#corporal strappi

[aspiring-creative-person]

Oh um…. So I promised and I never posted these…. Anyway imma just leave these here 😅

I made these when I was most of the way through the book, before ever looking at the Tumblr fandom. Gotta say based on my interpretation I was shocked that ppl shipped Polly and Maladict 😂😂

Anyway hope you enjoy!!

[y3ager]

MATERIAL GIRL.

— and what do you give the girl who has everything? two rich boyfriends!

jean k. x eren y. x black!fem!reader

tags: modern au, fluff, polyamorous relationship. socialite!reader. lovergirldeepdown!reader. 4k word count. inspired by this blurb.

HAILING FROM OLD money— your father the CEO of a century old automobile brand and your mother the third generation runway model—you have seen all there is to see, worn what there is to wear, had every priceless stone dangle from your neck and fingers, and tasted the most decadent of foods. the belief that just superficial things would be enough to sway you offends you greatly. if you don’t have it, you will have it as if it’s your right at this point. it takes much more than dinner and a yacht ride to make you squeal.

and that’s what’s so tiring about the whole dating scene. the pool is filled to the brim with arrogant nepotism babies in khaki shorts and sweaters around their shoulders. they’ll never worry about a thing because daddy kisses the ass of this man and mommy grins in the face of that woman, and by god, do they make it known. if another man brags about owning original modigliani pieces over dinner, he’ll be met with an oyster shell to the eye. who are you supposed to be, some bright-eyed influencer? please. check the pedigree.

things changed when you met them, however. one in the summer, and one in the winter.

you were on the jet back home from italy when hitch, a girl you’ve known since you were a tyke, bombarded your phone with messages about christening her new penthouse with a pool party you just had to come to, lest she’d drag you there. after confirming your attendance, you rolled back over in the white leather reclining seat and pulled your silk eye mask back down, making a mental note to get your braids refreshed and place an order for a new bikini.

you’re reborn as a literal doll, the braids on the left side of your head coaxed into an intricate butterfly while the others lay flat against your scalp in faultless rows and hang low to your hipbones. white, white, white everywhere, from the nails, the strappy swimsuit, the miu miu sandals; a beautiful contrasts against your glistening ebon skin dusted with body shimmer for good measure. perfect, as usual.

hitch’s new high rise penthouse is something out of a multimillion dollar budget drama, with its dozens of crystal clear windows and modern interior. sitting far away enough from the city to avoid the hustle and bustle, but close enough to gaze at the twinkling lights, it’s practically a palace for the dreyse corporation heir.

champagne flute filled with 1820 juglar cuvée, you mingle amongst the next generation of the one percent. hitch’s friends, and your friends by proxy you assume, are a breath of fresh air. human.

but there’s one person amongst the gaggle you don’t recognize. from your spot next to the slightly tispy miss dreyse, your dark eyes glance over the rim of your ivory framed sunnies, glass rim tapping absentmindedly against lined, glossed lips. light brown mullet, slightly tanned skin, dark brown eyes...

“hitchie...” your elbow gently bumps into the blonde’s sides, snatching her out of her mild stupor. “who’s that?” you ask innocently, gesturing with your half full flute. it’s casual, inquisitive.

hitch squints a little bit, pure concentration written all over her features as she tries to put a name to the face. “oh!” when the name comes to her, her hand meets the back of your shoulder in a kinda hard slap, totally unintentional, of course. “jean, kirschtein! you know, from-” a hiccup interrupts her introduction, making her burst into a quick giggle. “-the oil company.”

the pieces begin to come together, you know the names all of the elite; the braun’s, the leonhart’s, the ackerman’s, names listed amongst yours and names you close deals with. clans with power, influence, wealth, distinction.

he, jean, is walking over now; casual with an easy stride that shows he’s in no rush, he’s confident. he pays his respects to the girl of the hour, congratulating her on her new playhouse before her attention is diverted by another guest calling her name to get her to come over there. hitch slips off, but not before discreetly tapping your lower back in excitement; an unspoken ‘get him.’

“jean,” he introduces himself, extending his hand in a polite greeting. “i wanted to speak to hitch, but i wanted to talk to you, too. you are breathtaking.” his eyes drink you in, from head to toe, even though they’ve been roaming your frame since you first caught his attention. the heir simply cannot get enough. “but you get told that a lot, yes?”

“thank you.” your lips spread into a small smile, one hand slipping into his larger one as the other pulls off your sunnies, sticking one of the arms down into your top. “i’m ___” jean bore a lean swimmer’s build, dark navy beach shorts hung low on his hips, and his tanned skin decorated with a dusting of faint, brown freckles over his body. years of private villas and yachts, no doubt. he was impossibly tall, too, you find yourself having to gently tilt your head back to see his face fully. it was cute from afar, maturely handsome up close. was that a faint hint of a mustache? it was hot.

jean repeats your name slowly, enjoying the feeling of that line of syllables rolling off his tongue. “i’d love to get to know you more. ___, you’re so beautiful. i have to impress you somehow. name it,” his other hand comes up to rest of top of yours, successfully encasing it in a gentle hold. an excuse to touch you just a little bit more. “i’ll make it happen.”

your smile becomes a grin, and your dark eyes glint mischievously under your delicate lashes. one quick test, because where’s the fun in not initiating one? you just want to see what he’d say, pick at his brain. what sweet words will he spin from his golden cords now? “but jean,” you begin softly, “what if i was the type of girl that liked a man that took control? told me we were doing this, at this time, on this day, and in my prettiest red dress?”

“it’d be rude, ___, at least in my eyes, to so quickly assume i had a right to your time, and drag you around this way and that. allow me the privilege of occupying your time, and space.”

before you can catch it, one of your expertly threaded and sculpted eyebrows quirks up in mild surprise. you beckon him a bit closer to your face with a wave of your acrylics. “good answer,” you tease, honeyed voice playful and whispery. “phone? i can put my number in, and we can talk about how you can try to romance me when i have my schedules laid out in front of me.” you watch as he fishes the device out of his shorts pocket.

you were captivating afar, but up close with your tawny skin soft, glittery, and emanating an intoxicating vanilla scent, your dark eyes glistening with mirth and playfulness… it makes jean’s body go into some type of shock, his heart plummeting to his feet and his blood running cold but racing through his veins at the same time.

“well then,” you chime as you save your digits into the millionaire’s phone, the contact simply your name with no bells or whistles to adorn it. “i hope we can get to know each soon, mr. kirschtein.”

jean thinks that pearly white smile will be the death of him.

…

every year, no matter what, your father throws his annual christmas party. you long assumed that it brings him a special type of happiness because your normally humble father goes all out for them, each year being better than the last. he flies out the best chefs in the world to cook for hours, orders the tallest, greenest tree for the foyer, and has the house cleaned til someone could check their reflection in the perfect marble floors. when it comes to this, the man skimps on nothing.

you take it upon yourself to make the most of it, requesting custom design dresses from the most exclusive sewing tables over in Europe, shoes fresh from the runway. only the very best for you, the heiress, the crème de la crème, the girl who has never known the word no.

“dance with me?”

you had been absentmindedly swirling your wine glass by its delicate stem, attempting to place its origin (red, tart-like with its cranberry flavor and a strange orange bite near the end), when you’re approached. once you turn your head, you’re meet with striking green eyes and a sharp little smile.

“you looked bored, and that’s what these parties are for, right?”

eren yeager, the german-american son of grisha and carla yeager, 2nd generation genius neurosurgeon with a net worth in the 7 figures, and the just-as-talented, third generation wedding gown designer. according to the rumor mill, after graduating in the top of class in one of those ivy’s upstate, he gallivanted across the country (no, the world) as the not-so-favorable yeager son. of course, there are entirely too many eyes on the yeager clan for grisha to do too much of anything and a son can do no wrong in a doting mother’s eyes; so eren is left free to his disagreeable desires. everyone wonders how long that will last.

steely dark eyes and your naturally neutral face does nothing to deter him. you decide to indulge him, slipping your hand into his and raising up, allowing him the luxury of whisking you to the dance floor. “i guess i don’t see why not.”

“great.” his hand is soft and a little cool against your own, the woody, cedar notes of penhaligon the inimitable gently wafting off his skin and pressed shirt. unbeknownst to you, a few pairs of eyes bore into yeager’s back. the arrogance he has to whisk you away so early into the party, especially with it being his first one. if eren was the wiser, he’d revel in their envy.

there’s a handful of other couples waltzing across the floor when you two arrive. your fingers thread through his as his free hand finds a respectful place on your waist, blessed with the feeling of the smooth skin exposed by the opening in your dress.

no matter how much money your father makes, he’s an old black man at heart. old r&b plays from the expensive sound system he had installed, tevin campbell’s can we talk playing through the speakers. the irony of the situation isn’t lost on you. nonetheless, you hum nonchalantly to the tune and glide around the floor with your partner.

“i gotta ask, do you enjoy these things? or does your dad put you up to it?” your arm is held above your head and you’re spun around in a quick circle before being guided back to eren’s chest. face still impartial, you nod your head towards your five o clock, the wavy blonde strands dangling from your delicate updo tickling your face. a table teems with gifts for you and you only, bachelors from afar vying for a wisp of your attention with shiny, expensive gifts. they fail to realize that a girl like yourself isn’t so easily bought. but, it’s their money not yours, and few things in life bring you greater joy than pulling ribbon and wrapping paper from luxury brand boxes.

“of course i do. i’m not ‘put up’ to anything. i dress up, i get my presents. what isn’t there to love?” manicured hand splayed across the man’s back, you’re dipped towards the floor. you’re one to give credit where credit is due, yeager is a good dancer; the confidence in his movements isn’t a lame front and he maintains the delicate balance between taking the lead and dragging his poor partner around. since this is suddenly an interview, you have questions of your own. “when i have time to go through them, will i find your name on anything?”

“of course you will. be pretty damn rude to show up to a party empty handed. especially when it might be my only chance to get a gift for the princess.” a name your normally cringe and scrunch your nose at sounds surprisingly nice passing by his lips. he grinned boyishly. “no hints.”

“i can wait. for your sake, i hope it’s no ring. it’s going straight into the garbage.” just the thought of such a “present” makes your blood want to boil. who raised these “men”? i mean honestly, what brain dead fool buys a ring for a girl who didn’t even know his face? and expected her to wear it? you would sooner die and go to hell first.

“no way someone is that dumb. you’re fucking with me.”

“what do i have to lie for?”

"well, taking a look at these guests, i take it back. some of these bastards look dumb enough to pull a stunt like that." eren scans the array of guests over your shoulder, and you can't even feign offense for your father's sake. scanning over a guestlist for former flames and explaining why you didn't want them in attendance would take too much time, and you really didn't feel like explaining "relationship troubles" to your dad of all people. loved him as much as you did that really wasn't his business. besides, watching them shiver and skulk away from your disinterested and annoyed glance made up for everything. "are you a betting woman?"

"did you waste grisha's money on a degree in journalism?" your eyebrows furrow and eren laughs again.

"you're funny, ___. most of our peers aren't so witty. and if it so pleases her majesty, i want to bet on the odds of one of these dumbasses putting a ring under your tree." eren's green eyes stare down into yours, gleaming with playfulness, mirth, and confidence. "what do you say? someone does, and we can go on a date, just us two, and you can smile and laugh a little bit."

"and if there's no ring?"

"i'll leave you alone and fall in place in your long string of broken hearts."

luck has always been on your side. look at the family you were in born in, the riches that are your birthright! the universe has never dealt you a bad hand and surely wouldn’t start now. and worse case scenario, you hang out with one of the few men that can mark your plump lips twitch in the shadow of a giggle. “fine.” your brown eyes meet his green, and neither of the waver. “deal.”

several days later, gifts from around the globe surround you. handbags, shoes, dresses, envelopes bursting with cash; you’ll have to tell your dad you need some walls knocked down in your already spacious closet to make room for more. amidst all this, though, a godforsaken ring is gripped between your fingers. if looks could kill, it would melting and dripping from your grasp. holding it like it’s contaminated, you snap a picture to send to yeager:

‘i’m free the 3rd weekend and tuesdays.’

…

as temperatures rise again, you spend the next few months allowing jean kirstein and eren yeager the luxury of whisking you away when your schedule permits.

the former is a bit... old fashioned, in a good way! you're led off to slow paced, cozy dates; the two of you roaming italian streets, attending shows in their original opera houses, he never strayed you out of the bubble you two were born in. it was casual, soft, predictable in a good way.

eren on the other hand, spent money like it would burn through his pocket if it sat there too long. he spent money like a man who just felt its crispness in his palms and was addicted to the feeling, knowing deep down it'd never stop flowing for him. you're frequenting the night scene in your tight, revealing dress, his firm hands on your hips as you two grind to the pounding beats. shopping spree dates that lasted all day, if your hand so much as brushed it, it was bought, packaged up, and in the car. spontaneous flights abroad, stealing you away for weekends. it was exhilarating.

they both provide the things you're looking for. jean is the type of man you imagine yourself settling down with one day, when the whole young and turnt shtick melts away into something more domestic and slow paced. he has gentle hands and treats you so delicately, softly. his reliability will be something you can learn to lean on and need.

eren could possibly be that type of man too, but for now he has a fire, impulses that keep you oh so entertained. having everything in the world gets boring, and eren brings that spark that you crave.

you ruminate at your vanity. hair tied down and tucked away under a silky soft bonnet, you run your gua sha across your moisturized face, long sweeping strokes that end with a gentle tug. eye masks rest on your face, your feet clothed by a exfoliating mask, and a fluffy robe envelopes your body. you stare at your reflection, you're the only one who gets you.

you're really at a crossroads. you choosing between something is unheard of. you're ___, you get everything you deserve and want tenfold. you like jean, you like eren. the way they look at you with such adoration, how their hands and lips caress your body, the sweets words they declare, and how every promise they've made to you remains unbroken, oh how they must certainly feel the same for you.

as greedy as it may make you sound, you want both. your cake and to eat it too. two of your richest peers fawning over you day in and day out, them caring for you and you caring for them. them loving you, and you loving them. it’s a dream that will be your reality.

…

after a long day at sea on one of many jean’s yachts, the sun beaming down on not only the beautiful blue water but the two of you, entangled in each other’s arms, docks at the private harbor.

you’re running your fingers through your french curl braids as jean talks to one of the dock’s attendees, slightly sleepy from your sunbathing session. the gentle breeze of the day brings the smell of saltwater up to your nostrils and you hear seagulls squawking from spots on the wooden posts. obviously, a day at the water leaves you craving seafood, juicy lobster tails with a decadent pasta on the side. your daydreams of the soon to be dinner are interrupted by an extremely familiar “yo!”

heads turn, and it’s none other than eren striding across the dock’s walkway towards where you and jean are standing. his green eyes shine at the sight of you, the hot pink of your two piece bikini a perfect contrast to your skin and showing curves and bends he’d worship for the rest of his life. oh, and jean’s here too.

another woman might falter, her heart catching in her throat and sweat beading up on her flesh as her suitors stand before her, but you’re the epitome of calm, brown eyes smoothly meeting eren’s. there’s no ring on your finger, and besides, you know what you’re after right now.

“haven’t seen you in a while, yeager.” knowing it’d be cliche, jean fights against the urge to wrap a protective arm around your waist. “done gallivanting the world?”

“seen all there is to see kirschtein, and you say that like it’s insult. what use is money if it just sits in accounts collecting dust.” eren looks at you again, god you’re a sight for sore eyes. “especially when there’s a woman like her to spend it on.”

jean’s eyes can’t help but to roll. what a cornball. “well, good chat, but ___ and i are on a little time crunch. i’m taking her to niccolo’s, especially after being on the water.” his hand slips into yours, taking charge but not tugging you along. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like this side of him.

“well, now that you mention it, i could go for some niccolo’s too.” eren’s grin is shit-eating. what a cute dynamic these too have, one you know has a bit more bite to it when a lady isn’t in their presence. “how about i join? matter of fact, my treat.”

“that won’t be necessary.”

“i insist.”

“you two would argue all day if i let you,” you interrupt this small tussle, and now their attention is back on you. a manicured hand raises up to cover your small yawn. “like an old married couple.”

“it’s all in good fun,” eren’s shoulder nudges jean, and if jean had lasers for eyes, the youngest heir to yeager fortune would be a pile of dust before your feet. “we go way back.”

jean ignores him entirely, but eren finds it hilarious. “what he’s suggesting is insane, ___.”

you give a gentle shrug of your shoulder, coyness at the ready. “it’s nothing serious, it’s a lunch date between friends, and i bet you’d like to catch up.”

jean’s jaw tenses. he turns to you completely as eren looks on curiously. “i think it’s a sign that you say that, ___. i’ve been meaning to have this conversation with you for a while. yes, we are friends, but i want to be more with you.”

this moment, with the waves crashing across the dock, the sun illuminating the two of you, jean clasping your hands tight, would’ve been a soft, tender, picturesque one had it not been for eren’s booming laughter.

“oh, so now this is a pissing contest, huh, jean? well, since we’re confessing feelings, i have my own to speak for you.” his outburst breaks your gaze, and you and jean both turn in unison. “___, i want you to be my girlfriend, and i’ve felt this way for a while. i’ve been waiting for just the perfect moment, but i can’t let this jack-off take this one for himself right?” comically, you’re put between them, each of your hands in theirs.

“i…” this takes tact, a delicate way of stringing together words and honestly, with their eyes boring into yours, you find yourself falling just a touch short.

“i respect any decision you make,” jean assures.

“___, i will do anything for you,” eren promises.

any decision. anything.

you bit your bottom lip, hands minutely twitching in their clasp. you lean in neither direction, at the center of them. “any?”

and then there’s a beat of silence. and everyone’s looking at each other. this feels like a scene in a sitcom, something that should be accompanied with a laugh-track, but there’s no closed mouth that’s been fed.

“because in the time i’ve gotten to know both of you, i’ve begin to care for both of you. and i’ve made great memories with the two of you. i know i could make even more. i don’t value any time spent with you over each other’s.” your voice shakes just a tiny, tiny bit, vulnerability creeping in. “you too make me… so happy.”

eren cuts the silence first, ever the impulsive one. “i’ll do it.”

“you cut me off,” jean quickly interjects. eren really puts him on his toes, ignites an aggressive fire deep within, steps on just the right nerves. “i’m doing it too.”

“i said i’d do anything.”

“and i said i’d respect any decision.”

“okay!” you voice crashes down like a gavel. “okay. i’m glad that you two are hearing me out,” a smile tugs at your glossed lips, this feels so easy and lighthearted, a stark contrast from the seriousness you impose upon yourself. already, you feel yourself loosening up, because the two of them bring out the true, relaxed you like nothing else can. “but for our sanity the bickering needs to come down a notch before we all kill each other, yeah?”

two strong pairs of arms envelop you. it takes some effort, but you wrap your own around the two of them. three heads together, you find yourselves laughing. a weight eases of your shoulders, but not because you got your way, but because you know this is the death of a mask created by the circle you were born in. a mask that hides the love you can feel in an attempt to guard it.

“well, we won’t kill you.”

nov 13. 2021. nov 9. 2023. i nearly gave up. i almost threw in the towel. but goddammit she’s done. praise god.

[daddymilker691]

Stephen worked for an upmarket research company just off Sloane Square in Chelsea’s more affluent area he was was a hard worker and determined to climb the corporate ladder his elder boss Mr Pliable handed out an invitation to all his staff it was to attend a fancy dress costume in a Chelsea wine bar Mr Jenkins from accounts went as superman dear old Mr jones went as Corporal Jones from Dads Army I’ll show them Stephen thought as he applied mascara and adjusted his stockings , well you could have heard a pin drop when Stephen walked in his fellow workers gasped in amazement and it has to be said some delight as the evening wore on young Stephen found his wine glass constantly refilled until he felt quite giddy staggering to the tube on his silver strappy heels he thought to himself they could have got me a taxi but one thing he had been assured of was that he had climbed to dizzy heights up that corporate ladder .

[chumpovodir]

i don't have it in me at the moment to make a long, detailed rant about this but r/castlevania's insistence that games!Isaac is a lesser character for being a "self-harm obsessed, shallow BDSM playboy that only serves as an inciting incident" compared to N!Isaac?

first of all, i think y'all are letting anime stereotypes from the early 2000s massively color your opinion and it's really obvious you didn't bother looking at his character any deeper than that. edit: i'm putting this under a cut because it was actually, in hindsight, a pretty long post lmao

"BDSM playboy"? my man was sitting in the ruins of his home for 3 goddamn years letting the clothes rot off his back, in no condition to care about his appearance and with precious little materials to forge something new. you could also argue that his skimpy look is a mark of his arrogance (already well-established by his fight with Hector previously, and feeling so cocksure he sends his Devil away and even arms Hector with a sword, confident he could easily take him in a fair fight), going into battle barely clothed as a show of faith in his own skill after playing Hector like a fiddle. or even as a radical show of his devotion, the Devil Forgemasters crest embedded in his skin for the world to see; the fact that the physical marks of his position may fade away, but it goes so much deeper than that - it's seared into his very flesh, and will only die when he and his corporeal form finally leave this earth. also, it just speaks to a really shallow understanding of BDSM in general to associate "skimpy strappy outfit = kinky"

"self-harm obsessed"? first of all, where is ANYONE getting this notion from the game itself?? (considering there's a very low chance these people even know about the mangas) there is literally no scene in-game where he self-harms - further proof people are grafting a grab bag of stereotyped character traits onto him when the canon doesn't support it. if this is about his tattoos, i consider this a bit of a reach, but then i don't regularly associate tattoos with masochism.

there is of course this one, singular panel from Prelude to Revenge where we see him slitting his wrists:

but the context here makes it clear: 1) he's doing this as a morbid way to mark the passage of time and 2) most likely in response to the sheer contrast between him and Hector's respective situations - how would you feel seeing the guy who was at least partially responsible for your predicament living a happy life, while you're forced to live in the abandoned ruins of your home, constantly surrounded by all that you've lost? this is an act being shown when he's at his very lowest.

and this is the only instance we actually see - there is no other official material that implies this is something he does on the regular, although it's a popular headcanon considering the general fandom consensus that he most likely had a very rough start to life.

shitting on him for being "merely an inciting incident"? i don't even know what to say to this - do you understand how characters and stories work...? the narrative lives and dies on the push and pull of characters taking actions and other characters responding!

but it sure is curious (read: hypocritical) that this is a negative in these people's eyes when you point out the similarities between Lisa's and Rosaly's deaths.

sure, there is a bigger story about the cruelty of humanity as a whole that Lisa was executed, unprompted while Rosaly's execution was deliberately manipulated by Isaac - but that also adds to Isaac's character, the fact that both he and his younger sister were persecuted for being bonafide magic practitioners, and the sheer hypocrisy of and underhandedness of knowing that pain firsthand, and choosing to inflict it on an innocent woman anyway. it really shows how much his morals, if he ever had any, has truly eroded to the point he only cares about causing maximum damage.

i don't even want to waste my words on the ways N!Isaac is a worse character, comparatively, if you actually take into account the themes of the Devil Forgemasters' respective stories as presented in the games. but it does chap my asshole that, from this angle, both N!Isaac and N!Hector end up for the worse since now their stories are completely decoupled and it ruins the symbolism and duality that their game counterparts had.

[cosmicrhetoric]

jackrum pays special attention to wazzer the whole time theyre together he's the first one who knows the duchess is like actually fr with them he's the first one on his knees when she presents herself to the high council. and he tells polly he wasn't sure about wazz until she mentioned the town and the sword, so maybe he was just kind to her in the beginning because strappi was such a fucking dick. but either way for a man who pokes fun at soldiers praying before battle and who warns polly "kissing don't last" well it did for him. kissed the duchess became a corporal ('chosen man' are you serious) and never looked back

[p1nkcanoe]

OK SO, I have no shame so anon? Not today.

Anyways Ghouls in different forms of gothic clothing, like- each ghoul having their own style ? Yes. Trad goth, Vampiric, corporate goth??? ABSOLUTELY.

Also a ghoul in short leather shorts/skirt, yes please. I'm channeling that for an outfit today.

Ghouls in spooky swimwear too- I have too many ideas HELP.

love, love, love. each ghoul having their own distinct style makes it difficult to steal from each other’s closets sometimes, but also results in some amazing fit checks. it’s also means that sometimes they wander into another room and just go “hot or flop?” and it turns into a 2000s magazine forum about whether or not the combination works or if they need to turn around and change.

you also mentioned short leather skirts and my brain immediately jumped to mountain, so… 😵‍💫 put that big ghoul in a mf skirt.

(it’s also not his, it never is, but somehow he always ends up being dressed up like a doll by every single member in the pack and told to strut like the hallway is his runway)

this one got kinda long when I got carried away with ghouls in swimwear. but who doesn’t love a wet ghoul in a tiny pair of shorts??? allow me to explain under the cut:

but swimwear, oh, this is good. I could ponder upon this in my orb for a while.

dew’s gonna wear either a tiny little speedo or nothing at all because he hates tan lines and thinks he's immune to getting sunburnt (he's very much not immune)

sunshine is a bikini top and shorts girlie. and cmon, she's comfy, secure, safe, and sexy. even dew doesn't mind when she--without fail--steals his shorts off the top of his clothes pile

rain is gonna wear cute little shorts (and I mean little, like the shortest inseam possible while still having an inseam) with a bright and goofy pattern on them like dogs with swimsuits on or sharks with sunglasses

aurora is gonna always wear something pastel, frilly, and so adorable yet sexy, and make everyone wanna put it on (and take it off)

cumulus ALWAYS looks SO DAMN GOOD in something light colored and plunging, maybe baby blue with a tiny, sheer skirt to go with it to show off her ass while she lounges by the lake with a filthy romance novel…

aeth banana hammock aeth banana hammock (at first he wore it as a joke but he kinda understands the hype now…)

mountain prefers to be nude if he’s outside. but sometimes that’s not always ideal, especially if there’s siblings wandering around, so he’ll have to settle for a thin sarong to keep everyone civil

swiss is a tease, we all know this. he’s gonna wear something tight, something stretchy to show off everything without actually showing everything. if you thought the skin-tight spandex were bad before he got in the lake, just wait until he gets out

CIRRUSSSSSSSSS, FUCK. she never disappoints. it’s a one piece that functions as a two piece, sometimes barely even a two piece. something dark, strappy, that wraps around the waist and the tops of her arms almost like lingerie. unlike dew, she thinks the many tan lines she gets from her suits are sexy and she makes every excuse to get more

phantom is a wild card. there's no telling what he's gonna show up to the lake in. sometimes its the shorts copia bought him, other times it's a pair of boxers or nothing at all if he's feeling overstimulated... there was also that one time that he stole one of cirrus' swimsuits and made quite a show of it

there’s so many good options here and I’m sorry I fixated on such a small part of your ask, but it’s so yummy I couldn’t not eat it up. also did not touch too much on the "spooky" aspect of your prompt, but it's spooky how sexy they all are, amirite?

—anyways, thoughts????

[theygotlost]

i know that most discworld characters are supposed to speak with some sort of briddish accent unless specified otherwise (like the vampires' uberwaldian aka slavic accent) but when im reading to my mommy dearest i will pick an accent practically at random just based on vibes. i was so tired of only using bri'ish accents or just my own natural standard american one that i ended up making corporal strappi from new joisey and threeparts scallot from appalachia

[minthara]

I have date shoe suggestions. I'm a corporate girly and pretty much grew up in heels. You don't want pumps (which are the hardest ones to walk in) so I suggest block heels. (https://www.asos.com/de/asos-design/asos-design-priority-schuhe-in-schwarz-mit-plateausohle-und-hohem-blockabsatz/prd/202585978?xaffid=26521&r=1). The wide heel will give you balance that a pump or a stileto won't. You can go strappy without it compromising stability. Either that or a wedge heel, though I feel the wedge heel should be left in 2014 where it belongs. At the end of the day, it's all about what you're most comfortable in. When in doubt take some acetaminophen, rub some lidocaine cream on your feet and hope for the best. <3

these are soooooo beautiful i think i even looked at them before!!!! but i'm scared of the height of the heel and also i'm gonna be. so tall. in them. which shouldn't be a problem bc i walk around on plateau sneakers and boots all the time but somehow a heel just feels different

[ezlebe]

prompt: rule 63 tomgreg?

Greg watches Tommy bully around the designer, or owner, or whatever he is, with a dubious slant to her mouth. She had sort of awkwardly mumbled a question to Shiv about Kendall’s birthday – what should I wear? – not expecting a lot, maybe to be coldly told not to try too hard, after everything else she’s paid for in the appearances sense, recently, but… instead, Shiv had called Tommy, for sure just because she’s tall, who Greg hasn’t really been alone with a lot in any capacity.

She’s been around her, for sure – Tommy is around in general. She had sort of been from the beginning when Logan died, because she is some… quote unquote friend of Shiv’s, and had sort of been when Kendall accepted money for a bad bank thing, because she also works as some corporate mercenary for Stewy Hosseini, and is sometimes around at like galas and parties, but other than that…

Like. Mostly, the first impression hadn’t been… It was a bit divisive, one might say, if they were Greg.

Tommy had made a joke that had seemed like pretty badly off-color, involving kissing and kinky boots, something like that, which had made Greg feel seen through and about half a meter tall, but… by the third time they saw each other, she realized that Tommy had no idea what she had said to her and probably didn't to anyone a lot of the time. It didn't exactly excuse it, but how she wasn’t pointedly nasty, really, not in that way sort of did; she always wandered over whenever they were at the same place to try to get Greg involved in whatever her cousins had dragged them both into, or to just gossip with her, or now she’s started to jokingly, like probably, ask Greg if she’s tired of being the assistant to Kendall’s assistant yet.

Greg hasn’t ever asked about what Tommy might’ve really meant that first misunderstood conversation; she has somewhat put it down between Tommy just being generally cringy, most likely, or honestly hitting on her in the worst way, because it is kind of like what she wants to imagine, nowadays? Tommy is like a real life mythical Amazon – really pretty, and really big, and really touchy, so Greg is like really comfortable in making it not really her own fault and just like a natural progression. She can even point to Shiv as a fellow victim of the influence.

She mostly has been able to keep that packed in behind her imagination, before now; she hasn’t even seen Tommy in a while, not in the social sense, and not counting since Stewy brought her with Sandi Furness to sneer at the shareholder meeting and they’d barely been in the same room.

“Are you like, um…” Greg says, lifting her hand and sweeping a piece of loose hair from her braid back behind her ear. “Going with Shiv… to Kendall’s thing?”

“If I were, it would be in a purely platonic capacity,” Tommy says, yanking a shirt off of a rack with a narrow look and a shake out of non-existent wrinkles. “I don’t out people.”

Greg wets her lips with a bob of her head.

“But also actually very platonic,” Tommy says, voice flattening, reaching out and considering a dress, low cut and strappy, so hopefully not something she’s actually thinking to put on Greg. “I believe she is in some throuple situation with that… reincarnated spirit of a used car salesman, Sofrelli.”

Greg lifts a hand and lightly scratches at her upper lip with her thumb. “That’s sort of outing her.”

Tommy rolls her eyes over her shoulder, mouth flattening, “You don’t know who the third is.”

“Probably his wife,” Greg says, raising her brows with a slight tilt to her head. “Yeah?”

Tommy doesn’t answer beyond looking back down with a couple of low tuts.

Greg steps a little closer, as she takes off her jacket and folds it over her arm. She reaches out and touches at one of the shinier dresses, feeling it give cool against her fingers, and wonders if she could be a woman who wears silver silk, glimmering under club lights, or if… she should stick to a neutral. Or a pattern? She does enjoy a good pattern, but there aren’t any she can see in the selection.

“They look great, by the way,” Tommy says, voice thinning and pitching, while drawing out another dress and gesturing for the stylist to bring out the next rack with a wag of it. “In case anyone hasn’t said.”

Greg blinks wide, brow knitting above her eyes. “Um, what?”

“Your tits, to be a totally crass fuck,” Tommy says, turning and framing her own bosom with a pair of lifted palms, then pointing at Greg’s chest. “I assume two of the reasons you asked Shiv about designer dresses for this shindig, rather than your usual modest schoolteacher getup?”

“Oh… oh,” Greg intones, only barely managing to ignore an urge to look down, as heat flares across her cheeks; no, no one really has said so, and seem mostly to pretend nothing changed. She’s part of the problem, though – it’s been months, but she’s still not quite used to them being much more than just impression and a good bra. “Yeah, uh… Thanks. Roman was, um – was the only one who really like addressed it? He said I should’ve done more of a porn star thing.”

Tommy makes a pinched face, shaking her head with a suck at her teeth. “That is... actually really unsurprising.”

“I’m really happy with, like… what I chose, though,” Greg says, swallowing thickly and trying not to let herself feel too affirmed… by Tommy, of all people. It had just been something she had agonized back and forth on for as long as she can remember; if it was worth doing at all, or just stick with what she had, while imagining what would look right – what would look great.

She rubs her palms together, then shoves them under her arms, trying to instead distract herself with the dresses that Tommy’s got piling on the bench. It’s a lot more color than the prior racks – she kind of actually really likes the darker orange. And the green. She probably shouldn’t try both at once, or like she might just look like a… a pumpkin, or something.

“Less back problems, trust me,” Tommy says, belatedly around a cough. A hand lifts to cup against her chin, as she rounds a rack of markedly fancier dresses with a tilted head. “How short are you willing to go with your skirt?”

“Uh,” Greg says, dragging her teeth along her lower lip with another glance down at herself. “I don’t usually go very – ”

“Like an Old Believer, I know,” Tommy says, eyes rolling, as she looks up with a quirk of a brow. “I’ve seen. It’s very cute, very flowy, but are you attached to that?”

“Kind of?” Greg says, rubbing at the back of her neck with a slight hunch.

“Oh, fine,” Tommy says, throwing her hands up, then out, sweeping her palms away from each other. “And up top, then – low cut, allowed, but is the public permitted to see your shoulders?”

“I guess… if it’s lacy, or something,” Greg says, drawing her hand back to rub now at one of her button-up-covered shoulders. “Maybe?”

Tommy claps her hands onto her hips. “Stu!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Stu says, stepping forward from just near the door.

“How long would it take to tailor a six and a half foot wedding dress for Miss Hirsch?”

Greg makes a noise of protest. “A wedding – ?”

Tommy rounds on Greg with those open arms. “That is what you just described!”

“Is it – um?” Greg says, rolling her lips together, then tilting her head with a weak shrug. “Not if it’s a color? I like that orange.”

“Oh, she likes that orange,” Tommy repeats in a taunt, reaching out and picking the dress up with a tut. She looks at Greg, then down at the dress, shaking it out to hold up to her front; she seems to notice it is lacking other qualifications, but her brow furrows in thought. “It does suit you…” She looks toward Stu, shooing him, “Get us everything close to this color.”

~

Greg lingers at the entrance of the venue, checking her phone, and looks up at familiar voices to see Shiv and Roman, then more importantly Tommy, who’s peering dubiously up at the pink tunnel that touches her head. She’s in the navy mermaid dress that Greg had seen her put aside a week ago, but hadn’t given any hint how it would make her look so comely, and her short hair neatly swept close to the side of her head with an elaborate pin. Greg is vaguely aware of some comment from Roman to the nurse-hostess, but barely hears it, instead focusing on the way Tommy immediately marches toward her when they make eye contact.

“Holy moly, look at those eyes,” Tommy greets, peering up at Greg over one of the hospital bassinets, then rounding it with her hands drifting up in a way that is probably not supposed to be sort of threatening. “Who did your makeup?”

Greg feels heat crawl up to her ears. “I-I did?”

“You did?” Tommy says, eyes glancing twice more across Greg’s face with a different sort of assessment. She reaches out further, clapping her hands on Greg’s biceps. “You look like an autumn princess – take my arm, tonight I am your winter knight.”

“You look really nice, too,” Greg says, hesitantly grabbing at Tommy’s elbow, slipping her fingers around the offered crook; her arms are bare, skin soft and warm.

“Thank you, girlie, I couldn’t let you show me up,” Tommy says, as she gestures down at her dress with a sweep of her other hand and a sidelong wink. “I like that it looks like a stripper version of a power suit – I mean, look at my girls, they look perky as they did in college! You would almost think I’ve got a rack better than Shiv’s.”

Greg slowly furrows her brow, taking advantage of the permission to look down and admire. “You like do?”

Tommy looks shocked for a beat, making Greg hurriedly look away, but then bursts into a huffy snort. “Thank you for that ego boost, but methinks you don’t notice because she’s your cousin.”

Greg offers a shrug, but she doubts it.

Tommy leans into Greg’s arm, fingers sweeping up against her curved knuckles, as they walk deeper into the party. “I didn’t know you knew how to do more makeup than that faux au naturale you always have on.”

“I, uh – I used to practice a lot,” Greg admits, hearing her voice briefly weaken, looking down at the shiny floor passing under their feet. “Like, when I was younger. It was easy to take off, you know, an-and my mom never noticed.”

“Ah, and now you’re an expert,” Tom says, patting at her fingers, leaning briefly even heavier into her side with a pitchy bark. “I’m terrible with it; I always go to a professional for these things.”

Greg glances over, sweeping her eyes from Tom’s vague smoky eye to barely-lined lips. “You do?”

“I used to,” Tommy says, brightly, winking with a taunting sort of smile. “Now I know I can make you do – ” She comes to an abrupt stop, gawking through an open doorway on the other side of Greg. “Oh, Jesus… Is that a fucking crib?”

Greg looks over her shoulder in the same direction. The room is… set up like a nursery, but if it had inside a crib that was… bigger than adult size, even bigger than like Greg-adult size, with a bottle and stuffed animals to match. “Uh, um… y-yeah?”

“You’re related to this man,” Tommy says, flattening her voice into a stern, quiet seriousness, as if this is now an interview for like maybe Dateline. “How does that make you feel, Ms Hirsch?”

“Like, um…” Greg takes a breath. “He isn’t over the death of his father?”

Tommy is silent a beat, then sucks at her teeth. “That is way too far down the rabbit hole for me. You were supposed to say he’s too bizarre to function.”

“He’s always been nice to me.”

Tommy scoffs against the back of her throat. “I’m not sure that’s a good metric.”

Greg offers a thin hum, looking over to Tommy, who is arguably in the same category of a bit weird, for sure, but generally good. “It’s been okay, so far?”

“Oh, come on,” Tommy says, rolling her eyes, but somewhat abashed about it, so likely catching onto the implication. “Let’s try to find the exit to this Freudian nightmare and find a drink… that I hope isn’t dressed up in fucking juice boxes and milk cartons.”

Greg wonders if Tommy missed the swaddled champagne bottles at the entrance.

It takes far too long for Greg, between mocking Kendall’s choices and picking up party favors, to realize that Tommy is sort of acting like this is a date; she thinks, anyway, she hasn’t been on a date in a really long time, but it feels like it. She swallows her nerves and risks a grab for Tommy’s hand, at her next chance, as they turn a bend within the aptly named compliment tunnel. The whole setup visibly puts Tommy on edge, looking at every cheerful deliverer of a compliment through the decorated trestles with sneering suspicion, but Greg sort of likes getting told that she’s great – even if it’s just a weird party game.

Tommy doesn’t shake her hand off, though, which is even better. She actually tightens her grip, shifting her fingers to thread them through Greg’s clammy ones, as they slowly approach a roar and thump of music at the center of the party. She does let her go, as they pick up drinks at a bar along the length of the wall, head bobbing to the beat of the music, but she heavily leans into Greg’s side.

“Do you dance, Greg?” Tommy asks, her drink half gone, looking over with a slight cock of her chin.

Greg feels her expression twist and fold, glancing away from the bar toward the dance floor. “Not, like… really?”

“Too bad!” Tommy crows, as she puts her drink down, then reaches out with the same hand to wrap tight around Greg’s wrist in a tug. “Just think: you can’t embarrass yourself more tonight than the birthday boy.”

Greg bites at her lip and manages a weak shrug, as she’s yanked along into the shifting throng of other guests. She thinks she sees Shiv going a little nuts, a few meters off, but is promptly distracted from that when Tommy grabs at her waist and drags her into a sort of dance that… kind of lacks any rhythm. It definitely seems like Tommy doesn’t really dance, either, though it looks really good on her, but really, by this point in the night, Greg can admit that she might be biased.

The song shifts from on the stage to one at a slower pace, making Greg’s ears burn, as Tommy looks up at her with a slow blink and a smirk. It’s definitely a, like – yeah, she has stumbled into a date.

Tommy shifts forward, groping along Greg’s lower back, then sliding her hands up, and she’s nearly as tall as her with tonight’s choice of heels.

Greg does her best to answer the broadcasted kiss in earnest, worrying a little that it’s too dry, nose bumping in the wrong places, but Tommy doesn’t seem to realize it. She’s actually just grabbing at Greg more, tugging her in so she’s pressed all the way up along her body while they move with the music.

“I’m really glad Shiv called me,” Tommy says, grinning up into Greg’s face, fingers sweeping over her ears and down into her hair. “You look so hot on this dress I chose, you really do, but I’m fucking ecstatic I could get to take it off.”

Greg chokes a little on an agreeable hum, nodding with a hard drop of her head.

Tommy leans in for another kiss, a hand still wrapped at Greg’s jaw while the other roves down her body, then around to grip at her ass. The music drops into a heavier beat, surrounding them with heady, throbbing bass, and she grinds against Greg, thighs strong and thick, foot slotting against Greg’s instep, using a moment of shock to slip her tongue into her mouth.

It a little difficult for Greg to keep up with, mostly because she is so unfamiliar with this sort of club-esque writhing to the music. She lets a bit loose to grope her hands against Tommy’s ribs, holding her close and copping her own feel with a curve of a palm around a rounded breast and brushing a thumb down exposed cleavage. She flushes worse when Tommy moans approval against her lips, head tilting and tongue sweeping along the inside of Greg’s lip. It’s lewd and insinuating, making Greg burn with a startling want, arousal bolting to her groin, and she can’t help her own moan, loud enough, it seems, to earn an evident laugh against her lips.

The song jerks abruptly to a stop, and Greg is near panting, one hand having found it’s way to curl into Tommy’s palm and feel the soft thud of her pulse. She thinks Tommy looks breathless, too, but not in anyway that seems as embarrassing, but actually more attractive; her brow sweaty and her hair threatening to loosen over an ear.

A mumble comes from the stage that Greg only half hears, followed by a click and whine of speakers. The voice that replaces it is nothing like the previous performer, instead it is low, masculine, and horribly familiar.

“Oh my god,” Tommy says, voice pitching, turning tragically away from Greg to stare up at the stage.

Greg watches as Kendall begins to move up and down, attached to some apparatus, and between this and kissing Tommy, she’s no longer sure she’s awake. “Where… where do I know this song?”

“It’s Billy Joel,” Tommy says, lifting a hand to cover her mouth, theatrically aghast, wobbling backward on her heels into Greg’s arms. “He’s singing Billy Joel to himself for his birthday.”

“He, um – ” Greg manages, watching Kendall’s performance on stage; his voice isn’t bad, but the whole thing… is definitely still the CEO of Waystar Royco suffering some weird breakdown about having no closure with his dead dad. “He is sort of too bizarre to function…”

“Thank you, girlie,” Tommy says, glancing over with a quick bark of laughter, though the humor fades again into disbelief when she looks back at Kendall on stage. “I feel like I’m some lobster stuck in a pot while the cook croons above me.”

Greg huffs and shifts her palm to fully fold her fingers in Tommy’s against her hip. She hasn’t managed to say it, but she’s really glad she asked Shiv about dresses, too.

[merryfortune]

(I’m Not) Scared of Dancing in the Dark

Written for Femslash February 2023

Prompt: Dark

Title: (I'm not) Scared of Dancing in the Dark

Ship: Eriko/Hinata

Fandom: Healin’ Good Pretty Cure

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,988

Tags: Established Relationship, LGBTQ Themes

   “So how about it?” Hinata asked over text. “Do you want to come with?”

   Eriko stared at her phone. The invitation did look nicely presented, even if it did come in the form of a CureBook link and CureBook was so lame these days. The poster was glossy and corporate, mostly blue in the colour palette with anime style drawings on it to visualise the dance floor and that sort of thing. In the middle of it, bold lettering, it listed the who, what, when, and where of the party that Hinata was inviting her to.

   “It’ll be, like, totally safe.” Hinata added after a moment passed and Eriko hadn’t replied yet. “All chaperoned and stuff.”

   Obviously, Eriko wanted to reply to Hinata. It was a blue light disco at a youth club down in the main part of Sukoyaka, it couldn’t have been safer in theory but even so. Eriko felt her stomach stir in a very bad way. 

   “I’ll have to ask my parents.” Eriko finally texted back, diplomatically.

   She still wasn’t sure if she wanted to go or not. She was kind of, really hoping that her parents would say no and that’d make saying no to Hinata so much easier because she didn’t have an excuse. She had a boundary set by her parents that she had to respect.

   It was so out of the way, after all. Six PM on a Saturday, in the next town over. Surely it would be too much of a hassle for her parents to go through just for, like, three hours worth of a dweeby teen party at a youth club.

   But... Apparently not.

   In fact, her parents thought it was a great idea. Especially now that she was friends with Hinata again. They used to be so close. Such a good friends. They were really happy that she and Hinata had mended up over the lost time and lost connection. It was really, truly great that they were best friends.

   Heh. Yeah. Best friends.

   Try… girlfriends.

   Okay, well, not really. Eriko would be mortified to say that word aloud. She wasn’t like Hinata. She wasn’t born always knowing and happy enough with that with really, super accepting parents. Eriko wasn’t even sure if she was accepting of herself and her own sexuality.

   Her parents were… fine about that sort of thing. They would vote to allow same-sex marriage but anything beyond that, they didn’t really get. Like her Mum didn’t get the whole transgender or gender X thing, for example, and her Dad had really come around the bend for the most part ever since he found a respected coworker was gay. 

   So it seemed probable that they would accept her for being a lesbian, she didn’t feel unsafe or anything, and loved them both dearly but at fifteen years old... Eriko just was not ready to test the waters just yet. She wanted to come out when she felt completely and wholly certain about her own identity and all the baggage that would come with it.

   Even if she did already have a long distance girlfriend on the downlow. 

   One she was even getting all dolled up to see in an hour and a half’s time. She put on a modest white dress with spaghetti straps and a skirt that fluttered with lace when she spun with strappy dancing shoes to match. Nothing that would give her blisters later on or be too smutty for the boys, her mother made her promise. Eriko adhered to it as she chose gold bangles and earrings, too.

   She sat in the back of the car, more excited than she had been expecting to be. Eriko guessed it was because she was all dressed up with somewhere to go, for once. It was a quiet excitement that once again settled in her stomach but when they finally arrived at the Sukoyaka City Youth Club, it erupted all up through Eriko, especially when she laid eyes on Hinata.

   Hinata flagged her and her family’s car down from the kerbside. It was still pretty light out but also kind of dusky with orangey-purple hues hiding behind the city skyline. Hinata was wearing all sorts of chunky and obnoxious bead necklaces to complement a patternless and floaty yellow shirt and her distressed, dark blue jeans. She bounced on her heel and was super excited to see Eriko.

   Eriko hadn’t even closed the back door before Hinata bear-hugged her. She snuggled her and dragged her closer to the kerbside. Eriko’s Mum got out of the car and laughed.

   “You’d think you hadn’t seen each other in years,” she joked, “we’ll pick you up here at nine o’clock, okay, sweetie.”

   “Okay, Mum.” Eriko replied in that very teenager cadence which meant no harm but still sounded condescending. 

   “And there had better be no boys.” her Dad added from the driver’s seat.

   “Not a problem, sir,” Hinata giggled, “it’ll just be me, Eriko, and my friends Chiyu-chi and Nodo-chi, we’ll be together at all times, promise.”

   “Have fun, girls.” Eriko’s Mum said before she got back into the car.

   Eriko waved her parents off. They were going on a date of her own and she was really glad that they hadn’t mentioned that as that would have been super embarrassing in front of Hinata but once they were gone. So was that initial excitement that Eriko was feeling.

   She had come. She had seen. She would really like to go already but there was no way that she could tell Hinata that as the fun had only just begun.

   They linked up with Chiyu and Nodoka who were inside already, staking out some place on the edge of the dancefloor for them to sit and keep their stuff. They welcomed Eriko warmly but she always felt awkward. She was Hinata’s friend even though Hinata had been her friend first. Not to mention the whole secret pact of superheroism thing they all had going on. Not that Eriko would mention that, nor was she even meant to know but they weren’t exactly subtle and had saved her bacon before.

   The first half an hour or so, probably more, of the party wasn’t exactly exciting. People were still coming in and arriving, there were announcements on a speaker about the rules for the night. That sort of thing but even after that, things didn’t really pick up.

   For Eriko at least.

   The other girls were having fun and it just made her feel like she was intruding all the more. Even if she was Hinata’s closeted girlfriend and yes, they knew and were really sweet and caring about it but Eriko was still, ultimately, being a wet blanket outside of that. The music was pumping out the top forty hits from both here and even America which was kind of cool and the small snacks and light refreshments were fine but Eriko really wasn’t in the mood.

   Even as she watched the party unfold. People were laughing and dancing and she really wanted to be up on that dance floor with Hinata, as well as Chiyu and Nodoka, but she felt cemented to the plastic chair that she was sitting on. She was pretending she was just minding the other girls’ handbags, as well as her own, but it was also incredibly obvious that she was miserable.

   It was at a quarter past seven or so that Hinata had finally decided to sit down with Eriko since Eriko was the person she had spent the least amount of time with here at the party. She sat down on the chair next to Eriko’s and sprawled out over the table.

   “Are you okay? Are you feelin’ good?” Hinata asked.

   “Yeah, I’m totally fine, I’m just… not feeling it, tonight.” Eriko said. 

   “Should we call your parents so you can pack it? Maybe the trip here tuckered you out.” Hinata suggested.

   “No, Hinata, it's not that.” Eriko said, frowning and frustrated. Deep down, she knew that Hinata was never going to get it, being so free and casual with her own sexuality. It made Eriko both jealous and furious. “It's just. I don’t… I really want to dance with you and have a good time but…”

   “But?” Hinata prompted her.

   Eriko took a breath, “But does that out me? I don’t want all these people to know about me. But some of them do. I feel like a stranger here but this is my hometown. It's really confusing and…”

   “And it's fine.” Hinata said and she sat up a little straighter, her arms receding from over the table. She looked over her shoulder, at Chiyu and Nodoka who were dancing very daggy dad type dances, “You’ll blend in, trust me.”

   That was… That was probably true, Eriko conceded, at least to herself. She chewed her bottom lip. Even though something like this, though a little nerdy given the decorations, was totally her scene. She loved music, she loved fashion, she loved being out and about and dancing, she was being a wet blanket.

   Hinata extended her hand to Eriko, “There are so many people here, everyone’s dancing with everyone else so… will you dance with me?”

   “I’d like that.” Eriko said and though it was scary to her, she felt awful in her stomach because of it and as though every eye was on her, she slid her own hand into the palm of Hinata’s.

   Hinata’s hand was soft and felt like a perfect match to her own. With that token of acceptance, Hinata’s face split into a grin. She practically raced to drag Eriko onto the dancefloor and though Eriko did drag behind her, she was glad to finally be up and on it.

   In the dark. In the strobing lights that flashed every which way in quick, laser-like successions of every colour of the rainbow. It was disorienting and at their feet, there was a mist from a smoke machine off to the side that was hazy and ticklist. The dance floor, which was a basketball court by day, pounded with everyone’s dancing shoes and the good time that they were having.

   So, in the end, Hinata was right. Everyone was dancing with each other, with everyone else. She would blend in. There was too much going on as the music blared and the crowd roared for one person to simply be the main focus.

   Hinata laughed and Eriko squealed as Hinata spun her around. Together, they jingled and they jangled with all their accessories as they danced. Chiyu and Nodoka danced to the side of them, close enough to hide but far away enough that Eriko was comfortable to say she was dancing exclusively with her girlfriend. The song on the speaker changed soon enough and Hinata’s eyes lit up in the dark.

   “Oh my gosh,” she squealed, “it's our song.”

   “It is, too.” Eriko replied, just as excited and even loud.

   The music was familiar and saccharine. Eriko’s heart pounded and in a messy, moshpit duet, she and Hinata yelled out the words to the song as their hands intertwined and they spun and twirled and danced among the crowd, bumping into people but not apologising because they were just so off in their own little world. It was the absolute best, Eriko was grinning.

   Deep down, though, beneath the roar of the music and the pace of the dance and the fizz of euphoria of finally getting to enjoy herself, Eriko knew that dancing with Hinata didn’t make anything else not scary. Whether it was about being on a date with her girlfriend publicly or coming out to her parents or any other number of things which weren’t important to this moment in time, right now… It was the most fun that Eriko had had all night and she had a rising feeling that it was only going to go up from here, finally.

[the-blackorchid1]

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[buttondownshirts]

Women's Button Down Shirts_ Upgrade Your Look in Minutes (Without Breaking a Sweat)

Title: Elevate Your Wardrobe: The Timeless Charm of Women's Button-Down Shirts

Introduction:

In the ever-evolving landscape of Craft Bazaar fashion, certain pieces stand the test of time, transcending trends and seasons. Among these classics is the Women’s Button-Down Shirt – a versatile garment with the power to effortlessly elevate any ensemble. Whether you’re dressing for a day at the office or a casual weekend outing, the button-down shirt is a wardrobe essential that promises style without the fuss. Let’s explore how this timeless staple can instantly upgrade your look in minutes, no sweat required.

The Versatility of Women’s Button-Down Shirts:

One of the most remarkable qualities of women’s button-down shirts is their unparalleled versatility. From boardroom meetings to brunch dates, these shirts seamlessly transition between different settings and occasions. With a simple change in styling, you can transform a button-down shirt from corporate chic to laid-back casual, making it a go-to option for modern women on the go.

Styling Tips for Effortless Chic:

Achieving a polished look with a women’s button-down shirt is easier than you think. Start by mastering the art of the half-tuck – a styling trick that instantly adds a touch of nonchalant elegance to your outfit. Pair a crisp white button-down with tailored trousers and heels for a sophisticated office ensemble, then switch to distressed denim and sneakers for a more relaxed vibe after hours.

Accessories play a crucial role in elevating the allure of women’s button-down shirts. A statement necklace or a pair of bold earrings can inject personality and flair into an otherwise understated look. Experiment with layering delicate chains or adding a silk scarf for a pop of color and texture. When it comes to footwear, opt for sleek ankle boots or strappy sandals to complete your ensemble with finesse.

Exploring Fabric Options:

Beyond style and silhouette, the choice of fabric can significantly influence the overall look and feel of a women’s button-down shirt. While classic cotton remains a perennial favorite for its crispness and breathability, consider experimenting with silk or satin for a luxurious touch. These elevated fabrics drape beautifully on the body, exuding an air of sophistication and refinement.

Embracing Print and Pattern:

Dare to make a statement with printed or patterned women’s button-down shirts. From timeless stripes to playful florals, there’s a print to suit every mood and occasion. Mix and match patterns with confidence, layering a printed shirt under a tailored blazer or pairing it with a contrasting skirt for a dynamic ensemble that commands attention.

The Perfect Fit:

No discussion of women’s button-down shirts would be complete without addressing the importance of fit. Whether you prefer a tailored silhouette or an oversized look, prioritize comfort and confidence above all else. Pay attention to details such as sleeve length, collar shape, and shoulder width to ensure a flattering fit that accentuates your best features.

Conclusion:

In a world where fashion trends come and go, women’s button-down shirts stand as timeless classics that transcend fleeting fads. With their versatility, sophistication, and effortless appeal, these shirts have earned their place as must-have staples in any wardrobe. By mastering the art of styling and accessorizing, you can easily upgrade your look in minutes, embracing the timeless charm of the beloved button-down shirt.

[petnews2day]

I've found Cat Deeley's strappy leopard print flat sandals and I clicked 'add to basket' immediately

New Post has been published on https://petn.ws/7Ttap

I've found Cat Deeley's strappy leopard print flat sandals and I clicked 'add to basket' immediately

Most people can’t get away with wearing strappy flat sandals to the office (especially if you work in a corporate environment) but Cat Deeley can wear whatever she wants for her hosting duties on This Morning.  The 47-year-old television presenter opted for the ‘flat everyday sandals’ from Boden in the leopard print style. If you’re […]

See full article at https://petn.ws/7Ttap #CatsNews #Boden, #CatDeeley, #GetTheLook, #Shopping, #ThisMorning, #USAFashion, #USAShopping

[lowheels-posts]

10 Stylish Outfits Perfectly Paired with Low Heels

In the realm of fashion, the synergy between comfort and style has never been more sought after. Enter low heels, the versatile and chic footwear option that effortlessly blends sophistication with practicality. Gone are the days when high heels reigned supreme; today, women are embracing the allure of low heeled shoes, reveling in their comfort and elegance. From sleek slingbacks to trendy block heels, low heels offer a myriad of options to complement any outfit. In this article, we delve into 10 stylish outfits perfectly paired with low heels, demonstrating how these shoes can elevate your look while keeping you comfortably on your feet.

Effortless Elegance with Tailored Trousers: For a sophisticated office ensemble, opt for tailored trousers paired with a crisp blouse. Complete the look with classic low heel pumps in a neutral shade. The modest heel height adds polish to your outfit while ensuring all-day comfort, making it perfect for busy workdays.

Chic and Casual in Denim: Elevate your casual denim ensemble with a pair of stylish low heeled sandals. Whether it's a classic strappy design or trendy block heels, low heel shoes effortlessly marry comfort with style. Add a breezy blouse and statement accessories for a laid-back yet fashionable look.

Flirty Florals and Kitten Heels: For a feminine and playful vibe, pair a floral dress with kitten heel slingbacks. The delicate heel height adds a touch of elegance to your outfit without sacrificing comfort. This versatile ensemble effortlessly transitions from brunch with friends to a romantic evening out.

Power Dressing in Midi Skirts: Midi skirts exude sophistication and charm, especially when paired with low heel pumps. Opt for sleek block heels or classic pointed-toe styles to elevate your office attire. Whether you're leading a boardroom meeting or networking at a corporate event, low heels exude confidence and style.

Effortless Glamour with Maxi Dresses: Maxi dresses are a summer staple, and low heel sandals are the perfect complement. Choose strappy designs or espadrille wedges for a touch of bohemian flair. Whether you're strolling along the beach or attending a garden party, low heel shoes effortlessly marry style with comfort.

Timeless Classics: Little Black Dress and Block Heels: The little black dress is a timeless wardrobe essential, and pairing it with block heel pumps creates a chic and sophisticated look. Opt for a pointed-toe silhouette for a sleek finish, perfect for cocktail parties or date nights.

Casual Cool with Culottes and Mules: Culottes exude casual elegance, especially when paired with low heel mules. The slip-on style adds convenience while the modest heel height ensures all-day comfort. Pair with a tucked-in blouse and statement accessories for an effortlessly chic ensemble.

Edgy Vibes with Leather Pants and Ankle Boots: For a dose of edge, style leather pants with low heel ankle boots. Whether it's a sleek pointed-toe design or chunky block heels, low heel boots add a touch of attitude to your outfit. Complete the look with a graphic tee and leather jacket for a rebellious yet stylish ensemble.

Bohemian Chic: Flowy Skirts and Espadrille Wedges: Embrace bohemian vibes with flowy skirts paired with espadrille wedges. The woven heel adds texture and interest to your outfit, while the low heel height ensures comfort for all-day wear. Finish the look with layered jewelry and a floppy hat for effortless boho chic style.

Weekend Brunch in Jumpsuits and Strappy Sandals: Jumpsuits are a versatile wardrobe staple, and pairing them with low heel strappy sandals creates a chic and stylish ensemble. The delicate straps add a feminine touch, while the low heel height ensures comfort for long brunches with friends.

In conclusion, low heels are the epitome of style and comfort, offering endless possibilities for chic and stylish outfits. From office attire to weekend brunches, these versatile shoes effortlessly elevate any ensemble while keeping you comfortably on your feet. So, why sacrifice style for comfort when you can have both with low heeled shoes? Head to your nearest heels shop and discover the perfect pair to complement your wardrobe.

[mybookof-you]

She swung the saber wildly. Strappi had to block it, and for a moment the swords locked. “That the best you can do, Parts?” the corporal jeered. Polly reached out and grabbed his shirt. “No, Corporal,” she said, “but this is.” She pulled hard and lowered her head.

Pratchett, Terry. Monstrous Regiment: A Novel of Discworld (p. 49). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.

[indianfashionista]

Versatile Cotton Kurtis: From Work to Party!

In the dynamic world of fashion, where trends come and go like the wind, the cotton kurti stands as a timeless testament to elegance, comfort, and versatility. A quintessential part of the Indian wardrobe, the cotton kurti is no longer confined to cultural boundaries. It has evolved into a global fashion statement, seamlessly blending traditional aesthetics with modern sensibilities. This article delves into the world of cotton kurtis, exploring their versatility from work to party.

The Origin of Cotton Kurtis: A Cultural Emblem

The kurti, originally a clothing item from the Indian subcontinent, has its roots steeped in history and tradition. Initially, it was a form of attire predominantly worn in regions like India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh. Cotton, known for its breathability and comfort in the hot and humid climate of these areas, became the fabric of choice. Over time, the cotton kurti has transcended its traditional role, becoming a staple in wardrobes across the globe.

Cotton Kurtis at Work: Elegance Meets Professionalism

In the professional sphere, dressing well is often synonymous with dressing formally. However, the cotton kurti challenges this norm by offering an elegant and comfortable alternative. The key lies in choosing the right style and pairing:

Minimalistic Elegance: For a corporate setting, opt for kurtis in solid colors or subtle prints. Pair them with straight-cut pants or palazzos for a sleek look.

Fusion Fashion: Experiment with layering by pairing a short kurti with a blazer. This fusion adds an Indo-western charm to your work attire.

Accessorize Wisely: Minimal jewelry, a statement watch, and a pair of comfortable heels or flats can elevate your office look.

Transitioning to Evening Parties

What makes cotton kurtis truly remarkable is their ability to transition from a day at work to an evening party without much effort. Here's how you can transform your look:

Add a Sparkle: Switch your minimalistic jewelry for something more ornate or playful for the evening.

Layer Differently: Replace the blazer with an embroidered jacket or a colorful dupatta to add a festive touch.

Footwear and Bag: Swap your work bag and shoes for a clutch and strappy sandals or stylish juttis.

Styling Tips for Different Occasions

The versatility of cotton kurtis means they can be styled for various occasions:

Casual Outings: Pair a printed kurti with jeans or shorts for a casual yet chic look.

Festive Events: Choose kurtis with traditional embroideries and embellishments. Pair with ethnic skirts or lehenga for a festive flair.

Weddings and Formal Gatherings: Opt for kurtis with intricate work and pair them with elegant palazzos or a flowing skirt. Don't forget to accessorize!

Conclusion

The cotton kurti is not just a piece of clothing; it's a canvas that blends tradition with modernity, simplicity with elegance, and comfort with style. Whether it's commanding respect in the boardroom or dancing the night away at a party, the cotton kurti stands as a symbol of the modern woman who embraces various roles with grace and ease. In this ever-changing world of fashion, the cotton kurti remains a constant, a versatile companion from work to party.