#brown suede gloves

[devdas5z]

Miley Cyrus

[recuira]

after hours

after hours : a live action buggy x fem!reader fanfiction

for some odd reason, you have no idea who he is. and he fucking loved that.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

chapter one

chapter two | red. rain. rotten.

his pov;

She was standing underneath a stripe-patterned banner that shielded her from the pouring rain. Her nimble fingers sorted through an assortment of fruits, trying to decide which were the ripest and tastiest of the bunch. Of course, she was by herself, with none of her peers or family around her. I knew she was close to them. But why must she always be alone?

The tan-suede coat I wore protected me from the cold, keeping my body somewhat warm. My gloves and hands were stuffed in my pockets as I peeked around the corner and watched the girl shop. I noticed her begin to shiver, which I dreaded. I was so selfish. I didn't need this coat. I've spent countless nights in the cold, the crashing waves of the East Blue only intensifying the breeze. I was almost immune to the cold, but her? Y/N's nose was reddening as her teeth shattered. Was any fruit worth suffering in the cold? A devil fruit, maybe. But even then, it wasn't worth it. "Y/N," I smiled as I approached the maiden. The girl's head rose as she picked up an apple then her body twisted, her eyes growing wide upon the sight of myself. She nearly jumped. "How-" She shook her head. "Are you following me?" Her voice and body shook. Yes. "No, of course not," I laughed, brushing the accusation off my shoulders as I took a few more steps toward her, closing the wide gap. "I was looking for something to eat and I spotted you. Am I not allowed to say hello?" Guilt was something I was tremendous at. Y/N still seemed skeptical but after a slight sigh, she smiled and nodded her head. "No, forgive me. I'm sorry. Uh," She turned her attention to the apple she was holding then let it drop among the others crowding in a small basket. "None of these apples look good."

"They've been sitting out for a while. The shop clerk doesn't take the best care of his fruits. It's why they're so cheap," I chuckled to myself and reached down to grab an apple. I twisted it and examined a large brown spot that was eating away at the once-bright red color. I huffed, "I'm sure you can find something else to eat."

"I can't afford anything else to eat."

My eyes widened and I took a step back, visibly and internally shocked. What? She couldn't afford to eat anything other than a rotten apple? "Why?"

"It's a long story," Y/N admitted. "But I don't wanna talk about it." The girl sorted through found one that looked reasonable, and started to dig in her pocket. She pulled out nothing. "Never mind, I can't even afford that." Letting out a pitiful laugh, she dropped the fruit. I frowned. Her absence of money was one of the few things I didn't know about her. And now that I was aware of it, I felt a puzzling and aggressive feeling in my stomach. Was she out of work? Did she not have any way of providing for herself? Raising my hand, I grabbed at my chin and scratched the bottom of it. "Let me buy you something to eat."

"What?" Her eyes widened and she immediately shook her head, waving her hands as a type of rejection. "You are not buying me anything."

"It's just lunch. It's no biggy," I remarked. "At least something small."

"Why?" She folded her arms over her chest. "Do you feel sorry for me? First, you see me getting picked on by some slob, and now, you see that I'm too poor to afford a rotten apple. What's next?"

"Y/N, knock it off. Stop. Just think of it as a friend doing something nice for their friend."

The questioning look remained stuck on her face as she stared up at me. I tried to maintain a serious expression though the look she was giving me made my lower lip purse, like a pout. How was someone so enchanting? I continued to stare into her eyes, making quick glimpses to explore her other facial features before she finally made a decision. "Fine, but just this once, okay?" "You got it." I winked. -=- Being the gentleman I am, I loaned Y/N my coat to wear despite her dismay and numerous declines. She was pouty the entire walk to the pub but I didn't care. I'd rather her in a pissy mood than feeling physically uncomfortable due to the rain. I, however, was shivering. I was starting to become drenched. I held a newspaper over my head in hopes of staying dry but the wind was strong and the rain was forceful, almost piercing through the thin paper.

When we arrived at the restaurant, she found herself a seat in the corner of the establishment, scooting far into the booth. I followed behind her, sitting on the edge of the seat. I'd rather her be sitting across from me than rather to the side but due to her current emotional state, I stayed quiet and slid her the menu. "Get whatever you want, alright? I mean it."

"Are you a man of money?"

"Something like that," I snickered and ducked my head down to examine the options.

"Have you killed anyone before?" Y/N asked as she folded her arms over the table, her eyes peering at me.

I furrowed my eyebrows and let out a soft laugh. "No," I lied. "I'm not like that. I wasn't that type of pirate."

"What kind of pirate were you?"

"What kind of pirates do you think there are?"

"I don't know," She said as she pursed her lips. "I don't like pirates."

I nodded, unsure of a proper reply. I didn't like lying to her. I was fine with lying, in general. I was the master of conniving and deception. But I wanted to be different for her. Maybe a better person, though that seemed a bit rash. I left the East Blue after discovering that Monkey D- or whatever his name was received a higher bounty than me. Double my own, to be precise. My normally high and mighty ego dropped down and was smooshed by a brick. I didn't want to show my face again, at least not for a while. I wanted somewhat of a fresh start. And when I discovered my presence in the North Blue was dim and almost non-existent, I decide to settle down and refresh.

Then I discovered her.

And my plans completely changed.

"Do you know what you're getting?" Y/N's voice interrupted my thoughts and I raised my head and peaked up at her, smiling softly.

"Hm, not too sure yet," I replied.

"Are you cold? You look cold. You can have your coat back, it's--"

"Nah, keep it. It looks better on you," I said with a grin. I reached for a napkin and started to dab at my forearms, trying to dry myself off. The lovely woman aside of me frowned and stayed quiet. I could tell she felt guilty, which, of course, wasn't my intention. So in hopes of brightening up the mood, I decided to tell a joke.

"What's a pirate's favorite type of exercise?"

Y/N smirked and scrunched her eyebrows. "What?" She laughed.

"The plank."

Her hand slapped over her mouth in hopes of keeping her loud giggles and snickers to a minimum but the more she proceeded to think about it, the more laughs she erupted. My face reddened. I glanced around me, noticing that every other patron and pirate were staring directly at us. Gulping, I reached forward and pulled her hand down from her mouth. "Come on, stop. It's not that funny."

"It's stupid, that's why it's funny!" She continued to cackle as she threw herself over the table, clutching her stomach. A smile crawled on my face, not a painted one. Hearing her laugh, while for no reason, was a beautiful sound. And seeing her laugh? That was even better. I rested my chin in my hand and watched her, smiling to myself. When she finally calmed down, she wiped tears from her eyes. Her face was stained red. "Gosh, I am so sorry," She sighed, shaking her head. "I needed that, thank you."

"It's no problem," I said as I dropped my menu.

Due to the lack of laughter, a waiter finally arrived and took our orders.

"I'll have a slice of apple pie, please. With a cup of milk," Y/N smiled up at the waiter as she read off from the menu.

I raised an eyebrow. Dessert?

"Then after that, I'll have the fish and chips. But I want the pie first, please. Not after." She announced and she folded her menu, sliding it forward. She smiled at me.

I looked at her, completely confused. "Uhm," I looked back to the waiter, "I'll just have a cup of coffee."

Now, Y/N was looking at me, confused.

The waiter nodded and left. "Hey," Y/N started. "Why aren't you eating? I thought you were on your way to get something to eat?"

"I'm not hungry. Plus I doubt you'll finish all of that. I might pick on your leftovers," I said with a grin then I started to munch on the small bowl of peanuts that sat in the middle of the table. "What's up with the apple pie though?"

"I like to eat my dessert before my food because that's what I'm looking forward to," She hummed as she leaned back in her seat. "What if during our meal, we are stormed by a group of pirates and killed at gunpoint? Or a sea snake comes and eats us whole?"

"Ha! What?"

"It's unlikely but it's possible. And I'd like to die knowing I was able to get to the good part of my meal." She wagged her finger at me.

"You make a good point there."

"I know," The girl said with a satisfied grin.

I chuckled and sat back, drumming my gloved fingers on the edge of the table. A thought pondered my mind but I didn't know whether to act on it or not. I wanted to, but I didn't want to overstep any boundaries. I felt Y/N and I were moving forward with our relationship if there was one. We were talking, enjoying a meal together. I made her laugh. She admitted a quirk about herself to me. I felt there was good progress. But I wanted more. I was an impatient man. And the fact that it took five months for me to finally talk to her, despite her initiating the conversation, was surprising. I was eager to get what I wanted. And Y/N was the only thing my mind and heart could agree on.

But the fighting halves of my brain finally settled and I rested my arm over the top of the booth, leaning back. "So, uh, earlier you said you needed to laugh? How so?"

"It's a long story," She mumbled, shrugging her shoulders.

"I've got no places to be, I have time," I said as I cracked a peanut open, discarding of the shells on an unfolded napkin. I watched as she began to grow uneasy with the topic but I was desperate to want to know what was the issue. Why was she stressing her pretty little head? I frowned. "Come on, talk to me. We aren't friends, I'm a stranger to you, no? Who am I gonna talk to or tell?"

"You make a good point," Y/N sighed and leaned forward, raising her hand to scratch at the back of her neck. "It's just- I don't know, it's a lot. I haven't talked to anyone about it."

“Why not?”

“Because it’s something I’m not proud of.”

What could someone as sweet and fragile as she has done that was such an awful deed?

“What is it?” I tossed a peanut into my mouth.

“Well, I was young when it all happened. But when Gold Roger announced the One Piece before he died, my dad was one of the stupid pirates who thought he could have a shot at finding it,” She announced as her eyes rolled and she started to chew on my inner cheek. “My mom kept telling him to knock it off and stop living in a fantasy but he set off, determined to find it. I haven’t seen him in fifteen years. But this came to me a few days ago,” The girl dug her hand into her pocket, rummaging around before she pulled out a crumpled piece of coffee-stained paper. She rolled the ball toward me.

I looked at her then back down at the paper ball. I reached forward and grabbed it, raising an eyebrow. Unfolding it, I smoothed the paper against the table and started to allow my eyes to trail over the letter.

‘Y/N,

It is with great sorrow that I write you this letter. I wish you the best in your youth and I hope you amount to incredible things, such as creating a new destiny for you and your mother. I am sorry I wasn’t able to be a better father for you. Greed is distasteful. I won’t see you again. At the time of writing this, I will be long gone. But please, do me one thing: never stop smiling.

I love you, kiddo.

Love, Dad’

I clenched my jaw and looked back up at her. “Damn, that is a lot.”

“I told you,” She whispered as she tore the paper out of my hands, crunched it into a ball, and then shoved it back into her pants. “I didn’t think he’d be dead. Not this soon. My parents had me when they were young. And to think that my dad died doing something everyone warned him of. It’s horrible. It haunts my mind every day,” She frowned, her eyes tearing up. “Do I write back?”

“Do you have things you wish to say to him?”

“So much. But if he’s dead, then there’s nothing I can say, right?” Y/N rubbed at her nose and took a deep breath as she looked up, her hands waving in hopes of drying her tears. “God, I hate crying.”

“Maybe just write your heart out. Say everything you wish you could say to him. Then seal it in a bottle and toss it into the sea,” I suggested. I looked down at my gloved hand and hesitating, I reached forward and took hold of her small hand. I gave it a tight squeeze. “What do you want to say?”

“How I hate him for abandoning me and my mother but I still love him because he’s my father,” Y/N murmured, the rest of her words muffling as her lower lip quivered. She broke down in a fit of sobs as tears ran down her gorgeous face. I swallowed, never knowing how to react when someone cried. As a child, I hated to be touched whenever I was upset. I wondered if she was the same way. “I don’t know, I don’t,” She repeated as she buried her face in her hands.

I looked around the bar, nervous that others were watching this scene. First the obnoxious laughter and now this? Her emotions were spiraling.

“Hey,” I whispered, my thumb rubbing along her wrist. “Let's say we get the food to go and I’ll take you back home. Eat where you feel comfortable and so you can properly feel your emotions.”

“Huh?” She raised her head, the light mascara that accentuated her eyelashes, now dripping down her cheeks.

“I’m going to go tell the chef to wrap your meal up. Then I’ll take you home,” I continued and I raised my free hand, snapping my fingers to signal we needed assistance. “But don’t worry, I’ll turn around when you walk inside.” I cocked a smile but the comment remained unheard as she continued to cry.

I finally found a waiter and instructed him that we were taking the meal to go. He looked at Y/N with a concerned look but I told him she was alright. But I didn't even know that.

On the walk back to her place, I think I managed to get her to calm down. My hand rubbed at her back as she dipped her head in her hands. I guided her through crowds, instructing her on where to go since her eyes were covered and swollen with tears. A small frown fell on my face despite the red-painted smile I wore so proudly. The face paint I wore was smeared and dripping due to the rain from before. It was continuing to rain but not nearly as frequent and hard as earlier.

I had no idea she was this emotional. It made me feel guilty, even though, as far as I knew, I had nothing to do with why she was crying so much. I hated seeing her so sad. Normally, if it were anyone else apart from her, ridiculing would be my goal. I never cry. Pirates don't cry. But my nose burned with an odd sensation as I helped her up the staircase to her small, run-down building. I blinked rapidly and the feeling went away. Letting out a sigh, I gave Y/N a pat on the back and informed her that we were finally home. Her head raised from the confines of her hands and she revealed a wet, red face with strands of her hair sticking to her skin. A frown stayed on my face. I pulled my hand from her back and dropped the takeaway down on the doorstep. I clenched my teeth together and watched as she fumbled to push the door open. "Here," I whispered, using my foot to nudge it open. It gave way, revealing a disorderly room with an unkempt bed and a woman sleeping under the sheets. It was probably her mother.

"Thank you," Y/N finally spoke, her voice croaking. "I appreciate it, honestly. I'm sorry for ruining your meal."

"Don't apologize. Things are fine. Go eat then get some rest, alright?"

"Yeah, okay." She rubbed her nose and nodded her head. "I'll see you around." Her body twisted and she hunched over to grab the uneaten food. She stepped inside.

"Y/N," I started, stopping her in her steps. She turned around. As I dug through my pocket, I pulled out a few berries, placing them in the palm of her hand. "Take these, okay? It's not a lot but, it should last you a little while."

"What?" She looked in her hand, shaking her head. "Buggy, no, I can't accept this. This is too much."

"Come on, take it. It's okay. You need it more than I do."

"But this is like," She counted the bills in her hands, "forty-three hundred berries... Are you completely sure?"

"Yes, I am," I said with a smile.

"I'm going to pay you back for this, I promise."

"No need."

"No, I want to. Please. I won't take this unless you allow me to repay you for this. Okay?" She slipped the money into her pocket, wiped her palm on the side of her pants, then held it out. "Deal?"

Chuckling to myself, I nodded my head. "Deal." I shook her hand. "Now, come on, go eat. I don't want to take any more of your time."

"Okay, okay," The beautiful girl agreed with a large grin, which was a much better sight than her crying. "Buggy, thank you. Thank you so much." And with those words, she stepped back, gave me a quick wave and a sincere grin, then shut the creaky wooden door behind her.

The sound of the door shutting nearly made me jump. And when I realized I was left all alone, the same sensation in my nose appeared. I gulped and walked down the stairs, now standing on a wooden dock. I hugged my arms and my eyes widened.

Y/N still had my coat.

[yugimoto]

chilchuck cosplay rundown / tutorial! I say tutorial loosely cause I didn't take any progress photos...but hopefully some of this helps someone!

I received a couple messages on instagram about this cosplay so I thought it'd be easier to make a post about it! here's a little rundown for anybody who needs it...!

I only had a week to make this costume so there isn't a ton of actual sewing involved! (I got most of the materials in advance)

the main part's essentially just a big quilt - I used a faux suede fabric (which was a little stretchy, I really don't recommend this but it was the best colour match I could find with my time limit! I think it would've come out a lot smoother using something without stretch!) I used 2 ounce wadding/batting! the process is just measuring a bunch of rectangles, using stick and spray to glue the wadding between the two fabrics, and then sewing along all the lines. time consuming but it's not hard!

I cut the quilt I'd made into two rectangles, essentially you have two blankets - then I measured the neck and armholes based on a tank style dress I owned. if you're a little unsure about this you can make a mockup first before cutting the real thing! then I sewed the shoulders together, now it's just one long blanket with a head hole!

I ended up trimming the sides of the front half before the next bit to help it conform to my body a little better but I had to wear it backwards on the day for reasons I'll explain in a minute T__T

next I sew bias tape down the sides and around the neck hole, I folded the bottom ends and sewed them by hand to hide the stitches. you could probably just use bias around the whole thing but I was low on materials!

the buckles at the sides are literally just watch straps. the original listing I bought from's gone now but I'm pretty sure these are the exact same thing. I bought 16mm and trimmed the ends a little, I attached them using gorilla superglue!

the gloves are these gloves with the fingers cut off, any brown leather gauntlet style glove will do, and the scarf's one I found on vinted. it was a long scarf originally, I zigzag stitched down where I wanted it to end, cut it, then sewed the two ends together. the stitching's a little wonky but you can't really tell when it's folded over!

the belt's from amazon and the pouch is this one from aliexpress - I already had one of these for casual wear, it's a little foraging bag! it folds out into a bigger pouch!

I didn't take photos but the shirt's just one I found on vinted and the jeans are topshop joni jeans I'm pretty sure! the boots are just a pair I found secondhand and hot glued a strip of pleather to!

my wig is this one in chestnut brown, I always use coscraft for wigs they're my favourite! I trimmed it a little shorter and used thinning scissors over the whole wig!

last but not least is the ears. I almost didn't use these and I'm so glad I did! I felt so silly and cute wearing them! I used these ears, but searching "prosthetic big ears" should come up with others if you do a little digging! I don't have any experience with prosthetics aside from a pair of hobbit ears I wore a few years back for halloween but they're not too tricky to apply.

I trimmed the edges down a little and applied my foundation to them, powdered them to seal it and then added a little blush to the tips. I used ben nye prosthetic adhesive to glue them on! glue on my ears and onto the prosthetic ears, let it get tacky then just held them in place until they stuck.

be careful with the adhesive when you're applying it because my sibling accidentally spilled it down my costume... that's why I ended up wearing it backwards on the day...

I was worried I wouldn't be able to hear with them on but it's not too bad! cons are loud anyway and I'm autistic so the slight noise cancelling effect wasn't bad at all!

another piece of advice I'd give is to buy one of these style neck fans, you can buy them on amazon! I wore this during the day underneath my scarf and it helped a lot!

[beansprean]

Here's that au I threatened everyone about :D

Context for those who have never seen Pushing Daisies: it’s about a pie baker with the power to bring people back from the dead by touching their skin. If he touches them again, they die forever. He has about a minute to re-dead someone after revival to avoid having someone else around die as a trade and uses this power to solve murders. He revived his childhood friend/crush/first kiss and now they can never ever touch skin to skin or ☠️ its a very cute show despite this premise, very quirky and stylized and created by Bryan Fuller!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Full body drawing of Guillermo, dressed in a black tee shirt, dark green chinos, red sneakers, black leather gloves, and an apron around his waist. He is holding a steaming pie in both hands on his right side and is smiling adoringly up towards a human Nandor on his left. Nandor smiles back at him with equal adoration, hair up in a half bun and earring dangling from his left ear. He is wearing a loud yellow flower patterned shirt unbuttoned to his sternum and tucked into light wash jeans under a brown suede fringe jacket. His belt buckle has a horse on it. Arms safely tucked behind his back, Nandor gently knocks one of his brown boots against Guillermo's foot. A logo in the top left corner is a mishmash of the What We Do in the Shadows and Pushing Daisies logos, now reading "What We Push in the Daisies."

2a. In the foreground, the corpse of Jenna is laying on a silver table and covered chest down by a white cloth. On the other side of the table are Guillermo and Nandor. Guillermo looks down at Jenna, one of his gloves pulled off, and says "Ok, let's wake her up," as he touches her forehead with a bare finger. Nandor leans forward, eyes on the corpse, with an indulgent smile, arms carefully tucked behind his back. He is wearing a patterned brown blazer with a purple collar, a patterned gold tee shirt, earring, a necklace, and has his hair pulled in a low ponytail. 2b. Jenna opens her eyes with a start, color returning to her skin. She says wonderingly, "I'm alive?" Guillermo tugs his glove back on and replies quickly, "For now. So, real quick, who ki-" He is cut off as Nandor leans toward her with a sympathetic smile, asking "Can I get you anything? A glass of water? How are you feeling?" 2c. Guillermo glares over at Nandor, saying through gritted teeth, "Nandor we literally have like one minute!" Nandor glares back, holding his hands palm up in a helpless gesture, and responds "Well, it can be very disorienting to be brought back from the dead!" Jenna, still lying on the table, looks away uncomfortably and asks, pointing with her thumb, "Should I come back later, or...?"

3a. Waist up of Guillermo and Nandor as Nandor lurches forward, holding up a clear sheet of plastic wrap so he can kiss Guillermo through it. They both close their eyes through the almost-contact, Guillermo's arms stiff at his sides as hearts erupt all around them. 3b. Nandor leans back and lowers the plastic, grinning as he tosses a thumbs up and says "Still alive!" Guillermo, dazed, glasses crooked, hearts floating around his head, just stares blearily back with a grin. 3c. Zoom out, Nandor taps his chin thoughtfully and rolls his eyes toward the ceiling, a sly smile on his face. He says, "I bet if we made a full body condom we could-" Guillermo jolts, reddens, and adjusts his glasses, quickly interrupting, "Too dangerous! Probably. Right?"

4. Human Nadja and Laszlo sitting on a loud purple pink and red loveseat. Nadja is wearing a red minidress with a dark flower pattern belted at the waist with a slit up the thigh under a crop sweater with a high fur collar. She has one arm around Laszlo and the other stretched out on the arm of the couch and her legs are tucked neatly together, covered in fishnets, hair up in a bun with straight bangs and longer sections framing her face. She smirks at the viewer, all red lipstick and heavy rose eyeshadow under a decorative little fascinator. Laszlo sits at her side, legs crossed jauntily in tall leather high heeled boots. He is wearing deep red trousers and a red silk shirt in the same pattern as Nadja's dress, half unbuttoned to show a good bit of chest hair, under a fluffy fur coat. He has fishnet gloves and rose eyeshadow to match his wife and is gesturing with a little grin as he explains, "And that's how I ended up with an eye patch...on my willy. Perched in various places in the couch are three cockatoos, two of which are saying "I'm Colin! Braaak! I'm Colin!" The third is saying "I'm C-Man!" /end ID

[tieronecrush]

water in your hands

joel miller x f!reader

rating: E (18+ ONLY, MDNI. you will be blocked if you don’t have age/range in your bio)

word count: 9.7k (she's long but hopefully good?)

summary:

You are sick, and you're married, and you might be dyin' But you're holdin' me like water in your hands…

Joel will only end up failing you. You deserve better than him. He needs you to move on, to give him peace of mind. So, he gets married to someone else, to try to force you away. Except he just can’t let you go, and you always come back when he calls. Like a dog with a bird at his door.

warnings: NO USE OF Y/N, cheating (it’s moon song y’all), marriage, age difference (joel is canon age, reader is 20s/30s), use of pet names, discussions of water/drowning, ANGST, hurt/comfort, unprotected sex, fingering, praising, lowkey possessive joel & reader, undefined relationship, alcohol use, mentions of john lennon cause he needs his own warning, joel is messy and selfish

author’s note: this is my first time writing any sort of fiction in literal years, but i couldn’t help but try to write this idea cause i'm a sad girl who wishes joel miller was real! apologies for any typos/errors, i am the actual worst at proofreading (see, my master's diss that i read at least 50 times and still had typos in the submission). any interaction is appreciated <3

PART II HERE

dividers from @saradika

Fresh snow had fallen this morning, wiping away some of the evidence of daily life here in Jackson. The air was biting, you work your sleeves over ungloved hands to keep the chill away, cheeks flushed. Snow crunches under your boots while you rush from your house to work at the Tipsy Bison, Jackson’s bar. Because of course one of the first things restored in the commune, in the middle of the apocalypse, was the one place with all the alcohol. Not that you were complaining, it gave you a job in town that you enjoyed; you got to pass time by being around people and making conversation, something you didn’t get in the small cottage that you occupied by yourself.

Keeping your eyes trained on the ground as you walk, careful to watch out for patches of ice, you only look up when you hear your name called. It’s the familiar voice of your boss; at least, you call him your boss cause he makes your shifts, but he hates to feel any sort of claim over the place since, y’know, the whole communist thing.

Tommy Miller stands near the steps up to the bar, clad in his signature look of denim and chambray, denim’s sister (the man wore a Canadian tuxedo nearly every day, you kept a tally). He’s waving you over, and before you can greet him, your attention is pulled from Tommy to the pair standing next to him. 

A man, looking slightly older than Tommy but eerily similar with light grays sprinkled in his brown hair, donning a suede winter coat that was fitted across broad shoulders. His beard was patchy, not covering much of his strong jaw. Hooked nose, syrup brown eyes, olive skin looking pale from the season. There was a scar on his right temple, and other healed injuries dotting around the exposed skin. He’s handsome.

The young girl next to him just reached the man’s shoulders at her full height, bundled up in layers of sweatshirts and an open coat that didn’t look very warm. Her beanie framed her face along with her brown hair, the look on her face one of obvious teenage annoyance. She looked barely fifteen.

Tommy started introductions, barely getting a word out before the mystery man cut him off.

“I’m Joel, Tommy’s older brother. And this is Ellie.” He gestures to the girl and she gives you a nod. Joel removes a glove and extends his hand. You meet halfway, feeling the need to apologize for your cold skin chilling his own much warmer. Work-worn fingers wrap around to meet the skin on the backside of your hand. Your mind wanders to how those hands would feel in other places like -- 

Tommy’s voice breaks up your thoughts, “They’ve been traveling for a few months now to come here to Jackson.”

A smile crosses your face, grip not yet leaving Joel’s. His mouth ticks up slightly to one side.

“Welcome to Jackson, Mr. Miller, and you too, Ellie. It’s nice to put a face to the brother that Tommy’s been telling me stories about.”

“Please, just Joel. And it’s nice to meet you too, I hope he’s only told the good stuff.” Before you can respond, Ellie quips in.

“For months you have refused to tell people your name and now the first pretty girl in this perfect fucking town and you’ve given it twice.” She rolls her eyes so hard they disappear into her skull. Been there, Ellie. The attitude of a teenager is universal, even in the apocalypse.

Joel’s head snaps to Ellie and he grits out under his breath a little too loudly, “Ellie, quit cursing.”

Blush creeps across his face and you note that he didn’t say anything about Ellie knowing he thought you were pretty. Joel breaks eye contact and lets your hand go.

“Alright, hon, we should be on our way. I won’t subject you to any more of my older brother. He’s not much of a conversationalist,” Tommy teases. Joel gives Ellie a run for her money with the intensity of his eye roll.

Waving to the newcomers, you step back to head up the stairs. Out of the corner of your eye, you swear you see Joel take the smallest step towards you, about to follow like a puppy. 

“See you later, boss. Nice to meet you again, Ellie and Joel, enjoy your tour of our perfect fucking town.”

Joel glances back over his shoulder to watch you walk into the swinging doors. Lord, if you could read his thoughts. He knew he was in trouble the moment he saw that damn smile.

The last few weeks have been torture to Joel. He and Ellie had been back in Jackson for about a month now, getting settled in their new normal. However, it wasn’t the lifestyle change that was anguishing him.

He’d thought of you a few times after he’d met you that winter; remembering your smile when Ellie was quietly resting against his back on the horse, a fever dream of you when he was in the basement of that abandoned house, a rush of nerves when Tommy brought him to the bar for the first time since he’d been back. He was infatuated with you, and now that he’s living in the same town as you, it’s gotten worse. Foolish mind daydreams of you and him together, feeling like a teenager again with the way you make his knees weak. He’s been careful not to spend much time alone with you, reminding himself that he shouldn’t let someone like you get involved with someone like him. All he’d do was fail you, fail to give you a good life. Words were carved into his skull at this point:

You’re too broken, too bruised, too scarred, and full of guilt - you’re going to fail her, too..

The small two-bedroom cottage diagonal to his and Ellie’s house was yours, and the proximity wasn’t helping his situation. And not only were you his neighbor, but you worked at the place where Joel spent a good chunk of his free time - the bar. He’d get drinks with Tommy or other guards after a shift, and that evolved to going by himself in hopes to see you and drown his guilt over those hopes (among a lot of other things).

It’s these nights when he’s become a bit looser with his self-inflicted rules around you. He occupies the stool at the end of the bar, stealing glances as you help other customers. His index finger rims the dry glass in front of him. You approach with that same damn smile aimed at him. It’s a dangerous combination along with the liquor, both fuzz his rationality.

“Another one, Mr. Miller?” you nod to his glass, reaching out to take it from him. Soft fingertips brush over his skin, sending a jolt of energy up his arm. 

He clears his throat and answers, “Now, darlin’, I think I told you to call me Joel. Actually, at this point, I think it would be classified as begging. Mr. Miller makes me feel old.”

Throwing your head back with a laugh, the skin of your neck is exposed. His tongue involuntarily wets his lips when he thinks of leaving a mark there.

“Feel old? You are old, Miller,” he fakes offensive, eyebrows raised, “Aw, c’mon Joel, you know I’m just kiddin’. You’ve still got it. That silver fox thing you got goin’ on really does it for women ‘round here.”

He wants to be bold enough to ask if it’s doing anything for you, but instead, he huffs a laugh and shakes his head in disbelief, taking the two fingers of whiskey you poured.

“And how do you know that, darlin’? Haven’t had many offers for courtship since I got here.”

“I work in the bar. Women get drunk and spill their every thought. Including that the new guy with the daughter is hot,” you lean over the edge of the bar top, face less than a foot in front of him. Your eyes shift down to his lips. “Plus, I might encourage the conversation with my own thoughts.”

That smile again, except now it’s more of a smirk. He sips his drink, capturing the lingering alcohol with a lick of his lips. Your eyes go again, watching his tongue.

“I’m glad I can be such a riveting topic of conversation for you, sweetheart. Hope it’s good thoughts only.”

“Wouldn’t say the thoughts I have about you are good, Joel,” he swallows hard hearing the flirtation in your comment, feeling his jeans tighten.

Snapped out of hazy judgment, he resurfaces from the alcoholic tides; the rules he has about you act as a life preserver for him to cling to before getting caught in your rip current.

Joel throws back the rest of his drink, standing from the stool. He needs to get out of here if he wants to keep his promise to himself. Well, not that he wants to, but it’s what’s right. He can’t get you involved with his broken self. Your face drops slightly at the sight of him leaving, and part of him wants to lean over the bar to grab your face and kiss you hard in reassurance that he has the same kind of thoughts. But he can’t.

So he wishes you goodnight and walks home, angry with himself for nearly crossing the line. But he can’t help but think of your smile, and those flirty comments, as he tries to fall asleep.

You’re wide awake. Every time you close your eyes, your brain starts looping your conversation with Joel. Fingers rub circles in your temples, cursing to yourself as you get the replay of his extremely quick exit after you’d said you have…not so good thoughts about him.

The only indication you’d gotten from him that he felt any type of way toward you is his periodic visits to the bar on his own, spending the night chatting and laughing with you. You’d sometimes find yourself meeting his stare when you’d see each other across the street from your porches or in town.

But he’d never made a move, hell the most he’d touch you was to take a glass of whiskey or beer bottle from you. So why did you think he would suddenly reciprocate when you’d made openly flirty comments?

You needed some air. Just to clear your head of this embarrassing play-by-play. You pull yourself to stand and grab the sweatshirt at the end of your bed before heading out.

Jackson had the sort of late spring, early summer climate that happened to be your favorite. Warm, mildly humid days that brought the colors back after winter, and chillier nights, the right temperature to keep your cotton sleeping shorts on and add an extra layer up top to keep you warm.

Without thinking, you started towards the old barn on the edge of the residential area. The structure had seen better days, mostly used for storage now, but the open field behind it had an incredible view of the sky at night. It was a place you loved to go when that deep, dull ache in your chest wouldn’t quit.

Gravel crunches softly under your feet, small pebbles slip out from under your soles with each step. Not remotely focused on what’s in front of you, it comes as a surprise when hands land on your biceps. Your knee-jerk reaction is to scream, but as you look from the ground to the person grabbing you, the sound dies in your throat when you meet chestnut eyes.

“Jesus, Joel, you scared the shit out of me! Hasn’t anyone told you, you can’t just go grabbing women at night? Well, at any time of the day, really.” Your voice is rasped into a whisper despite the fact that there’s not a soul around.

“Maybe you should be paying a bit more attention to your surroundings when you’re walking by yourself at night, sweetheart” Joel counters, mouth ticking up to the side as his drawl continues, “Don’t know who’s lurking in the shadows in little ol’ Jackson.”

“You’re apparently the only person lurking, and you’re not doing a very good job since you just came right up to me.”

“Couldn’t help myself, I guess. What’re you doin’ out here at this hour?”

Heat burns under the surface of your skin when Joel drops his hands from your arms, the sensation radiating throughout the rest of your body. “Couldn’t sleep. I was gonna go sit out in the field behind the barn for a bit, admire the moon.”

He lights up with the first genuine smile you’ve seen from him. He has the best poker face out of anyone you know, but a part of you hopes that he feels like he doesn’t need it around you.

“Mind if I join ya, darlin’? Might be nice to stargaze a bit.”

You have to hold back from nodding frantically, attempting to play it off as if you’re weighing your options, “I don’t mind at all. You can teach me about the stars.”

The walk over is quiet but comfortable. At the shabby split-rail fence, you lift your foot to the lowest rail and push off the ground to mount the barrier. Joel’s hand meets the small of your back to hold you steady. Heat emanates from the spot, fingertips brushing your sweatshirt. His warmth leaves you as you make it over, watching as he easily clears the fencing with one smooth movement.

“Any spot in particular?”

As an answer, you grab Joel’s hand. Nerves bubble in your stomach, two steps ahead with your arm outstretched behind. His larger strides are quick to close the gap, arms between your bodies with palms pressed together. His hand shifts in yours, fingers lacing with yours and curling around the outside of your smaller hand, his thumb skimming back and forth.

Steps slow at a small clearing in the tall, overgrown grass, settling down on the dewy ground. He lays back with you, not focusing on the stars right away. His eyes are a cooler shade in the moonlight, yet no warmth is lost in the way he looks as if he’d been waiting for this moment.

Suddenly aware of yourself under his stare, you lightly clear your throat and turn toward the sky. “Do you know a lot about astronomy? I never got to learn much, other than my brother teaching me how to find the north star to navigate.”

Joel’s attention moves to the stars, his voice coming out lower and softer than in the daylight, “I used to know a lot more. Did a lot of camping before and learned to find the major constellations. Taught Ellie some of ‘em, and now she’s got a few books on astronomy. She kept saying how she wanted to fly, go to space or the moon like Sally Ride.”

“She’d be a pretty badass astronaut.”

He laughs softly, nodding before his expression settles into one of reminiscence and guilt all muddled together.

“You’re not wrong,” he pauses shortly before continuing, “But, I think I can still remember most of the constellations. What’s that thing called where you’re assigned one when you’re born?”

“Astrology?”

“That’s it. I know where my constellation is. I’m a Libra, whatever that means.”

Joel lifts your joined hands, his index fingers extended as he traces out the shape of scales in the corner of the sky.

Pulling the limited memories you have from the book you’d found sitting on a shelf at home, you follow Joel’s finger, “Libras are supposed to be balanced, that’s the whole scales thing, I guess. And impartial, but sometimes indecisive. Oh, and charming.”

Joel nestles your hands back on the ground. “Balanced, impartial, and indecisive? Sounds a lil’ vague, darlin’. Not sure I’m believin’ the stars can tell you about your personality.”

“Well, they got the charming part right about you. You’re certainly a Southern gentleman, got ladies swooning left and right.”

“Nah, I don’t even notice ‘em. Too busy focused on someone I’m pretty charmed by myself.”

You let go of Joel’s hand, turning onto your side to face him. He mirrors you, and you take the chance to lean in. Lips touch together with a brush, breaths fanning over both of your faces as you wait for his response.

Joel sits up, weight resting on his elbow. Broad shoulders lean over to shift you onto your back, rich eyes never leaving you. His touch is confident, a large hand fully cups the side of your face. Fingers sprawl along your jaw, thumb on your cheekbone. His frame leans further over yours, lips hovering as his voice breaks the moment of silence in a rasp, “This okay?”

Your voice thick with anticipation answers, “Yes.”

His kiss sends ripples of tension over your body. Fingers curl into the fabric of his sleeves, feet press into the dewy earth, chest tightens with quickened beating, lips match his depth. He tastes minty from toothpaste, mixed with notes of the Tennessee whiskey he orders. It’s intoxicating, reminders of him to seep into your daily life.

Joel brings you closer with a hand in your hair. His tongue traces your lips, parting them to let him in. When his fingers leave the crown of your head, his touch floats over your body, caressing your waist, sprawling under your breast, and jumping to your exposed thigh. He’s pressing your skin back against your body as if you were going to flow out from under him.

His frame shifts over you, pulling him away and breaths mix from open-mouth exhales. Legs open and hands find purchase on his expansive shoulders, heat pooling at your center when his knees settle between yours.

“You’re so beautiful, darlin’,” Joel’s earthy tone sighs, his hands moving along your body with a rumble of satisfaction brewing out of his chest.

His touch surrounds your cheeks as if he was bringing water up to drink from his hands, only your lips are the means to quench his thirst. You moan into the deep kiss, finding a frantic rhythm together. Fingertips dance along his torso to reach the hem of his navy t-shirt.

Hot, humid kisses line your neck to the collar of your sweatshirt. Tugging at the fabric and slipping his hand underneath, you comply to get the material off. Your t-shirt follows in its wake, the chill of the ground and Joel’s touch spreading goosebumps on your skin.

You breathe out a moan at his teeth scraping the curve of your shoulder, hands pulling at his shirt. He follows the silent order, getting the soft cotton over his head.

His hips grind down, arousal flooding your core. Another moan slips at the feeling of Joel’s breath meeting a small peak on your chest, sucking the pebbled skin.

Hips jerk up against his bulge, Joel’s throaty groan cutting into the night.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so soft…”

He gives the same treatment to the opposite breast and large fingers hook in the waistband of your shorts, tugging lightly to ask permission.

“Touch me, please. Wanna feel you…”

Joel’s lips separate from the skin with a pop. Your shorts come off, Joel retaking his place between your velvety thighs.

His eyes worship your body, dark with lust but still harboring a warmth. A slight ache burns in your hips that you completely ignore when his knuckles brush up your covered slit.

There isn’t a single thought in his head that doesn’t revolve around you.

His fingers slide against the last piece of fabric covering you, feeling your wetness through it. Your delicate sounds encourage him, thumb finding your clit and rubbing slow circles. He watches for a moment, eyes catching your face as you whine.

“Joel, please…”

His teasing doesn’t cease. Instead, he removes his thumb from your clit, hooking his finger to pull your panties to the side and exposing your wetness to the chill of the night.

“Gonna have to tell me what you want, darlin’. Not a mind reader…” He grins as you huff out your frustration.

“Please, Jesus Christ, want your fingers inside of me…” you look at him impatiently as you wait for an answer.

Biting his lip to hold back a groan, he pulls your panties off to leave you completely naked under him. His mouth waters, taking you all in as his touch runs up your bent knees.

Two fingers gather your wetness, pressing harder circles into your clit. Your whimpers egg him on, slipping down to tease your entrance with one finger.

“Good girl. ‘M gonna make this pretty pussy come around my fingers.”

With a smirk, one finger slides into you. Moans fill the still air, the tightness of you around his middle finger making him stiffen. A second finger easily joins the first to work you open.

His name is repeated like a prayer when he hooks his fingers on the uptick, searching for that rough patch inside your walls.

“Fuck, Joel, feels so fucking good,” you writhe under his touch, the sight and sound of you falling apart making him ache. He uses the hand resting on your stomach as a temporary fix for himself, a deep moan interrupting the orchestra of your whimpers and wetness. He pulls his hand away from his jeans, the need to feel you come overpowering his own.

He moves in circles around clit while fingers work in and out quicker, wanton moans growing louder and higher in pitch to accompany the sounds of your drenched cunt.

“So tight around my fingers. Feels good, yeah? You gonna come for me, sweet girl?”

The sounds you make in response are lewd, pleasure overtaking you as you rasp out, “Joel, I-I’m-”

“I know, baby. Let it happen.”

His words push you over the edge, fingers nearly pushed out from how hard you clench around them. Moans flood his ears, and all he can focus on is making that feeling last for you.

Soft breaths return when you’ve recovered, hand finding him hard and working your palm. Fingers open his button and fly, shoving the fabric as far down as you can manage.

“You sure, darlin’? We don’t have to, watching you was enough for me.”

You make your way inside his jeans, fingers wrapping around his cock and stroking slowly. He’d never really been one to care about underwear in the middle of the apocalypse, and right now he was thanking his past, lazy self for the lack of barrier. A shudder ripples down his spine, your touch so much better than his own fist.

“‘M sure, baby. Need you inside of me,” he twitches in your loose grip at the request, pushing his pants down just far enough to free himself.

Nails scrape against his scarred chest, a moan escaping you as he guides the head of his cock through your slick before positioning himself at your entrance.

His eyes lock onto where your bodies meet as he enters with a gentle thrust, your nails biting into the skin under his collarbone. He looks for a second at your face, your nod permission for him to move once you’ve adjusted to the stretch. 

He nearly comes at the sight of you taking him fully, your tightness and warmth making the edges of his vision blur. “So, so good, baby…Feels so tight and warm and wet. Perfect, you’re perfect.”

Wetness pools around the base of him and onto the grass below, drenching the sound of skin meeting skin. He watches your eyes screw shut, whimpering as you take every thrust, “Fuck, Joel. Feel so full, ‘m close already.”

His hips work you harder, feeling that taut rope in his gut near its breaking point. One hand leaves your leg held against him, licking his thumb to make quick movements on your clit. His name tumbles from your lips in a high-pitched whine and your head presses back against the ground.

“Come for me, baby.”

Your walls grip him tighter and nearly knock the wind out of his lungs, your back arching off of the grass and nails biting into his shoulders. Eyes open when you settle, clouded and full of pleasure. His thrusts grow sloppy as he chases after his own high.

“Fuck, ‘m close. Feel so damn good.”

“Come for me, please Joel, wanna see you come.”

Your begging snaps that taut feeling in his gut; he quickly pulls out and replaces your warmth with his fist. His chin falls to his chest with a guttural moan as he watches his spend cover your lower stomach, glistening in the soft light. Warmth spreads across his body in a tingle, pleasure clearing his head.

They say drowning is one of the more peaceful ways to go. Once the first few breaths of water fill your lungs, your muscles relax and there’s a warmth that washes over you. Then you pass out and everything goes black. It’s not comfortable, but the tranquility makes it better.

Joel feels like he’s drowned in you, muscles relaxed, warm peace in his chest. His vision is black for a moment, breaths deep in recovery. His eyes adjust to see moonlight flooding your face and body in cool blue. His hands start roaming again, softer this time. Pulling out of you slowly, your whimper meets his small hiss.

He lays you on your side to face him, your form molding like fresh clay.

“You okay?”

Your eyes close contently when his fingers brush your hair from your face, humming, “Fantastic. I wanted that to happen ever since I met you.”

His heart beats quicker at your confession, his mind immediately repeating those words - you’re going to fail her, too.

He only holds you closer in response, and by the time you’re both dressed again and walking back to your street, he knows that he can’t let this continue.

Guilt harbored in his chest over forcing himself to avoid you for weeks after you’d given him exactly what he longed for. He didn’t want you to think that he saw you as a one-night stand, it had felt like more than he wanted to admit, but he couldn’t seek you out to apologize. If he saw you alone, he’d end up doing it all over again. He didn’t regret it. He was just trying to do right by you. Give you space, give you the means to move on before you’d drift too far into the deep end with him.

So he decided to move on himself, try to force your hand into someone else’s if you saw him coupled up. It was cruel, but that’s who he was deep down. Cruel, guilty, undeserving.

He asked Tommy to set him up with someone, and his brother told him about a nice widow who’d been in Jackson since the beginning and had mentioned how cute she thought Joel was. That was enough for him. He asked her out that night.

He’d been dating Heather for a couple of months now. She was pretty, with medium blonde hair and blue eyes. Not much younger than him. Everyone knew they were together, and he assumed that meant you did too. He’d seen you around, eyes never meeting while he walked to his house hand-in-hand with her. He heard rumors of you leaving the Tipsy Bison with a guy in tow a few times, and despite the pang of jealousy that he felt, he kept reminding himself that this was right. You’d fall in love with that guy or someone else, forgetting all about him.

A few months of dating led them to a quick engagement. Joel still couldn’t get you out of his head and took extreme measures to ensure nothing more would happen. They got married in his backyard in a small ceremony. The occasion was lowkey, at the request of Joel. Word spread after the first outing Joel had taken to the market, the silver band on his finger telling everyone what they wanted to know. Each conversation came with congratulations to him and his new wife. He returned them with tight, polite smiles, hiding the oozing guilt that was filling his chest.

Joel had found out that you’d skipped work a few times when Tommy mentioned it in passing on patrol, which was extremely unlike you considering you loved your job. He knew it was because of his marriage.

He tried to bury his worry, telling himself that he was doing the right thing. For him and for you.

Heather had lived her young life with her first husband, she wouldn’t grow to resent him for what he failed to give her. You would move on, as he did, and find some nice guy to settle down with, who could give you what you were looking for. What you deserved.

The worry carried over the day, his brain jumping to worst-case scenarios. He had to make sure you were okay. He would knock on your door to see if you were there. It was the neighborly thing to do.

Joel silently left his bed with his wife sleeping next to him, slipping out the front door in the hours before dawn. He needed to check on you, even if he had to look in through your windows to make sure you were alive. Knuckles lightly rapped on your door, and just as he was nearly about to go find your bedroom window, the door cracked apart from the jamb, and your face was lit by the soft night light.

“What are you doing here?” He can taste the bitterness in your tone.

He swallows down at the toes of his boots, raising both shoulders in a small shrug.

“Tommy said you skipped out on work most of this week. Just wanted to make sure you were alright. That you were alive.” He tries to joke, but your expression remains annoyed.

“Well, I’m fine. Alive. You should probably go, your wife’s at home.”

The door starts to shut, but he quickly grips the edge, rasping out, “I need to talk to you.”

You pause for a second before opening the door. Not waiting for him, you move to sit on your couch. Joel strides over, sitting at the other end and cheating his body towards you curled up in the corner.

 “What do you need to talk about?”

“I need to apologize to you. I shouldn’t have ignored you after that night. Hell, that night shouldn’t have even happened. I got caught up-”

“Do you regret it?”

He thinks about saying yes. It would make everything so much easier. You could hate him, call him an asshole for fucking you and breaking your heart. But he can’t lie to you.

“No. I could never regret it.”

“So why shouldn’t it have happened?”

He sighs, wringing his hands together and resting his elbows on his knees.

“Honestly? I’ve been trying so hard to do right by you, darlin’. You deserve so much more than me. I’m broken, bruised, scarred. I’ve lived an ugly life, and I don’t want to end up giving any part of it to you. I can barely live with myself for the things I’ve done, even if I’ve done them to save my people. I’ve lost so much, and taken all the same. You’re so bright. I see it in that beautiful smile of yours. You deserve someone who can add beauty to your life, to live a long while with you. I can’t do that for you. All I’m going to do is fail you; it’s all I can seem to do these days. So I chose for us, and I moved on, and I hope you can find the same thing.”

After a breath, he feels like he can face you. That confidence crumbles immediately when he sees the tears streaming down your cheeks, the soft sniffle as you wipe your runny nose with your sleeve.

“That’s not true, Joel. You could never fail me because all I ever wanted you to give me was yourself. I love you, Joel. You are someone that can give me a beautiful life. Or could’ve, I guess, but now…” your eyes flick to the band on his left ring finger, “What you did was so fucking selfish, Joel. You couldn’t even have a conversation with me. And no matter how angry I get with you, I still can’t help but fucking love you.”

All he can do is kiss you. He’s spilling every emotion he can’t speak into this kiss. It would be wrong to tell you what you want to hear from him, even if it hurts to keep it inside him. His hands run over your body, gathering you in his arms and guiding you back to your bedroom.

He shouldn’t keep going. He should stop. But the feeling of your lips on his, your soft skin in his hands, and the fact that you love him keep his feet moving down the short hallway.

He can’t give you up. He was in way too deep and he would be damned if he wasn’t going to pull you in with him.

Despite the anger, sadness, and betrayal, your love for him overpowered it all. You needed to show him, to let him go with a searing memory of how you feel.

All of the actions between you two are sloppier than before. Each touch is rougher, grabbing at whatever you can take in the midst of heady kisses. Every movement is filled with unspoken words.

Joel gently pushes you the last few inches onto your bed, kicking off his boots and working at the buttons of his shirt, “Take it all off, baby, don't wanna waste a second.”

You’re only apart for as long as it takes for clothes to be shed. Back against the pillows of your unmade bed, arms pull Joel in and legs spread wide. His weight is supported with one arm, a soft moan exhaled as he bites his mark into your neck. Fingers move through your wetness, circling your clit.

It’s your turn to be selfish, and all you want is for Joel to feel himself inside of you. To remember what it’s like to have you when he goes home. To think about you when he fucks his wife. It feels wrong to want that, but you can’t help but feel a claim over him. The fingers tangled in his hair pull his head from its spot at the curve of your shoulder. You meet his lust-blown eyes and speak your demand.

“Fuck me, please, I need you now.”

Joel groans, fingers ceasing their movement as he questions you, “You sure, darlin’? You ready for me right now?”

“Yes, ‘m ready, please, baby,” you plead with him.

Joel repositions himself upright on his knees between your wide legs, stroking himself to get fully hard. He drags the head of his cock up your slit, coating it with your wetness before he presses the tip inside of you. You feel a tinge of pain as he splits you open, but you whisper for him to keep going.

When he’s completely inside of you, Joel sighs out your name, hands gripping your thighs and bringing one up to wrap around his waist, allowing him to sink further.

“Please, Joel, want it hard…” you whimper out, feeling the sensation of him in your gut. Joel needs no further instructions, pulling back to fuck into you hard and deep.

He watches where your bodies connect, how the drag of his cock swells your cunt. Lip pulled between his teeth, the sight makes his hips snap roughly against yours.

He’s leaving bruises with how tight he’s holding onto you, keeping you from moving up the mattress with the power of his thrusts. You don’t say anything until Joel breaks, fucking you with a possessive drive, “Mine. You’re all mine.”

“Only yours, baby. ‘M only ever gonna be yours.”

“You’re made for me, sweet girl, made to take me. Feel so fucking good, such a perfect pussy.”

You’re relieved when his eyes leave yours as he watches him hit inside you again, tears pricking your eyes from the pain and pleasure pounding through you and the thought that he won’t ever be completely yours.

That stupid piece of metal around his finger burns against the skin of your thigh. It should be a symbol of you, not someone else.

Hurt, anger, and pleasure meld together. Hands move to Joel’s shoulders, using your strength to flip over. His back hits the crumpled pillows at the headboard, sitting up as you straddle him.

“Look so beautiful on top of me, baby,” his chest rises and falls in quick succession, the next inhale sharper as you sink down completely, watching his eyes screw shut and a deep moan vibrate his chest.

“Oh fuck, take what you need, darlin’. Use my cock. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Your mouth opens to tell him you can’t have what you want most. Because of what he decided for the both of you. Instead, a moan tumbles out, hips starting to roll to work him back to that near-ecstasy feeling. The room is filled with the wet smacks of skin meeting skin mixed with wanton moans. Your movements keep you both near the edge, your head back and eyes closed as you scream Joel’s name. He doesn’t reprimand you for potentially exposing yourselves to the neighbors, only reaching a hand to the back of your neck and pulling you in for a passionate kiss. You can tell he’s close when his feet dig into the mattress, hips under his vice grip. He starts fucking up into you, both of your rhythms meeting to work you higher. One hand leaves his chest to hold the side of his head, forcing him to meet your eyes.

“‘M yours…” you echo his lust-filled words. You need to remind him that at least part of him will always belong to you, that only you can make him feel this good, this loved. That you’re the one who fucks him like this. “Made for you, right? Just for you, baby. No one besides you can make me feel this good, make me come like you can. Ruined me for everyone else.”

“Mhmm, that’s fuckin’ right, darlin’. This pussy’s mine. You belong to me, all to me.” Joel’s thrusts become frantic and you lose your rhythm, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing quick circles.

You come hard, screaming his name again and whining with each thrust after your intense orgasm. Joel’s right behind you, your sounds pushing him over the edge. Warm ropes coat your walls, his husky groan reverberating under your palms pressed to his chest. Your voice can barely reach a whisper when you look at him, fingers moving to tug his hair, “And you belong to me.”

He doesn’t say anything if he even hears you, his skin sticking against yours and his come dripping out of you onto his stomach when you move to lie down. Joel gets up after he steadies his breath to grab a warm cloth from the bathroom to clean you up. He crawls back into bed, slipping under the covers after tossing the dirty washcloth into the hamper. Your head finds his chest, curling up into his side with his arm wrapping you up. He kisses your forehead as you drift off, feelings of guilt, anger, and love rising from your gut to sit square in your chest.

Cold sheets. That’s what you wake up to. Sitting up in bed, you glance around your room with sleepy eyes, searching for any evidence of Joel.

Nothing. He must’ve left after you fell asleep. You can’t blame him. It definitely wouldn’t look the best if his wife woke up in the morning and he was nowhere to be found. And he couldn’t risk someone seeing him sneak out of yours in the morning light.

You’re remembering your confession that was met with his claim over your body. Your own stupid attempt to make him believe that he belonged only to you, spurred on by his possessive words.

Something on the nightstand catches your eye. A note from Joel:

Meet me at our spot tonight, sweet girl

You met him that night, and nearly every night since then, too. Mostly in that overgrown field behind the barn, sometimes at yours when you craved complete comfort of the couch or bed.

Joel started staying later with you, holding you after the possessive claims he made over you like a prayer. He opened up about his time with Ellie before Jackson, stories about Boston, about Tess. What it was like growing up with Tommy, confessing he loved to sing and play guitar, even wanted to be a singer when he was younger and somehow ended up as a contractor. He even told you about his daughter Sarah, how beautiful and bright she was.

You told him your own story too. Leaving the Chicago QZ with your brother and sister when everything went to shit with FEDRA and the Fireflies. How you lost your sister soon after, bit by a straggling clicker in a gas station you were raiding. How your brother was the one to shoot her when she begged you both. Stories about traveling west with him, how he protected you until the day he died. You were chased by raiders looking to kill you both for your supplies, running through the forest just along the river outside of Jackson. You didn’t know the community was there, but it ended up being your saving grace. Your brother pushed you to run over the bridge, the men finally catching up to him. You couldn’t stop, couldn’t look back. All you could do was scream as you heard a gunshot.

Joel held you as you cried, you comforted him when he needed it. He never told you what happened after he and Ellie left Jackson that first time, he didn’t have to if he didn’t ever want to. These vulnerable moments brought you closer together.

But it was never close enough to stop the cycle he developed of pushing you away after a few weeks together, getting so in his head about the situation, feeling guilty, or getting paranoid if he suspects that Tommy or Maria or his wife are catching on. His abandonment would last a few days or even a week at a time.

And you always wait it out, always come back when he wants you.

Like a dog with a bird at his door, you gave all of yourself to him.

It’s a late night at work for you. Joel parked himself on his usual stool, drinking ‘til last call after his buddies left, something he’d done often in the last few weeks.

Tommy finished restocking the fridges under the counter and tossed you the keys to lock up. As he leaves, he gives Joel a knowing look and you a sympathetic one.

Joel slaps his hands against the bar top, standing when you walk from behind the counter. His steps falter a bit as he gets used to the ground underneath him. Steadying him with an arm around his back, he wraps his own around your shoulders to keep you at his side.

“Let me walk you home, baby.” Words slurs together, eyes half-lidded and glazed over. It would be a bit endearing to see him without his usual stoic persona, but the fact that this is the third night this week that he’s gotten this drunk is concerning.

You end up carrying Joel all the way home, and just when you’re about to get him to his front door, his strength overpowers your own and he pulls you away with him, dragging you two in a drunken stupor down the road.

His steps are heavy and sporadic while he whistles some song in your ear, reaching the field. He flops down into the grass, his arms sneaking around your waist when lay down with him. Joel pulls you in close, kissing you deeply and sighing against your mouth. He smells of whiskey, leather, and musk; all combining to be uniquely Joel.

You couldn’t bring yourself to argue with him about getting home so you let him kiss you, let his hand under your shirt. You listened to him recollecting the night with the patrol guys. The only touches exchanged were his fingertips running up and down your side under your loose t-shirt and your cheek pressed against his denim-covered chest.

He brought up a song that was playing on a record at the bar, John Lennon’s Woman. He reminisced about hearing that song as a young teen for the first time, and telling you how a couple of years later he wrote the lyrics down for his tenth-grade girlfriend, telling her he wrote a poem for her.

“She read it, obviously knowing the song. She crumpled it up, said ‘That’s John Lennon, not you, Joel Miller,” and walked away from me. Needless to say, she broke up with me.”

“Wow, a breakup over plagiarism. Must’ve been a real stickler for academic honesty,” you reply, sending both of you into giggles.

His laugh faded slightly, the wrinkles still showing next to his eyes and his smile lines present, jovially commenting, “You probably barely even know who John Lennon is.”

He laughs but his words made you feel small. He teased you before about the age difference, but for some reason, you couldn’t brush this one off.

“Y’know, I still remember what life was like then.”

His hand finds your chin, tilting your head up with a sigh, “That’s not what I meant, darlin’, you know I was just teasin’. You probably didn’t even know it was John Lennon if you heard one of his songs when you were young, baby.” You sit up quickly, separating from him.

“He was a fucking Beatle! Like the biggest band ever. I might be younger than you, but I’m not stupid. They were around even before you were born, so yeah, I do know who John Lennon is. And did you know he cheated on his first wife, like, a bunch of times and left her for one of those women? Sound familiar, Joel? Actually, probably not, ‘cause you’d never actually admit how you feel about me and leave your wife, even though you love me,” your words come out before you even have a chance to think about them, and as you look at Joel, you can tell he’s letting his anger and annoyance come over him, his expression turning to stone, “I feel like you just see me as some naive girl who doesn’t know anything or hasn’t dealt with shit in this world -”

“You haven’t done nearly a fraction of what I’ve had to do in this world, darlin’, so don’t get started. You are a naive girl. You’ve always had someone to protect you, and I’ve always been the protector. You don’t know nothin’ about losing yourself or having to do the worst possible thing just to save yourself or your people,” his voice is low and unwavering with an intensity you hadn’t heard before. He’s trying to hurt you now, bringing up the protection that you’d been given by your brother before he died to save you, the fact that you’ve always had support from him or the people of Jackson.

Your eyes gloss over, blurring his hunched-over figure. His words are venom seeping through the well-worn cracks in your heart. Curling up into a ball and chin on your kneecaps, pressing down into the bone to keep your lips from trembling. How childish you must look like this. Joel doesn’t move to comfort you, staring a thousand yards ahead, emotionless.

“I know you think I don’t know the guilt or pain or heartbreak that you feel 'cause I’ve been protected for a lot of my life in this world. But being in love with you, being some dirty secret to you, has given me enough guilt, pain, and heartbreak to last for the rest of my life.”

A shaky breath slipped out of your parted lips, untangling your limbs from their locked positions to stand. You turn away, legs carrying you home. You don’t look back, wiping your tears away as quickly as they fall. You’re exhausted from him, from this whirlpool of loving and leaving that he’s pulled you into. A part of you breaks just the slightest bit more, a new piece for you to mend whenever he calls you back.

You should hate Joel. He pulled you in and pushed you away, and all you could do was fall, but now it felt like sinking. And your feet won’t ever touch the bottom.

He’s taken your love willingly, and only given you possessive invocations over your body, only made your constant pain burn hotter. Linen soaked up the tears that were left on your cheeks as you laid down in bed, exhaustion taking over.

The image you see feels warm, blurred around the edges. It was his home, no sign of his wife but evidence of Ellie in the comic book and worn-out sneakers near the chair across the room. Soft strums of a guitar float around, and your sights lock on him at the other end of the couch. You have this feeling that you need to say something to him, but can’t remember for the life of you what it is; the moment overwhelming. He’s singing and playing guitar, unabashed, and with a genuine smile only for you. Tender brown eyes glance away as someone walks into the room. Ellie’s holding a lopsided birthday cake with a few candles lit. It’s decorated with a sloppy frosting drawing of the ocean, a boat on the horizon. It was a reminder of the daydream you had vocalized to Joel, spending a life on the shore in a small sailboat together. The song he was playing softly fades into Happy Birthday, his smile matching Ellie’s. All you hear, before the image fades, is his voice as you lean in to blow out your candles, “Happy birthday, darlin’. I love you.”

The clinking of stacking glasses is the only sound echoing through the empty bar as you and Tommy close out. Joel’s been ignoring you, has been for a couple of weeks after your fight, spending his free time picking up shifts or staying at home with his family. The rag you’re holding moves in circles over the shiny bar top, reflecting your face back to you. You can see the pain in your eyes seeping back after spending the night putting on a face for your customers.

“You don’t need to keep on paintin’ that pretty smile on your face, hon. I hate seein’ you looking like you’re gonna crack your jaw from forcing yourself to look happy,” Tommy sighs, looking over at you while he continues to polish the glass in his hand. “What he’s doing to you, it’s wrong. You deserve to be treated with respect.”

“He wasn’t doin’ anything I wasn’t letting him do. It takes two, Tommy. Think you’d know that with a newborn around,” you try to lighten the mood, kicking yourself for still defending Joel.

“I know. But I also know how you look at him. Like you’ve been drownin’ at sea and he’s the one who’s come along to save you.” You finally look up from your reflection on the bar surface; the shame in your face becomes too much for you.

“At this point, it feels more like he’s the one pulling me under.” 

Tommy sets the glass down and tosses the rag at it. Closing the small space between, he pulls you against his chest, arms around your shoulders. You can’t cry in front of him, embarrassed that he even knows about you and Joel in the first place, let alone that he feels sorry for you. You reciprocate the hug, gingerly wrapping your arms around his torso. The sound of the door swinging echoes in the large room. Tommy let’s you out of his comforting embrace and turns to meet the late patron.

Joel.

He’s standing across the room, eyes moving between his brother and you. He came looking for you, not expecting Tommy to still be closing out the bar with the baby at home. A furrowed brow creases lines between those soft, guilt-ridden brown eyes. The same look he’s had every time he’s shown up at your door at 2 AM to apologize, kiss you, show you how much he needs you. You fall every time, wanting to be his comfort, his relief. His lighthouse in the storm of remorse he’s constantly battling. Loyal to a fault.

At this moment, you wish for a wave to pull you under and sweep you into the tide.

Tommy asked him to wait outside.

Asked is generous. More like, grabbed Joel by the collar and dragged him outside like a scolded puppy, pointing his finger and giving him a strong, “Stay.”

He did as he was told, leaning against the post at the top of the stairs. Arms crossed over his chest and anxiously tapping his foot against the wood porch.

Both you and Tommy left at the same time. Joel would be knocked out on the spot if Tommy had his way, judging by the look on his face. The younger Miller wished you goodnight and you gave him a reassuring nod as you stayed back to face Joel.

Tommy’s out of sight and out of earshot before you break the silence.

“So…why’d you come here? Thought you’d be done with the naive girl.”

Joel raises to his full height, taking a hesitant step toward you. You don’t move away, but he keeps his distance in order to get his thoughts out.

“Darlin’, I’m -” he starts, pausng for a moment to gather his words, “I keep doin’ this, don’t I? Being happy with you, then pushing you away and hurting you. I’m sorry, sweet girl. I’m so, so sorry. I don’t want to fight with you. I shouldn’t have said those things to you, I know what you’ve been through. You’re not naive. You’re mindful, attentive in ways I could never be. I hurt you. I haven’t done this the right way. I haven’t protected you like I should’ve 'cause I couldn’t stay away from you. I’m what you needed saving from and I’ve been too selfish to keep us both from drowning.”

You worry your lip between your teeth as tears gloss over your eyes. He steps closer to you, hands reaching up to cup your face. He’s not sure if you’re going to slip between his fingers, but he’s trying his best to keep you there with him. Tears fall, his thumbs working to wipe them away. Not letting a drop of you to slip away from his touch.

He can see the innerworkings of your brain in your eyes. He knows how to read you; he can see the battle in your head about whether or not he’s saved this time. Your voice is coated in emotion when you finally speak up again, “I’ve heard drowning is actually kind of a peaceful way to go, all things considered. And if it’s going to be with anyone, I’d choose you.”

That damn smile finds its way across your face in spite of your tears, and he can’t help but mirror it. It’s a welcome home for him, the light pulling him into your harbor - safe once again. He leans down to press a soft, tender kiss to your lips, deepening it for a moment when you reciprocate.

His hand finds yours when he pulls away, “Let’s go for a walk, sweet girl.”

Joel leads you away from the bar, walking down your street. You slow down when you get in front of your cottage, moving to walk down your path. He stops you, shaking his head and mouth ticking up in a small smile. His eyebrows are raised in a silent question, asking you to come with him. You fold easily, taking your place next to his side, hands intertwined.

He takes you to your spot where he’s set up a blanket and a couple of flickering lanterns for some light, but not enough to disturb the view of the moon.

“Joel…this is wonderful, I’m - I don’t know what to say, thank you.” Your hand squeezes his and he shrugs the praise off.

“Don’t thank me, baby, I should be doin’ this for you all the time. ‘S what you deserve.”

He’d gotten a couple of strange stares when he’d been walking down the road with a blanket under one arm and the lanterns in his hand. It occurred to him that people would think he was doing it for his wife, that they might ask her about it tomorrow and he’d be in for a line of questioning. But damn the consequences, he needed to do this for you. To give you something.

Joined hands pointing out more constellations he remembers and ones that Ellie knew, having asked her specifically to help him find the one for your zodiac. As the two of you lay on your backs, curled into each other, he’s taken back to the conversation Ellie and him had about their combined dream of a sheep ranch on the moon. Now that dream, at least for him, included you, too.

“I think it’d be nice out there. Without this world, feeling weightless.” He wishes for that down here, to lighten the load on his chest and the guilt on his shoulders. A different life.

You hum in agreement and he continues, “I wish I could just bring the moon down here, to take the weight off us, and to give Ellie the chance to get her dream.”

You’re quiet for a beat before your words wrap him in warmth, “If I could give you the moon, I would.” 

You’d do anything for him, he knows that. And he’d do anything for you.

As those words cross his mind, the ring from his finger burns in his pocket. He’d taken it off to rid you both of the reminder of how this night would end, how every night would end. A little metal circle that has decided your fates, at least for now. His voice is slightly gravelly in his throat as he answers, “Maybe in another life, yeah?”

if you got to the end, i'm giving you a big smooch.

taglist: @swiftispunk (supportive bae)

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode illustrée, no. 11, 15 mars 1868, Paris. Chlamydes Kachmir. Collection of the Rijksmuseum, Netherlands

Robe en poult-de-soie brune de deux teintes (étoffe changeante), simplement bordée d'une grosse corde de soie; grande chlamyde-cachemire fond gros bleu à riches dessins orientaux, et frange assortie. Chapeau blanc en tulle, avec fleurs de pommier; brides-écharpes bordées de rouleaux en satin blanc.

Robe en faye gris d'argent, garnie avec trois rouleaux en velours gris qui garnissent le bord inférieur et remontent sur chaque côté d'une rangée de gros boutons en travers en même velours gris; mêmes ornements garnissant les poches, et formant sur le corsage montant une berthe carrée; chlamyde-cachemire fond blanc doublée de soie cerise, avec grands dessins persans et frange assortie. Chapeau en tulle noir moucheté, avec brodes-écharpes fixées sous le menton par un camée de jais; bandeau-diadème en velours noir, avec cinq camées en jais noir; ombrelle pareille à la robe, doublée de taffetas blanc; gants à trois boutons en peau de Suède.

—

Dress in brown poult-de-silk of two shades (changing fabric), simply edged with a thick silk rope; large chlamyde-cashmere (cashmere mantle) on a blue background with rich oriental designs, and matching fringe. White tulle hat, with apple blossoms; scarf straps edged with rolls of white satin.

Dress in silver gray faye, trimmed with three rolls of gray velvet which garnish the lower edge and go up on each side with a row of large buttons across in the same gray velvet; same ornaments garnishing the pockets, and forming a square berthe on the rising bodice; chlamyde-cashmere (cashmere mantle) on a white background lined with cherry silk, with large Persian designs and matching fringe. Hat in speckled black tulle, with embroidered scarves attached under the chin with a jet cameo; black velvet tiara headband, with five black jet cameos; parasol similar to the dress, lined with white taffeta; three-button gloves in suede skin.

[charlotteinengland]

Oh hey, @hollandcooperclothing 💚🍃 The loveliest of gilets in the perfect spring hue! I’ve continued the light colour palette with my white @shires_equestrian base layer equestrian top & beige jodhpurs. I’m wearing my chocolate suede “Albany” knee boots, also from @hollandcooperclothing & my dark brown leather gloves 🤎 x LINK on my stories Gilet: Country Fleece Gilet in Sage @hollandcooperclothing Boots: Albany Boots @hollandcooperclothing Top: @shires_equestrian Jewellery: @pegasusjewellery (AD) Copyright © 2023, Charlotte in England, www.charlotteinengland.com, @charlotte.in.england This is my official account. Any other account is an impersonation of me. RESPECT COPYRIGHT. #CharlotteinEngland #HollandCooper #ShiresEquestrian #equestrianstyle #countryfashion #jodhpurs (at England) https://www.instagram.com/p/CqVrd59t6U_/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[chicinsilk]

US Vogue July 1962

Simone d'Aillencourt wears a mohair suit. By Monte-Sano and Pruzan. Hats off, Lilly Daché. Brown suede gloves by Polava. Chef's hat, pouf in black suede by Lilly Daché.

Simone d'Aillencourt porte un tailleur en mohair. Par Monte-Sano et Pruzan. Chapeau, Lilly Daché. Gants en suède marron par Polava. Chapeau, pouf de chef en suède noir par Lilly Daché.

Photo Karen Radkai vogue archive

[vulpinesaint]

by the way. gravity by maura o'connor.

Gravity by Maura O’Connor

Today I am fragile pale twitching insane and full of purpose.

I’m thinking of my lover: my soft hips pressing his coarse belly my tongue on a salmon nipple, his hand buried in my thick orange hair the telephone ringing.

I’m thinking we tend our illnesses  as if they are our children: fevered screaming demanding attention and twenty dollar bills, hours we could have spent making love with the television on.

Faith is a series of calculations made by an idiot savant. I’m in love. I’m alone in this city of painted boxes stacked like alphabet blocks spelling nothing.

There are things I know: trees don’t sing birds don’t sprout leaves the sky never turns to wine roses bloom because that’s what roses do, whether we write poems for them or not.

I concentrate on small things:  ivy threaded through chain link, giveaway kittens huddled in a soggy cardboard box, a fat man blowing harmonica through a beard of rusty wires brown birds chattering furiously on power lines.

I try not to think about lung cancer, AIDS, the chemicals in the rain; things I can’t imagine any more than a color I’ve never seen

My heart is graffiti on the side of a subway train, a shadow on the wall made by a child. Nothing has been fair since my first skinned knee I believe death must be.

I cling to love as if it were an answer. I go on buying eggs and bread,  boots and corsets, knowing I’ll burn out before the sun.

I’m thinking of the days I tried to stay awake while the billboards and T.V. ads for condoms, microwave brownies, and dietetic jello lulled me to sleep.

A brown-eyed girl once told me a secret that should have blown this city into a mass of unconnected atoms Our sewage is piped to the sea.  Beggars in the street are hated for having the nerve to die in public. 

Charity requires paperwork, Relief requires medication

as if we were the afterthoughts of institutions greater than our rage.

Gravity chains us to the asphalt with such grace we think it is kind.

We all go on buying lottery tickets Diet Coke and toothpaste as if the sky over our heads were the roof of a gilded cage.

We provide evidence that we were here: initials cut into cracked vinyl bus seats, into trees growing from squares in concrete, a name left on a stone, an office building, a flower, a disease, a museum a child.

Tonight the stars glitter like rhinestones on a black suede glove.

In the coffin my room has become,  I talk to God about the infrequency of the rain about people who can’t see the current of gentleness running under the pale crust of my skin.

I tell him under the jackhammer crack, the diesel truck rumble, even the clicking sound traffic lights make switching from yellow to red, there is a silence swallowing every song, conversation, every whisper made beside graves or in the twisted white sheets of love.

I tell him I can’t fill it with dark wine, blue pills, a pink candle lit at the altar the lover touching my hair.

God doesn’t answer. God doesn’t know our names.

He’s only the architect designing the places we occupy like high rise offices or ant hills

I know this  the way I know sunrise and sunset are caused by the endless turning of the Earth.

[devdas5z]

Ning Ning

[furbootandglovelover]

[restless-witch]

nothing in the world is mine, but my love, mine

hey hey I did a one-shot for once, I've posted it on Ao3 here but I know some of y'all like to read fic on tumblr so it's below the cut

Comments and likes always appreciated <3

He clocks the bard as either noble or a romantic the moment he sees the gloves on his hands. They're subtle, as far as the custom goes, a dark olive colored kidskin with a simple flower button wrapped around his wrist and covering only his thumb. The Witcher always wears gloves of a kind, Jaskier determines after a few weeks on the path together, though out of utility. a quick soulmates AU where soulmates have matching marks on the sides of their hands // title shamelessly stolen from Mitski's "My Love Mine All Mine"

Rated: T for swearing

Fandom: The WItcher TV

Pairing: Geraskier (Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier), background Yennralt (Yennefer of Vengerber/Geralt of Rivia)

Language: English

He clocks the bard as either noble or a romantic the moment he sees the gloves on his hands. They're subtle, as far as the custom goes, a dark olive colored kidskin with a simple flower button wrapped around his wrist and covering only his thumb. 

It's not satisfying when the bards confirms both to be true on their way to investigate the devil but when they're being kicked by Toruviel, he thinks that if the bard was a full gloved wearing hack then they'd both be dead.

Which also isn't satisfying.

.

The Witcher always wears gloves of a kind, Jaskier determines after a few weeks on the Path together, though out of utility.

Apparently the most dressed down the witcher ever gets is a pair of fingerless gloves worn even to sleep. Something about improving his grip and tendon injuries- Geralt tenses up when he can sense Jaskier wants to ask if witchers even have marks. Jaskier can feel how fragile their friendship is. He doesn't press the issue.

He hopes that puts a mark in his favor.

.

By the end of the season, Geralt determines the bard has no less than seven pairs of gloves- yet only two of them are permitted to actually get dirtied. Two suede pairs to match the colors of his "lover's eyes" (unoriginally brown and blue), three pairs for wearing in town, and a scant two pairs for all his bathing, cooking, and laundry.

It's utterly ridiculous.

Before they part at Ban Glan for the winter, he tells the bard to get more sensible gloves before spring on the Path.

He's at Ard Carraig before he realizes he planned for the bard to join him again.

.

When he returns to Oxenfurt, the two pairs of gloves he has for washing are nearly worn to shreds- he throws them down on the table at the Wishful Warbler with a grin when Shani asks about his travels. He's going on real adventures with his-maybe-friend-Geralt and getting dirty and everything. He spends the winter as a research assistant to Professor Berlyn and learning to make stacks of washing gloves.

His friends, who largely only own a pair or two or have entirely dispensed with the custom, are overrun with gloves of varying quality. Priscilla generously accepts a stack whose thumbs must all be split open to accommodate even her dainty digit.

He manages to barter for a pair of amber saffron dyed kidskin gloves- painstakingly transcribing Metz's treatises on celestial calendars small enough for Valdo Marx to use them as crib notes.

It's worth it.

It's a true lark to set them along with his brown and blue gloves and he whistles when they meet up in the spring and he waggles them in Geralt's face and thinks Geralt is about to strangle him- before the ludacris stack of washing gloves topples out of his bag onto the witcher's lap and he can't help but bark a laugh into Jaskier's delighted face.

.

He knows the bard is, at least, serious about walking the Path when he drops the stack of gloves on Geralt's lap. It's a bit of a child's attempt at adulthood, he admits to himself because he knows it would crush the bard to know twenty years of life does not make a man.

Still, it dampens his concerns of noble nonsense a bit to see where the calluses from needlework have made his fingertips even more knobby alongside the ones from his lute. For all the work Jaskier puts into his hands- carefully filing down his calluses and nails when they crack and rubbing ointments in before he beds down- Geralt can see it's a dedication to practicality and not vanity.

The bard is unconcerned by the healing scars where broken strings have cut into the flesh or the uneven tan marks across the backs of his hands where the different gloves have sat.

.

Jaskier wonders, just a teensy bit, if Geralt's glove wearing excuse isn't a little... weak.

Always needing his full grip strength?

It's a lighthearted solstice evening where he's helping Geralt in the bath when the witcher turns his head to the side, immediately stands up and storms over to the next room (nearly cock out and everything if Jaskier hadn't thought to throw the bath sheet at him) and throws an unwanted suitor off the serving girl.

There's suds dripping out of Geralt's hair all over the floor that he knows he'll wipe up later with the very gloves he's wearing now and Jaskier thinks he is maybe falling in love, for real this time.

.

A handful of times, he catches the bard cooing over marks in taverns. He wonders if it's a bit- some flirtation over how a lass or lad with such lovely signs could possibly take up with a scoundrel like him. 

It's not the most rakish bit he could suspect of the bard- though he notices the bard never takes off his gloves in return. He wears them even in the cities and hamlets where the custom is less common or replaced with simple patches of dyed skin.

It makes him seem damn right virginal to keep them on all the time. 

Perhaps the bard's mark is something obscene- it's not unheard of. If that were true though, he suspects the bard would leverage it into some pickup line about his prowess in bed. 

Perhaps the bard has no marks- a person blessedly free of obligation or destiny. 

He thinks it would be a kinder fate for Jaskier to be free of those kinds of concerns.

.

Jaskier knows his fastidiousness with wearing gloves is a little unusual for the current fashion but he commits to the bit. 

He thinks it's more romantic to have them revealed and thinks his are especially gorgeous; a simple sun on his right hand and a moon on his left, a small comet arcing over each and a few lines he thinks are wind or perhaps clouds. He's seen more ornate or filigreed marks- even the occasional mark with a splash of color- but his marks are so curiously endearing. 

When he links his bare hands together he sees a miniature of the universe and hopes that one day, he may hold his soulmate's marks against his own and feel the world between their hands.

He'll admit he's kept the privilege of the reveal to himself; but he'll be a little selfish if it means he can know to watch their delight when he reveals a world in his hands- a world to share.

He's not sure where his soulmate will fit in this life he's made in Oxenfurt and on the Path, but he never could have predicted the love that's already sprung up in his life already.

.

It's a very late night, or a very very early morning, when Geralt asks Yennefer about her marks- the marks erased when she became a mage.

"Never had one," she says, teasingly tracing the edge of his gloves, "I never needed fate to find love."

In the dark, between a sigh and a moan, his gloves are cast away.

When the sun has properly risen and midday creeps closer, she holds hands between her own.

"Rather provincial, aren't they?" She brings the tender pale flesh of his palm to her mouth and bites playfully, "I'd expect nothing less of a Rivian."

"Not quite a Rivian," he says and gently wriggles his fingers against her jaw, smiling as she can't help laugh and let the marks out of her teeth, "are they to your liking?"

Her answer comes as a carafe of apple juice.

.

It's a hard day: starting with Geralt stumbling through a portal smelling of lilac and gooseberries and ending with Jaskier dragging a nearly-drowned Geralt out of a waterhag's shack.

Two baths were called- a rare luxury in a rickety town- for Jaskier knew a shared bath would end up with at least one of them more disgusting at the end. Geralt is, Melitele be praised, uninjured besides a black eye that blooms stark against the lingering potion-pale pallor he'd had earlier.

The two strip and Jaskier climbs into his bath: Geralt casts a look at the door and cocks his head and throws his pus-soaked gloves straight into the chamberpot.

They soak, side by side,  and chatter tiredly and Jaskier thinks nothing of it when Geralt offers to perk up his water and he sees the moon and comet and dappled lines on Geralt's right hand as he casts Igni into the bath.

The smell of lilac and gooseberries and fucking are starting to sweat out of Geralt's hair and the memories of the wedding feast cut through him, unbidden, and Jaskier should have won another master's degree in performance for the way he blames the jump in his heart on the scalding water.

The curling misery he later blames on the thought of ridding the swamp stench from his boots.

.

Jaskier learns to knit gloves sometime around when Geralt forces himself to admit the bard is past boyhood. It's a rather domestic skill for Jaskier to learn in adulthood, though he claims they're easier to make and repair on the Path: which isn't a lie exactly and the bard does earn them a few coins fiddling with the needles in town and selling the gloves.

The knitted gloves seem to be his preference now- less prone to tearing as they wear and able to go longer without laundering. It's the threads of anxiety beneath it that give Geralt pause, he's been presuming Jaskier was unmarked entirely and wore the gloves for attention, but the longer he guards the little span of flesh the more Geralt thinks a tragedy must lie beneath the scraps of fabric.

Perhaps the person he shared his marks with had rejected him- though Geralt thought that unlikely given how firmly Jaskier had attached himself to Geralt's side despite him trying to outrun the bard for a year. Whoever shared his marks didn't stand a chance against Jaskier's persistence. Against his smile.

Perhaps the person he shared his marks with was already dead. Geralt didn't believe in the machinations of destiny or soulmarks, but that too twisted at him. Jaskier was a scoundrel, yes, but didn't deserve that so early in life. At the very least, it would explain why the bard wasn't concerned to muck with his fate by sharing his time with a witcher.

At the very least, he counts their time together as a blessing now, even if it's stolen from another.

.

Jaskier thinks it's finally time to come clean about his marks- their marks really. Not all marks are about just two people, he knows that, and Yennefer isn't the worst person to share a life with. 

Honestly, he already does- Geralt's adverse to destiny but Yennefer would be sensible working out some kind of custody schedule if they didn't want to invite him in. He shares his life with Geralt, which is more than many soulmates get. He's not even sure he wants more of their lives shared, but the longer he keeps the marks hidden- the more the omission feels like a lie. 

The more he knows he's lying to Geralt.

He figures it's an even shot Geralt that he'll never see him again or he'll be invited to winter at the Kaer.

It turns out he didn't even need the marks to drive Geralt away, being himself was enough. 

"See you around Geralt."

.

A week after the dust settles and the Deathless Mother has been banished from their plane, Geralt notices Jaskier's gloves stretch from wrist to fingertip and when Jaskier is pulled into what is rapidly becoming Yennefer's lab, he can hear a sympathetic pained groan from Yennefer as Jaskier's fingers are rebroken.

.

Geralt knocked against the open door of Jaskier's room: Jaskier kicked another log into the fire-

Geralt should have thought of that.

"Come in," Jaskier said and settled back into the chair before his diary. Geralt saw a page with very few words and many drops of ink smeared across it.

Geralt took the poker and rearranged the wood of the fire to burn more evenly, "Yenn says you haven't been caring for your burns," he coaxed the fire into a more even burn and pressed it further back into the hearth.

There was a long silence, "I can't open the jar," Jaskier admitted.

"You know anyone here would help you, Jask-" he dragged a hand through his hair, had he really fucked it up that badly?

Jaskier's silence said what it needed to.

"I'm sorry I didn't make that clear, Jaskier," he said and saw Jaskier's gaze drop lower, to the page in front of him, "may I help you now?"

"I would like it if you opened the jar," Jaskier said, "I don't want to trouble you any further. And thank you for the fire-"

"It's not trouble, I should-" Geralt huffed a sigh, "I should have thought of it sooner. Thought of you sooner- please, let me help you." 

Geralt could have heard a pin drop on the opposite side of Kaer Morhen as he waited for Jaskier to say something- anything.

He opened the jar of ointment and held on to it, even when Jaskier put a trembling hand out to grasp it, waiting for Jaskier to permit him to tend to the burns. Jaskier gave him a worn look.

Jaskier carefully took his gloves off- his fingers still wracked with the persistent tremors that made the single button at the wrists take an achingly long time to unfasten.

"The draughts help," Jaskier said softly, "but they will take time to subside."

They do not speak of the lute calluses that have started to thin and peel off entirely.

The gloves came off Jaskier's hand- revealing two palms and thumbs soiled by burns. There, amongst the gnarled scars, laid the burst remains of a sun and a moon.

Metz's treatise on the formation of the celestial spheres says the bursting of a sun creates a black hole: swallowing whole planets into its gravitational pull.

Geralt thought, perhaps, he should have considered his own marks when he wondered of Jaskier's for how often their hands touched.

"Don't-" Jaskier started, he took a deep breath and looked at the marks and not at Geralt, "please just the ointment, Geralt," he held out a hand again to take the pot from Geralt.

Geralt took the little pot of ointment, preciously carried in his saddlebags from Cidaris to Gulet to Kaer Morhen, and tugged off his own gloves as well. He carefully scooped out some of the ointment, the smell of dusk campion faint and familiar, and he warmed it between his palms.

He gently dragged his palms over Jaskier's before nimbly working the oil and medicine into his skin, taking care to rub into the creases between his fingers and the bumps of his remaining cuticles. 

Yennefer says the draughts will help the nerves return and the ointment will smooth the burns.

Geralt was careful to be methodical and detached as he covered the marks with beeswax and the scent of campion. He cannot help but imagine the pain that forced Jaskier's sun and moon to bubble and split so wide; the layered burns that distort the comets into slashes of lightning.

He cannot help but wonder why Jaskier didn't leave him to rot.

He cannot help but wonder why soul marks are counted as a blessing when his sun and moon remain clear and smooth while Jaskier's have ruptured into glowing black holes. He must not be an expert, there must be a gap in his knowledge, for he'd once counted Jaskier's dismissal as a blessing.

"Easy there, Geralt," Jaskier said kindly, "there's no reason for all that."

Of course Jaskier could interpret the bite of Geralt's lip and the furrowing of his brow.

Geralt held Jaskier's hands between his own, their suns and moons nearly meeting where the burns didn't warp them, "I'd given up on seeing this," Jaskier said fondly, "our own little world in our hands." He traced Geralt's comet down to the bowl of the moon, "Thank you Geralt, you did a very good job."

"I'm sorry," Geralt managed, "I didn't know."

"I didn't really want you to, would you have received it well?" Jaskier said pointedly, then his voice softened, "it was bad enough I wormed my way beside you- this- Geralt,” he gently squeezed their hands, “This is more than I dreamed of.”

"You should want more," Geralt said, "You should ask for more. I'm sorry-"

"I've said the same of you," Jaskier laughed softly, a rare sound of late, "I've said the same of you many times. Perhaps we can work on this together."

[fibula-rasa]

Would never describe myself as "a bright little patriot" but an all-black outfit with a grape-colored bag absolutely sounds like something I would wear

What are you wearing?

Transcription:

Photoplay, December 1941

Be a bright little patriot and take your color cue from your state flower for the gayest-hued season that's ever dazzled America

BY MARIAN H. QUINN

Alabama…goldenrod

A bright gold wool furless coat with a taupe belt

Arizona…saguaro cactus

Be as draught-resistant and as showy in the Lasso boots on page 60* — maybe a pair of red ones

Arkansas…apple blossom

The apple-blossom pink and blue wool striped collars and cuffs on your wool dress

California…golden poppy

The gold buttons you'll wear on anything; maybe they'll be massive carved ones for your suit

Colorado…columbine

A purple crepe lining for your black day suit

Connecticut…mountain laurel

The new plaid combination — purple with mountain-laurel pink, navy blue and white

Delaware…peach blossom

A wool dress the color of peach blossoms under your dark coat.

Florida…orange blossom

A needlepoint purse worked in orange-blossom pattern

Georgia…cherokee rose

A simple white crepe dinner skirt; a sweater of yellow pailettes

Idaho…syringa

White or cream rayon slipper satin waltz dress; wear a black snood and black gloves with it

Illinois…wood violet

Violet silk stockings (honest!) with your violet evening dress

Indiana…zinnia

Be as vivid in a bright orange or red hat worn with black

Iowa…wild rose

Sequins forming a pattern of roses all over your evening bag

Kansas…sunflower

Bright woolen jacket of orange; matching orange gloves

Kentucky…goldenrod

Circular yoke of gold crocheted yarn topping a black wool

Louisiana…magnolia

Magnolia-pink rose on the big pillow muff of black lace you'll carry with your chemise dress

Maine…pine cone

New combination of pine-cone brown with baroque pink

Maryland…black-eyed susan

Smart suit: A black jacket with a yellow skirt

Massachusetts…mayflower

Interpret it broadly; be shipshape in a wine middy-top dress

Michigan…apple blossom

Pale pink crepe blouse; deeper pink jacket; black skirt

Minnesota…moccasin flower

Soft-soled moccasins of gold-trimmed white kid for dancing

Mississippi…magnolia

Pink velvet piping on your black dress

Missouri…hawthorn

A waist-length red velvet cape trimmed with jet for evening

Montana…bitterroot

A whole suit of peachy pink for the tea-dancing hour

Nebraska…goldenrod

The gold service insignia of your beau on the left-hand (nearest the heart) glove

Nevada…sagebrush

Sage-green shoes to go with a sage-green monotone costume

New Hampshire…purple lilac

Clogs of purple satin for your purple dance dress

New Jersey…violet

A purple felt hat with your dark blue wool suit

New Mexico…yucca

A creamy white dog collar of pearls to make you as imposing

New York…rose

Red-as-the-rose red with black; perhaps knitted red gloves

North Carolina…oxeye daisy

A snow-white angora felt cloche with a yellow grosgrain band

North Dakota…wild prairie rose

Belt with a buckle that's made of a cowhide prairie-wagon wheel

Ohio…scarlet carnation

Carnation-red wool jacket piped in black to wear with a black skirt

Oklahoma…mistletoe

The dress on page 63**; wear it and see what happens

Oregon…Oregon grape

A grape-colored suede bag, only contrast to an all-black outfit

Pennsylvania…mountain laurel

Pink brushed-wool hat for your dark suit

Rhode Island…violet

A violet plaid tweed coat

South Carolina…jessamine

Over your black dress wear a tight-waisted tunic of yellow wool

South Dakota…pasqueflower

A purple wool suit and its surefire accessory—a yellow sweater or blouse

Tennessee…iris

The lining of the black peplum on your black wool, a blue as deep as the iris

Texas…bluebonnet

Blue suede gloves, blue velvet bag as an accessory team

Utah…sego lily

The white and orange cockade of finely pleated ribbon on your red velour hat

Vermont…red clover

A clover-red corduroy dress

Virginia…dogwood

A creamy satin waistcoat to wear over a black-velvet skirt

Washington…rhododendron

Deep pink snakeskin gloves to match the belt on a black dress

W. Virginia…great rhododendron

Combine a pale pink with Dublin green in a jacket; wear it over a nut-brown dress

Wisconsin…violet

Dog collar of purple velvet on your beige dress

Wyoming…Indian paintbrush

A harlequin necklace; one side orange-red, one side green

*aforementioned boots for Arizona:

**aforementioned dress for Oklahoma:

[sheliesshattered]

I finished my lightsaber bag last weekend, but work has been so hectic that I haven't really had the time to take photos and write up a post about it until now.

The finished bag, when closed like this, is 39" long and 5" wide. It fits my lightsaber (hilt with 28" blade attached) just perfectly, and it's so nice and soft and padded inside that I feel like my saber is protected from most things it would encounter either at home or out in the world. I wouldn't check it as airline baggage in just this bag, but short of that it feels pretty secure.

The top flap closes with a large strip of brown velcro, which makes it quick and easy to get my saber out when I need it. That faux-suede fabric I used for the lining is a bit grippy, and the interior of the bag is too narrow to get even my tiny raccoon hands into, so it takes just the right amount of force (no pun intended) to draw the lightsaber out of the bag. Even with the flap open, there isn't much risk of the saber just falling out of the bag.

The fake pocket flap in the middle of the bag, near the right edge of the above picture, hides another bit of velcro, which allows me to close off the bag at a slightly shorter length by folding the top flap down even further, until the velcro on the left side of the picture meets up with the underside of that flap. I didn't get any pictures of that, since it's really only usable when I separate the hilt and blade of my saber, which is just fiddly enough that I prefer to keep them attached when I can. But it does give me the option, say for a Disney trip, to remove the hilt and wear it on my belt, and then have just the blade in the bag, with the bag being a little bit shorter and lighter and easier to carry onto rides and such.

The pocket at the lower end of the bag is sized for carrying the hex wrench and little screws needed for attaching the blade to the hilt, and also has enough room to tuck the charging cable in there as well.

I've taken to storing my fingerless leather gloves clipped onto the bag, just so they're handy for practicing with the saber every evening. I've built up a good repertoire of flow arts combinations, training on both hands pretty equally, and find that my frequently achy wrists and shoulders are much happier for the routine. I'm hoping to get video of it soon.

When I'm not using my saber, it lives in the bag hung from a hook on the wall. I might like to eventually have a dedicated hook at something closer to waist level, but for now this higher up coat hook works just fine.

The carrying strap took a little bit of fiddling around with to figure out what was most comfortable (even though the whole thing is easily under 5lbs, probably closer to 3), but looped through the top ring and then clipped at the bottom seems to be the winning combination. I can pull the bag on over my head, but the easier thing is to unclip the big S carabiner from the lower ring. The strap isn't permanently attached to the bag anywhere, so I can experiment with other arrangements or even other straps in the future, if I want to.

The chalk guidelines from when I put the lettering on are still showing up somewhat in these photos, but in person they're hardly noticeable. I may do another erasing pass on them at some point, and I still haven't decided if I want to do some weathering with fabric paints or just leave it as is. Generally I'm really happy with how it turned out, but it's nice to know that I can easily make a few more adjustments to it if I feel like it.

But the next thing I want to spend some time working on is the lightsaber hilt itself. I picked out this particular combination of pieces knowing that I wanted to do some practical weathering on it. The hilt is made from aluminum with a nice matte black finish over top, and I've seen lots of examples online of the difference that sanding that surface makes to the overall look of the saber. Now that I've gotten to know the saber and figured out where my hands naturally want to hold it most often, it's just going to be a matter of getting in there with some sandpaper and starting to take off that black paint in a few places.

I've also been toying with the idea of adding a bit of heat bluing to the emitter using paints, and I think all those details will really help it look more like the 'fragile antique' that the bag proclaims it to be. Modifying my saber like that is a bit daunting, but I have a pretty good idea of what I want the hilt to look like when it's finished, so it's really just a matter of carving out some time to take pieces of the hilt apart and strategically attack them with sandpaper.

And besides that, the only thing I still need for Star Wars Nite is the actual tickets to Star Wars Nite, lol. We're coming up on the end of our third week with our new client, and we have a better idea of when the major milestones and deadlines are in April and May, so hopefully Jack and I can sit down soon and figure out when we want to head back to Batuu.

[mybeingthere]

Embroiderer’s Guild of Victoria describes these marvellous gloves: “In Tudor times (1485 to 1603) in England, the most common gifts to be exchanged were gloves. Presents were given on New Year’s Eve rather than at Christmas.Christmas was not originally seen as a time for celebration and gift giving, but an opportunity for quiet prayer and reflection. By the High Middle Ages (1000 - 1300) Christmas had become the most prominent religious celebration in Europe, signalling the beginning of Christmastide, or the Twelve Days of Christmas as they are more commonly known today. 

So, in the spirit of the approaching New Year, we’re starting a series looking at needlework decorating gloves. This pair of women’s gloves is made of a light brown leather with a suede finish. It features deep gauntlets of embroidered white satin featuring a vase of flowers containing a Tudor rose, trimmed with gold lace and spangles, with a narrow band of pink silk at the wrist. These were made in England, ca.1610 - 1630.

These gloves are in the collection of the National Museums Scotland at https://www.nms.ac.uk/explore-o…/collection-search-results/…”

[chic-a-gigot]

Le Petit écho de la mode, no. 10, vol. 19, 7 mars 1897, Paris. 9. (1) Costume tailleur en drap "vison" et galon mohair brun. (2) Costume en serge bleu matelot. (3) Devant de la figure 1. (4) Costume en drap mousseline vert russe. (5) Robe de drap gris nickel. (6) Toilette en drap ivoire. (7) Toilette en serge mastic et velours cigare. (8) Costume en serge rouge et drap blanc. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

(1) Costume tailleur en drap "vison" et galon mohair brun. Jupe fronde, montée à fronces derrière, garnie au bas de 5 rangs de galon mohair; la même garniture se répète deux fois à mi-jupe en formant la pointe devant et se terminant derrière sous les fronces. Jaquette ajustée devant et derrière sous des plis ronds qui partent de l’encolure, garniture de soutache formant V, col Médicis orné de soutache, manches à deux coutures, peu amples du haut. Chapeau très enlevé derrière orné de plumes noires et violettes de Parme.

(1) Tailored suit in “mink” cloth and brown mohair braid. Sling skirt, gathered with gathers at the back, trimmed at the bottom with 5 rows of mohair braid; the same trim is repeated twice at mid-skirt, forming the point in front and ending behind under the gathers. Fitted jacket front and back under round pleats starting from the neckline, soutache trim forming a V, Medici collar decorated with soutache, two-seam sleeves, not very loose at the top. Hat very removed at the back decorated with black and purple Parma feathers.

Mater.: 7 m. drap, environ 3 pièces dé 25 m. de galon.

—

(2) Costume en serge bleu matelot. Jupe ronde, montée à plis derrière, garnie de chaque côté du devant de petites pattes simulées par des galons mohair et ornées de petits boutons. Corsage très ajusté, à basque assez longue et plate, fermé devant par des petites pattes contrariées, col droit, manches découpées en petites pattes au bas, le haut monté à fronces et légèrement bouffant, volant de soie au bas des manches, col droit. Toque de géraniums et velours, ornée d’une aigrette. Gants de suède foncé.

(2) Sailor blue serge suit. Round skirt, fitted with pleats at the back, trimmed on each side of the front with small tabs simulated by mohair braid and decorated with small buttons. Very fitted bodice, with a fairly long and flat peplum, closed in front with small crossed tabs, straight collar, sleeves cut into small tabs at the bottom, the top fitted with gathers and slightly puffed, silk flounce at the bottom of the sleeves, straight collar. Toque of geraniums and velvet, decorated with an egret. Dark suede gloves.

Matér.: 7 m. de serge en 1m20 de large, 10 m. galon mohair, 5 douzaines de boutons.

—

(3) Devant de la figure 1.

—

(4) Costume en drap mousseline vert russe. Jupe ronde, ornée de fine passementerie noire formant tablier devant, terminée sous les fronces derrière. Corsage court très ajusté, agrafé au milieu du devant sous une chute de mousseline de soie noire plissée. garniture de passementerie comme à la jupe, ceinture de même fermée sur le côté, col droit uni. Toque de velours vert ornée de plumes noires.

(4) Russian green muslin cloth suit. Round skirt, decorated with fine black trimmings forming an apron in front, finished under the gathers at the back. Very fitted short bodice, stapled at the center front under a drop of pleated black silk chiffon. trimmings as on the skirt, belt also closed on the side, plain straight collar. Green velvet hat decorated with black feathers.

—

(5) Robe de drap gris nickel. — Jupe corselet agrafée sur le côté, garnie de biais posés les uns au-dessus des autres, devant ajusté par des pinces et le derrière formant des plis pour donner de l’ampleur à la jupe. Corsage boléro garni de biais rappelant ceux de la jupe, col rabattu en velours vert terminé par deux boutons, ce boléro s’ouvre sur une chemisette lingerie avec petit col rabattu et cravate de satin noir. Chapeau en chenille noire orné de velours vert et plumes noires. Manches recouvertes du haut par trois biais. Chapeau coulissé en tulle orné plumes noires.

(5) Nickel gray cloth dress. — Corselet skirt stapled on the side, trimmed with bias placed one above the other, the front adjusted with darts and the back forming pleats to give fullness to the skirt. Bolero bodice trimmed with bias reminiscent of those of the skirt, green velvet turn-down collar finished with two buttons, this bolero opens onto a lingerie shirt with small turn-down collar and black satin tie. Black chenille hat decorated with green velvet and black feathers. Sleeves covered at the top by three biases. Sliding hat in tulle decorated with black feathers.

Matér.: 10 m. de drap, 0m50 velours.

—

(6) Toilette en drap ivoire. Jupe ronde, garnie de petit galon très fin, or ou argent. Corsage à basque plate fermé par des petites pattes boutonnées, col droit, ruche de mousseline desoie, cascade de même mousseline plissée sur le devant. Toque en velours géranium ornée de mêmes fleurs et aigrette.

(6) Ensemble in ivory cloth. Round skirt, trimmed with very fine little braid, gold or silver. Flat peplum bodice closed with small buttoned tabs, straight collar, ruffle of silk chiffon, cascade of the same pleated muslin on the front. Geranium velvet toque decorated with the same flowers and egret.

Matér.: 7 m. drap, 3 pièces de 25 m. de galon.

—

(7) Toilette en serge mastic et velours cigare. Jupe ronde tout unie, montée à plis derrière, corsage-veste à revers de velours arrondis, la veste est courte devant et s’ouvre sur un gilet de piqué blanc surmonté d’un col droit, même col droit à la veste, doublé de velours. Manches d’une seule pièce avec revers de velours. Toque.de violettes avec choux de velours et aigrette de plumes.

(7) Ensemble in putty twill and cigar velvet. Plain round skirt, fitted with pleats behind, bodice-jacket with rounded velvet lapels, the jacket is short in front and opens onto a white pique vest topped with a straight collar, same straight collar to the jacket, lined with velvet. One-piece sleeves with velvet cuffs. Violet hat with velvet puffs and feather aigrette.

Matér.: 7 m. de serge. 0 m 55 de piqué.

—

(8) Costume en serge rouge et drap blanc. Jupe ronde, ornée au bas de plusieurs rangs de piqûres. Corsage-veste ajusté complètement du dos, les devants doubles forment veste boléro arrondie aux bas et garnie de piqûres, col haut orné piqûres, gilet plat surmonté d’un col droit, bouton retenant le col. Manches ornées piqûres au bas. Chapeau paille rouge orné pouf de plumes noires, aigrette et roses rouge.

(8) Suit in red serge and white cloth. Round skirt, decorated at the bottom with several rows of stitching. Bodice-jacket fitted completely from the back, the double fronts form a bolero jacket rounded at the bottom and trimmed with stitching, high collar decorated with stitching, flat vest topped with a straight collar, button holding the collar. Sleeves decorated with stitching at the bottom. Red straw hat decorated with black feathers, egret and red roses.

Mater.: 7 m. tissu, 0m55 drap.