips. 

He pulled his eye away from the freckled skin and back toward Lyanna’s face. A tight smile was on his face, and any on-looker would assume that the prince was in a sour mood. 

“I think spending the day with you in the King’s Wood will be fun,” He whispered to her, not wanting the people around them to hear such tender words. 

“You honour me,” She whispered back, not hiding the smile that came on her face at his words. 

– – 

The ride to the Kingswood was filled with jokes shared between the prince and the soon-to-be lady of Harrenhal. The two of them were within their own world, not caring about the glances that were shot toward them by the other courtiers or side glances of Ser Arryk Cargyll. 

The two simply enjoyed the ride toward the wilderness, with Aemond pointing out different features of architecture to Lyanna. She had enjoyed listening to the prince and his knowledge about the city he had lived in his whole life. She didn’t focus her attention anywhere else but on him as they rode through the city and eventually the King’s Road to get to the camp. 

Once the group of courtiers arrived at the camp, Aemond could not help but slightly judge the scale of the camp. It all seemed rather intimate, with men and women all drinking and laughing loudly.

But maybe this is what this kind of event was like. 

Part of Aemond suddenly realizes that he was not invited, that he had invited himself, but he could not care. He wanted to spend the day with Lyanna. 

Aemond, still looking around, dismounted his horse first before handing the reins to Ser Arraky. He moved his neck around until he heard a satisfying crack. He then set his gaze on Lyanna, who was still atop her horse. 

Aemond, being the gentleman that he is, moved toward Lyanna. Instead of taking hold of the reins, he offered her a hand, which she gladly accepted. 

With one hand holding on hers, Aemond moved his other hand to rest against where he assumed her hip bone was. He relished in the moment of helping her dismount the horse and settling onto the ground. 

Even once Lyanna had her bearings, Aemond did waver from her side. He watched as she pulled her hair over one shoulder, exposing the bare skin of the other. His eyes stayed lingering on her chest and how, with each breath she took, her chest would almost spill out of her chest. 

The hand that Aemond had used to help Lyanna off her horse still rested against the dip of her hip. The feeling of her dress against his hand made his head hurt, knowing that only a few barriers separated them. 

He quickly removed his hand and stepped away as the unmistakable sound of the most annoying knight of the seven kingdoms sounded behind him. 

“Lyanna! You look beautiful, and with the flowers I have gifted you in your hair,” Alan broke the silence between Lyanna and Aemond. The knight’s arms were open wide in greeting, and a smile on his face. 

Even Aemond could not deny that the soon-to-be lord of Horn Hill was handsome. His face was free of scars and a typical man of descent of the first man. A common trait he shared with Lyanna was that Alan properly did not have to learn the dance of customers that is shared between two lovers like Aemond had to. 

Lyanna moved away from Aemond and toward the knight as she offered him a small smile. Aemond had not noticed the white flowers in Lyanna's hair, yet his gift cost significantly more than a few flowers. He’s held more meaning and commitment than some stupid flowers. 

Yet Aemond knew she probably cherished the flowers.  

“I thought I should make use of them before they wither away, Ser Alan,” Lyanna greeted back as she allowed the knight to take her hands.  

“No need for the formalities today; it will simply be us,” He spoke sweetly to her, his voice like honey and Lyanna now remembered why she tolerated the man.

“I think that Lord Larys would appreciate it if the formalities stayed,” Aemond said as he moved to stand beside Lyanna. He did not break his gaze away from Alan, instead straightening his posture.

The moment the prince spoke up, the joy on Alan’s face left and was replaced with distaste. It seemed that the two men held the same feeling for one another.  

“Prince Aemond,” Alan greeted with the bow of his head, letting go of Lyanna’s hands and stepping away from her. 

Lyanna looked back at Aemond, a slight pout on her face, before looking back to Alan with a smile.

“The prince is to be my chaperone for the day,” she told him as she tried to uplift the mood and situation. 

“How gracious of him,” He agreed, not looking at Lyanna but keeping eye contact with Aemond. 

The soon-to-be Lord's tone was only joyous, and it became clear to Lyanna and Alan that their plans for the day would not go according to plan. Yet the prince could not be happier. 

Lyanna grasped Alan's hands, pulling his attention back onto her and putting a warm smile on her face. She knew she had to charm a man who had been taught just like the rest of the daughters of nobility.  

“I have read a great deal about the wildlife in this area. Ser Alan, would you like to accompany me while I try to forage for some flowers,” Lyanna proposed, but her smile vanished as Alan ripped away his hands from hers and took another step away from her. 

“After I finish welcoming the rest of the ladies,” he told her curtly. Before Lyanna or Aemond could wish him a farewell, he was already moving toward another smaller group of ladies. 

Lyanna nodded to herself as she took a deep breath. Smoothing out of the front of the dress, she was unaware of the longing gaze of the prince standing behind her. 

“I will accompany you,” Aemond spoke once he was sure that Alan was far enough away from them, offering Lyanna his arm, which she gladly accepted.

“Thank my prince,” she thanked, giving him a small smile as they moved toward the tree line. 

With one wave of his hand, Aemond dismissed Ser Arryk as he and Lyanna left the group and ventured into the woods.

– 

“My prince?” Lyanna spoke up as she took Aemond’s arm once again. 

The only response she got from Aemond was a low hum as he guided the two along the riverbed. 

Lyanna kept glancing between him and the shrubbery around them, weighing the pros and cons of bringing up the topic she wished to talk about. 

The gift that Aemond had given her was the main thing she wished to ask about, but she feared that she might come off as rude and ungrateful for the prince's generosity. But the meaning behind it weighed heavy on her mind. 

If Aemond knew the significance or if it was just a friend gifting something to a friend like she had been doing with Helaena. 

“Why the gift?” Lyanna finally asked as she kept her eyes away from him so as not to see how he reacted. 

Aemond took his gaze off the greenery before them and glanced at Lyanna. He could see the slightest build-up of sweat on the side of her neck and that the bright sun was hurting her eyes. Could tell that she was slightly nervous when she asked her question. 

Aemond looked back before them as they entered a fall clearing of tall grass and wildflowers. The sound of birds and the buzz of insects were slightly overwhelming, but the smell was divine. He understood now why Lyanna yearned for nature and if this was what she was giving up while residing within the Keep. 

“Do I need a reason to give a dear friend of mine a gift?” Aemond simply asked as he tried to avoid answering the question. 

He kept his back straight as Lyanna unlinked their arms and moved to look at the flowers in front of them. She had taken out the small white flowers in her hair when they first entered the tree line, mumbling what he assumed were cruses in a foreign language as she did so. 

“I am your friend?” Lyanna asked as she picked a wildflower and handed it over to Aemond. The prince gladly took the flower from her as he nodded his head.

“I consider you one,” he answered as he followed her through the tall grass. It seemed like Lyanna knew where she was going, but a small part of Aemond worried about the safety of the land they were on.

“It’s just that to me, that kind of gift means something,” she told him, not stopping to look back at him. 

It was easier for her to focus on the nature around her than the heavy gaze of the prince. 

Aemond smiled as he noticed the slightest blush on the back of Lyanna’s neck. He would bet that her face held the same fairness of pink. A gift as simple as gloves had her flustered and confused, and that fact made Aemond proud of himself. 

“I did not know; my apologies,” He apologized as he sped up his pace to keep stride with Lyanna. 

Aemond knew what it meant. Knew that gloves were only given when serious interest was there. He had confirmed it not only with the maesters but also with two knights that were from the north. 

Ser Criston had almost overheard the conversation he had to have. Gods know that the Kingsguard would have run to his mother and told her. The headache from that would not have been worth it.  

“Perhaps you could tell my uncle such,” Lyanna proposes, worried about the future of their relationship if her uncle gets the wrong idea.  “The gift of gloves is often a late courting gift between betrotheds. I fear that my uncle will think it is you showing interest,”

Aemond hummed for her to continue; part of him wanted to keep listening to Lyanna, and the other wanted to ensure he had gotten the right information. 

“It symbolizes a man asking for the woman's hand. It is also a type of clothing,” She told him as she turned to look back at him. 

Lyanna stepped back and leaned against what she knew to be an oak tree. She could feel the roughness of the bark against the soft skin of her back, and she was sure her hair would be intertwined with the bark. 

She put her hands behind her back as she watched Aemond move closer to her as if a predator stalking its prey. 

Aemond moved to stand before Lyanna, one of his feet almost next to her as he leaned his weight against one leg. The prince crossed his arms behind his back, looking over Lyanna once. The humidity of the air caused her hair to become slightly frizzy, and a few strands had stuck themselves onto her temples. 

“What does clothing have to do with courting,” He asked as if he didn’t already know. But he wanted to hear her say it, needed to hear her say it. 

Lyanna could feel her chest become hot as Aemond's gaze remained on her. She had nowhere to run, not that she wanted to. 

She swallowed the saliva in her mouth before looking Aemond up and down. She did not know how he could look so flawlessly and perfectly put together. 

Lyanna took a breath before straightening herself. 

“You can not touch each other, so giving a gift that you have both had against your skin becomes the closest thing to it. Gloves, shirts, and garters,” she answered, her voice trailed off at the last word. 

The prince had asked her a question, and who was she to deny him an answer. 

The sides of his mouth perked slightly up at her words. Part of him thought that Lyanna would not tell him the whole truth, but he was glad she did. Aemond took another step toward the trapped Lyanna. They were so close to one another that their chests were almost touching. 

Only one breath separated them from one another. 

And at that, Lyanna could not help but slightly lick her lips as she forced herself to keep his gaze.

“Garters?” he asked, and his voice had a slight tone of jest. 

Both of them knew that they should not be talking about this. 

Should not be so close to one another. 

Should not even be left alone with one another. 

All it took was one onlooker for there to be repercussions of this conversation. 

But that was part of the thrill for both of them.

“It’s scandalous. Erotic even, the intimacy of giving something that will hold up a woman's stockings so close...I’ve heard men even have messages in silk embroidered in them,” Lyanna continued, and she did not waver as she saw Aemonds hand move to touch a loose curl of her hair. 

She did not move as she felt his knuckle gently graze against her ear or when one of his hands gently clasped around her waist. 

She did not move as the prince leaned him to the other side of her face, cheek against cheek, as he whispered in her ear.  

“What kind of messages?” he asked her before he moved his lips to ghost against the skin of her cheek and jawline. 

“I have yet to have such kind of gift, so I can not say,” Lyanna answered as she carefully moved her head to the side, yet she worried that any movement she made would scare away the prince. 

Aemond smiled as he gently planted a kiss against her jaw, moving his free hand to hold the other side of her neck; Lyanna moved to grab his wrist as she shifted on her feet.

Aemond carefully moved his thumb along the side of her jaw as his lips made their way to the underside of her jaw. 

Everywhere he touched, he left a trail of waking fire along her skin. He could tell how his actions affected her by how her breathing deepened, and she leaned into him.  

She could feel the blush that was on her face and chest. Yet she did not want the overwhelming feeling to end. 

She wanted to feel his lips against all the skin of her body. She wanted to feel his hands against her skin. She wanted him. 

She could take in here in the woods if he allowed. Fuck dignity and tradition. She now understood why lust dedicated people's actions. 

“Maybe I could change that,” Aemond whispered against her skin as he planned another kiss against her skin.

Lyanna was about to nod before a lady's scream pulled them out of their haze. The two moved just far enough away to look each other in the eyes.

The sound of laughter of both men and women quickly followed the scream.

She was the first to move as she pulled herself away from Aemond and the tree. Not caring about the pain of her hair being stuck within the tree's bark. Lyanna moved her hand over the skin of her neck where Aemonds lips were. 

She cleared her throat and turned to look at the prince, who was already watching her. For once, Lyanna could not read his face. 

“It seems that the ladies are having fun. “We should rejoin the party, should we not?” Lyanna asked, and Aemond nodded. He started back toward the group, leaving Lyanna to follow after him. 

– – 

Lyanna was knelt before the Heart Tree. She could feel the wet dirt against her knees as it seeped through the fabric of her stocking, probably staining both the fabric and her skin with each second she stayed. The corset of her dress felt tight against her chest with each breath she took, and the pins in her hair felt like they were stabbing her scalp. 

But through her pain, the only movement was those of her lips as she whispered her prayer. 

She had made a beeline for the Godswood when she and Aemond arrived back at the keep, not stopping when she heard the prince call out to her. And once she arrived at the holy place, she had planted herself before the tree and had yet to leave it. 

The sun had long left the sky, but Lyanna remained.

She prayed through the pain of hunger that came from her stomach—prayed through the bite of the chill of night.  Her eyes closed so she did not have to see the red weeping tears of the tree judging her. Yet even with her eyes closed, she could still feel the eyes of the nameless gods judging her as she prayed and repented.  

Whenever she thought she had prayed for enough forgiveness, her skin would burn where Aemond’s lips had once ghosted against her neck and lips, and then she would start the prayers again. 

It seemed like any self-dignity and preservation that Lyanna thought she had would burn to ash the second the prince joined her side. No, whenever the prince was in eyesight, they would become as if the flames of desire burned inside her. Lyanna knew what would happen if anyone were to discover the events today: she would be sent back to Harrenhal, and the title she fought so hard for would be given to her uncle. 

Lyanna could not allow that. Could not let all the sacrifices be for nothing. 

Larys could not help but compare his niece to a child asking for forgiveness from a parent as he watched her pray. The moon's light casted a shadow of her body against the ground, and Larys was reminded of how young Lyanna was. He was sure that if her parents had survived the fire, they would fight to keep her locked away in Harrenhal and away from any man she might be able to marry. 

The language of her prayers was now foreign to him, but he knew that his niece would not spend hours before her gods praying for a simple mistake. She had been raised by devout worshipers of the old ways, and every decision she made was with them in mind. Larys knew that much about his estranged niece.

“Care to say why you missed our dinner,” Larys broke the silence of the night. 

He waited for Lyanna to respond to him, yet as he watched her kneeling figure, she made no movement to get up or answer him. Larys tapped his cane against the ground and cleared his throat, waiting for a response from the girl deep in prayer. 

“No. I’m praying, so go away,” she answered him, her voice coarse, and it was clear that she needed a drink to soothe it. 

Lyanna did not want to face her uncle. Even if he was a cripple, she was sure that he would be able to see through her lies and know precisely what she had done. That he would punish her for her harlot actions and desires. 

So Lyanna remained knelt. She would stay before the tree until she could move past her improper behaviour and thoughts. The gods would tell her when she was done. 

“You have been praying for hours,” His tone was one of authority, yet Lyanna could only choke down a snicker at it. 

He might be her elder, but Larys held little true authority over her when they were in private. He could not physically punish her, nor would the rest of their family be okay with any humiliation that Larys might put her through as a punishment. She was sure her aunts would ride to the Keep themselves if he did so. 

“I have been neglecting the gods since I arrived in the south; I just wish to show devotion once again,” Her voice was louder this time as if with each moment Larys spent in her presence, she was coming out of her trance of prayer. 

“Lying before that tree is a sin, Lyanna. That is much I remember,” Larys told her, hoping to use her faith to gain the truth from her. 

Her words were not lies and, therefore, not sin. She tried to tell herself. 

Lyanna sighed to herself. She knew that Larys would not be leaving her alone. With shaky legs, she stood up. The sound of her knee popping raised slight concern, but the stiffness in her legs and throbbing pain in her head raised more. 

Maybe she shouldn’t have skipped her dinner. 

Lyanna's hands moved to rest on her hips as she took a deep breath and turned to face her uncle. Rolling her shoulders as she moved toward her henched man. 

“Is praying to the old gods forbidden now? Do I need to go to the Stept and light a candle?” Her tone had a bit of bitterness and venom that the sweet girl here a second ago did not usually possess, but it was reminded of a woman he had long since forgotten.  

Or tried to forget. She often plagued his dreams, and sometimes, when he was awake, he could swear that he saw her within the darkness of the corridors.  

“It is time to retire for the day, Lyanna,” He calmly told her. He did not want to alert her of how her voice truly shivered his bones. 

The darkness of the night made her hair look almost black; her soft features were suddenly sharp, and he could see a sparkle of green in the brown of her eyes. As Lyanna stood before Larys, it was as if her face was transforming into hers.

As he spoke, Lyanna could not help but roll her eyes. She knew that it was of no use to fight now. She was tired, and her bed was calling for her. 

She let her arms fall and began to move toward the exit of the Godswood. But as she moved past her uncle, he quickly wrapped a hand around her arm, stopping her from moving further. 

Larys debated whether or not he should press the issue further. He might be able to gain the truth from Lyanna if he continued to annoy her with his questions. 

But as he held her arm in his hand, her eyes only narrowed, and her mouth turned into a scowl. The more he looked, the more he saw of her. 

But she was always present in Lyanna in the way she held herself—the quickness to her jabs of words. 

Larys let go of her arm, resting both hands on the pommel of his cane. He offered her a small fake smile.

“You remind so much of her in this light,” He quietly whispered to her, as if the tree in front of them was listening to the words. 

Lyanna's brows pulled tougher, and she swallowed the spit in her mouth. She moved slightly to face her uncle, unsure of who he was referring to.

“My mother?” She asked, her voice louder than Larys’s. 

He shook his head as he responded. “The wretched witch that raised you,”

Taglist: Reply if you wish to be added to the taglist!

@delaynew @coldmermaidhologram @snh96 @sahvlren

[patrophthia]

dresses and fish baits | regulus black

pairing: regulus black x reader

genre: fluff !! established relationships, humor, crack, bickering, regulus likes spoiling his s/o, tooth rottenly sweet, not beta read, we die like reggie

wc: 590

originally posted on AO3: 13/03/2022

"what are you reading?" regulus asked, taking the opposing from her at her house' table. 

"a magazine," she answered easily, dropping it on the table for him to see. 

regulus pursed his lips, eyes stuck on the page she was previously reading. on it was a designer dress with the price tag of over three thousand pounds. 

"do you like it?" he asked slowly, buttering up his toast. 

"do i like it?" she said incredulous, "reg, i would make you sell your soul for it." 

regulus bit into his toast, chewing on it for a few second before her words caught up to him. "make me sell my soul?" 

"yeah." she stirred her tea with a tea spoon thoughtfully. "that's what boyfriends are for, selling their soul for a designer dress their girlfriend likes."

"hmm," he hummed adorably,"do you want it?" 

"did you not hear what i just said?" 

regulus turned bashfully, his onyx falling onto his forehead, he shifted back to her, eyeing her curiously. "what size do you wear?"

"no," she said firmly, already knowing what he was thinking, "regulus, that dress is like—"

"i can afford it." he cut in.

"no." 

"no?" he asked slowly. 

"no," she repeated, "i'm not letting you sell your soul for the dress." 

"you're contradicting your own words, sweetheart.” he pointed out. “and if its any consolation, i do not need to sell my soul for that dress.” 

she only shook her head, firmly stating. "you are not buying me that dress."

•••

there was a knock on regulus' door, barty —who was the closest to the door, got up and opened the door. he let her in upon recognizing her, complimenting her on her outfit. 

"reg," she began slowly, sitting herself down on her boyfriend's bed. regulus turned from his seat, dropping his quill to give her his full attention. "how did you find out what size i wore?" 

"i know some people." by some people he meant her dorm mates who —she definitely suspected, had snuck into her her wardrobe and fed him the information he needed. there was a glint in his eyes, glittering brightly. a small smile tugged at his lips. "that looks better on you than it did on the model."

"thank you?" god, why can't slytherin men give out compliments like other men do. "i can't just take this though, it'll take some times for me to save up but i'll pay you back, i promise." 

regulus frowned, the face of elegance still. "it's a gift, chère, i'm not taking your money." 

"then you can have it back." 

"no." his frowned deepens. "it's yours. you're not giving it back to me, i won't be prancing around wearing that thing anyways, and i definitely will not be taking your money." 

"regulus." she had planned to argue with him even further but the look he had made her shut up, knowing that he would be persistent about the dress being hers. she sighed, switching the topic. 

there was something else her friends had been gossiping about anyways, a trick question they’d ask their significant others just for the fun off it. it wouldn’t hurt if she joined in, right? 

"would you still be with me if i was a worm?"

barty must’ve overheard, cackling loudly at her words. regulus’s lips twitched upwards, making his mood change immediately. “no.”

he decided to take it even further when she pouted at him, feigning upset. “i would use you as a bait for fish. maybe then, worm you would be useful.”

[bestworstcase]

& as heart-wrenching as it is, i think ruby being able to say the words “i don’t want to be me anymore” is also like. it’s been true for a long time, and it’s awful, but before she can fix it she had to let herself see it, and to see it she had to say it. (and i have some nascent thoughts bubbling about neo being the one who ‘saves’ her from the cat—not in the sense that neo intends to rescue her, but thematically it does matter that the character who rips the cat off of ruby’s chest is the character that the cat then eats; there’s a narrative foundation here for ruby to return the favor by saving neo from the cat. or helping neo save herself from the cat, more likely.)

(<- the villain eaten by the story and the hero eaten by the story.)

and—while the allegory is not subtle at all—that it’s coming right after an episode that overtly rejected the notion of ascension being equivalent to death and portrayed wby as heroic in their immediate unconditional support for the paper pleasers’ desire to ascend… the relative locations of these two narrative beats isn’t accidental. the tree does not kill, it resurrects. the suicide allegory hinges on the deliberate narrative uncertainty about what ruby thinks ascension is: why does she drink the tea? what is she asking for? jaune imagines death, neo annihilation, but the paper pleasers say “we are delicate. our world is very fragile. we wish to become more resilient so that we can build something that will survive.” (<- ruby promised to serve atlas and keep people safe. her predicament is the same as theirs.)

is the distinction meaningful? <- a question i somewhat expect the next episode to interrogate. i mean the answer is yes, obviously, wanting to die is very different from wanting to change, but the thematic arc up to this point has been constructed by conflation of the two through the characters’ shifting perceptions; is the tree change or is it death, is it good or bad, does it kill or revitalize. irrespective of what ruby herself thinks, she chose to ascend and the tree answered her, so the threads will obviously get teased apart as we follow what that means for her. (and for little. true ascension vs whatever the ever after can offer ruby is something i’m really interested to see.)

practically speaking, ruby can’t lose her memories—or, not forever/not completely. (i do think a scenario where like, the tree takes her memories and then reveals them to her, a very literal change in perspective, is a significant possibility. what if you could leave ruby rose behind? what if you could see her through a stranger’s eyes? what might you think of her then? the thing about shedding an old coat is you can always put it on again. and if the coat is falling apart, of course, you do need to take it off before you can stitch it back together. how literal a metaphor are we looking at here.)

likewise i doubt very much that she’s going to drastically transform. (wardrobe change, reforged weapon, brushing off her bumps and bruises, yes; radically altered physical nature, no.) largely because her physical form is fine as she is—at no point has ruby been troubled by the limitations of her body—and the transformation she needs is spiritual in nature. if it ain’t broke… and what’s broken is her spirit, her emotional well-being.

which leaves, like, okay. you don’t want to be yourself anymore. what do you want to be instead? nothing isn’t an option. the tree cannot provide nothing. (that’s what the jabberwalker is for.) there needs to be something. you can’t think of anything? not one singular thing you want to keep? not even the tiniest spark of light in all this darkness? alright. turn around and look again. tilt the mirror, look again. what do you want? what do you really want, deep down where you’ve never let anyone else see? look at that. now look again. look for what’s true in this unreal place. if you can’t see what’s in front of you, look again. what do you want to be?

[kpoptarotastrology009]

Hello can we get ideal type for taehyung too thank you

BTS'S Taehyung IDEAL TYPE

Personality: (ten of wands, five of buckets from ZIRKUS MÄGI TAROT ,  3 of swords )Taehyung's ideal type seems to be someone who is incredibly resilient and hardworking, often carrying a lot on their shoulders. This person takes on many responsibilities and perseveres through challenges with determination and strength. They're no stranger to emotional struggles either. The Five of Buckets suggests they might have experienced significant loss or heartbreak in their life, which has given them a deep, introspective understanding of emotions. They know what it’s like to go through tough times and come out stronger on the other side. The Three of Swords adds to this picture, indicating that this person has faced and overcome emotional pain, making them more empathetic and emotionally mature. They have a depth of character shaped by their experiences with sorrow and heartbreak, bringing a compassionate and understanding nature to their relationships. This blend of hard work, emotional resilience, and deep empathy creates a partner who can understand and support Taehyung in a meaningful way.( i don't know but while I'm doing this reading the fist thing that comes to my mine is Saturn in the 6th House i guess because of the 10 of wands that give off hard working and Saturn in the 6th house Indicates a hardworking, responsible individual or maybe people with prominent Saturn aspects in their natal chart or some Capricorn in the chart too)

appearance : (elemental of fire from the book shadows tarot , knight of wands ,nine of swords )Taehyung's ideal type likely has a striking and dynamic presence, radiating a sense of energy and charisma that’s hard to miss. The Elemental of Fire suggests that this person has a warm, glowing complexion with a natural vibrancy. Their hair might be a prominent feature—think rich, fiery tones like auburn, chestnut, or even a bold, unconventional color that reflects their spirited nature. They could have an athletic and well-toned physique, giving off an impression of strength and vitality. Their body language is expressive and confident, often moving with a sense of purpose and enthusiasm.( i heard fire ASC or MC idk but i felt a lot of fire sign energy in here ) The Knight of Wands adds to this image, suggesting someone with a passionate and adventurous aura. This person likely has sharp, well-defined features—a strong jawline, prominent cheekbones, and eyes that sparkle with excitement and curiosity. Their gaze is intense and captivating, often leaving a lasting impression on those they meet. The Nine of Swords brings a softer, more introspective aspect to their appearance. Despite their strong and energetic exterior, there’s a depth to their eyes that hints at emotional complexity. They might have a delicate or refined quality to their features, with expressions that sometimes reveal their contemplative side. Their look can shift from intense and fiery to thoughtful and introspective, reflecting a multifaceted personality.

Style/fashion sense: (4 of cups , 2 of pentecales and the lovers)

Taehyung’s ideal type has a fashion sense that is both effortless and refined. The Four of Cups suggests they lean towards a minimalist and understated style. They prefer clean lines, neutral colors, and classic pieces that exude a sense of calm and simplicity. This person’s wardrobe likely consists of timeless staples—think well-fitted jeans, simple tees, cozy sweaters, and elegant coats. They choose pieces that are comfortable and practical, yet sophisticated, reflecting their thoughtful and contemplative nature.

The Two of Pentacles adds a touch of versatility and balance to their fashion choices. This person enjoys mixing different elements to create a harmonious look. They might blend casual and formal pieces, such as pairing a tailored blazer with relaxed jeans or combining a chic dress with comfortable sneakers. Their style is adaptable, allowing them to effortlessly switch from a day at work to a night out with friends. They have a knack for balancing comfort with style, always looking put-together without trying too hard.

The Lovers card brings an element of romance and elegance to their fashion sense. This person is likely drawn to soft, flowing fabrics and well-coordinated outfits that highlight their natural charm and grace. They might favor outfits that enhance their best features and create a sense of harmony and beauty. Accessories are carefully chosen to complement their overall look, adding a touch of sophistication and allure. Their style radiates warmth and attractiveness, making them stand out in a subtle yet memorable way.

This card has something to add in the reading for sure i don't really know what it is but I'm just gonna put it there ( two of pentacles from the steampunk tarot)

[laraactive]

Embracing Modesty: The Rise of Modest Activewear in the UAE

In recent years, the fashion industry has witnessed a remarkable shift towards inclusivity and diversity, catering to the varying needs and preferences of women worldwide. Among these evolving trends, the surge in demand for modest activewear has been particularly notable, especially in regions like the United Arab Emirates (UAE).

Modesty, deeply rooted in cultural and religious values, has long been a significant aspect of dressing in the UAE. However, traditional modest attire often lacked options for women seeking comfortable and stylish activewear suitable for their active lifestyles. Recognizing this gap, several brands have emerged, offering a diverse range of modest activewear in the UAE.

Modest Activewear Training Pants:

Gone are the days when modesty was perceived as a barrier to active pursuits. Today, women in the UAE can effortlessly find modest activewear training pants that combine functionality with modesty. Crafted from breathable fabrics and designed with modest silhouettes, these pants offer the flexibility and coverage women desire during workouts without compromising on style.

Modest Activewear Hoodies:

Whether it's a brisk morning jog or a post-workout cooldown, modest activewear hoodies provide the perfect blend of comfort and coverage. With innovative designs and thoughtful details, these hoodies not only protect from the elements but also exude a sense of style and sophistication, making them a staple in every modest dresser's wardrobe.

Modest Activewear Sets:

For the ultimate convenience and style, modest activewear sets are a must-have. These coordinated ensembles take the guesswork out of styling, offering a seamless and chic look for any workout session. From performance-oriented fabrics to fashion-forward designs, these sets cater to the diverse tastes of women in Dubai and beyond, empowering them to embrace their modesty without compromising on fashion or function.

Modest Activewear Tops:

From lightweight tunics to modest crop tops with extended lengths, the options for modest activewear tops in the UAE are endless. These tops are designed to provide ample coverage while allowing for ease of movement, ensuring that women can pursue their fitness goals with confidence and comfort.

Modest Activewear Brands in the UAE:

In response to the growing demand for modest activewear, numerous brands have emerged in the UAE, catering specifically to the needs of modest dressers. These brands combine traditional values with contemporary designs, offering a diverse array of options for women seeking modest yet stylish activewear. From established names to emerging labels, the UAE boasts a vibrant and thriving modest activewear scene, providing women with the freedom to express themselves while staying true to their values.

In conclusion, the rise of modest activewear in the UAE, including brands like Lara Active, represents a significant step towards inclusivity and empowerment in the world of fashion. By offering women stylish yet modest options for their active lifestyles, these brands are not only meeting a demand but also championing diversity and self-expression. As the modest fashion movement continues to gain momentum, the future looks bright for women seeking to embrace their modesty while pursuing their passions.

[tedwardremus]

Thoughts on modern fashion?

Also how would muggle Walburga Black dress?

Oh boy, did I share some thoughts lol. But nothing really on any particular trend or brand. I've rambled on enough but happy to discuss specific trends and brands too.

Fashion is a visual medium that encapsulates culture, class, politics, gender, and various facets of identity. It exists at the intersection of art and consumerism, serving as both a form of self-expression and a market-driven product. We pick clothes that we like and feel express ourselves but we are also told what to like and what to purchase by large corporations who see us as numbers in a stock portfolio and not as individuals. 

While fashion has often been dismissed as frivolous, it is fundamentally intertwined with our identities, allowing us to communicate who we are as individuals and as members of society. Fashion is a nuanced and personal expression that reflects social change, political beliefs, and aesthetic values, making it a powerful lens through which we can examine the evolving roles of individuals and communities in the public sphere.

As a consumer good, the demand for clothing is at an all-time high, with fast fashion emerging as a significant environmental concern. The industry contributes to the proliferation of plastic waste, with low-quality garments often ending up in landfills and on beaches. Moreover, the production of such high quantities of clothing raises serious concerns over human rights violations associated with the exploitation of cheap labor.

It can feel like a losing battle these days to find a good outfit that lasts a long time and is affordable. We compromise our values when we shop fast fashion but few of us have an alternative choice.

Today, using fashion as a clear class distinction has become increasingly challenging. Even millionaire influencers often choose to wear inexpensive clothing from brands like Shein and websites like Amazon, favoring mass-produced items over bespoke garments tailored specifically to their bodies. This shift reflects a broader trend where the sign of wealth is no longer measured by the quality or craftsmanship of clothing but rather by the sheer volume of items one owns.

Even brands that used to signify quality have cheapened their production. Levi jeans are not the same quality denim they are famous for. 

A truly well-made purse, like many classic accessories, should be designed to last a lifetime, with craftsmanship that withstands the wear and tear of daily life. Ideally, an investment in such a piece would mean living in and growing with it, allowing it to become a part of one’s personal history. Yet, in today’s culture of disposable fashion, we see a different approach: closets overflowing with countless handbags, each one picked up for a season and quickly discarded in favor of the next trend.

This excess not only dilutes the value of individual items but also fosters a cycle of constant consumption, where style becomes transient and connection to one’s belongings fleeting. Instead of cherishing a few high-quality pieces, the modern consumer is encouraged to accumulate—a shift that ultimately transforms what could be an investment in artistry or utility (we do need to carry things with us throughout the day) into a revolving door of fleeting fashion trends and hoarding.

NOW FINALLY, WALBURGA

Walburga Black would never be caught wearing the same thing as anyone else. Unlike modern influencers who shop off the rack or online, her style is rooted in old-fashioned tradition and exclusivity. She remains one of the last true patrons of couture, frequenting designer boutiques where her measurements are kept on file and each piece is custom-fitted to perfection. Her wardrobe is filled with furs, bespoke pieces, and timeless luxury brands like Chanel. Walburga travels to Paris and Italy to meet designers in person, ensuring her attire is as exclusive as her social circle.

She loves a good hat. She loves dark colors to contrast with her pale skin. She wears Dior red lipstick. She loves a well-cut blazer and she can run in stilettos (not that she would. A lady never runs). 

She would consider Kris Jenner’s taste in fashion gaudy and utterly beneath her. Because try as they might, the Kardashian cannot escape the aesthetic of flashy, social-climbing “new money” and it would be an affront to Walburga’s refined sensibilities and deep-rooted aristocratic standards.

(and my work is cutting wifi off for some reason so I'm publishing this without inspirational photos so I can go home)

[llolianarchives]

RAMSHACKLE DORM HEADCANONS (REVISED)

Our little home is not appreciated enough so I shall take matters onto my own hands and spread self-indulgent ideas 😤😤😤 Behold! PS: I made something like this before so this is like a revised version.

“UNCLE” GHOSTS

The Ramshackle Ghosts were each given personal names by the Prefect, corresponding to the ghost's existing letter.

This was done after Yuu got tired of calling them Ghost [insert letter of the alphabet] all of the time, whilst also adding to their individuality.

Why did the Prefect have to give them names? Don't they have names of their own? Well, they used to when they were still a part of the living. The ghosts still remember who they were and what they excelled at (such as being a chef or a magift player) but they cannot claim namesakes or identities as their own when they're already dead unless you harbored much significance when you were alive, recorded in history to not be forgotten such as Eliza.

"Ghost A" is now "Archie" — very rough and tumble. He is a ball of ferocious, mischievous energy enough to rival Grim's own. Despite his size, Archie is quite the fighter. His first reaction to the Prefect's problems is to suggest that they duke it out headfirst! But in truth, he is plenty caring and easily fusses over Yuu and Grim's physical health (complete with dark humor). He teaches the duo sports whenever the opportunity arises. His extreme head ruffles are the silliest things.

"Ghost B" is now "Bernard or Bernie" — who's full of joy and fun (maybe that's why he's so plump). He's always ready with a joke to brighten Yuu's mood, always eager to please Yuu and Grim by pampering them with already-in-the-house gifts or food. Spooky mischief is his favorite pastime. Yuu believes that he gives the best hugs and cooks the best food.

"Ghost C" is now "Clyde" — who's generally a very laid-back and lax individual. Among the three, he's one of the wiser ghosts, always willing to set aside his tomfoolery for a heart-to-heart conversation with Yuu, giving advice and being an open ear. However, he still is, of course, a lover of mischief and spooks. (Note: Do not accept the “therapeutic” cigarettes he offers.)

The Ghosts are skilled at sewing clothes of their own (hence their tailored hats and capes). They were the ones who made Yuu and Grim's Halloween costumes, but they've also helped Yuu expand their wardrobe by using extra textiles and fabrics. The ghosts sew ribbons for Grim as well (⁠◡⁠ ⁠ω⁠ ⁠◡⁠)

They love oldies music. Stuff like ABBA, Don McLean, Micheal Jackson, Queen, John Lennon, The Smiths, Air Supply, The Carpenters— you name it!

They can also shift their voice into an exponentially low range, similar to Alto, Bass, and Baritone. Every now and then, they comically break into a chorus for fun.

RAMSHACKLE BUILDING

Prior to the building's renovation post-VDC, 70% of its rooms were either barricaded still, or very unclean. Yuu and Grim, themselves, had yet to fully explore their dorm in fear of collapsing wood, nesting bugs, or hidden rats— things that they didn't want to deal with if they could help it.

A garden stands in the dormitory's yard, by the farther side of it. Yuu had taken up gardening sometime after BOOK 1. They discussed with Grim that walking back and forth to the canteen wasn't very efficient. It started small and expanded into bearing vegetables and fruits. Eventually, the prefect built an arch trellis for the vines to grow, bringing the whole look together. (Note: While the produce their garden grows does give them the opportunity to cook/ bake at home, their inventory still wouldn't last the entirety of the winter holidays. It also wouldn't be efficient to eat the same meals over and over.)

Birds like common sparrows, crows, and ravens tend to perch or nest on Ramshackle's barren trees. They're such a regular sight that Grim and Yuu have stopped trying to drive them away, instead welcoming them into the property.

Ramshackle, while seemingly unimpressive at first, does wield an aura of unease once you're indoors. When you're wandering the halls by yourself, it oddly feels as if you're being watched... Something vague might've peeked out from a corner. Or, did that painting just glance at you? It totally did. Are you mad? This feeling is increased tenfold in the evenings. Yuu and Grim were disturbed by this initially, but have come to accept it as the house's second nature. Ace, Deuce, and the VDC boys were also victims of this phenomenon.

THE GREAT GRIM: ARCHMAGE EXTRAORDINAIRE!!!

When Yuu and Grim first began cohabiting in Ramshackle Dorm, the Prefect had given him an intense cat bath to wash away any grime, tangled-up fur, or Seven forbid... fleas.

Grim sleeps with Yuu on the bed but doesn't use the blankets, instead opting to curl up beside his henchman or lie flat on Yuu's stomach (much to their annoyance and Grim's amusement).

He pouts when Yuu is away for too long, concern and loneliness crawling underneath his skin because how dare his henchman leave their boss like this?!

Despite how much he complains about housework, gardening, maintenance, and such, he still tries his best to help out whenever Yuu works. It actually ends up being rather fun though.

MISCELLANEOUS

The Headmage occasionally comes over for tea and chats with a box of whatever snacks he's managed to grab. Usually, however, it's only because Crowley has another heinous assignment for the Ramshackle Duo.

[foxfables]

The Space Between Hearts

A/N: This is Just the Plot Bunnies I Couldn’t Shake. Please Don’t Expect Any Kind of Medical Accuracy. This is inspired by House MD & a Film Called Fathers & Daughter (Loosely).

The Space Between Us.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Aubrey Hurst.

Warnings: N/A

Part 1. Part 2.

Spencer Reid sat in the passenger seat of the SUV, the rhythmic hum of the tires on the road filling the silence. His phone buzzed in his pocket. Glancing down, he saw Dr. Daniel Rhodes’ name on the screen. After a brief pause, he answered.

“Hi, Dr. Reid,” Dr. Rhodes began, his tone professional but concerned. “I’ve been reviewing your case and thinking about the next steps. Given the persistence and intensity of your migraines, I’d like to expand our approach. I’m particularly interested in conducting some environmental testing. We could analyze air quality, check for potential neurotoxins, allergens, or even mold exposure in your apartment. It might give us a clearer picture of whether something in your living environment is contributing to the symptoms.”

Spencer’s eyes flicked over to Derek, who was focused on the road but still alert. He nodded slightly, keeping his tone neutral. “That makes sense. I’ll consider it. Let’s touch base later,” he said, his words clipped, trying to keep the conversation brief.

Dr. Rhodes paused briefly before replying. “Of course. Just reach out when you’re ready, and we’ll set it up. we want to be thorough here.”

Derek shot a curious glance in Spencer’s direction. “Who was that?”

Spencer shook his head, brushing it off. “No one . Just someone following up on some things.”

Derek raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. Spencer, eager to change the subject, took a breath and spoke again.

“Actually, there’s something I’ve been thinking about.” Spencer paused, shifting uncomfortably in his seat before continuing, “I met this woman the other day. I think she might have… asked me out on a date?”

Derek glanced over, his eyebrows shooting up. “Oh, really? Pretty Boy’s got game now?”

Spencer fidgeted slightly with his sleeve, trying to find the right words. “Well, I’m not exactly sure if it’s a date. She gave me this tie…”

Derek couldn’t help but chuckle. “A tie, huh? Maybe she’s telling you to step up your wardrobe game.”

Spencer smiled, but his thoughts remained focused on the moment with Aubrey. “No, it’s not that. It felt more… significant. She mentioned that there’s a story behind the tie and said she wanted to tell me about it when we meet again this week.”

Derek grinned, leaning back in his seat. “Well, that’s interesting. A mysterious tie and another meeting? Sounds like you’ve got a little intrigue going on.”

Spencer nodded, still unsure of what to make of the situation. “Yeah, I guess so. I’m just trying to figure out what it all means.”

Derek slapped his shoulder playfully. “Don’t overthink it, man. Just see where it goes. Could be something good.”

[premenstrualhomicide]

2023 intentional feminism [SUCCESS]

hey ladies! about a year and a half ago i finally wrote a list of feminist goals for myself, and as of this month, i've completed them all. intentional feminist action is something that has become very important to me and has effectively improved my confidence, body neutrality, social awareness, and overall wellbeing. i'm really proud of myself so i thought i'd share my success with y'all and talk a little bit about the journey.

GOAL #1: STOP WEARING SKIN MAKEUP

this was one of the first ones i completed, although getting comfortable with the change took a bit longer. i threw out all concealers, foundations, etc. shortly after writing my list of goals, and luckily my frugality saved me from going out and buying more in moments of low self-esteem. the hardest part of this goal was when, about 9 months after i had stopped wearing skin makeup, i developed a chronic illness that frequently flares up and is very visible. since then, i have had many days where i have to force myself to go out with blotchy, red, even bruised skin covering my face, and limbs. it's been difficult to adjust to strangers staring at me, but i'm really proud to say i've grown more comfortable in my skin as a result and have not given in to the urge to cover my symptoms with makeup.

GOAL #2: STOP WEARING EYE MAKEUP

eyeliner was a lot harder to surrender. in my teenage years, i wore a lot of eyeliner, often sharp and dramatic wings. i leaned heavily into the alternative style because i felt i wasn't attractive enough to perform femininity in the more traditional or conventional way. so for many months after giving up my concealer, i still wore eyeliner frequently. but in the year 2023, i've worn eye makeup a total of 1 time (with the exception of costume/cosplay makeup). it's a difficult thing to let go of, because almost all the pictures i have of myself as a teenager depict me with my eyes neatly framed with dark wings. and i'll admit it: it looks fantastic on me. but i've found ways to keep myself from falling back into that addiction, like not taking selfies of myself as frequently as i used to, not using social media, practicing body neutrality, and remembering the ultimate reason i'm doing this: to help other women feel comfortable in their natural state.

GOAL #3: STOP BUYING UNCOMFORTABLE CLOTHES

right now my wardrobe contains quite a few tiny skirts, crop tops, and other mobility-restricting, revealing articles of clothing. i'm slowly phasing them out as i shift my apparel to more oversized clothes, sweaters, men's jeans, professional suits for my career, and long skirts in which i can easily move. what has helped is a new job at a company that sells bras, panties, pajamas, and loungewear to women who want to be comfortable. we provide a less objectifying alternative to stores like victoria's secret, and so my employee discount has made it easy to stock up on unbelievably soft cardigans, pajamas, and wireless bras.

GOAL #4: STOP SHAVING

two things i learned after i stopped shaving: 1. there's a significant number of women who don't shave but have such fine/light body hair that it appears as though they shave regularly. 2. i am not one of those women. shaving had been a sisyphean struggle for me since the age of 12. my body hair is dark, grows quickly, and will do everything in its power to make "smooth legs" impossible. i remember years of researching different methods of shaving and hair removal, googling how to prevent "strawberry legs", buying various creams and lotions and exfoliants just so i could obtain that air-brushed look that seemed to come naturally to all the girls around me. giving up on shaving forced me to confront the truth: i am a hairy woman. i have hairy arms, hairy legs, hairy toes, i even have some visible mustache hair. while i will sometimes meet women at university who don't use makeup for any number of reasons (yay!), it is very rare that i see other women with hairy legs. and god have i been searching. in fact, i can only think of one time in this year and a half i've seen another female who visibly doesn't shave, and then i found out they don't even identify as a woman. very disheartening. i'll keep wearing shorts and being hairy in hopes that my female peers and younger girls will have a change of heart, but for now it still feels a bit alienating.

GOAL #5: JOIN A FEMINIST ISSUES ORGANIZATION

!!!!!!! very proud to say i had the opportunity to work for the Feminist Majority Foundation during this past election season. my state had a very critical piece of pro-choice legislation on the ballot in november, so my job was to canvass students on and off my campus, and to provide reliable information about the issue. so happy to have played a role in securing abortion rights for women in my state. for any women wanting to get involved with feminist orgs and potentially make some money, the FMF has a great list of job listings!

GOAL #6: JOIN AN ALL-WOMEN CLUB

this is similar to goal #5, but i wanted to find a space where i could be away from men, but without the pressures of activism or employment. i just wanted a fun, preferably creative activity i could do with women! and this month, i was approved to join a feminist writing/art publication at my university! i'm on their design team, so i get to make cool t-shirt designs and will help with the aesthetics and layout of the publication once we have all of our submissions in. it's about 8 female students, all of which identify as women which is always a plus, and i'm having a blast so far. female separatism isn't something that's realistic for me at this point in my life, but having little groups like this away from males is really comforting.

GOAL #7: SOCIALLY SURROUND MYSELF WITH (MOSTLY) WOMEN

like i said above, i'm no hard separatist. it's a dream that maybe i'll be able to reach someday when i have more financial independence, but for now i do frequently interact with men. i have a couple male friends, i have a good relationship with my brother and my dad, and there's always going to be men in my classes. this goal was intended to remedy the issue i encountered during my teenage years: i'd spent so long removing myself from the idea of womanhood that i barely had any female friends. for the same reasons i didn't feel like a woman for a long time, i didn't interact with women on a personal level for years. there's a few ways i have worked to fix this in 2023. first, i have made substantial progress in mending my relationship with my mom. we hadn't been close since i was very young, and the fact that i related more to my dad only further pushed us apart. i always had seen her as a traditionalist, because she had some outdated beliefs and didn't affirm my gender identity when i was identifying as trans, but post-peak reflection made me realize she was incredibly progressive for her era. she had a college degree, she waited a long time to have children, she was independent and competitive. i took time to apologize to her for the things i said in past years, and acknowledged her positive impact on me as a woman. we spend more time together now and are planning a road trip together in january :) i also try to prioritize making plans with the female friends i have made at university. it's fun to find events to bring them to, or just to have dinner together. in addition, i had the opportunity to travel abroad with three women, and the (somewhat terrifying) experience provided some wonderful bonding. two of the three are now some of my closest friends. finally, i now have a part-time job at a women's intimates store, like i said above. every employee there is a woman, and i'm the youngest, so it's given me a chance to interact with a wide variety of ages. some of them are grandmothers, some of them have never had kids, some of them are married, some of them are divorced. it's the sweetest group of women and i especially love talking to my manager, a tall, loud, 50-year-old misandrist who lives alone with dogs she's rescued from abusive homes and spends her money on travel and her passion for football. i really value time and conversation with older women now.

2023 has been a year of purging. i've cleansed my life of beauty routines, body expectations, my ex-boyfriend (ew), and it's given me the strength to continue my self-improvement and feminist work. i started the year still struggling with eating disorder recovery, recently assaulted by my ex-boyfriend, and frequently having nightmares. now, my grades have improved, i often surprise myself with how little i care about my appearance, and i've stopped having sex with men.

for 2024, my goal is to continue my cleansing work and to make it a year of cultivation. i want to cultivate my education and to cultivate skills like sewing my own clothes, cooking, growing food, and writing fiction. in addition, i will cultivate the female relationships i've established. wish me luck, and happy new year! :)

[radroller]

HANK PYM COSTUME RATINGS

At long last, here are my thoughts on the many looks and identities of Marvel’s own Hank Pym!!! Being a fan of this guy is a real rollercoaster, but his costumes are always so great and interesting, ive wanted to talk about them for ages!!! As some of his looks kinda blend together Ive tried to stick with the bare essentials (barring ones i especially like) but you can generally assume that i rate most of the suits of a given identity the same unless i specifically state otherwise. So here we go!!!!!

Ant-Man 10/10

What can i say? You can’t make an ant themed character much cooler than this. The irresistible 60s scifi charm of his big chrome helmet, the red, black, and blue color scheme with patterns that say “i am a super scientist” but gloves that say “im attemptint to look visually interesting.” Naturally Hank forgets he’s wearing some of the coolest headgear in comics. Ant-Man has had some good looks and updates but the charm of this one is pretty undeniable.

Giant Man 8/10

I think we can all agree that Giant Man kinda sucks, but damn if he didnt look cool! I guess he kept the antennae to keep some Ant-Man functionality, but you rarely see him using it. That’s fine though, it gives him a cool and distinct silhouette. It’s strange, if this were a new look for him as Ant Man, id call it a more considerable downgrade, yet Hank becoming Giant Man is a downgrade in just about every sense of the word. And even so, i LOVE Giant Man! It’s a conundrum!

Giant Man Redux: 6/10

I think they were trying to recapture the scifi tech charm of Ant-Man with this one, and it does kinda work! I think my main issue with this one is that it doesnt stick around long enough to really win me over. There are far more minor and insignificant variations of Hank’s suits that stick around way longer than this one. And id say this suit’s pretty damn significant, he left the Avengers for the the first time wearing this shit! I wish they’d played around with it some more.

Goliath: 8/10

Goliath is extremely solid. I have to wonder if Marvel was conscious of Giant Man being a loser that they felt the need to rebrand him like this, there’s little significant changeover from his previous identity other than color scheme and name besides him being stuck at 10 ft tall for a bit. I LOVE the addition of the goggles btw, one of my earliest exposures to that design trope i love so much.

The weird thing with Goliath is that they make him look more and more like Giant Man while refusing to change his name. Like again i know the guy got his ass best plenty of times but when you add antennae and red to his costume….that’s just Giant Man! But whatever the case, i give Goliath and all of his iterations a solid thumbs up.

Yellowjacket: 10/10

The PINNACLE as far as im concerned. What if you took Ant-Man and refined his charming but clunky scifi elements into something sleek, aerodynamic, and downright badass, while still having bright colors? You get Yellowjacket! I can’t stress how much i loved this suit as a kid. Do you know how rare it is to have a primarily yellow superhero who looks cool? It’s mostly just Wolverine, and he didn’t even exist at this point! I also like how it sorta resembles Wasp’s original outfit, though you probably wouldn’t get a chance to compare given Jan’s ever shifting wardrobe. It’s really a shame how maligned the Yellowjacket identity is because id love to see this design again, but its lasting association with the worst shit ever done with Hank pretty much made sure that’ll never happen.

West Coast Avengers: -/10

It’s funny that what is arguably the height of Hank’s superhero career comes from when he’s vehemently not a superhero anymore. Thus, in terms of costumes…well this isnt a costume! But for what it is, it’s great. A nice practical super science getup. But i have trouble rating it on the same scale as the rest. Just know that I love it!

90s Hank: 5/10

I was ready to rip this thing a new one, but tbh it isnt bad. The only thing that keeps it from being truly good is the stupid pouches, but i cant outright call it bad when it’s basically a worse version of Atlas from Thunderbolts’ costume without them. It’s passable.

Giant Man???: 10/10

Yeah, I know. Confusing, isnt it? Well listen, regardless of names and costumes and what have you, this is by far my favorite variation on the original Goliath look. The red goggles just do it for me! I love primary color schemes and i prefer a touch of red to a touch of yellow, yknow?

Goliath??????: 8/10

So NOW he can be Goliath. That makes perfect sense. Yeesh. This suit is cool though i like it. It’s based on a Goliath suit Jan designed for Hank, but by then he’d had become Yellowjacket, so Hawkeye became Goliath for a while instead. It’s a nice callback, and while I don’t actually care for that Goliath look, there’s no way a redesign by George Perez at the height of his career and abilities is gonna be anything less than great.

Wasp: 7/10

Was Mighty Avengers good? I read a couple of issues and remembered enjoying it, but that was when i hated every other Avengers book do idk if that means it was actually good, yknow? Anyway while losing Jan as the Wasp and gaining Hank is about as big a net loss as i can think of, this is NOT a bad look. There are only a few gripes i feel: I get what they were going for with the design on his chest but it makes him look like he’s The Stickbug and not The Wasp. Secondly, i think the goggles are kinda lame compared to some of his other eye/headwear he’s sported throughout the years. That’s about it! Not bad for the worst Wasp in the main continuity!