#acid wash hoodies

[johncarter9910]

The Rise of Vintage Hoodies: Why Every Brand Needs Them in Their Lineup 

The fashion world is witnessing a remarkable resurgence of vintage hoodies, making them a staple in contemporary wardrobes worldwide. Once relegated to the realm of casual wear, these garments have gained significant traction, evolving into a cultural phenomenon that transcends age and style barriers. This article delves into the reasons behind their meteoric rise, the benefits of incorporating vintage hoodies into brand lineups, and the potential market opportunities for brands willing to embrace this trend. 

The Cultural Shift Towards Vintage Fashion 

In recent years, there has been a marked shift in consumer preferences towards vintage and sustainable fashion. According to a report from ThredUp, the secondhand market is expected to reach $64 billion by 2024, with vintage apparel being a key driver of this growth. This trend is fueled by a growing awareness of sustainability, as consumers increasingly prioritize eco-friendly practices and unique clothing that tells a story. Vintage hoodies, often characterized by their unique designs, materials, and comfort, fit perfectly into this narrative, attracting consumers who are eager to stand out while making environmentally conscious choices. 

The Comfort Factor 

Comfort is king in today's fast-paced world, and vintage hoodies offer a perfect combination of coziness and style. With remote work becoming a norm and casual wear gaining acceptance in various settings, consumers are looking for clothing that allows them to express themselves while still feeling at ease. Vintage hoodies provide that comfort through soft, worn-in fabrics and relaxed fits. Brands that include these hoodies in their collections can tap into a lucrative market of consumers prioritizing comfort without sacrificing style, thereby enhancing their appeal to a broader audience. 

Customizability and Unique Styles 

One of the most appealing aspects of vintage hoodies is their potential for customization. Brands can take inspiration from the past, incorporating unique graphics, logos, and embroidery to create one-of-a-kind pieces that resonate with today's consumers. By offering limited edition releases, brands not only create a sense of exclusivity but also tap into the nostalgia associated with vintage clothing. This strategy can encourage brand loyalty, as consumers seek to build a collection of unique and meaningful pieces that reflect their personal style. The ability to customize vintage hoodies also caters to the millennial and Gen Z demographics, who value individuality in their clothing choices. 

The Celebrity and Influencer Effect 

The influence of celebrities and social media on fashion trends cannot be overstated, and vintage hoodies have found a new champion among influencers and pop culture icons. From rappers to actors, many celebrities have been spotted sporting vintage cotton hoodies, igniting interest among fans and followers. For example, celebrities like Justin Bieber and Rihanna frequently blend high fashion with vintage elements, making hoodies a must-have item. This visibility encourages fans to seek similar styles, presenting an opportunity for brands to leverage these endorsements by offering their takes on vintage hoodies and tapping into the aspirational nature of celebrity culture. 

Expanding the Target Audience 

The appeal of vintage hoodies extends beyond traditional demographics. This versatile garment resonates with various age groups, from younger consumers seeking the latest trends to older generations who appreciate nostalgia and comfort. By including vintage hoodies in their lineup, brands can attract a wider audience, encompassing both style enthusiasts and those looking for casual, comfortable wear. The ability to cater to multiple demographics can result in increased sales and brand loyalty, as consumers feel recognized and valued regardless of their age or fashion preferences. 

Environmental Impact and Sustainability 

With the fashion industry being one of the leading contributors to pollution, the rise of vintage hoodies aligns with a growing consumer demand for sustainability. Brands can position themselves as eco-friendly by incorporating vintage elements into their collections, utilizing recycled materials, and promoting the idea of circular fashion. By designing hoodies that customers can cherish and keep for years, brands can contribute positively to the environment while appealing to a conscientious consumer base. This commitment to sustainability not only enhances brand reputation but also fosters a sense of community among consumers who prioritize eco-friendly choices. 

Marketing Strategies for Vintage Hoodies 

To effectively promote vintage hoodies, brands should consider utilizing various marketing strategies that resonate with their target audience. Social media platforms, especially Instagram and TikTok, are excellent channels for showcasing unique hoodie styles through visually appealing content. Brands can collaborate with influencers to generate buzz and create engaging storytelling that highlights the connection between vintage hoodies and meaningful narratives. Additionally, hosting pop-up shops or vintage markets can provide a tactile experience for consumers, allowing them to see, touch, and try on garments before making a purchase, driving engagement and building brand loyalty. 

Conclusion: A Trend Worth Embracing 

The rise of vintage hoodies presents a wealth of opportunities for brands willing to adapt and innovate. As consumers increasingly gravitate towards comfort, individuality, and sustainability, incorporating vintage hoodies into brand lineups is not just a fashion statement; it’s a necessary evolution. Embracing this trend can lead to increased market share, stronger brand loyalty, and a positive impact on the environment. Brands that recognize the potential of vintage hoodies will not only thrive in the ever-changing fashion landscape but also contribute to a more sustainable and stylish future. 

[sampaolini]

3XL lamb long sleeve tee

cotton baby blue crewneck long sleeve tee shirt. cloud dyed blue-grey. lamb portal design screen printed in black ink on front. roots logo on back.

reads: size 3XL. measures: 26” across the chest, armpit to armpit. 27.5” tall from mid-shoulder to bottom hem. 22” sleeve from armpit to wrist.

[ares857]

internet finds

If you want this project to continue, you can use the Paypal donation button on the web page of the blog. Any donation is welcome.

[wildpeachfarm]

Dreambranding has gone through a ton of different methods to get rid of old merch and it's kinda fascinating to watch. Most merch companies would just toss or donate the stuff but Dream? He's out here creating mystery bags, making goodie bags out of the hoods of hoodies, making blankets out of misprints, acid washing or stitching old hoodies together, the list goes on. You can tell he's trying really hard to not let anything go to waste

Oh absolutely! Dream branding is one of the most sustainable CC companies I’ve EVER seen and the creativity is also always so fun

[scary-lasagna]

Hello, I hope you’re doing well! I was wondering if it was okay if to request LJ, Bloody Painter, and Hoodie (separately) with a siren reader? Reader, in her human form, is slightly stronger, durable, and faster. However, in their siren form (which happens when they get submerged underwater) they have the typical powers of a siren, but they also have limit consciousness. What I mean by that is that they are a lot more feral in this form, and doesn’t really recognize anyone in that form, but like, around their partners, they’d sort of feel familiar to them, so reader in their siren form won’t attack them or anything. Hope this makes sense!

In my AU sirens can also transform into bird-like creatures! They have power over the sea and the air :] I decided to implement that as well.

Laughing Jack

Jack, as you know, runs an old, worn-down circus.

There are no more acts of beasts, or rare animals from the human realm, but more so of a retirement place for the creatures.

He basically bought you off of the black market, watching the algae float around the the cramped tank they kept you in.

There was no way he'd be able to sleep at night, knowing he could prevent another lonely night for you.

You got a lovely spot next to Snowflake, his prized albino Tiger, which Jack thought was so funny, because of the cat and fish dynamic.

But after research and asking around after taking care of you for a month, he concluded to take you out of the water.

He enjoyed that month of bonding and feeding you, and even reading you stories whenever you seemed bored with any enrichment toys and food he gave you. He wondered if you would even remember him.

But you did, and you thanked him profusely for rescuing you, even if he had no idea how much it cost or energy it took to rehabilitate a siren-like yourself.

And Jack was always willing to learn whatever you told him, even bringing up stories from your culture about how the sea will reach toward the moon in an attempt to reach its lover that flew too high.

And it took am embarrassingly long amount of time to realize that Jack's feathers were fake, simply a silly decoration he enjoyed.

But over time, you two grew close, and now you have a rather large tank full of a small reef and a complete array of fish to keep you happy whenever you decide to dip your toes.

Helen

Oh, Helen is just head over heels for you.

He thinks you're the most beautiful muse he's ever come across, and every time you step foot in the water you two fall in love all over again.

You actually almost killed him the first time you met. Both of you thought you were alone, and quickly realized the presence of the other.

He managed to squeeze you into his painting of the sunset, but before leaving, he gathered seashells into the tide.

You almost bit his arm off, and ended up getting a face full of oil paint. It tasted lovely, as you can imagine, (it tasted like you gulped down an oil spill).

As while busy gagging and attempting to wash your mouth out, and drink the sea water, which would make even the best of sirens sea-sick, Helen took charge and dragged you out of the water to help you.

And you hit it off since, and many of his paints of you have gained quite the popularity.

Brian

Not gonna lie, he thinks you are pretty terrifying.

The first time you went to the beach, Brian expected something like Ariel, or even the mermaids from Pirates of the Caribbean.

He was not expecting your true form in the slightest.

Your jaw unhinged and ripped your cheeks clean in half to reveal not one, but multiple rows of sharp teeth.

And he's seen many things and creatures in his career as a proxy, but a siren had not been one of them. Slender had mentioned staying away from them, especially as humans, you can be lured whenever they decide to be bored of you, and then drag you to the sea floor.

Or maybe they'll grab you up in their talons leading to sculpted human legs and drop you in a vat of bubbling acid.

Whatever the case was, it seemed as if it went into one ear and out with other with Brian, because he fell in love.

But damn, in the water you were hella creepy. And of course, you thought it was a game to scare this familiar stranger shitless since he seemed so keen on staying around you.

He managed to lure you out from the water with a little jar of "siren-bait" from one of the seaside shops. It didn't work as expected, but you really just wanted to see if it contained any edible food.

But he liked pruning your wings and picking off the casing of new feathers whenever they came in, and if he wasn't feeling too tired, he would give you a small massage to your shoulders after holding up your wings for so long.

[bibibusinessman]

What members of the batfam would wear and do on their off days

Dick: skinny jeans (he looks great in them) and a batman t shirt, he’s coaching gymnastics

Jason: his robe (red of course) and his red hood slippers , he’s reading Jane Austen

Tim: old band tshirt and ratty boxers. He’s working on a case and drinking black coffee with melatonin powder in it.

Stephanie: jeans and a purple shirt, she’s out running with ace and Titus

Cass: Dance clothes, at dance practice (she has a recital tomorrow)

Damian: whatever Alfred laid out for him, he’s training with Jon, they may also make out a little bit…

Barbara: comfy pants and a Black Sabbath tshirt, she’s working on her blackmail folder for each family member, she just found Jason’s tinder profile

Duke: black acid washed jeans, tie dye hoodie, he’s on a study date at a coffee shop with his girlfriend

Kate: yoga pants and a racer back tank top, she’s at a goat yoga date with her girlfriend ( it was her girlfriends idea)

Bruce: suit, he’s at a business meeting, but afterwards he’s meeting Selina for coffee

Alfred: normal clothing, he’s reading in the library (Sherlock Holmes) later he will help the batkids make homemade pizza and cookies

All: matching Batman pjs, watching a horror movie and eating way to much popcorn and cookies

[chimneyz]

i've been writing bucktommy angst because why not and i just wanted to slide this snippet in for y'all to read if you are interested. it's for chapter four for my break up make up fic, you can read the other chapters here:

“EVAN!”

Tommy bolts upright in bed, his body shaking, sweat dripping down his clammy skin. Tommy looks around his dark room frantically, he moves to the side hoping for some kind of comfort, but none was there, right he's alone. As Tommy's brain catches up to reality he looks down at the hoodie he's wearing to find that sweat had seeped through the thick material. Great now he has to wash it, and Evan’s… no Buck's scent will be officially gone.

Tommy tries to remember what the dream, no nightmare, was about. Like all of his dreams and nightmares they tend to fade once awake. He remembers vague pieces. A crushed jeep, people trying to calm him down, a flatline haunting him. With only these vague ideas Tommy is now glad he doesn't remember, still doesn't make it any easier any less nauseating. Right he's nauseous, he is really nauseous.

Quickly, Tommy jumped out of his bed, running into the connected bathroom. Tommy really hasn't eaten much these days but even so, he threw up whatever was in his stomach, hunched over the porcelain toilet. It was mostly bile, his throat and mouth now raw from stomach acid. His chest heaved as the entire weight of his body smacked down onto the tile floor. Tommy inched his way down to the cool floor until he was lying down pressing his heated body needing to cool off from the tiles. He wished he wasn't alone, it's not like he isn't used to this though. Tommy hardly got nightmares, not during his childhood, surprisingly not after the army. They rarely came, but when they did, they would hit him full force, his entire body being physically affected by them. He's happy that he never truly remembers them but it takes his body a minute to catch up to reality, to realize he is safe.

Eventually, Tommy gathers up the strength to stand. He slowly stumbles back into his bed reaching out for his phone. He so badly wants to reach out to Buck, to call him, to text him. Tommy stares down at his phone contemplating his next course of action. Eventually he presses down on his phone.

The phone rang, and rang.

[plumbob-pudding]

The opulence of the 1950s gave way to the structured, office wear inspired clothing of the 1960s with structured pinafores and tailored trousers for both boys and girls. It wasn't all serious, however; the 1960s birthed an explosion of colour with vibrant magentas, vivid teals and sunny yellows gaining popularity in children's clothing.

By the 1970s, this colour explosion began to die out in favour of more muted browns, oranges and greens. Flared trousers were in vogue for boys and girls as clothing began to become more unisex, though pinafores and dresses remained popular for little girls.

Children's clothing in the 1980s can only be described using one word: zany. Bold colours and even bolder patterns gained popularity: they featured in everything from matching sweatsuits to fanny packs. Acid washed jeans along with converse high-tops became staples for girls and boys.

The 1990s took the casual style of the '80s further. Boys' clothing was baggy in fit, ranging from comfortable tracksuits to relaxed cargos. For girls, this was largely similar although there was an emergence of "preppy" fashion in the mid 90s. Pleated plaid skirts and button up shirts rose in popularity accessorised with knee high socks.

Y2K saw the emergence of a celebrity culture that remains today. Children, particularly girls, wanted to dress like their favourite tv characters so the bright and often excessive outfits feature on tv channels like disney and nickelodeon were emulated. For boys, skater culture was on the rise so baggy cargos, t-shirts and polos were staples.

By 2010, the extravagance of y2k petered out replaced with preppy, "business casual" inspired outfits. Kidswear began to emerge as a legitimate field in fashion and designers did their best to combine comfort with style sometimes leading to disastrous combinations such as hoodies paired with blazers.

The widespread usage of social media in the 2020s has led to what some call "the disappearance of the awkward phase". Children's wear is often times indistinguishable from adults just like in the 19th century, however, now comfort is very much prioritised. This decade has seen the resurgence of many styles of previous decades: oversized sweatshirts and hoodies paired with flared or baggy jeans are popular along with shoes like uggs and crocs.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

ep 2. what a shame | myj, jjk

sugar, spice, and everything nice ep 2. what a shame.

pairing(s): yoonji x reader x jungkook

summary: A previous meeting in the park has somehow led to "Operation Make Jeon Jungkook's Kinda-Sorts Girlfriend Admit She Like-Likes Him" and Min Yoonji is the lead operative. A criminal undercover, if you will. It goes... poorly.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; reader is revealed to be pansexual; Yoonji outs herself to JK; internalized homophobia; denial is a river in Egypt that Yoonji is drowning in; alcohol consumption; f/f/m love triangle? slow burn; there will be smut in the future; non-idol!AU - Yoonji's POV

--

Funnily enough, it was actually Jeon Jungkook who brought up his maybe-kinda-sorta girlfriend.

“Hey, Yoonji-noona! You wanna go eat lamb skewers with me?”

“Uh, I guess. It’s been a while.”

“Ah, yeah, since university for me… you used to invite me a lot back then.”

Oh.

“But don’t worry, I’ll treat you this time, noona! Come on!”

Which was how Min Yoonji found herself silently munching on grilled lamb skewers as Jungkook wolfed them down like he hadn’t seen food in three days. Apparently, he had just come from a workout, which was why he was in a loose black t-shirt and grey sweatpants. His black track was jacket thrown over his duffel bag. His hair was half-tied back, still messy, almost sweaty.

“Slow down. The lamb isn’t gonna walk away,” she scoffed.

Jungkook froze. Mumbled a sorry, and ate one bite at a time instead of three. Now there was an awkward silence. A soju bottle on their table was half-gone, but Yoonji wasn’t really feeling the effects yet. Didn’t even feel hot yet in her acid wash charcoal hoodie. She was wearing slate blue jeans again, the baggy kind with paint stains. She glanced at Jungkook. He wasn’t looking at her. His plate was nearly empty. There were still four more on Yoonji’s plate.

She took one from hers and placed it on Jungkook’s plate.

Those big brown eyes went wide and he gave a confused look. “Hm?” Cheeks too full to give a good response. It was hilarious with the two lip rings.

“You look hungry.”

He struggled to take a huge gulp before gasping for air and shaking his head. “But what about you? Aren’t you hungry?”

“Clearly not as starved as you. Eat up.”

She poured herself more soju and sipped delicately. Jungkook continued eating, going back to not really looking at her. He was the kind of guy that needed space to say what he needed to say. Yoonji was the kind of girl that didn’t push for answers. She used a piece of lettuce to rip off a section of lamb and put it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Maybe he just wanted to eat out with someone.

“Hey, Yoonji-noona?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think I’m undatable?”

Huh? Chew, chew, swallow. “Aren’t you currently dating someone?”

Jungkook’s eyes shifted. Uncomfortable. “Uh … Kinda.”

She frowned. “You can’t kinda date someone. You either are or you aren’t.”

He lifted his head and peered at her under furrowed brows.

“Well, would you date me?”

Yoonji stared at him. Her past discoveries and memories flashed back in her mind’s eye. Music that makes you fall in love. Photos of his smile. His muscular body. His head on her shoulder. Yeah, I’ll totally eat lamb skewers with you! Let’s go! It’s great with it is noona’s treat! His arms around another woman, saying nice things and being clingy. Making a fuss about winning a claw machine plush that could easily be purchased with basically the same amount of money.

She replied hollowly.

“We’ve been friends for a really long time. If we were gonna date, it would have happened already.”

Jungkook half-smiled.

“Yeah, I figured,” he chuckled softly.

What?

But before Yoonji could ask, the fuck you mean, you figured, the young man tapped the empty wooden skewer on his plate and looked incredibly depressed.

“I think she’s mad at me. I must have done something,” he mumbled.

Yoonji blurted out the woman’s name so fast that it was nearly embarrassing. Jungkook didn’t seem to notice, sighing in confirmation and dropping the skewer to pick up his cup of soju. He gave the impression of like a kicked puppy. Big peepers included.

“What could you have done?”

His lips twisted and he shrugged, drowning his cup. “I don’t know. I thought you could help me with that.”

“Did you ask?”

He gawked at her like she had three heads.

She resisted the urge to bop him on the head and opened the other bottle of soju on their table, pouring him some more. “Okay, if you didn’t ask, then it means you either don’t have the balls to communicate or you already know what it is and don’t want to face the answer. If it is the former, then I’m sorry but you’re undatable. No one wants to date someone who doesn’t have the courage to speak up. It’s incredibly frustrating,” she huffed, nibbling away at more lamb.

He remained silent.

Yoonji made it through a whole skewer.

“So you know what it is, huh?” she finally said.

Those big peepers shifted from side to side again. A few strands of his black hair hung down as he chewed down on another skewer.

“Mmm… Kinda?”

This idiot. But, again, before Yoonji could get out her snappish remark, Jungkook suddenly followed up.

“What do you know about pansexuality, noona?”

She froze.

“W… What?”

“Pansexuality,” he repeated, looking spaced-out and pensive. “Although, she said she didn’t really like the term. She described it as sexual and romantic attraction not being affected by gender, as gender is a mental construct of an individual and could change throughout their lifetime.” His expression looked strained, as if he was being asked to calculate the magnetic flux of two intersecting wires. In short, attempting to comprehend a concept he had no clue about. It was going poorly. “To be honest, I didn’t really get it but I Googled it and it said something about how she could be sexually attracted to any gender and I…”

He sighed.

“I mean, I don’t wanna feel this way but it made me feel… less?”

Oh.

This was awkward.

Jungkook kept babbling even though Yoonji was too stunned to speak. “I was gonna ask Namjoon-hyung, but, I dunno… I’m kinda afraid he’ll scold me. Or probably recommend me books to read. I think I would end up more confused than anything. Hoseokie-hyung isn’t around, and I don’t really feel like asking any of the other hyungs. I don’t know if you’ll really get it either. But maybe you’ve met someone like that, noona.”

She was silent for a moment.

“Why would you say all this now?”

The living embodiment of a human Energizer bunny looked defeated. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. I probably shouldn’t have said anything anyway. I just feel too safe around you. But I shouldn’t go on talking about personal stuff. I guess you wouldn’t understand, huh?”

Yoonji grabbed his forearm and squeezed it.

He looked startled, sitting up abruptly, looking down at her white-knuckled hand then up at her face with wide eyes and parted lips.

“Why wouldn’t I understand?”

Jungkook blinked at her. “Uh… well, you only like guys.”

She scowled. “Who told you that?”

“Um… er… uh, no one, actually, I assumed–”

She slapped his arm and glared. “Exactly.”

There was a moment of mute shock.

From both sides, really. The gravity of what she said suddenly sunk in, and Yoonji looked away, feeling her cheeks heat. She had never said it to anyone but to her closest friend Jung Hoseok, after all, and she certainly never planned to tell Jungkook. Indirectly, but still. He was a relentless teaser when he had ammunition, and Yoonji was not interested in being subjected to jokes about her sexual preferences.

“I’m sor–”

“You have a problem with pansexual people?” She suddenly snapped, years of underlying resentment slowly rearing its ugly head.

“No. I just know that I’ll never be enough.”

He sounded so sad that she suddenly forgot all about her own internalized digressions. They didn’t involve him anyway. She turned back and Jungkook was the one looking down, his shoulders drooping.

“I… We still see each other, but I can’t help it. Every time we have sex, I feel like I’m not doing enough. I’m not enough,” he rambled on and Yoonji felt a strange shudder having the confirmation they were actually fucking even though it was blaringly obvious. “Then I get performance anxiety,” he winced, muttering it below his breath although she heard him perfectly clearly. “I can see she regrets telling me. She’s never brought it up again either. I know it’s me. I know it’s my fault. I mean, it was my fault to begin with because her having more experience than me already intimidated me and I said that we should just be casual–”

“Are you a fucking idiot?”

Somehow, he had slouched down so low in his seat that he seemed smaller than her. Puppy eyes struck her in the heart even though Yoonji knew they should be directed at someone else.

“Why the fuck did you tell her you want to be casual? You never want a causal relationship,” she continued scolding. “And why the fuck do you say you feel less? It’s so obvious that she clearly likes your dumb ass! Are there any brain cells up there? If I were you, I would do anything to be with her all the fucking time!”

Silence.

Jungkook stared with wide eyes and a mildly frightened expression.

Yoonji breathed out hard, greatly annoyed.

“Do you…”

She glared at his hesitation.

“Do you really think she likes me?”

This guy is unbelievable.

“Have you talked to her about me?” Jungkook pointed out. “Would you consider her a friend?”

Uh. “Well… no. I don’t know her at all, actually.”

He seemed disappointed. “Oh.”

Yoonji scoffed. “It is not going to be hard to get her to admit that she likes you.”

-

“What are you thinking of wearing?”

“A… dress. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to wear?”

A light shrug. “You can wear anything. The important thing is to be comfortable and believe that your outfit expresses how you want to feel.”

Min Yoonji was standing on an escalator with Jeon Jungkook’s maybe-kinda-sorta girlfriend, wondering how she willingly got herself in this situation of standing next to a woman with more presence than a blue whale. After the dinner, Jungkook had apologized and even expressed gratitude for Yoonji feeling safe enough to come out, which she promptly dismissed. It was weird to make it a big deal and ten times weirder that it was him that now knew because it now made her and Jungkook closer. Not something she had been going for.

She hadn’t been going for… this either.

Currently, Yoonji was standing on a mall escalator, wearing sneakers and loose slate jeans once again, but this time with a black-and-white bomber jacket over a long sleeve white shirt. She had tied up her hair in a ponytail and left some front pieces hanging out.

The other woman had her hair up too.

Twisted into a black claw clip. Maroon faux fur jacket with a black velvet dress under it. The dress flared out around the waist and the irregular hem draped along her bare legs when she walked. Black heeled boots with buckles along that side that were shaped like bats. Yoonji spied a black sling bag under the jacket, tucked just under the woman’s chest.

That elegant hand held her cell phone and tapped away at it, looking thoughtful.

There were no additional accessories on her phone except for a plain black bordered phone case with a pop socket on it. A cutesy tuxedo cat head with green eyes. All the nails of her dominant hand were cut shorter now, although all in a gentle almond shape. Painted a shimmery chocolate brown. Her other hand still had the long nails and now Yoonji suspected they must be natural. They weren’t as decorated as the manicures in the salons. She had looked up prices in her spare time. Only for fun, of course. And, holy fuck.

Women spent a lot on nice nails.

Yoonji wondered why she had promised Jungkook to help him figure this out.

“Where do you wanna go first?” her calm, smooth voice asked.

Yoonji stiffened, stepping off the escalator. “Uh, I don’t know.”

A curious look. “You don’t like shopping?”

She paused. Actually… “I do. But usually I accompany my friend Jung Hoseok and pick up stuff when he visits his favorite stores. He’s at military service right now, though.”

“Ah, hmm.”

They stopped walking, standing in the middle of the mall. The woman remained on her phone, doing something silently. People walked past them, ignoring their existence. The silence was getting just a touch past socially acceptable and Yoonji found herself needing to fill the void.

“Thank you, by the way.”

Those dark eyes drifted back and now she found herself trapped in a now-familiar scorched gaze. Something about it. It wasn’t the color of her irises but the intensity of focus. Yoonji noticed she didn’t often look directly at people but it was hard to look away once she noticed the other woman wasn’t wearing makeup, or at least any she could tell. Just glossy lip balm. It became all the more noticeable that the strength behind those eyes wasn’t the smoke-and-mirrors of a done-up face.

“I… Hm, I actually don’t get to wear more feminine clothes that often,” Yoonji confessed, shoving her hands in her jacket pockets. For… reasons. “I repair guitars at a music shop for a living. In the beginning, when the customers came in, they didn’t really take me seriously when I dressed more… girly. I guess it just became more of a habit to dress the way I do. It’s casual and comfy, though, so I like ended up liking it. But when it comes to feminine styles, I don’t really know anything. Makes me a shitty girl, huh?”

The gaze broke and the woman turned her head to the sea of passing faces.

Yoonji let out the breath she hadn’t known she had been holding onto.

“There’s no such thing. Eh, in general, people don’t really know anything,” Jungkook’s friend-with-benefits chuckled. “You are a perfectly valid, good girl. Look around you. People wear whatever they want. Just because something is trendy doesn’t mean it suits everyone or makes them feel comfortable in themselves. Even if it looks good on them, they can feel discomfort in feeling disconnected with their inner selves.”

That playful smile came back.

“Do you really need my help? I think you should come as you are to the date. You look cool.”

She felt her cheeks burn.

Then.

Oh, right.

The premise of this excursion. A date Yoonji was supposedly going to go on that she didn’t know how to dress for and enlisting the help of a female acquaintance. Normal circumstances. Yeah. Totally. And she was of course going out with a guy. Duh. She deliberately skirted around the details of said guy though, since, uh, said guy didn’t exist.

“I think I would be a bit out of a place at a fancy restaurant.” She named the nicest restaurant she could remember. A place her parents went to for one of their wedding anniversaries.

“Oh, is that where it’s at? A bit much for a first date.”

Yoonji mustered up the best shrug she could.

“Don’t you have to make reservations?”

“He’s the one who invited, so I guess he did.”

“Hmmmm.”

It was a very bemused, hmmmm, and Yoonji thought the jig was up.

“Here, take a look. I’ve been saving some inspiration. Tell me what speaks to you.”

And then the woman handed Yoonji her phone. She took it awkwardly, a beat too slow, but her fingers caught the cat-head-shaped pop socket and gripped tightly, glancing at the screen. It was dark despite the bright lights. Then, without warning, a perfumed presence slid beside her and reached over to swipe at the top of the screen, swiftly changing the brightness. One breath was all it took. Warm and spiced and resonating of bitter coffee. Not the type that indicated a constant drinker, but the aftereffects of a unique fragrance. Yoonji felt her entire body hastily meander between calming down and freaking the fuck out.

She loved the scent of coffee. Maybe even had a mild addiction.

But the other female was too close, too close, so close Yoonji could feel the softness of the faux fur press into her upper arm and feel a head hovering over her shoulder.

“You can wear pants even to fancy places,” the calm voice was saying, slowly moving through the downloaded photos of model-worthy women dressed elegantly and maturely. “You don’t have to wear black either. Brown or even a jewel-toned color could be nice. If you pair slacks with a softer texture, like a cashmere sweater or a chiffon top, it won’t feel so stuffy.”

The terms didn’t exactly go over Yoonji’s head but, then again, her head wasn’t working. “Shouldn’t I wear a dress?” she mumbled thickly, trying to get her tongue to work.

“Theres no should or should not in fashion.” Soft chiding. “I thought you liked pants?”

“I have nice legs,” Yoonji unexpectedly found herself blurting.

The world stopped.

Well, only in her head. It wasn’t untrue, at least Yoonji didn’t think so, deep down. Would it seem like unnecessary boasting, though? Or could she been seen as rude, attempting to get a rise out of someone her friend was supposedly casually dating? Was saying that crossing a line somehow?

“Oh, you’re cool with showing them off?”

Her cheeks felt warm. “I… I mean, a guy would like that, right?”

“Sure. A girl would like that too.”

Yoonji froze.

The shimmery chocolate-colored fingernail breezed past a few more photos. To ones of models in various skirts and dresses. “Then, what about these? Color? No color? Something tighter or looser?”

“I…” There were quite a few nice outfits but Yoonji’s head was still spinning. Get a grip! “Not too tight. I’m not that into color but I’ll try it. More minimal and classic. Stuff I can wear again.”

“Ah, like this?”

There was a photo of a woman in a library, or at least a set that seemed like a library. She was wearing a cream turtleneck with a few thin gold bracelets and a tweed brown-plaid maxi skirt with a simple thin black belt. The lighting was warm and low, giving the photo a dreamy vibe.

Still, Yoonji frowned.

Does she think I’m this kind of girl?

“No, something a bit more… fun.”

Before either of them could say anything more, a notification popped down from the top. It simply read, Jungkook, followed by notice of an image attachment. Then, just as rapidly, the notification was replaced by another. A message this time.

Can’t you see how bad I want you?

Between the immediate goosebumps that quickly swept over Yoonji’s back and arms, and the sudden, tch, next to her, she didn’t move a centimeter as the phone was taken from her. Surely… Surely Jungkook knew they were going out today. But, then again, how could he predict his lady friend handing Yoonji her phone to browse fashion styles? But texting those kinds of things in broad daylight? What was in the photo?

Wait.

Why did Yoonji want to know?

“Sorry about that. I think I have a good idea of what you’re after now. Let’s go.”

Fingertips flicked her wrist to get her attention. Yoonji scrambled after the faux fur, startled and embarrassed and curious and confused and in general wondering how someone would respond to that. How someone could respond to that. But she was, typing away, and Yoonji resisted the urge to look. The reply was short though, as the phone was shoved back into the sling bag by the woman’s chest. She looked back to glance at her.

Narrowed dark eyes and enigmatic smile.

“You alright?”

Her heart was beating so fast that it was hard to speak.

“Y… Yeah,” Yoonji heard herself say even though she was definitely not alright.

-

Let your hair down.

She reached up and pulled the scrunchie out of her black hair, letting it fall by her shoulders. She had never been afraid of whether or not she had femininity. Her mother liked fashion, so even when she was young, Yoonji had been put in fashionable clothes. Dresses. Skirts. Blouses. As she got older, with the influence of her interests, it became quite clear that it was easier to dress more practically. Her mother complained, but her brother always defended her, pushing her to pursue her passion of music.

Yoonji, too, didn’t see what was wrong with dressing more boyishly.

She never liked the idea that men had to be a certain way and women had to be a certain way. Proper and refined. It wasn’t that she always wore baggy clothes, but they were the most convenient to throw on and see friends. There was no point in owning extravagant clothing anyway, since the music shop she worked at was casual and she had to move around a lot.

It simply made sense.

So, now, Yoonji stood in front of a mirror in a dressing room clad a white sweater and a dark brown miniskirt with her hair down, and wondered if she was pretty.

She didn’t doubt how conventionally nice she looked in the mirror. She had pale, creamy, fair skin that everyone envied or at least they said they did. Dark brown eyes that perhaps weren’t big enough to be innocent, but rather striking against her complexion. When she was a child, Yoonji used to have a blunt bob with straight cut bangs. They had grown out to wispy curtain bangs when she was at university and she kept them that way ever since. Her black hair slightly longer than shoulder length, thick and slightly wavy, mostly from keeping it tied up. She wasn’t tall but not short either. A narrow frame she couldn’t help. During high school she filled in a little in the chest, but good genetics had compensated by long legs and shapely hips. By that time female classmates had begun to avoid her and whisper behind their hands, resentful and irritated, while male classmates tried their best to strike up conversation. It was around this time that Yoonji had begun to resent her female schoolmates and their underhanded comments. At least boys were honest. Stupid, but honest.

Meh, typical high school drama.

Even now, Yoonji often found herself not really wanting to make friends with other women. It had always felt like a constant competition. They would either look down at her for wearing loose-fitting clothing or become two-faced when she dressed up. Because Yoonji always preferred to be comfortable, she had stayed with the same group of male friends for a long time, which was also something apparently not a lot of girls liked. They called her easy, slut, all those nice things. So, yeah, eventually Yoonji had no female friends anymore.

Guys she dated didn’t like it either. Thankfully, she could just dump them.

As if she was going to lose her friend group over some dumb boyfriend.

She frowned at her reflection in the mirror and took off the skirt, feeling strange with it on. It seemed like something the grown-up versions of those jealous high school girls would wear. Her panties were plain black, seamless. She didn’t like the colorful ones. There was a black skirt, a long one with a bow at the waist and a wrap detail. This was nice, but she couldn’t get the bow to lay down well. Perhaps she needed a different top. There was a forest green one with a rounded collar that tucked better into the bow skirt. This was also nice but something still felt not quite her style.

Not that Yoonji knew what her femme style even was.

These were all pieces picked out by Jungkook’s maybe girlfriend.

“Let your hair down.”

“What?”

A raised eyebrow. “In order for an outfit to look good, you have to style it the way you would wear it. You can’t get the whole picture and it becomes much harder to make a decision. So, let your hair down.”

There was another one, a black-on-black pinstripe blazer dress with two intricate silver buttons holding it closed. Very cool and feminine with an edge. Yoonji found she liked this one a lot however it made more sense for a corporate meeting than an imaginary date. She was a little sad to take it off.

Let your hair down.

She wore a simple bra too. Nothing crazy. Just one of those without a wire and no lace. Too itchy for her sensitive skin. There was a sheer aqua mint top next and a strappy black dress paired with it, successfully hiding the bra lines while leaving the billowy sleeves with the single ruffle at the cuff visible. The muted color looked nice against her skin. Her dark hair laid nicely against the gauzy aqua fabric. Carefree and a little messy. The dress had a few pleats, giving it a fuller skirt that made it easy to move.

The flash of a memory.

A manicured hand gripping hers.

It doesn’t mean anything.

But it could.

Yoonji closed her eyes.

Coffee. She smelled like coffee in a sweet, luxurious way, as if Yoonji had just bitten into a fruit and nut scone in a coffee shop. But there was that rock-and-roll dangerous vibe too. Industrial. Raw. And then there was those piercing eyes that seemed scorched. She had endured but with emerged with scars. Intense. She clearly presented feminine but there was something just not about her. They had been so close. So close. If Yoonji had turned her head, just so, then that heady coffee perfume would be right by her nose and those eyes would shift and stare back, inviting her to the darkness.

Their lips would brush against each other.

She would whisper her name.

Low and in wonder.

“Yoonji?”

There was a knock on the dressing room door.

Startled, she hastily stepped back from the door. Nearly collided into the rack of clothes and the damn mirror. Thankfully, she didn’t, although her hands planted into the wall and ricocheted her off, making her stumble slightly in her socks, almost tripping over her sneakers.

“This has nothing to do with your date, but I saw this striped sweater and I thought you might like it. Wanna try it?” the calm voice behind the door asked.

Yoonji gawked at the door.

Then she tiptoed over and opened it slightly, seeing the dark red fur coat, black velvet dress, and bat boots holding out a dark grey and black sweater. Thick horizontal stripes, oversized, drop shoulders, and cropped. Then her face appeared as the offered sweater lowered. Observant gaze with those scorched eyes and glossy full lips that were oh-so-kissable.

A half-smile.

“Anything work out?”

Her body was half-hid by the door. The other woman didn’t try to crane her head over to see more. She just stood there, holding out the sweater, half-smiling, on the line between teasing and curious. Yoonji glanced from the sweater to that half-smile.

“That looks like something you would wear.”

The half-smile became a full smirk.

“Maybe you like my style.”

Yoonji didn’t say anything. She reached out, but the sweater was pulled back a little. She frowned, faltering, and then the sweater was hooked onto her outstretched arm, the woman’s hand lightly resting on Yoonji’s wrist.

“Do you want to try something else? A different size, maybe?”

I did not just think about kissing her.

“I… I’m almost done. Just need to change back.”

“Mmmm, okay. I’ll be waiting.”

-

They were standing beside each other, waiting for their drink order. A paper bag sat in a chair by the table they were standing next to, unofficially officially claiming it.

They were currently in an awkward silence after Yoonji had picked a fight earlier.

“Wanna get something to drink?”

A distracted look. “Sure. I’ll treat you.” A head tick at the paper bag in Yoonji’s hand. “You’ve spent enough.”

She saw the phone with the tuxedo cat pop socket being tucked away in the sling bag once again.

“No, I’ll pay.”

“It’s just a drink.”

Yoonji waited until the other woman looked back in mild confusion.

“I wouldn’t want to owe you.”

A pause.

Then a half-smile.

“Ah. Okay, then. Lead the way.”

Yoonji went to the counter to receive the drinks. An iced Americano for herself and a Thai tea boba for her shopping partner. They sat down, busying themselves with their habits. Punching the straw in. Mixing up the physical ice even through the barista had already done a good job of that.

The calm voice broke the metaphorical ice first.

“What did you end up getting?”

The woman had come back to the dressing room as Yoonji was buttoning her jeans and told her she would be waiting outside the store since she received a call. She had simply answered back, sure, and known exactly who was on the phone. Somehow. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. Even as she emerged from the doors, she could see the body language of the other female. Predatory. She was speaking low, and softly, before noticing Yoonji and cutting the call short.

For a moment, she thought about not answering the question but instead she sipped her iced Americano and answered. “The aqua shirt and black dress. And the sweater you brought in last minute.”

“Ah, cool. I thought you would go for the blazer dress.”

Yoonji stilled. “I wasn’t sure what outerwear to wear with it. My only nice coat is a long black wool coat my mom got me last winter.”

“Understandable.”

The silence was less awkward now. Still not great, no thanks to herself. Yoonji chewed her lip. A bad habit. She wondered what the phone call was about. It was too invasive to ask though. Add that to the text she had seen earlier and… surely that was crossing a line. Is he down bad for her that much? She tried not to think about it. How couldn’t he be? Caught a glimpse of how that stylish hand was placed possessively over her Thai tea boba. For a split second, Yoonji imagined those shimmering chocolate fingernails digging into a neck with a defined jaw, right under an ear with three piercings.

She suddenly became acutely aware that she was being stared at.

Yoonji looked up.

Scorched eyes across the table.

“How long have you known Jungkook?”

She straightened, clutching her iced Americano for chilling moral support “Uh…” Thought about it. “Over a decade, I guess. He joined the group through Taehyung and Jimin. But we didn’t really talk one-on-one until a couple years ago, when he stopped by the store I work at and asked to see some guitars. Wanted to get one tattooed, I think. That was what he said anyway.” She shrugged. “I dunno if he did, though.”

“I think I’ve seen a guitar tattoo on his sleeve.” A slow sip. Chew, chew. “I haven’t really inspected him thoroughly, though.”

“Haven’t you?” Yoonji heard herself say before she could stop herself.

Pause.

Chew, chew.

“You really don’t like me, huh?”

She tried to backtrack. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be cold. It’s just how I am.”

“Is that so?”

Yoonji found she couldn’t look forward anymore. This mission was so far a fail. She tried to salvage it somehow. “I mean, don’t you dislike me? Your boyfriend having a female friend and all that.”

A soft chuckle. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

What? “… What?”

“He says he’s not sure he wants to be in a committed relationship yet.”

What the fuck? Yoonji furrowed her brows and shook her drink roughly, trying to make sense of it all. “You’re kidding me. Jungkook? That airhead had the audacity to say that?”

“That’s what he told me. Feel free to ask him yourself.”

This wasn’t making any sense. Then, it clicked. It won’t matter even if I get her to say that she likes him. His need for constant validation is killing this before it even began. Whether or not Yoonji thought Jungkook’s insecurities were rational didn’t matter. He hooked up but never got too serious because it didn’t feel right yet. There was always something. I just know that I’ll never be enough. What a dumb thing to say. And, of course, if he voiced that the supposed cause was his partner’s sexuality, something she couldn’t help, then, yeah, of course.

They would be stuck in limbo like this.

“For the record, I’m glad he’s friends with you.”

Yoonji lifted her head, seeing an enigmatic smile.

“I quite like you.”

This was a complete mission fail.

“After all, you asked me on a date. It’s pretty rare for a girl to ask me on a date.”

Heat flared over Yoonji’s cheekbones. “I… I didn’t…”

A head tick, causing her hair to fall against her cheek. “Not once have you gushed about this supposed first date you’re going on. You don’t seem excited or nervous about it at all. Pretty unusual if you like this guy. But maybe you don’t know him that well and met him through an app. Then there would be some level of fear, I hope, unless you have nerves of steel and a black belt in taekwondo I don’t know about. There’s no apprehension though.” Yoonji felt her grip on the cold drink get colder and colder as her lies were broken through. “But let’s say you are going on this date and all you wanted was a second opinion. You never once asked me to view any of the outfits I picked out for you. Maybe you only wanted a free stylist, then. If this was purely transactional, then, why ask me to spend more time, sitting down and getting drinks at a café?”

Abort, abort.

But Yoonji was more frozen than the melting ice in her coffee.

“And you always get cold and distant when I mention I’m fucking Jungkook.”

That shadowed gaze.

Those predator eyes.

That fucking smile.

“But you don’t like him like that, right?”

She willed her mouth to say something but her brain had run out of ideas.

“I…”

Then Jungkook’s not-girlfriend said something that completely obliterated any capacity to form a sentence.

“What a shame.”

-

Min Yoonji was alone in her apartment, drinking a beer.

Getting drunk.

She was way past the days of being shit-face plastered out in bars and throwing herself in taxis to arrive home alone so she could throw up in the privacy of her own bathroom. Running from her issues by making her mind numb to the world. Yoonji had been – still was – good at it. She had a high tolerance. Some would call it lucky. Some would call her an undignified woman. She hadn’t cared either way. She had been young but self-aware enough to know exactly what she was doing and did it anyway. When she had her revelations, it had been easy to quit cold turkey because Yoonji had known damn well it was all in her head and all she had to do was fucking do it.

Also, she was getting a bit too old for dumb youth to be an excuse anymore.

Hmph.

Some of her past bad habits she completely avoided, however, alcohol was a central part of Korean socializing, so Yoonji had chosen to repair her relationship with it. Thus, she could now drink freely knowing her limits. But she rarely drank alone, and rarely that much when she did. A beer here. A glass of wine there. Some whiskey on lonely nights, vibing to the silent melody of the moon at four in the morning.

Yoonji sat at her small dining table and wondered if she should crack open another beer or held straight for the whiskey.

It was seven in the evening on a Friday.

Got home from work to start off the weekend and now she could not avoid it any longer. Her thoughts swam wildly in her head. She had been trying to keep them under wraps during the work week. Didn’t think about them. Hoped they would go away. They did not. It had been a long, long time since Yoonji had been read to filth like that. Certainly never with such precision and on purpose. Sure, sometimes arguments with previous flings would accidentally hit the nail right on the head – using them only for the physical aspect to avoid emotional connection, for example – but it had always been in anger and high tension, so Yoonji had always been able to play it off.

She couldn’t play off being caught in such a blatant lie by Jeon Jungkook’s definitely-not-but-definitely-was girlfriend.

There was no comeback. She hadn’t done anything at the café. Couldn’t. Couldn’t act. Couldn’t even say a word, only stared dumbly as the woman smiled, bowed, and excused herself to take care of personal business.

Jungkook, probably.

She willed herself to throw up at the thought.

Instead, Yoonji got up and went to go get the whiskey.

It wasn’t that she had never had relationships. She had, and deep ones at that, but upon reflection she could point out the exact reasons why she had entered – and exited – said relationships. To feel loved during a loveless time. To run away. To get access to guitars and learn about them. She loved, but Yoonji had always known it was the crude, fleeting, conditional love that would never last. Love with a purpose. She was never fully invested enough in them, always hiding her true self because, well, people can only betray you once they know all the deep, dark stuff. Hence why they were all only men. Specifically, the kind of men that wait for emotional depth to come to them rather than seeking it.

The kind of people that didn’t know how to recognize internal scars.

Also why she never told any of them that she was attracted to other people other than, uh, men.

Yoonji poured herself a healthy amount of liquor and went back to sit at her small dining table of four chairs, placing the glass on a cork coaster she bought over ten years ago. She always told herself that she simply didn’t need to tell them. Everything was fine. And yet for some reason it always felt like lying, even though it didn’t really matter.

Except it did.

Case in point, Jeon dumbass Jungkook worrying about not being enough for his hot-ass not-girlfriend, which was simply such ridiculously bone-headed thinking that Yoonji growled and threw back half of her whiskey, scowling at the thought.

It bothered her.

It bothered Yoonji that someone could confidently tell another such a deep secret like sexuality. To someone they were only casually fucking, no less, even though there was nothing fucking casual about the two of them. It bothered her to know that her feeling was right, the idea that someone could be bothered by that information even though it presumably didn’t matter. It bothered her that it was Jungkook, not because he was wrong but because if… maybe if he had already known about Yoonji’s personal tastes, then he might have been able to take it in stride. Maybe if she had been brave enough to say it out loud… And most of all, it bothered Yoonji because to know such a beautiful and clever and intuitive woman of that caliber could be rejected simply due to her sexuality…

Where the fuck does that put me?

Yoonji was not down on herself in terms of looks, but she knew that she lacked that kind of cool assertiveness and razor-sharp introspection. And, okay, maybe she didn’t know all the deep shit about Jungkook’s lady friend, but it was obvious she very comfortably lived life the way she wanted, aggressively so, which was precisely why Jungkook was attracted to her. Of course, he would have a boner in the presence of self-actualization.

If I…

She nursed the rest of the whiskey, sighing.

She thought about that Instagram post. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it meant something. Music that makes you fall in love. Idiot. She chewed the side of her lip. Maybe it was just a compliment to a friend. Yeah. How could it be anything else? It wasn’t some mushy-gushy shit. He hadn’t acted low-key weird at the time. He was too awkward for that. Or maybe it was because Yoonji had been dating that asshole guy at the time and she herself hadn’t noticed how her friends were faring due to being too occupied with that emotional rollercoaster. Fuck. But who cares if it meant anything? Not Yoonji. Yeah, definitely not me. The whiskey burned in the back of her throat. She barely noticed. I can admit it. I dated guys because they’re more physical than women. They don’t fucking scare me with that emotional shit. She found her way back into the kitchen and poured some more. The sting of alcohol. Sure, there are girls who only want to hook up but they’re emotionally intelligent and I don’t need to be known. So what if it was cowardly? It was okay to be cowardly. And it wasn’t only women, Yoonji knew. She knew that she generally avoided dating any and all genders that displayed deep emotional intelligence.

There isn’t much to me. You could figure it out if you listened to my songs.

She remembered Jungkook nagging her to post on Spotify, maybe even try and become an independent artist. But, no, no. Yoonji was stoic. Cool. One of the guys. None of that emotional shit.

I think I like her.

That was so fucking scary. Fuck. Feelings were so fucking scary. Like? Like-like? She reeled at her kitchen counter and it had nothing to do with the whiskey. That would be complicated shit. Not to mention the guilt. No, no. She was cool. She had always been cool. She didn’t outwardly show her emotions much. That was how they could be protected. That was how…

I’m not supposed to feel this.

And it was a difficult yes-and-no. Even if she knew it made no sense, she had still grown up with the idea of boy-meets-girl. Not girl-meets-boy-who-meets-girl-that-becomes girl-on-girl. Oh, shit. She pushed her whiskey glass away, shaking her head even though she was alone. Yes, alone. No nosy Jungkook poking his head over her shoulder and asking what she was up to. No Jungkook grinning extra wide as Yoonji piled meat onto his plate and calling her his favorite noona. No Jungkook taking her hand without hesitation to run to their destination, not worried if someone will say something. Who cares? Who cares? Yoonji scolded herself for thinking about him. I’m only doing that to avoid…

She shuddered, sinking down to the kitchen floor, the thoughts spinning, spinning.

What a shame.

Those manicured hands.

The casual head tilt.

Those scorched eyes.

I can’t think about you like that.

-

ep 3. take your time. sugar, spice, and everything nice

--

min yoonji masterpost | masterpost

[ultrone]

⋆ ★ 🏍️ ꒰ SHADES OF COOL ꒱ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

featuring. toxic motorcyclist lottie

playlist. shades of cool ⋆ 🎧 ⋆ old money

damn lottie matthews.

always walking through the school hallways as if she owned the place. always sporting that stupid smirk on her face, effortlessly winning over any girl she wanted. detention seemed to be a nonexistent concept for her; in fact, she boldly declared it to be her favorite class. and that obnoxious bike of hers—the very same one she rode to your house every night at 3:00 am, when the world was asleep, and it was just the two of you, the empty road, and the night sky.

lotts: i’m here, hurry up

you hastily slipped on your shoes and grabbed the first hoodie you could find—she hated when you kept her waiting. stealthily, you descended the stairs and cautiously opened the front door, making every effort to avoid waking up your parents.

and there she was, leaning against her stationary motorcycle, igniting a cigarette with a jack daniel's zippo she had stolen from her father's office. clad in a saint laurent dark gray acid-washed t-shirt, a pair of ripped dark levi's, her favorite golden goose sneakers—which were too dirty for your personal taste—, and that ever-present black leather jacket that made you want to rip it off her body.

"you coming?" she asked nonchalantly, interrupting your thoughts. hastily, you moved towards her, placing your hands over her lips.

"shhh, you might wake my parents," you said with concern.

she chuckled, grasping your wrist and prying your hands away from her mouth. as she did, you could feel her numerous cold rings tapping against your warm skin, sending shivers down your spine.

"no kiss?" she inquired, smoke billowing from her mouth.

you smirked, and she drew you into a kiss—slow and passionate. her lips felt cold, and the taste of tobacco and gold tequila lingered on her tongue. with one hand caressing your cheek, the other slid under your shirt, gripping your skin as her tongue found its way into your mouth.

your friends would kill you if they found out about this. you had promised them that your situationship was over, that you had blocked her and would never speak to her again. she wasn't good for you. she had never had a stable relationship, frequently used drugs, and couldn't commit. you were just one of the many girls she slept with—yet, despite that, it was you she called every night. it was you she sought.

so yeah, maybe she wasn't yours, and perhaps you could never fix her. yet, you'd always wait for the night to come, for that was when she would come to you, freely and secretly, but with a tinge of intimacy. that’s when she would hold you close, when she would gently press her lips against yours, and when you'd wrap your arms around her waist, holding her tight as she rode. you’d close your eyes and be hers, right in that moment.

because it was inevitable.

whenever she called, you'd be there, running to her. that was the way it was, and the way it always would be.

[cleverboiclothes]

The comfiest jumper ever (I can vouch bc I have it)

[sephirthoughts]

Vincent's New Kid Just Dropped CH7: Back in the present, Nero, Sephiroth, and Cloud go to the grocery store.

rating: mature (for now) CW: implied/referenced incest

(right after Deepground Flashback Part 2. maybe i should start properly numbering these)

EDIT: I PROPERLY NUMBERED AND LINKED THEM YAYYY

🕷️🪽🥀 the Valentines 🥀🪽🕷️

Nero had never been to a grocery store, but he knew of them conceptually. Not that he had any burning desire to experience one firsthand, now, but Sephiroth made it clear he didn’t have a choice, and told him to go get ready. 

With as bad a grace as possible, he went upstairs and came back down again, dressed in some of the clothing the obnoxious blonde man purchased for him. In the face of Nero’s utter indifference and flat refusal to choose anything for himself, Cid had evidently decided the young man’s theme color would be purple, and made his selections accordingly. 

Thus, Nero now wore a dark-purple hoodie, black, acid-washed motocross jeans, purple converse high tops, and a black turtleneck, to hide the Shinra-made restrictive collar, which supposedly prevented him spitting out clouds of people-eating darkness miasma, or at least reduced the ability somewhat. 

“Ah-guh!” the hyper-alert noise machine announced, over the shoulder of the little blonde (as Nero uncharitably thought of Cloud, despite the fact that they were the exact same height), alerting everyone to Nero’s entrance. 

He shot the baby a glare, then his eyes fell on Sephiroth, and his lip curled. “Why do you look like that?”

“Keeping a low profile,” Sephiroth said tranquilly.

His boyfriend smirked. “Meaning, he’s the most famous war-criminal in the world. He can’t be seen in public looking exactly like his wanted posters.”

The hitherto silver-haired giant was dressed in his usual white v-neck t-shirt and black jeans, with the addition of a leather jacket, but his long hair had changed to jet black, and his eyes were now crimson, like those of the rest of the Valentines. With their coloring coordinated, Sephiroth’s resemblance to Vincent was downright unnerving. He looked even more like him than Nero did.

“Look at your brothers, Ollie. They're almost as pretty as you,” Cloud cooed to the baby, who gurgled and drooled about it.

Nero gave a ‘hmph’ and went to lean on the wall, with his arms crossed, unconscious of the fact that this was among his father’s most characteristic behaviors, and one highly recognizable to his associates. 

Cloud and Cid looked at Nero, then at Vincent, then at each other, and had to cover their mouths to stifle laughs. Vincent appeared bewildered and asked what was so funny, which only made them laugh harder.

Before the young men could depart on their errand, there was the ordeal of transferring the baby from Cloud’s arms to Cid’s, which took a measure of sleight-of-hand and trickery, and to which she took great umbrage. She made her displeasure known by turning bright pink from head to toe and howling like a banshee, despite Cloud’s assurances that he’d be back soon.

“Nero,” Vincent said, as the three young men walked out the door. 

Nero stopped and turned back sullenly, prepared for the highly unsurprising lecture about behaving himself and not harming civilians and blah blah blah. 

Vincent, however, failed to produce the expected admonitions. He only pushed something into Nero’s hand. It was a pair of dark-lensed sunglasses. Nero looked down at them and back up at the man, in blank perplexity.

“It’s bright outside,” Vincent said simply. “The polarized lenses help.”

Then he turned around and went back in the house, without another word. Nero stared after the man, as the door swung shut, muting the baby’s raucous wailing inside.

His vision went red, teeth clenched tightly and hand shaking, around the black sunglasses, as a big, ugly knot of pain and rage and other unidentifiable emotions surged up in his chest, choking him and making his eyes sting with tears. 

He wanted to smash the stupid things to fragments, hurl them at the door and scream curses at that man. Rip open his bleeding chest and force his so-called father to look at the mangled insides of the ruined creature he brought into this world, and then tore away from the only person in it that he’d ever loved. 

Then the cold reason of his dark side rose up, black flowing into red, and cooled the rage. Calmed the storm. Reminded him of his objective and the tasks before him. He needed to gain these people’s trust, if he was to get back to Weiss. Childish outbursts would only hinder his purpose. Patience. Patience.

“Nero, are you coming?” Sephiroth called out, drawing him from his ruminations.

Nero shoved the sunglasses onto his face, to hide his pink-rimmed eyes, and stalked gloomily to the vehicle. 

The little blonde had arrived on a motorcycle, but that was an impractical means of conveyance, for their errand, so the three of them were to drive to town in one of the many vehicles that belonged to the Valentine-Highwind household. 

This one was a small work truck, with a pickup style bed and cab that technically seated three. Technicality butted heads with reality, however, when Sephiroth was one of the three involved. 

Cloud was driving, since neither of the others had a license, and Sephiroth’s six-foot seven-inch frame was already pushing the limits of the truck's capacity, even in the passenger seat. As a result, Nero wound up packed like a sardine into the middle seat, between his ostensible elder brother, and his brother’s former-nemesis-slash-current-boyfriend. 

He very quickly began to suspect this was some method of psychological demolition. Because, if the entirety of the prison system had coordinated its efforts, it could never have contrived a more devilish torture for him, than this exact situation. 

Not only did Cloud drive like a lunatic, causing Nero to be constantly bumped and jostled about between the two, but Sephiroth kept reaching over him, to fiddle with the radio dial, simultaneously invading his personal space, and causing all kinds of disjointed snippets of songs to blare briefly from the vehicle’s speakers. 

Finally, much to Nero’s relief, Cloud smacked Sephiroth’s hand away. “Cut that out. I’m driving, so I get to pick the station. Besides, you have the absolute worst taste in music.”

“I do not,” Sephiroth contended.

“He does,” Cloud intimated to Nero. “He was raised on nothing but classical music, for optimum cerebral development, and now he’s taking revenge by soaking his super-brain in the most atrocious, top-forty pop garbage imaginable.”

“The music you claim to prefer is full of screaming, and instruments that sound like rusty bandsaws,” Sephiroth put forth. “I simply do not enjoy music with such an aggressive sound and violent themes.”

“Said the most violent man on the planet.”

They went on like this for the remainder of the drive, with Nero seething silently between them, his eyes squeezed shut behind his sunglasses (for which he was very grateful, now), and darkness tendrils stuffed into his ears, against their affectionate banter.

At long last, they arrived at the grocery store. It was a massive, fluorescent-lit, commercial monstrosity, that a corporation had christened Mid-Mart without a hint of irony. They paused, just inside the entrance, and Sephiroth tore the grocery list into three parts, handing a piece each to Nero and Cloud.

“We can get this done more quickly and efficiently if we spread out,” he explained. “Everyone take a basket, gather your items, and we will rendezvous at the Mt. Nibel Dew display, in thirty minutes. Understood?”

Cloud returned a jaunty salute, and before Nero knew what was happening, he was handed a red plastic basket with black handles, and then left on his own, in a grocery store full of innocent, unarmed civilians. Him. The known terrorist, official enemy of society, and former de-facto leader of Deepground. Like his custodians were mentally deficient. 

Luckily for them, now was not the time to make a move. He had his own plans, and no intention of playing his hand, just yet. Storing the sunglasses in his hoodie pocket, he studied the list of items, and began the daunting task of searching for them, in the glossy, chaotic fever-dream that was a modern grocery store.

Shopping was not as difficult an undertaking as had it seemed, at first blush. The aisles, though arranged according to no logic decipherable by man, were labeled with their general contents, and items tended to be grouped together with other, similar items.

Following this pattern, he quickly gathered the first several things. Next, his list had ‘maple syrup’ and ‘strawberry jam’ on it, which were in the same aisle as breakfast cereals and granolas, but not the peanut butter or honey. 

As Nero turned into the aisle, he encountered the little blonde, choosing canisters of something called ‘rolled oats.’

“Hey,” he hailed, as Nero approached. “Finding everything ok?”

“Yes,” Nero answered, putting a jar of strawberry jam into his basket. “It isn’t a particularly challenging task.”

“So, um. Sephiroth told me a bit about you,” Cloud ventured. “What happened with your brother, and all that.”

Nero’s crimson eyes flickered to his face, then away. “And?”  

“And…nothing. I’m just sorry you had to go through that. I know what it’s like to lose your only family member.”

Ugh. Concerned sympathy from a fellow griever. Nero was repulsed by this kind of thing. He knew how to shut it right back down, though. “Weiss is more than just a family member. He is my lover.”

“He’s…what?” Cloud asked, confused.

“Weiss is my biological half-brother. He is also my lover,” Nero said slowly, pronouncing every syllable clearly, as if defying Cloud to take issue with it.

Cloud balked, blindsided by his frank assertion. “Y—you mean…”

“Yes. I mean exactly that.” Nero narrowed his eyes and tilted his head questioningly. “Is me sleeping with my brother—the only person who has loved me and taken care of me, in my entire life—somehow stranger than you sleeping with the man who burned your hometown to the ground, and murdered your mother?”

Cloud’s golden brows lowered angrily, but he swallowed whatever sharp retort was on his tongue and took a deep breath, before he answered. “Look, I didn’t mean to come off like I was judging you. I don’t know about your relationship and it’s none of my business. I was just caught off-guard, is all.” 

“I am not offended, I was merely illustrating a point,” Nero said serenely. 

“Which is?”

“The heart can be neither ruled by law, nor governed by reason. Thus, reason and law have no place in the dominion of love, which will reign over a man’s heart, one way or another—whether it is as a ruthless tyrant to a captive slave, or as the benevolent sovereign of a willing subject.”

Cloud blinked. “Uh…”

“Pickles.”

“Huh?”

“Pickles are the next item on my list,” Nero clarified. “Do you know where they can be found?”

“Right. The ones Cid likes are pickled cucumbers, in the refrigerated section, with the cheese and cold snack foods. The ones Vincent likes are Chinese-style pickled vegetables, which are in the international foods section, on aisle thirteen.”

For the briefest moment, Nero’s curiosity got the better of him and he paused. “Is he—”

“Half Chinese. Grew up bilingual. That’s why everyone in the house speaks Mandarin. You didn’t wonder?”

“I don’t bother myself about what others are doing,” Nero replied, with a haughty toss of his head. “If learning languages amuses them, then so be it. It’s nothing to me.”

“Maybe you should try learning a little, too,” Cloud suggested. “It’s part of your family’s heritage.”

“Those people are not my family,” Nero said icily. 

“Yeah, sure,” Cloud snorted. “Whatever you want to tell yourself.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean you don’t know them as well as I do. Once they’ve decided you’re one of their own, they won’t ever give up on you, no matter how much you kick and scream. Trust me, I speak from experience.”

Nero gave a mirthless laugh. “Yes, well, thank you for the sage advice. If you have nothing further to add, I am going to collect the rest of the items on my list.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode off, leaving Cloud feeling flustered and annoyed, and rather glad to be rid of the intractable, unpleasant young man, who seemed so much older and wiser than himself, but was actually several years his junior.

In aisle thirteen, where all the Asian foods were grouped together in one section, Nero found the pickled vegetables, without much trouble. To his exasperation, however, there were spicy and regular varieties, and no one had specified which was wanted. 

On the other side of the aisle, as he was deliberating, there was a woman near a partially filled cart, with a girl of around two years old, sitting in the child seat. The woman was talking on her cell phone, whilst perusing the products on the shelves, with her back to the child. 

As such, she failed to notice that the little girl had got loose of the safety restraint, and was reaching for something on the shelf, stretching her little hands out further and further, till all of a sudden, she toppled out of the seat, headfirst.

Quicker than sight, Nero’s darkness tendrils shot out and caught the small girl, just before she cracked her skull on the tile floor. He was setting her gently back in the cart, when the mother turned around and let out a bloodcurdling scream, dropping her cell phone and snatching up the child. The child, startled by the scream and being yanked around so abruptly, immediately burst out sobbing.

“My baby!! Help! Help!!” the woman shrieked. “This monster is trying to take my baby!!!”

Nero sighed and placed the jar of pickled vegetables (spicy variety) in his basket, now deeply regretting that he hadn’t just let the child fall and break its stupid neck. 

Meanwhile, footsteps came clattering from every direction, as the store employees, manager, security guard, and curious onlookers stampeded over to see what the commotion was. Fortunately for all of them, Sephiroth and Cloud arrived faster, and got between them and the extremely volatile bio-engineered weapon, in a purple hoodie.

“What’s—what’s going on, here?” the rather portly manager panted. “Ma’am, are you alright?” 

“He’s a monster!” the mother intoned, clutching the bawling child to her bosom. “He tried to snatch my Sally, right in front of my face! He grabbed her with these horrible tentacle things, like some kind of demon!!”

The gathering crowd turned on Nero, muttering and glaring at him, with open hostility and disgust. There were cries of ‘damn freak!’ and ‘arrest him!’ 

“Everyone shut up!” Cloud bellowed, in his rather impressive command voice, giving the manager and security guard (who were already sweating, looking up at the towering Sephiroth) a jolt. “Did anyone here actually see what happened?”

There was general murmuring from the crowd, but it was apparent that no one had. 

“I saw!” the mother said furiously. “I already told you what happened! Were you not listening?”

“Ah…ha. Let’s not be hasty, ma’am,” the security guard attempted, in a conciliatory tone. “Is it possible you saw wrong, or—”

“Why are you questioning me instead of arresting this man!” the woman interrupted. “Look at him! Look at his eyes! He’s clearly dangerous!!”

“Nero, what happened?” Cloud asked, while the manager and guard were attempting to soothe the woman.

“Didn’t you hear?” Nero sneered. “I’m a dangerous freak. I tried to snatch a baby with my monster tentacles.”

“That attitude isn’t helping,” Sephiroth told him, in an undertone. “If the police get involved and assault charges are filed, you’ll be in violation of your house arrest, whether you’re guilty or not.” 

“Fine,” Nero sighed, as if he was being sorely put upon, and pointed to the mother. “That idiot was on her phone, not paying attention to the child. It fell out of the cart. I caught it, before it landed on its head, and put it back. Then she started screaming nonsense at me and making a scene. In hindsight, if she’s going to raise it to be another fool like herself, it would’ve been better to just let it crack its skull on the ground, and end its misery.”

“How dare you!” the woman scolded. “You’re calling me liar and victim blaming?! And wishing harm on an innocent baby?!”

“Sir, this store has security cameras, correct?” Cloud asked the manager. “Shouldn’t a review of the feed clear all of this up?”

“Ah…ah, yes! In my office. W—we can look at the footage in my office,” the shiny-faced, balding man stammered, nodding like a chicken pecking rice. 

The woman tossed her head. “Hmph. I know what I saw, but fine. It’ll just prove I’m telling the truth.”

“Right this way, right this way,” the manager said, directing the involved individuals toward the back of the store. “Gerome, disperse the, uh…other guests, please? Thank you.”

The security guard waved people along, as the group followed the harried manager back to his office, which as turned out, was a rather tight squeeze, for five adults and a baby. Everyone wound up inelegantly clustered together, over the bank of monitors, while he scrolled back through the international foods aisle footage, to a few minutes ago.

The video showed the incident more or less as Nero described it, save for the fact that his darkness tendrils didn’t show up on cameras, so there was a bizarre moment when it looked as if the child stopped its fall and hovered in midair, then floated back into the cart, of its own accord.

“Ma’am, is that satisfactory?” Sephiroth asked, looking down at the woman, who was packed in between himself and the manager.

The woman’s lip trembled, and tears welled up in her eyes again. “I—I thought…I just saw tentacles grabbing my Sally, and this man with scary, red eyes. I can’t be blamed for thinking the worst, right?”

Sally, meanwhile, seemed to be enjoying all of the excitement, very much, and was busily yanking on Sephiroth’s long, inky-black hair, with both tiny fists. 

“Sally, no—we don’t pull hair,” her mother chided, gently prying the baby’s hands open. “Sorry about that, she grabs everything these days.”

“It is quite alright,” Sephiroth replied mildly. “My little sister is about the same age. I have to wear my hair in a braid at home, unless I want it all to wind up in her mouth.”

“Oh, I can imagine, with long hair like yours. That’s why I’ve cut mine short. It’s just easier that way,” she smiled, softening at finding common ground with another (sort of) parent. Then she hesitated, glancing awkwardly at Nero. “Look, I apologize for overreacting. We keep hearing these horror stories about people coming back from the frontlines deranged and with all these horrible mutations, and attacking people right in the streets. I lost my husband to the war, and Sally’s all I’ve got now. If I lost her too, I just—I don’t know what I’d do.”

Nero, however, was looking the other direction, studiously ignoring the conversation.

“All’s well that ends well, so there’s no sense in dwelling on it,” Cloud answered for him. “I’m sure we’d all just like to finish our shopping and get home.”

After the woman and baby had gone away, the manager apologized and sweated profusely, at the three gentlemen, for a few more minutes, and even went so far as to offer them a twenty percent discount on all their purchases today, by way of compensation for the trouble, though it looked like it cost him a pang to do it. 

“So. Your first foray out of the house, and you saved a baby from getting seriously injured,” Cloud remarked to Nero, as they drove homeward, a little while later. 

“I didn’t mean to,” Nero scowled, behind the dark sunglasses that he’d put back on, the moment they exited the store. “I acted without thinking. Needless to say, I won’t be making such a foolish error again.”

“Our father will be very pleased to hear of your good deed,” Sephiroth put in, looking exceedingly smug. “It seems you’re already making progress toward becoming a productive member of society.”

Nero crossed his arms disconsolately, shrinking down in the cramped middle seat. “I hate this stupid family.”

“It’ll grow on you. You’ll see,” Cloud chuckled, as he swatted Sephiroth’s hand away from the radio, yet again. 

NOTES:

Sephiroth picture: user screenshot by MrsPika with a mod for black-haired Sephiroth. No idea what they used for the eyes when ollie says "ah-guh" that's ollie for "er-ge" which is mandarin affectionate for "second elder brother", pronounced like "ahr-guh"

LINK TO CHAPTER 8

[swagtastic-bougie-pompadour]

Since I’m in the middle of brushing out Mr. Cuddles’s fur right now because he just had to investigate the honey I brought back… (and yes, I rinsed it out first!!)

I’m rating Veevees on how easy their coats are to brush out! (Minus the ones I’ve never brushed.)

1.) Umbreon — Dusk is, by far, the easiest of my Veevees. His coat’s super short, so it never gets matted, and he’s never really running around in puddles either. I pretty much just brush him because he wants the scritchies, and to stop the shed.

2.) Vaporeon — Yes, Vaporeon have fine coats still! Not on their fins and webbing, but they do have coats. The main challenge is that Finn likes to jump in mud… and that he has a habit of Acid Armoring into the tub whenever I wash him off. Otherwise, not too bad.

3.) Leafeon — You’ve gotta be careful with their ears, tail and joints; you really don’t want to injure those photosynthesizers! They also get… sappy sometimes. Literally. Which can be a bit of a pain.

4.) Sylveon — Mahou Shoujo would be higher if she wasn’t so picky about how I do her fur… and she’s incredibly picky about how I do her fur. There’s at least an hour of investment every time I pick up the brush with her… plus treats, plus the perfect nail trim, plus ribbon fluffing…

5.) Eevee itself — Eevee are babey. That means they are very wiggly. Also, those collars are a real pain! They mat so easily, and if you’ve got the wrong Veevee, they might just straight-up hate water too. They’re lucky they’re cute. And small.

6.) Jolteon — Mostly because I need to wear rubber gloves every time I try to brush Zeus… and ruin my own hair in the process. I look like I worked at a balloon emporium all day, every time I brush him out… plus, water’s not a great safety idea a lot of the time. Plus, working around the spikes sucks!

7.) Flareon — Hate hate hate. Mr. Cuddles is fluffy at such a HUGE cost. First off, I have to comb the equivalent of a baby sweater’s worth of fur off of him weekly. Second off, the fur mats like crazy and he hates water. And conditioner. And anything that keeps him from yowling like a pathetic beast. And don’t even get me started on the honey in his arc damn fur, I HAVE SPENT THREE HOURS CHASING THIS BASTARD WITH A WET CLOTH AND HE NEARLY BURNED MY GOOD HOODIE OFF—

Thanks for reading my Veevee rankings!

[angeltrafalgar]

Kinktober Day 1

Wrench (WD2) X fem Reader 🔞🔞🔞

CW: Hand jobs, Temperature play, Breast worship

NSFW Minors Do Not Enter

(these will also be up on my ao3 later today)

I scratch the back of my head as we sit on the couch watching Scream. As my fingers run through my (H/L, H/C) I turn to my masked boyfriend beside me. All day he worked in the garage, taking apart and smashing god knows what electronics all day. Meanwhile I sit and I just watch, working on random codes on my laptop. So when he finally called me and said Y/N let's go relax. I naturally thought maybe that meant cuddles and sex. But nah, instead movie. Which is ok to be fair, I'm not complaining, it's one of my favorite movies. And pizza with ice cream. But my mind and ok hand may wonder. 

We are about an hour into the movie, as my hand creeps under the blanket. At first he doesn't say anything when my pinky finger goes under the hem of his hoodie, as I feel his stomach and his abdominal muscles, my middle and index fingers start to hover the top of his jeans, as the tips of them slide in. “Y/N, I thought you wanted to watch the movie?” He asks the ~ ~ mischievous lines appear on the LEDs, “you saying I can't do both?” A sly smirk appears on my face. “I'm-” I can tell I made him lose his train of thought as my hand goes in his pants as I start massaging his now semi erect dick. I smile confidently as I drag my fingertips down his shaft right to his head. I always loved how it felt, inside me, in my mouth or in my hands of course. 

I feel it get to full mast, as I look over the emotions that's flashing on his mask right now I smile. I take my other hand as I continue stroking his cock in my left hand as I take my right and unbutton and unzip his acid wash jeans. As I now have a bit more freedom of movement to increase my stroking pace. I make a V with my middle and index finger as my thumb runs down the bottom side of his cock. I hear him panting under the mask, as I mix going slow and fast. As I massage the head with my thumb, I feel him tense up. I go back to pumping, as I start to hear the faint robotic breath hitch in his mask. 

I flick my wrist as I tug a bit faster, I rub the tip of his head with a few more tugs I feel his cum squirt in my hand as I feel the warmth in my hand as I make sure he is finished before I take my hand out of his red boxers, as I look at him before licking my fingers clean, as I swallow all of it down my throat I smile. “You. Fu- I need to make you watch it more often. I smile at him, “nah just don't leave a girl desperate all day.” I tilt my head as he gets up, as he takes off the rest of his clothes except for his red boxers. 

“Where are you going?” I ask him as he eagerly goes to the fridge. “The sooner you get undressed the sooner you'll find out.” smiling I remove my clothing as I sit there on the couch waiting. “Ok close your eyes and keep them closed.” Odd request but ok. “Ok they are closed I promise i'm not looking. I hear him chuckle ok good. 

I hear him walk back over as my eyelid almost opens, “ahh ahh ahh no peeking yet.” He says in his mischievous robotic tone. As I feel his hand cover my eyes I hear something clang for a second then….oh. The ice that makes contact with the top of my breast makes goosebumps raise on my skin as he slowly drags it down to my nipple. I let out a moan as I bit my bottom lip. He slowly removes his hand from my eyes as I keep them closed this time, still biting my bottom lip. As I feel the ice circling around my other breast I feel it trail down my abdomen as he slowly drags it near my clit. I hiss at the feeling of the ice on the sensitive spot. As it is removed, “you can open your eyes now.” He says as I do, “just look at yourself. You know I bet they could cut glass.” I try to hold back a small laugh as his thumbs trace my nipples. “I don't know, I-” I let out a moan as his hand massages both of them. “I think-” I start as one of his hands leaves my breast as he lifts the mask off his face. “Stop doing that then.” He says as our mouths collide in a deep kiss. As his tongue traces every inch of my mouth, I feel him nibble my bottom lip before his lips move down my jaw. I let out an elicit moan as my back arches against the couch. Once his mouth reaches my right breast I feel his teeth tease the sensitive skin. My hand slowly goes down his side as he slowly looks up at me with those blue eyes. “Remind me to ignore you more often.” As I take my left hand raising his head to come back to my face. “Don't you dare.” I smile, knowing we are in for a long but fun night. 

[sicknessbysalem]

Day Seven: Borrowed Hoodie | Sicktember 2024

this is less prompt compliant and more having this idea in my brain and needing an outlet… oh well.

if you have any requests, questions, comments, etc., send them my way!

tw emeto, getting sick in class, sort of sick in public but not?

Saylor woke up to the soft morning light filtering through her curtains, the start of another day on campus. As she stretched and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, she became aware of a strange, unsettled feeling in her stomach. It wasn’t nausea, exactly, but a persistent bubbling sensation, like her stomach was doing flips for no apparent reason.

She frowned slightly, placing a hand on her abdomen as she sat up in bed. It wasn’t unusual for her to wake up with the occasional stomach grumble—her diet wasn’t always the best—but this felt different. It wasn’t painful, just… off. Shaking it off, she got out of bed, determined not to let it bother her.

Saylor went about her usual morning routine, getting dressed and grabbing a quick breakfast before heading out the door. The bubbly feeling in her stomach persisted, but she pushed it to the back of her mind. She had classes to attend, and there was no time to worry about a little discomfort. Besides, she wasn’t nauseous, so it couldn’t be anything serious.

As she walked across campus to her first class, the chilly morning air helped distract her from the strange sensations in her stomach. The campus was already bustling with activity, students rushing to their classes, and the familiar sights and sounds helped ground her. Still, every now and then, she’d feel a little gurgle or rumble from her stomach, a subtle reminder that something wasn’t quite right.

By the time she settled into her seat for her morning lecture, Saylor could feel the bubbling sensation in her stomach growing more persistent. She crossed her arms over her abdomen, trying to apply a bit of pressure in hopes of easing the discomfort. It wasn’t painful, but it was definitely distracting.

As the lecture began, Saylor found it harder to focus. She tried to pay attention to the professor’s words, but her mind kept wandering back to her stomach. It was as if her stomach was staging a quiet rebellion, grumbling and churning in a way that made her feel uneasy. She shifted in her seat, trying to find a more comfortable position, but nothing seemed to help.

About halfway through the lecture, Saylor started noticing a new sensation—a faint, burning feeling in her throat that she recognized all too well. Acid reflux. She swallowed hard, trying to ignore it, but it only seemed to make her stomach feel more unsettled. The bubbling feeling intensified, and she could feel the acid rising, causing her to burp quietly into her hand.

She continued to burp discreetly, each one leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. The acid was making her stomach feel more and more questionable, but it still wasn’t enough to make her worry. At least, not yet. She hoped it was just a passing thing, something that would go away once she got some food in her system or drank more water.

But as the lecture went on, the discomfort in her stomach grew. It was no longer just an annoyance—it was becoming harder to ignore. She felt bloated and uncomfortable, the bubbling sensation making her feel as though something was brewing inside her. Her stomach seemed to be trying to tell her something, but she couldn’t quite figure out what.

As the end of the lecture approached, Saylor suddenly felt a strange wave of unease wash over her. It wasn’t nausea, but a deep, unsettling feeling that something wasn’t right. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was wrong, but her stomach seemed to be protesting more fiercely than before. It twisted and churned, and she felt a sudden urge to leave the room.

Without a word, Saylor gathered her things and quietly slipped out of the classroom, trying not to draw any attention to herself. She didn’t know if she was going to be sick or if she just needed some fresh air, but she couldn’t sit still any longer. Her stomach was too unpredictable, and she didn’t want to take any chances.

She made her way down the hall, heading for the nearest restroom. The feeling in her stomach was intensifying, a mix of bubbling, burning, and general discomfort that made her anxious. She wasn’t sure what her body was trying to tell her—whether she was going to throw up, have diarrhea, or if her stomach was just mad at her for some unknown reason.

But as soon as she reached the restroom, the feeling seemed to settle, leaving her standing there, unsure of what to do. Nothing happened—no sudden sickness, no relief, just the same uncomfortable sensation in her stomach. She leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. Her stomach wasn’t happy, but it wasn’t doing anything specific either. It was just… there, a constant reminder that something was off.

After a few minutes, Saylor decided to head back to class. She didn’t feel any better, but she wasn’t any worse either, and she didn’t want to miss the end of the lecture. As she made her way back to her seat, she felt a sudden chill wash over her, the kind that usually preceded something worse. Her hands felt cold, and she could feel a shiver run down her spine.

Julian noticed her return and gave her a concerned look. "You okay?" he whispered as she sat back down beside him.

Saylor nodded, though she could feel the coldness seeping deeper into her bones. "Yeah, just… got a little cold all of a sudden," she replied, trying to brush it off.

Julian frowned, sensing that something wasn’t right. Without a word, he slipped off his hoodie and handed it to her. "Here, take this. You’re freezing."

Saylor accepted the hoodie gratefully, pulling it on and wrapping it around herself. The warmth was a small comfort, but it didn’t do much to ease the unsettling feeling in her stomach. She could feel her body trembling slightly, the chill making her feel even more uneasy.

As the lecture continued, Saylor tried to focus on the professor’s words, but her mind kept drifting back to her stomach. The bubbling sensation was still there, and the acid reflux was making her throat burn with every quiet burp. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, but she wasn’t sure what to do about it. All she knew was that she felt cold, uncomfortable, and strangely vulnerable.

-

As the day wore on, Saylor’s unease only grew. The unsettling feeling in her stomach that had greeted her in the morning had refused to subside. If anything, it was getting worse.

By the time she and Julian headed to the cafeteria for lunch, she was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Her stomach wasn’t just gurgling anymore—it felt heavy, almost like a lead weight was sitting in her abdomen, pressing down on her insides.

Julian noticed her hesitation as they picked out their food, his brow furrowing in concern. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked, grabbing a tray and glancing over at her.

Saylor forced a smile, trying to push through the discomfort. “Yeah, just… not really hungry, I guess,” she replied, though her stomach’s increasingly unsettled state made her words sound less convincing even to herself.

Julian gave her a skeptical look but didn’t push the issue. “Well, let’s sit down and see if you feel better after eating something. Sometimes it helps,” he suggested.

Saylor nodded, picking out something light—a small salad and some fruit. She wasn’t sure if she could handle anything heavier, not with the way her stomach was twisting and turning inside her. The acid reflux from earlier still lingered, and every so often, she’d have to stifle a small burp, feeling the bitter taste rise in her throat.

They found a quiet spot in the cafeteria and sat down, Julian digging into his food with his usual enthusiasm. Saylor, however, found herself staring at her tray, her appetite nonexistent. She picked at the salad, taking a few tentative bites, but each mouthful seemed to sit uneasily in her stomach, adding to the growing discomfort.

Julian noticed her lack of enthusiasm and frowned. “You’re really not eating much, Saylor. If you’re not feeling well, maybe you should skip the afternoon classes and rest?”

Saylor shook her head, not wanting to admit how badly she was feeling. “I’ll be fine. I just need to get through the day,” she insisted, though her voice lacked its usual conviction. She took another bite of salad, but the moment the food hit her stomach, she regretted it.

Her stomach gurgled ominously, the sensation more intense than before. She could feel the food settling uncomfortably, like it was struggling to find a place amidst the chaos in her gut. The bloating started soon after, her stomach swelling slightly as if in protest to the food she was forcing down. She shifted in her seat, trying to alleviate the pressure, but it only seemed to make her feel worse.

Julian kept a close eye on her, his concern deepening. “You’re really not looking good, Saylor,” he said softly, his voice filled with worry.

Saylor shook her head again, more firmly this time. “I’ll be fine,” she repeated, though she wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince Julian or herself. “I just need to get through my classes. Maybe it’s just something I ate for breakfast.”

Julian wasn’t convinced, but he knew better than to push her when she was like this. “Alright, but if you need anything, text me, okay? Even if it’s just to leave class again.”

“Thanks, Jules,” Saylor replied, managing a small smile despite the discomfort. “I will.”

As they finished their meal, Saylor’s stomach continued to gurgle and churn, the bloating growing worse with each passing minute. She could feel the pressure building in her abdomen, her stomach feeling tight and full, like it was stretched to its limits. Every now and then, a small wave of nausea would hit her, but she pushed it down, determined not to let it get the best of her.

After lunch, they parted ways, Julian heading to his class while Saylor trudged off to hers. Her stomach was more clearly upset now, the discomfort becoming harder to ignore. The bloating made her feel sluggish and heavy, each step sending a small jolt of pain through her abdomen. She tried to focus on her surroundings, to distract herself from the growing unease, but it was a losing battle.

By the time she reached her first afternoon class, Saylor was struggling. The bloating had worsened, her stomach now feeling like a balloon ready to burst. The acid reflux persisted, and she found herself burping more frequently, each one bringing with it that familiar, unpleasant taste. She took a seat near the back of the classroom, hoping to go unnoticed, but the pressure in her stomach was making it difficult to sit still.

As the lecture began, Saylor tried to concentrate on the professor’s words, but her stomach had other plans. The churning sensation was intensifying, the bubbling growing more erratic, and she could feel the food from lunch sitting uneasily in her stomach. She placed a hand over her abdomen, trying to ease the pressure, but it didn’t help.

The minutes ticked by slowly, each one dragging on as Saylor’s discomfort grew. She could feel the sweat starting to bead on her forehead, her body reacting to the growing turmoil in her gut. The bloating was becoming unbearable, her stomach feeling tight and full, like it was about to burst. She shifted in her seat, trying to find some relief, but it only made the pressure worse.

Then, without warning, the feeling in her stomach shifted. The bubbling and churning suddenly moved downward, the pressure in her abdomen increasing as her stomach began to cramp. The discomfort that had been centered in her upper stomach now radiated lower, and Saylor knew she needed to get to a bathroom—fast.

She didn’t wait for the professor to finish his sentence; she quickly gathered her things and slipped out of the classroom without a word, hoping no one noticed her hurried exit. The urgency in her stomach was growing with each step, the cramping becoming more intense as she made her way down the hall.

When she finally reached the bathroom, Saylor rushed into the nearest stall, barely managing to close the door behind her before she collapsed onto the toilet. The moment she sat down, her stomach released, and she was hit with a wave of diarrhea, the force of it catching her off guard.

She gasped, her body shuddering as the cramping intensified, her stomach emptying itself with a ferocity that left her breathless. The pressure that had been building in her abdomen finally had an outlet, but it brought little relief. Her stomach continued to cramp and twist, the discomfort almost unbearable as her body purged itself of whatever was causing the upset.

Saylor leaned forward, her head resting in her hands as she tried to steady her breathing. The bathroom was quiet, the only sound the occasional gurgle from her stomach and the soft splash in the toilet. She felt weak, her body drained from the intensity of the experience, but at least the bloating had subsided slightly.

After what felt like an eternity, the cramping finally began to ease. Saylor sat there for a few minutes longer, waiting to see if her stomach had anything else to throw at her, but the worst seemed to be over. She slowly stood up, her legs shaky, and flushed the toilet before leaning against the stall wall for support.

Her stomach still felt unsettled, but the pressure was gone, leaving behind a dull ache in its place. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Despite the ordeal, she felt like she could make it to her next class without any issues. The urgency had passed, and though she wasn’t feeling great, she wasn’t ready to call it a day just yet.

After cleaning herself up and washing her hands, Saylor stepped out of the bathroom, taking a moment to collect herself. She still felt a little shaky, her stomach tender and sore, but she was determined to push through. She couldn’t afford to miss any more classes, not with exams coming up.

With a final deep breath, she headed back to class, hoping the worst was behind her.

-

Saylor walked into her next class hoping that the worst of her stomach troubles were behind her. The bathroom break had provided some relief, and she clung to the hope that whatever was upsetting her stomach had passed. But as she took her seat next to Julian, her optimism quickly faded. Her stomach, far from calming down, seemed to be growing more active, the grumbling and bubbling inside her returning with a vengeance.

Julian glanced over at her, immediately picking up on the tension in her posture. “You okay?” he asked quietly, his eyes filled with concern.

Saylor gave him a tight-lipped smile, not wanting to worry him. “I’m fine,” she lied, though she could feel the discomfort in her stomach intensifying with each passing minute. She tried to focus on the lecture, but the words of the professor were just background noise to the increasingly loud complaints coming from her stomach.

Her gut was churning, each twist and turn making her feel more nauseous. The lunch she had forced down earlier was sitting heavily in her stomach, every movement making it slosh around unpleasantly. She could feel the pressure building again, her abdomen growing tighter as the bloating returned, worse than before. Each breath she took seemed to push the nausea higher, until it felt like it was lodged in her throat, threatening to spill over at any moment.

Julian noticed her growing discomfort, the way she kept shifting in her seat, her hand pressed against her stomach as if trying to calm the storm inside. “Saylor, if you’re not feeling well, we can leave,” he whispered, his voice filled with concern.

Saylor shook her head, her pride getting the better of her. “I’ll be fine,” she insisted, though the words felt hollow. She could feel the acid reflux creeping up again, each small burp bringing with it that familiar, bitter taste. Her stomach was gurgling loudly now, the noises audible even in the quiet of the lecture hall, and she felt herself flushing with embarrassment.

As the minutes ticked by, the nausea became impossible to ignore. Her stomach was in full rebellion, each gurgle and churn sending sharp waves of discomfort through her. She sat rigidly in her chair, afraid to move, knowing that one wrong move could make her vomit right there in the lecture hall. The pressure in her abdomen was unbearable, the bloating making her feel like she was going to burst.

Julian kept glancing at her, worry etched across his face. He could see that she was struggling, and he desperately wanted to help, but he knew Saylor well enough to know that pushing her too much would only make things worse. Instead, he stayed close, ready to help if she needed it.

As the lecture continued, Saylor’s condition deteriorated rapidly. The acid reflux worsened, each burp bringing with it a stronger wave of nausea. She could feel her stomach turning, the contents sloshing around ominously. Her breath hitched, and she swallowed hard, trying to keep everything down, but it was a losing battle.

Toward the middle of class, Saylor felt a sharp, painful gag rise up in her throat. She clamped her hand over her mouth, trying to stifle it, but the motion only made her stomach lurch violently. Before she could stop it, a small but sudden wave of vomit surged up, spilling onto the tabletop in front of her.

The act of vomiting was so sudden that it startled her, and she could feel her face burning with embarrassment. She barely had time to react before another gag hit her, her stomach contracting painfully as it threatened to bring up more.

Julian noticed immediately, his eyes widening in alarm. He knew Saylor well enough to know that this was just the beginning—once she started throwing up, it was hard for her to stop. Without a word, he gently but firmly took her by the arm, guiding her out of the lecture hall as quickly and quietly as possible, ignoring the mess she had left behind. He didn’t want to draw any more attention to her, knowing how mortified she must be feeling.

Saylor was too focused on holding herself together to protest. Her stomach was churning violently, the pressure in her abdomen so intense that she felt like she was going to explode. The nausea was overwhelming, her head spinning as Julian helped her out of the classroom.

As they made their way down the hallway, Julian kept his arm around her, steadying her as she stumbled slightly, the world around her blurring with the intensity of her sickness. “We’re almost there,” he murmured, his voice calm and reassuring. “Just a little further, Saylor. You’re doing great.”

Saylor could barely respond, her throat burning from the acid, her stomach heaving uncontrollably. She was fighting with everything she had not to throw up again, but she could feel it building, a tidal wave that was threatening to overtake her at any moment.

By the time they reached the exit, Saylor was trembling, her whole body shaking with the effort of holding back the inevitable. Julian quickly led her outside, the cool air hitting her like a splash of cold water. It helped, but only slightly. She could feel the bile rising in her throat, and she knew she didn’t have much time.

“Let’s get you back to the townhouse,” Julian said gently. He kept a firm but gentle grip on her arm, ready to catch her if she stumbled.

Saylor nodded weakly, too overwhelmed by the nausea to do anything but follow Julian’s lead. Her stomach was a roiling mess, the bloating making her feel like she was going to burst, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold it back much longer. She just hoped she could make it home before the next wave hit.

As Julian and Saylor hurried down the quiet campus road, it quickly became apparent that Saylor’s condition was deteriorating rapidly. Her pace slowed, her steps becoming unsteady as the nausea grew more overwhelming with each passing minute. Julian kept a close eye on her, his concern mounting as he noticed the way her hand gripped her stomach, her breathing shallow and labored.

"Saylor," Julian said softly, stopping in his tracks and gently tugging on her arm to get her to stop as well. "We can take a break. You don’t have to push yourself."

Saylor barely registered his words, her entire focus on the turmoil in her stomach. The bloating had become unbearable, her abdomen so distended that it felt like a balloon about to burst. Each step sent a sharp jolt of pain through her, the nausea so intense that it made her head spin. The acidic taste of her lunch—salad and fruit—lingered in her mouth, only adding to the sickening sensation that threatened to overwhelm her.

She tried to respond, but the dizziness was making it hard to focus, her vision blurring as she stumbled slightly. Julian was quick to catch her, steadying her as she swayed on her feet.

"Just… just need a minute," Saylor mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. She couldn’t stand up straight, the pressure in her abdomen forcing her to hunch over slightly, her hand pressed firmly against her stomach as if trying to keep everything inside.

Julian glanced around, relieved that the road was quiet and deserted at this time of day. He gently guided Saylor to the side of the road, close to a patch of grass where she could sit if she needed to. But before they could get that far, Saylor’s legs gave out, and she collapsed to her knees, her body trembling with the effort of holding back the inevitable.

"Saylor," Julian said urgently, crouching down beside her and placing a hand on her back. "It’s okay. Just take a moment. I’m here."

Saylor nodded weakly, but her stomach was in such bad shape that she could barely respond. It was roiling, churning violently as it tried to reject the lunch she had eaten earlier. She could feel the acidic taste of the salad and fruit rising in her throat, the sensation making her gag involuntarily. Her entire body was trembling, the dizziness so intense that it felt like the ground was tilting beneath her.

Julian watched her carefully, his heart aching for his friend. He could see how much pain she was in, the way her stomach was distended and bloated, the way she struggled to keep herself upright. He knew that whatever was happening, it wasn’t going to stop until her stomach had purged itself of whatever was causing the upset.

"Do you want me to rub your stomach?" Julian offered gently, his hand still resting on her back. "It might help settle it."

Saylor hesitated, but she knew she couldn’t keep going like this. The pressure in her stomach was unbearable, and she needed some kind of relief, even if it meant risking vomiting again. "Yeah… please," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Julian shifted behind her, his movements careful and steady. He wrapped one arm around her waist, holding her steady as he placed his other hand on her bloated stomach. The moment he began to rub gentle circles over her abdomen, Saylor’s stomach reacted violently, the churning intensifying as the pressure became too much to hold back.

Saylor gagged, her body lurching forward as her stomach convulsed. She barely had time to brace herself before a massive wave of vomit surged up, spilling out onto the grass in front of her. The force of the vomiting was so intense that it took her breath away, her body trembling with the effort as she continued to retch.

Julian held her steady, his hand never leaving her stomach as he continued to rub soothing circles over her abdomen. "Just let it out, Saylor," he murmured, his voice calm and reassuring. "You’re okay. I’m right here."

Saylor could barely respond, her entire focus on the violent upheaval of her stomach. She threw up again, another gush of sick pouring out of her, but the relief she had hoped for didn’t come. Her stomach remained painfully bloated, the pressure in her abdomen only increasing with each retch. She could feel the pain intensifying, her gut cramping painfully as her body tried to expel whatever was causing the upset.

She gasped for breath between bouts of vomiting, her throat burning from the acid and bile. Her stomach felt like it was being torn apart, the force of the retching leaving her weak and trembling. But Julian’s steady presence was a small comfort, his hand on her stomach helping to guide the sick out of her body, even though it didn’t seem to be letting up.

Another violent heave wracked her body, and Saylor threw up again, the sound harsh and desperate as it echoed in the quiet air. Her entire body was shaking, her legs barely able to support her as she continued to vomit, each wave bringing with it a fresh surge of pain.

Julian could feel her trembling, the tension in her body making him worry even more. But he stayed calm, his hand never leaving her stomach as he continued to rub soothing circles over her abdomen. "You’re doing great, Saylor," he said softly, his voice filled with concern. "Just let it out. You’ll feel better soon."

Saylor wanted to believe him, but the pain in her stomach was relentless. The pressure refused to ease, her abdomen still painfully bloated even as she vomited again and again. She could taste the bitter remnants of her lunch, the acidic taste making her gag even more.

She threw up another massive wave of sick, the force of it making her body convulse. She could feel the tears streaming down her face, the pain and exhaustion overwhelming her as her stomach continued to reject everything inside. But Julian’s steady hand on her stomach was the only thing keeping her grounded, his soothing presence helping to guide her through the worst of it.

After what felt like an eternity, the vomiting finally began to slow. Saylor was left panting and trembling, her stomach still bloated and sore, but the violent retching had finally subsided. She leaned heavily against Julian, her body too weak to support itself as she tried to catch her breath.

Julian didn’t move, his hand still resting on her stomach as he held her steady. "You did great, Saylor," he said softly, his voice filled with sympathy. "Just take your time. We don’t have to go anywhere until you’re ready."

Saylor nodded weakly, too exhausted to respond. Her stomach was still in turmoil, the bloating and pain making it hard to think straight. But she was grateful for Julian’s support, his calm presence helping to ease the fear and anxiety that had gripped her throughout the ordeal.

She took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady herself. The nausea was still there, lingering at the edges of her consciousness, but the worst seemed to be over. For now, all she could do was lean on Julian and hope that her stomach would finally settle down.

[tbtwo]

Three years ago I posted some very rushed scribbles on some alternative civvie fit designs and for a while now I’ve been itching to redo them, but to also take it a little step forward to general design tweaks detailed notes + reasoning for my choices under the readmore!

Scott Push his pilot aesthetic, or hell just make it obvious in the first place. Also push his visible age a little bit more, Scott being worn from raising his brothers is something that means the world to me.

A bomber jacket Jeff gave him for his 18th birthday.

Chinos or something similar, pants that actually fit him.

Simple work boots, OR Chelsea boots

Aviators that either sit on the top of his head or hooked in on his shirt

Not visible, but a fitness watch

Hair is more visibly greying, and he gets sideburns cause I said so.

Virgil My original redesign wanted to make his mechanic side more obvious, he probably still dresses like that alternatively, but I wanted something a bit more smart this time.

Dyes his hair, it's natural colour is brown, similar to TOS Virgil.

Light denim jacket over the flannel shirt.

Green cargo pants for the green cargo plane pilot.

Steel capped work boots

Not pictured, but wears beanie when it gets cold.

Dogtags don't have any sort of significance, just thought they were fun.

Chin scruff cause I think it's cute.

John I hate his canonical civvies, what were they thinking. I give him here business casual warm winter wear. I think he's used to the cold but just loves dressing with layers if he can. Turtlenecks and scarves.

Bleaches and dyes hair, his natural shade is blonde ala Gordon.

Big sweaters

Wears gaudy patterned pants

Dress shoes and loafers.

Other than that he's pretty simple, nothing flashy, but smart.

Gordon In my minds eye, Gordon is so much of a little rockstar surfer boy. As such, I want to ruffle him up, sand in his hair and the sun in his eyes.

Naturally that blonde, but hair is darkening and you can see it in his roots.

Shaggier, longer hair.

Just the worst tanlines ever, and of course the puka shell necklace.

The hawaiian shirt still present, but button downed and tucked into his pants, wears a light tanktop underneath.

Lots of bracelets and trinkets around the wrists.

Acid washed denim shorts, of course

Slip on sandals for lazy boy comfort

Alan I don't like canonical Alan's outfit, it feels so dated. So if we're gonna date him, I'm gonna go 90s delinquent, because he wants to Look Cool

Hair is natural, but will darken like Gordon's

Always wears two shirt layers, a long sleeve under a short sleeve.

If not the shirts, then a hoodie.

Baggy, baggy faded skater jeans.

Hightop sneaks, socks not visible but they're always unmatching, he's not gonna put in the time to find socks that match!

Generally, I'm trying to go for a 2010s meets Late 90s sort of energy, as I personaly think it's a fun way for the reboot to mix our current nostalgia with the sentiments of the original series's own mid century futurism pop culture mixer.

Though honestly, I think Scott just deserves a really cool jacket.