#like this is easily the worst milan i’ve ever seen

[antibayern]

the so called group of death in the champions league is the actual definition of battle of the mid i’m so serious

[womenstan]

I See You When You Run From The Light (within your eyes) - Chapter 3

Ao3 Title : The end of the line Chapter :

When he woke up, the first thing Robbe felt was warmth. It was all-enveloping, seeping through his every muscle. He felt so relaxed and at peace that he found himself wishing he’d never have to get out of bed. Just lay there forever wrapped up in the covers that were hugging him close. He snuggled a little deeper, trying to get a hold of the covers to bring them closer to his body, only to lay his hand on something far too hard to be silk.

Robbe’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion as he tried patting the surface, trying to understand what was thrown over his stomach, but feeling far too lazy to open up his eyes and be attacked by the sun rays.

“Why are you feeling up my arm?” A voice chuckled, deep, next to his ear.

Robbe startled, opening both his eyes at once, only to lay his eyes on the blonde body next to him. Sander, of course . He’d forgotten they’d both gone back to his place after the party last night, Sander insisting until Robbe caved under his adorable mimics.

Laughing, Robbe switched to softly caressing Sander’s arms, making him smile softly. “Royal secret. If I told you, they’d have to kill you.” He said, trying to sound serious, but ending up barely containing his laughter.

Sander snorted, playing along. “They? Do you have body guards then?”

“Oh yes, only the best ones in the whole country. From the King’s own personal army!”

Sander smirked, in that way that told you he was about to crack a joke he was particularly proud of. He lifted his hand up, bringing it on Robbe’s biceps, “Good, there’s no way you’d be able to defend yourself with such small arms anyways.”

Robbe scoffed indignantly, swatting Sander’s hand away. “Me? Small arms? I’ll show you small arms”, Robbe said, before launching himself on top of Sander, trying to immobilize him. Sander laughed, pushing back. They kept pushing at each other for a while until Robbe decided to show off a little.

In one swift motion, he got one leg over Sander’s hips, effectively straddling him and preventing him from moving away. Sander let out a small gasp of surprise and Robbe used that momentary confusion as an opportunity to grab both his wrists and pin them down to the mattress.

Chest heaving, Robbe smiled, lowering himself over Sander, pressing his arms further into the covers. Sander was panting too, even more so than Robbe was.

“Still think I’m too weak to defend myself?” Robbe teased, proudly.

While Robbe had been expecting more teasing, Sander’s face softened and he relaxed his body under Robbe’s. “I think you’re perfect.”

The fondness in Sander’s voice took Robbe by surprise and, for a moment, he wasn’t sure how to respond. If it’d been anyone else… but it wasn’t. This was Sander and he was like this, always affectionate and saying things like this without realizing what they sounded like.

So, Robbe laughed, brushing the remark aside with a soft ‘idiot’, which only made Sander’s smile widden. He rolled off of him, laying back on the bed and sighing deeply.

“I don’t want to get up, like, ever.” Turning his head towards Sander, he added, “Can we just stay here forever?”

Much to Robbe’s confusion, Sander shook his head. “No way”

Getting up on one elbow and turning his whole body towards Sander, Robbe asked, “What? Why not?”

Sander didn’t answer at first, throwing his feet off the bed and onto the floor. He got up and turned towards Robbe expectantly.  When he didn’t hear any sound coming from Robbe, Sander threw his hands up in exasperation, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“ Because , Robin, I’m going to make you the best breakfast you’ve ever had”

Robbe hesitated, chuckling slightly in case it’d been a joke, but Sander seemed dead serious, extending an arm towards Robbe.

“Allez, come”

Robbe sighed, putting his hand in Sander’s and letting himself be tugged up. “Sander…”

Robbe’s whining didn’t deter Sander however, as he led them to the kitchen.

“Ok, get me a pan, some bread and, hm… Ah! Cheese” Sander said, dropping Robbe’s hand in favour of feeling around on the counter to find the stove.

Robbe squinted his eyes at him, slightly worried this wasn’t going to end well. “Sander… Can you even… Like, since you can’t…?”

Sander turned towards Robbe. “Since I can’t see? I’m twenty years old, Robbe, I’ve used a stove before. Don’t worry, just get me the ingredients, you’ll see.”

Still uncertain, Robbe walked slowly towards the cabinets, bringing one over to Sander.

“Ok, I’m going to trust you Sander, but if you burn down the apartment, I’m telling Milan it was your fault” Robbe added, only half-jokingly.

Sander waved him off, before starting the stove.

After a while, Robbe caught onto what Sander was making him.

“Croques? Really? Is that even breakfast food?”

Sander tutted him disapprovingly. “Robbe, everything can be breakfast food if you eat it at breakfast.”

“I don’t think that’s how this works Sander, but whatever you say…” Robbe teased, sitting up on the counter next to where Sander was cooking.

Sander sighed, reaching for a knife and cutting the first croque in half. He took it in his left hand, reaching it out to Robbe. “Stop complaining and try this”

“I’m not even com-” Robbe began, before being interrupted by Sander quite literally shoving the croque into his mouth. He made a noise of complaint, but bit into it anyway, determined to scold Sander immediately after.

Only, as soon as he began to chew, Robbe felt his taste buds explode with joy. The flavour was perfect, the crispiness impeccable, every single bite into the food felt like a whole experience of its own. Robbe couldn’t help but let out a very satisfied hum, making Sander’s face beam with pride.

“Good, right?” He said, clearly already aware of the answer.

Robbe finished swallowing his bite before he answered, sounding bewildered. “Good? Sander, I’m convinced this is the best croque ever made”

Sander blushed a little under the compliment, dipping his head downwards. “I mean, I told you I wasn’t going to fuck this up”

Robbe smiled, extending his arm to ruffle Sander’s hair fondly. “I know, I’m sorry for doubting you. My mind is truly blown right now. I’m going to force you to come over every day to make me breakfast from now on”

Sander only raised his head, softly letting out a “Anytime”.

----------------------------------------

The rest of his weekend passed by in a happy blur, his time spent between joking around with Sander and catching up on his homework. But, as all things do, monday eventually came around the corner, and with it came university.

In all fairness, this time, something else was exceeding his dread of having to go to class: the thought of seeing Noor.

She’d been texting him all weekend, but he’d managed to ignore her easily enough by staying busy. In school though, it would be a lot harder to avoid her.

The worst thing was that he knew he’d promised Sander he would break up with Noor. And it made sense: all they did lately was argue and get mad at each other. So, the problem wasn’t that Robbe didn’t think they should break up, but rather that he would do literally anything to avoid confrontation.

He hated it more than anything else. He didn’t want to hurt Noor, although he supposed ignoring all of her messages and calls was probably also hurting her. If he’d listen to himself, he would simply fire her a breakup text to get it over with, but he wasn’t that shitty.

So, while he was trying to gather the courage to walk up to her and get this over with, his plan was to avoid seeing her at all cost. The good thing about them being together for a while was that he pretty much knew her schedule by now, so he could try to take alternate paths to his classes or hang-out in different spots during his breaks.

It wasn’t exactly convenient, but it wouldn’t be for long anyway. Robbe was going to break up with Noor soon enough and then everything would go back to usual. Or, well, almost everything.

At least, that’s what he told himself Monday, as he had to take a five minutes long detour to get to his first class just so he wouldn’t run into Noor, who had a class next to him.

Coincidentally, it’s also what he told himself Tuesday. He was going to hang out with the guys in the cafeteria for lunch, as they had a common break. Only, as he’d made his way towards the cafeteria, he’d seen Noor exiting the girl’s bathroom and walking in the same direction. He’d quickly fired a text to the boys with a dumb excuse about having forgotten a textbook at home and ran the other way. He ate outside.

On Wednesday, Robbe had been determined to do it. He’d even drafted a little ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech the night before. So, he was ready, right? Except, he’d barely made two steps in Noor’s direction before he was stopped by Yasmina who needed him now , and ‘ no, Robbe, it can’t wait ’.

Turns out one of her friends was into Aaron - which, really? Aaron? - and they needed Robbe to subtly figure out if Aaron could be interested too.

“Yasmina, it’s Aaron . As long as she’s got two eyes and a heartbeat, I’m pretty sure he’ll be up for it.” Robbe sighed, trying not to appear as aggravated as he was. Seriously, did she need to have such a shit timing?

That led him to Thursday, at which point Robbe was almost convinced the universe was against this break up. He’d waited for her before his first class, but to no avail, as she didn’t even show up.

They had one break in common that day, around 1pm, but Thursday afternoons were reserved to hang out with Sander, and Robbe was not about to cancel on him just so he could break up with Noor. So, Robbe decided it would have to wait until friday, as he threw his bag over his shoulder and made his way towards the library where he knew Sander was waiting.

Robbe stopped at the tiny student coffee shop on his campus, ordering for both Sander and him. While he waited in line, he quickly shot Sander a text message to let him know he was done with his class and on his way to him, smiling dumbly at Sander’s answering ‘:D’.

He’d been so busy between school, first trying to avoid Noor, and then trying to find her, that he’d barely had time to text Sander since the weekend, let alone see him. He was glad they could still honour their Thursday tradition, just the two of them hanging out without having to worry about anything - or anyone - else.

The barista handed Robbe the two cups and Robbe hurried to the table where he knew Sander would already be sitting, all of his books and material spread over the table. Sander would probably be hunched over some paper, drawing, that concentrated look on his face. He would slightly stick his tongue out, sitting in between his teeth, his eyebrows furrowed and his hair falling in front of his face. Robbe had to admit it was quite the sight.

At first, Robbe had wondered how Sander could be an artist, seeing as he was blind. He’d always just assumed blind people had no way to draw, since they couldn’t see the paper, the colours or the drawing itself. Sander had simply snorted at that, before patiently explaining his method to Robbe.

He used mostly textured art, like pastel or paint. He’d draw with one hand, alternating between tracing the surface of whatever he wanted drawn and the surface of the paper with the other one. Robbe’s curiosity had pushed him to ask for a demonstration, and Sander had gladly obliged.

It was a fascinating process, and the respect and appreciation Robbe already had for Sander’s talent grew tenfold in the space of a single drawing. He’d just looked at Sander, moving seamlessly across the paper and found himself speechless. The only thought that came to him was that Sander was clearly in his element, that he belonged to the arts.

Still now, every time he’d had the privilege of catching Sander drawing, he’d been overwhelmed with this feeling of pride and warmth, watching entire worlds take form on the blank pages under Sander’s touch.

Sometimes, Robbe found himself thinking that Sander had the ability to make everything he touched turn into art. From the dull beige paper cup of coffee that could rival Albert Anker’s Coffee Drinking once it was held in between Sander’s fingers, to Robbe’s own pale skin that shined bright pink under Sander’s soft strokes.

Or the way he was stroking his hand through his hair right as Robbe walked up to him, pulling it back off of his forehead. That was true art.

Robbe shook the thought out of his head as he scraped back the chair next to Sander and sat down, slowly pushing Sander’s coffee to his hand.

“Robin! Finally!” Sander exclaimed enthusiastically, making Robbe chuckle.

“Missed me?” Robbe teased, taking a sip of his own coffee.

“Obviously,” Sander answered, sending him a beaming smile

Robbe laughed, getting his books out of his bag and carefully placing them next to Sander’s stuff on the table.

“What are you drawing?” He asked Sander, trying to peek into his open sketchbook.

Sander smirked, closing his sketchbook before Robbe could properly distinguish the shapes.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, huh?” He teased, making Robbe drop his head to the side in fond exasperation.

“Yes,” Robbe sighed, “I would like to.” He tried to sound annoyed, but he couldn’t help the smile slowly etching its way up his face.

“How badly?” Sander asked, his growing smile indicating he had a joke ready to go.

Robbe rolled his eyes, sighing loudly. “As bad as-”

“Robbe fucking Izjermans!”

Oh . Oh no .

Robbe whipped his head towards the voice, while Sander visibly startled on his chair, dropping his smile instantly.

Robbe mentally groaned when he saw he’d been right about who this voice belonged to. From the library’s entrance, Noor was storming his way, a visible scowl on her face.

Why was it that when Robbe was trying to find her, she was nowhere to be found, but as soon as he’d wanted a moment of peace, she suddenly showed up? What had Robbe done to get such bad karma?

“Noor,” Robbe sighed, “What are you doing here?”

Noor raised an eyebrow, coming to a halt in front of Robbe, arms crossed in front of her chest.

“What do you think I’m doing here? You’ve been ignoring all of my texts and I couldn’t find you anywhere!” Noor half-screamed, earning them a few dirty looks from nearby students.

Before Robbe could answer, Sander scoffed loudly.

“What? You got a problem?” Noor asked him, clearly offended by his reaction.

Sander sighed, bracing himself on the table as he got up to properly face Noor.

“Look, I get that you’re pissed, but Robbe dumped you. He doesn’t owe you anything.” Sander said, keeping his voice levelled, although Robbe could hear the hidden layer of frustration.

It took Robbe’s brain a few seconds to properly realize what Sander had just said, and when he did, it was already too late.

Noor made a surprised noise in the back of her throat, halfway through anger and disbelief.

“Dumped me? What the hell are you talking about?” Noor said, chuckling humourlessly. “Don’t mistake your dreams for reality, Anders.”

Robbe stood up at once, feeling all the blood drain from his face.

“Noor, come on, let’s talk in private.”

Robbe made a move to step towards Noor, but Sander’s arm shot up in front of him, barely missing his face by a few centimeters.

“Robbe didn’t break up with you?” Sander asked, turned in the general direction Noor was in.

Robbe didn’t know what hurt more, the anger in Sander’s voice or the look of pure disappointment on his face.

“Sander, look,” Robbe began, desperately trying to diffuse the whole situation.

Noor’s laugh cut him off, loud and obnoxious, clearly meant to irritate Sander. It seemed to work wonders, as Sander’s jaw clenched in response.

“I don’t know what kind of fucked up fantasies you’ve got going on in your head, Sander, but this is the real world. I guess you might be too crazy to understand what that is.” Noor spit out.

The words hit Sander the same way a punch would have. He stumbled a little backwards, dropping his arm. He turned around, hastily threw all of his stuff inside his bag in a jumble, picked his bag up and walked away without a word.

“Sander!” Robbe yelled, cringing at the desperation he could hear in his own voice. “Sander, wait!”

Robbe started putting his papers back into his own bag, determined to run after Sander, but Noor’s fingers settled around his arm, pulling him back softly.

“Come on, Robbe. Let him be, he’s not good for you anyway.” Noor said, smiling as if Robbe’s world wasn’t falling apart in front of him.

Robbe gave a sharp tug on his arm, freeing himself from Noor’s hold. He shook his head at her, feeling rage boiling up inside of him and threatening to overflow.

“You know what, Noor? We’re through. Over, done, finished!” Robbe yelled, too angry to find it in himself to care that the entire library was witness to their spectacle.

Robbe threw his bag over his shoulder and stormed towards the entrance, where Sander’s back had disappeared barely a few seconds ago.

“What the fuck, Robbe? Do you not love me anymore?” Noor asked, her voice high-pitched and frail.

Robbe sighed, turning back around to face her one last time.

“You’re cruel, Noor. You’re just cruel.” He said, voice tired.

He didn’t wait around to hear her try to convince him he was wrong and that Sander had somehow manipulated him, instead choosing to take off after Sander.

Robbe’s heart was beating so fast that he feared it might fly straight out of his chest. His mind was immediately going to the worst scenarios, telling him Sander would never forgive him, that it was over, that there was no point going after him... But Robbe knew better than that.

He knew that Sander was probably the best thing in his life right now and that he wasn’t going to let him walk away.

So, out he ran, the heavy library doors shutting behind him with a loud ‘thump’ .

Robbe looked around frantically, trying to spot a patch of blond hair in the sparse crowd of students, but to no avail. He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging a little at the strands in frustration.

That’s when he heard a loud crash coming from the boys’ washroom, and something clicked inside his head. He ran towards the room, which warranted him a couple side-looks, but his attention was focused on one sole thing: getting to Sander.

Inside, there didn’t appear to be anyone. All the stalls seemed closed, and the general area was empty. As Robbe stepped further in, he heard a small sniffling sound that broke his heart at once.

He put his bag down against the wall and walked along the stalls, softly pushing the doors open. When he reached the third to last one of the row, the door didn’t open, locked from the inside.

Robbe sighed softly. “Sander?”

The sniffling stopped.

“Sander, please. I just want to explain.”

Nothing but silence.

Robbe leaned his forehead on the door with a small thud.

“I’m sorry, Sander. I really am. I… I should have told you,” Robbe began, unsuccessfully trying to swallow the lump in his throat. “I did mean to break up with her.”

A scof came from the stall, turning into a sob halfway through, and Robbe wondered if there was any piece of his heart left to shatter.

“Sander…” Robbe whispered, worry seeping through his tone. “I’m not lying. I spent the week looking for her too. I couldn’t do it over text, that’s just… I’m not an asshole. Or, trying not to be.” Robbe explains, “I broke up with her just now. What she said to you…” Letting out a frustrated sigh, Robbe shakes his head at the memory. “She’s so horrible. I’m so sorry Sander”

“Don’t be.” Sander’s voice came from the stall, muffled. “She’s right,” He laughed, but it was a bitter sound.

“Sander, no. She isn’t.” Robbe said, a little destabilized at Sander’s sudden lack of self-confidence.

He heard Sander breathe in deeply inside the stall, and Robbe prepared himself for the worst.

“I’m fucking crazy, Robbe, ok? I’m bipolar.” Sander yelled, but he didn’t sound angry. All Robbe could hear was pain, and fear. Just so much fear. “So, yeah, she’s right. She’s right and you should probably go before I fuck up your life too.”

The silence that hung between them after Sander’s declaration was heavy. Robbe felt suffocated under the weight, and he could only begin to try to imagine how Sander was feeling.

“Sander,” He said, keeping his voice low but firm. “Let me in.”

Time stood still as Robbe waited for Sander to make a decision. Seconds passed by, maybe even minutes, Robbe wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, forehead against the door.

Slowly, he stepped back, prepared to argue his way into the stall, when he heard the lock slide open. The door didn’t budge, but Robbe wasn’t mistaken. This was Sander’s way of letting him in, both literally and figuratively.

Robbe took a deep breath, slowly pushing the door open. Sander was leaning on the opposite wall, head hung low and turned away from Robbe, in an attempt to hide his distress.

Robbe slowly closed the door behind him, locking it, before turning back to Sander. The stall wasn’t big and with the two of them, the space was definitely cramped. Robbe took that to his advantage, merely raising his arms to be able to graze Sander’s shoulders.

Sander stiffened, but didn’t move away. Robbe took that as an encouragement and, little by little, wrapped his arms around Sander’s now-trembling form. As soon as Sander’s chest collided with Robbe’s, Robbe felt Sander’s entire body give up on him.

Sander hid his face in Robbe’s shoulder, body limp in Robbe’s arms. As for Robbe, he had one arm caressing Sander’s back in large, circular motions, while the other was stroking his hair softly. He could feel Sander shake through his sobs, but Robbe ignored the urge to make him stop crying.

Sander needed to let it out, and Robbe would be there for him, even if it killed him to see Sander suffering.

Robbe whispered a steady stream of ‘it’s ok’, ‘I’m here’ and ‘let it out’ into Sander’s ear, and slowly but surely, Sander relaxed against him and his sobbing subdued.

When Robbe felt like Sander had calmed back down, he took his chance.

“Sander, you’re not crazy.” Robbe started, making Sander snort humorlessly. “You’re not. Having bipolar doesn’t make you crazy, Sander. And it’s definitely not going to make me go away.”

Robbe tugged Sander back, just enough to look at him as he said, “You’re not some kind of monster, Sander, and you sure as hell aren’t ruining my life. You’re like, the best person in my life right now.”

Sander’s eyes glistened with tears that threatened to fall, but the corner of his lips lifted up a little at that.

“I don’t care what happened between you and Britt, and I care even less about what Noor thinks of you. I know you, and I know that you’re an amazing, caring and talented person that I want in my life for as long as you want to be.” Robbe said, all at once, like the words were spilling out of his mouth the same way Sander’s tears were spilling out of his eyes. Out of his control, filled to the brim with emotions, but, oh, so liberating.

Sander stayed silent, a thunderstorm of emotions hidden in the quiet. Robbe was suddenly glad Sander couldn’t see him, because he was pretty sure his face looked like an open book, and he wasn’t ready to confront what was written on it yet.

He didn’t know why exactly, couldn’t pinpoint what it was about this moment specifically, about Sander’s stare, but it felt like something had shifted between them. Like there would be a before this, and an after this.

Robbe smiled at Sander, stroking his hair one last time before unwrapping his arms from around him.

Sander laughed, wiping at his wet cheeks in embarrassment. “I can’t believe we had this conversation in the school’s bathroom.”

Robbe chuckled, shaking his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Sander. I have all of my heart-to-hearts in school bathrooms!”

Sander raised an eyebrow, a teasing look on his face. “The empty paper toilet dispensers and the vague urine smells really do it for you, huh?”

Robbe tried to suppress his smile, keeping his tone serious. “Oh, yeah. Big time!”

Sander wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Robbe responded by giving him a light push on the arm. They made their way out of the washroom, while Robbe avoided the stares of curious students wondering what all the fuss had been about (and probably questioning the tear streaks on both of their faces…).

When they reached the front doors, Robbe hesitated a moment, holding Sander back with a hand to his forearm. Sander stopped, turning back in Robbe’s direction.

“Do you maybe wanna go hang out at my flat?” Robbe asked, cringing at how fast his heartbeat had gotten at the simple sentence. He never got anxious when he asked the boys to hang around, although he hadn’t done so in a long time. So, why was it that whenever he had to ask Sander to hang out, Robbe’s hands got clammy and his heartbeat increased tenfold?

Sander just snorted in response, which only served to make Robbe even more apprehensive.

“You scared me! Of course, I do.” Sander said, now smiling brightly at Robbe.

Robbe wanted to be a little mad at Sander making fun of his hesitation, but he couldn’t help but beam in response, a comfortable warmth settling in his stomach.

They walked to the flatshare, arms locked at the crook of their elbows (if anyone asked, Robbe would say it was to guide Sander, despite them both knowing that Sander didn’t actually need it).

It was a sunny day, and it would have been too warm for Sander’s leather jacket had there not been a chilly breeze flowing through the air. Robbe wasn’t much of a fan of warm days, but when he saw the way the sunlight hit Sander’s face, perfectly illuminating his side profile of a golden hue, he figured he’d like them a lot more from now on.

Robbe couldn’t make himself look away from Sander’s face, intoxicated by the way it looked under the daylight. From the curve of his nose, to the way his eyes glistened, everything about Sander’s face had Robbe in a trance-like state.

He did eventually turn away, after he’d stumbled over a crack in the pavement and Sander had made fun of him, asking ‘who’s the blind one, huh?’ Sander had only been teasing, but Robbe figured it might be smarter for them to have at least a pair of eyes on the road.

Once they reached the apartment, Robbe didn’t even have to unlock the door to know that everyone was home. The sounds of cheers and laughter came through the door and resonated all the way to the staircase, warming Robbe’s heart instantly.

He barely had time to open the door and usher Sander in, before he was attacked by a swarm of bodies.

“Milan, you’re kind of crushing me” Robbe croaked out, the strength of Milan’s hug pressing all of his internal organs together painfully.

Milan loosened his arms immediately and stepped back, an apologetic smile on his face.

“So, what? Robbe gets all the love and I get none?” Sander asked, with a small (irresistible) pouth.

“Sander! Of course you do, come here!” Milan exclaimed, practically jumping in Sander’s arms. Zoë followed suit immediately, eyeing Senne, who just shrugged before joining in. Robbe laughed, moving to take his shoes off before they could attack him again.

“Come on guys, don’t suffocate him to death!” Robbe said, which got him a snort from Sander in response.

“You’re just jealous Robin,” Sander said, winking. The group hug slowly dissolved, as Milan let out a ‘ooooh burn!’ that made Robbe shake his head, amused.

“Sure, I am. It’s not like I’ve hugged you a thousand times before already” Robbe teased, while everyone returned to whatever they were doing in the kitchen.

Sander bent down to untie his shoes, shaking his head. “See, that’s precisely it. I’ve got you addicted”

Robbe laughed, sending a small ‘you wished’ Sander’s way, seemingly unaffected, despite his heart that skipped a beat in fear at Sander’s words.

They navigated to Robbe’s room, where Sander immediately laid down on the bed in a star shape.

Robbe went to his desk and took his books out of his bag, while Sander groaned in the background.

“Sander? You ok there?” Robbe asked, stifling a laugh, his back to Sander.

Sander sighed, hard. “Yeah, but I hope you realize that I’m never leaving your bed again. I’ve melted into the mattress.”

Robbe threw him a glance, seeing Sander had somehow snaked his way under the cover.

“Suit yourself, just don’t steal all the blankets,” Robbe answered, to which Sander scoffed.

“I would never do that! I’ll have you know that I’m a perfect blanket gentleman.”

Robbe hummed, sitting down to start working on his essay. He was quickly bored though, and with Sander in his room, Robbe didn’t really feel like slaving away doing homework. He turned to face Sander, only to find him fast asleep, his mouth open and squished against the pillow.  

Robbe chuckled under his breath, getting up to take a closer look. Once he got within reach of Sander, he slowly caressed his hair. The gesture made Sander frown a little, before he buried himself closer to the pillow, sighing happily.

Robbe smiled fondly, before moving away and to the end of the bed. He still didn’t feel like working on his homework, so he grabbed his controller and decided to game until Sander woke up from his impromptu nap.

After his third loss in a row, Robbe threw his controller aside and figured he was too out of it to keep playing. Looking at his phone, he saw that Sander had been out for a little over thirty minutes, so Robbe figured he might as well join him.

Taking his hoodie off, he walked to the other side of the bed in his shirt and jeans. He laid down next to Sander, who had turned to face Robbe’s way at some point in the past half hour.

When he was awake, Sander’s face always transpired a panoply of emotions. Even his eyes would glisten, darken and light up in the span of a single conversation. Robbe had always thought that blind people’s eyes wouldn’t hold much emotions, but he was clearly wrong. There were more emotions in a single one of Sander’s pupils than there was in most people’s entire face.

Robbe was pretty sure that’s what made him so fascinated with Sander’s face (because, let’s admit it, he was absolutely obsessed with it). He’d read somewhere that eyes were the window to someone’s soul, and while he was more inclined to think it was pure bullshit at first, since he’d met Sander, he’d come to understand the meaning of those words.

Robbe brushed a strand of hair that had fallen over Sander’s face, softly, trying his best not to disturb Sander’s peaceful sleep. Robbe didn’t know how to describe the swelling that overtook his chest as he watched Sander’s body raise and fall with each breath he took. He’d never felt this before, this peaceful yet gut-wrenching feeling that was filling up his heart.

There were a lot of feelings that Robbe had never felt before he’d met Sander. He didn’t know what it was about Sander that provoked those strong, undecipherable feelings that swallowed Robbe whole, but… He would be lying if he said he hated them. Whatever was causing this, Robbe didn’t mind. He liked Sander and he liked feeling like this, giddy in a way alcohol could never provide, yet rested in a way no amount of sleep could bring about.

He rested his hand in between his body and Sander’s, laying his head down on the pillow. He could feel Sander’s hot breath hit his cheeks from how close they were laying, but it didn’t annoy him. On the contrary, it made Robbe feel safe, content even, as he slowly drifted in and off of sleep.

His state of semi-slumber was interrupted when he felt Sander stirring awake next to him. Sander’s hand stretched and fell down on Robbe’s chest, which made Sander startle.

“Robbe?” He asked, voice still full of sleep.

Robbe hummed in answer.

“What did I just hit?” Sander questioned, his eyebrows furrowing as he felt around Robbe’s chest for clues.

“Chest” Robbe answered, chuckling at the concentrated look on Sander’s face.

“Ahhhh, all good then. Sorry for that,” Sander said, giving Robbe’s chest one last apologetic pat before rising to sit up. Robbe followed.

“Hey, what time is it?” Sander asked, sounding a little stressed all of a sudden.

Robbe looked around for his phone, finding it near his desk. “Hmmm, just about four, why?”

Sander rose to his feet so fast that Robbe feared he might fall down when he started swaying. “Shit! I have to be back home by four thirty to babysit, I’m so sorry. I promised my mom and-”

Robbe interrupted Sander, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Sander, it’s chill. Don’t worry”

Sander nodded, but didn’t seem convinced, as he chewed on his lips. He mumbled something under his breath, too low for Robbe to hear.

“What?” Robbe prodded, curious.

Sander sighed, running a hand over his face. “I can’t believe I spent our time together sleeping. I’m so sorry, Robbe.”

Robbe sighed as well, but a little more tenderly. “Sander, I swear it’s fine. I slept too. Besides, we can always hang out tomorrow, once we’re done with classes, right?”

That suggestion seemed to enchant Sander, whose eyes immediately lit up. He snapped his fingers as if he’d just had an illumination, a smile spreading on his face.

"What? You look like you’ve just had a moment of genius.” Robbe teased.

“Even better! I’m going out with friends from uni tomorrow night.” Sander said, excitedly.

Robbe couldn’t help but feel his face fall at that. “Oh. Ok, I get it”

Sander shook his head. “No! No, you don’t. I meant to ask you this earlier, but forgot…” He took a breath, as if steeling himself. “Would you want to meet them? Tomorrow?”

Robbe was stunned into silence, staring at Sander, his mouth hanging open. Sander wanted to present him to his actual friends? He wanted to include Robbe in other parts of his life?

“How is that even a question? Of course I do!” Robbe said, getting just as excited about the idea as Sander.

“Yeah?” Sander added, his smile ever growing.

“Yes!” Robbe said, adding, “Since when do you even have other friends?”

Sander stuck his tongue out at Robbe. “Ha. Ha. Very funny, Robin.”

“Thank you, I think so too”

Sander grabbed his stuff after that, promising he’d send Robbe the address as soon as he’d be home. Robbe suggested walking Sander to the tram, but Sander declined, insisting he could get there on his own.

When Sander was gone, Robbe closed the door and leaned his back against it, slowly sliding to the floor. He was going to meet Sander’s actual friends. He was going to meet Sander’s actual friends! Fuck! Why had he accepted the invitation? This was such a bad idea, they were probably going to hate him and-

Groaning, Robbe lowered his head on his knees.

“Woah, there. Someone’s having a crisis,” Milan said, to which Robbe only grunted in answer.

“Come on, Robbe. What’s on your mind?” Milan asked, sitting down next to him.

“Sander invited me to meet his other university friends tomorrow night.” Robbe sighed.

Milan blinked at him, confused. “And?”

“And, I said yes!” Robbe half-screamed, exasperated by his own actions.

Milan chuckled, looking just as puzzled. “How is that a bad thing? It’s good that he wants you to meet them!”

Robbe groaned at Milan’s incomprehension. “They’re gonna hate me Milan! They’re probably all cool art kids and I’m…” He gestured vaguely towards himself, “not!”

Milan sighed, patting Robbe’s back sympathetically. “Come on, Robbe. You’re smart, interesting and super cute! There’s no way they won’t fall in love with you the second they see you.”

Robbe threw a glance Milan’s way, “Thanks Milan.”

Milan nodded, “Good luck! You’ll be great,” He said, getting up and walking away.

Robbe’s worries were far from gone, but he was glad that Milan thought so highly of him. If all else failed, he knew he’d always have the flatshare to fall back on. That was a constant Robbe was so grateful to have in his life, he didn’t think he could ever find words to express it properly.

------------------

The next day passed by so slowly that it felt painful. It’s like time had decided to mock him, by prolonging his suffering.

Robbe hadn’t registered a single word from his lectures, spending the hours looking back and forth at the clock, so much so that he feared he might end up with a torticollis by the end of the day. If the end of the day ever came, that is.

The second his last lecture of the afternoon was dismissed, Robbe had pounced on the door, practically running all the way back to his flat.

Sander had, as promised, texted him the address the night before. They were meeting at a local bar, nothing too fancy, but Robbe’s usual ‘jogging and sweater’ school attire would probably be too lowkey.

Robbe tried rummaging through his closet, throwing about half of it out before giving up.

“Milan! Milan!” He screamed, hoping Milan would be willing to help.

A second later, he popped his head into the room.

“You called for me?” He asked.

“Yes. Milan, can I please borrow something of yours for tonight? Everything I own is just… wrong” Robbe sighed, pleading Milan with his eyes.

Milan seemed to mull it over, before he threw the door wide open. “Of course you can! Come with, I’ll turn this pumpkin into a prince!”

Robbe laughed, following Milan around the house. “I’m pretty sure the pumpkin gets turned into a coach, not a prince.”

Milan stopped dead in his tracks, turning back to Robbe with a warning finger.

“Do you want my help or not?”

Robbe nodded vehemently.

“Then don’t question my Disney knowledge, Robbe! Flatmates rule #35!”

Robbe raised his hands in surrender, laughing, before Milan started back towards his own room, Robbe on his heels.

Milan did deliver on his promise, after all. Robbe was dressed in a nice long-sleeved shirt with fitted jeans, nothing too flashy, but classy enough to look like he’d put an effort into his outfit (which he, or rather Milan, had).

The bar wasn’t far from Robbe’s home, so he decided to simply walk there. He figured he could shake his nerves out on the way there, and, hopefully, be a little calmer once he’d reach his destination.

The breeze was nice, flowing through his curls. He had been smart enough to bring a jacket, in case the night grew colder as it got later. Despite the atmosphere and his precautions, Robbe couldn’t help the hammering of his heart against his ribcage. He felt even worse than he had that one time in second grade when he’d been called out in class to make a presentation about a book he’d never bothered to read.

Soon enough, he reached the bar, which seemed to be busy with customers. Robbe closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. He tried to tell himself that everything would go smoothly, that Sander’s friends would like him, and that he’d get out of this alive and with his pride intact. If the shaking in his hands was anything to go by, he wasn’t very good at convincing himself.

He sighed, shaking his hands out, before walking into the bar. A radio was playing in the background, just barely covering the noise of the chatter. Robbe walked a little further in, immediately spotting Sander in the corner, sitting at a table with three other people.

Robbe took another deep breath for good luck, and made his way to their table. All three pairs of (functional) eyes were staring at him as he walked, more curious than austere, which reassured Robbe a little.

A blonde guy was the first to signal Robbe’s arrival. “This must be the famous Robbe!”

“Yeah, hi!” Robbe said, nodding in everyone’s direction.

Sander’s whole body whipped towards Robbe when he spoke. “Robbe! You’re here! Sit, sit,”

Sander fumbled with the chair next to him, making space for Robbe to sit next to him. Robbe thanked him, sitting down, trying not to be too unsettled by the looks Sander’s friends kept throwing each other.

Sander’s right hand came to rest on Robbe’s left shoulder immediately.

“Did you find the place easily? I think it’s pretty close to your place, isn’t it?” Sander asked, with the same considerate tone he took every time he wanted to make sure Robbe was ok.

Robbe figured he could probably sense his nervousness. Hell, anyone in a five mile radius who took one look at him could probably tell he was shitting his pants.

“Yeah, it was fine, don’t worry Sander” Robbe answered, smiling.

Sander smiled as well, more to himself, but Robbe still caught it and it made him feel a little more at ease.

Only a little though, because the same boy from earlier decided to clear his throat at that moment, making both Robbe and Sander turn their head towards him abruptly.

He had both of his eyebrows raised, and a knowing smile floating on his face.

“Sooo, Robbe, what are you studying?”

The night went on pretty similarly. After the initial interrogation, Robbe stayed a bit more silent, observing how Sander interacted with his friends.

At some point, Robbe was listening to a drunken story from one of the girls, Marie, while tapping the fingers of his hand on the table. He hadn’t even noticed the nervous tic, before Sander’s hand came to rest on top of it. Robbe’s eyes were instantly drawn to their overlapping hands.

Sander squeezed once in reassurance, and it made Robbe smile. Even in social situations like these, Sander always had a way of knowing exactly how Robbe was feeling, and exactly how to make him feel better. Robbe squeezed back, before Sander slowly took his hand back.

The night wasn’t much different from Robbe and Sander’s regular nights, in that Sander acted exactly the same way he always had with Robbe. When something really funny made him laugh, he would softly knock his forehead on Robbe’s shoulder, hiding his face as he giggled. When he couldn’t remember where he’d placed his glass, he’d lightly tap Robbe’s hand with his own, a silent signal that Robbe had long learned, and Robbe would silently pass Sander’s glass over to him. And when Sander felt Robbe become too antsy, he’d place his hand on Robbe’s bouncing knee, tapping fingers or shaky hands.

Before knowing Sander, Robbe hadn’t been used to touchy people, but now that he was, he found Sander’s small, mindless gestures calming, in the same familiar way that your childhood beddings or your mama’s hugs appease you.

After a while, the blond guy, Max, sipped the last of his beer, knocking it back against the table.

“So, who wants what? This round’s on me!” Max said, already pushing to get up.

Sander stood up at once, surprising everyone at the table.

“No! I’ll go. It’s my turn with the tab, anyway.” Sander said, sounding sure of himself.

Robbe furrowed his eyebrows, but said nothing when he saw Max sit back down and cheer Sander on. Everyone passed their orders and Sander repeated them once before expertly making his way to the bartender.

“How does he navigate so well everywhere?” Robbe asked out loud, to no one particularly. Max probably assumed the question was directed to him, since he took it upon himself to answer.

“Oh, that? It’s like his little superpower. Bring him somewhere once or twice and he’ll know the place by heart.” Max said, earning a few chuckles from the girls and a curious glance from Robbe.

If Sander was so good with directions, then why did he always let Robbe guide him by the arm? Robbe had never really thought about the fact that Sander could seemingly perfectly get back home by himself, but required Robbe’s assistance in the flatshare or when they went out somewhere.

His thoughts were interrupted by Marie.

“Say, you two are pretty close, huh?” She asked, her smile telling Robbe that her question covered a hidden meaning.

“Yeah, sure, he’s a good friend.” Robbe shrugged, smiling politely.

Marie and the other girl, Anne, exchange an amused look.

“Yeah, I bet you must be really good friends,” Anne added, laughing.

Robbe’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“I don't get the joke” He said, a little annoyed.

Max sighed, like an exasperated parent. “Robbe, haven’t you noticed that Sander is a little…” He looked towards Marie, “touchy?”

Robbe frowned. “Yeah? He’s blind, touch is, like, his way of seeing.”

Max nodded. “Then, why does he only ever touch you ?”

Robbe could feel his features harden. He wasn’t dumb, he could clearly understand what Max was insinuating.

“He doesn’t.” Robbe answered, his tone sharp and severe.

Max smiled, as if he could clearly see through Robbe’s bluff. He held Robbe’s gaze.

“He does, though.”

Robbe thought back to all the times he’d been with Sander and other people. He did accept Milan’s group hugs, but even when he came over to eat at the flatshare, he wouldn’t purposefully brush his hands on Milan’s, Zoë’s or Senne’s. If they went to catch a movie with the boys, Sander would only ever lay his head on Robbe’s shoulder, curling up into his side. Even at Sander’s house, Robbe couldn’t remember Sander being so tactile with his mother or his sister. He always did stuff himself, and if he needed them, he’d call them out loud instead of touching them to get their attention the way he did with Robbe.

And tonight. Sander had kept a free seat next to him for Robbe. He’d touched Robbe, almost constantly in one way or another. But he’d never even accidentally brushed against one of his other friends. He wasn’t cold towards them, and you could see the friendship that was linking them together, but still… No touch.

If Sander was truly that tactile, then wouldn’t his childhood friend, Max, and his other uni friends notice he’s tactile as well?

So, if Sander was only ever tactile with Robbe, then why? Was it funny to him? Did Sander think he could try and see what he could do, how far he could go, before Robbe would catch up?

The befriending, the breakup, the mysterious past with Britt… Everything was making sense, now. Robbe had been played, hard. He didn’t know why, what motive Sander could possibly have to make a fool out of Robbe, but he’d succeeded.

Robbe felt angry, betrayed and ashamed. But most of all, he felt pain. He could sense his heart cracking and falling into tiny pieces, as more and more worries overtake his mind.

Whatever he had left of pride was holding back his tears from rolling down his cheeks. He got up, grabbed his bag and coat.

“I... I have to go.” Robbe told the group of three, hurrying towards the entrance like his life depended on it (and at the moment, he felt like it truly did).

He slammed the door open, stepping outside as the first tear streamed down his face. He tried to wipe it away, but it only got replaced with even more tears. He walked down the small steps and leaned against the wall, his head tilted to the sky.

He was furious. He wanted nothing more than to go back in there, make a scene and demand explanations from Sander. But even more than that, he was humiliated. It wasn’t the first time he’d been made fun of, but this time, it hurt a lot more and a lot deeper. What he felt with Sander…

It’s true what they say, he supposes. Ignorance truly is bliss.

Robbe heard the doorbell of the bar ring, but he didn’t pay attention to it.

“Robbe? Robbe!” a voice shouted from his right.

Sander.

“Fuck off, Sander.” Robbe said, getting ready to walk away, but Sander was quicker in grabbing his arm. Robbe sighed tiredly, too exhausted and hurt to fight. “Let go,”

Sander shook his head firmly.

“No. No, Robbe, come on. I don’t know what they told you, but whatever it was, it’s definitely not what you think.” Sander pleaded.

“I don’t care, Sander. Whatever little game you were playing, I hope you had your fun. I’m out.” Robbe said, trying, unsuccessfully, to shake his arm out of Sander’s grasp. “Let me go, Sander!”

“Robbe, Robbe, listen to me. Please. I wasn’t playing any game, I swear, I can explain. Please.” Sander was practically begging, and Robbe could see tears forming in his eyes. He turned his head away.

“Let go,” was all Robbe said, trying to appear cold and composed.

Sander loosened his grip, and Robbe thought he’d finally listened.

A second later, Sander’s hands were cupping his face. Another second later, and Sander’s lips were on his.

Robbe was frozen in place at first, his brain unable to process everything that was happening.

The warmth from Sander’s hands on Robbe’s cold, wet, cheeks. The warmth of Sander’s mouth against his own. The explosion of heat pooling in his stomach. The explosion in his own brain.

Sander was… Kissing him?

Robbe brought his hands up to Sander’s shoulders, pushing him back. He felt a little bad when he saw Sander stumble backwards, not realizing how hard he had pushed him away.

“Sander… I…” Robbe started, unable to form a single coherent thought.

“I like you, Robbe. A lot. A lot more than other people. So, that’s why. I wasn’t playing you.” Sander said, a sad smile dancing on his lips.

Robbe took a small, tentative step back. He could feel his body shaking, badly, as if the temperature had suddenly dropped well under zero.

“Sander… I don’t… I’m not…” He swallowed painfully, “I don’t like you, not like that .”

The word was said with a bit more venom than Robbe had been shooting for, and he could see the second it hit Sander.

Sander’s face crumpled, as he whispered a small, desperate, “What?”

Robbe tried to breathe in, but even his breathing was shaky. “I’m so sorry, Sander. I’m… I have to go. I just… I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Robbe threw Sander one last apologetic look, turning on his heels and walking away.

The last thing he heard were Sander’s first sobs. His own followed soon after.

As soon as Robbe turned the corner, he let his tears flow freely as he took off in a run. He didn’t even know where he was going, or where he was, but he didn’t care.

His whole world had just fallen apart and the most important person in his life was gone.

[myforeverforlife]

meet me in my office.

For @ilovexiu​ Kyungsoo + 15. “No more!” - “Okay, fine, I won’t send you any more selfies.” + 25. “You can’t ride a bike?” - “Why are we whispering?” + 61. “Move!” - “Why would I move if I’m so comfy where I am?”

Masterlist

Despite working for one of the top music magazines in the country, it wasn’t often that you worked with anyone outside of your office floor. You were much too busy keeping finances for The Exploration with the rest of the team on your floor to even think of mingling with the rest of the staff on the floors above and below you. The only times that you did run into someone outside of your department were during your lunch breaks.

Grateful that you had chosen to wear some comfortable loafers instead of your usual heels, you waited for the elevator doors to open on the third floor. It was on this floor of the building that employees were encouraged to rest during lunch or break time. While the third floor was mostly reserved for casual meetings between departments, there were also rooms set aside with the intent for employees to take a half-hour to eat their meals. The kitchen on this floor was also much larger than on the others, save for that of the editor-in-chief’s, and the refrigerator was often stuffed full with labeled bins of Tupperware containers.

As the elevator doors opened, you weren’t surprised to find the usual suspects already on their lunch breaks.

“Hey, Y/N!” Chanyeol, one of the journalists from the fifth floor called out to you. His head peeped out from a doorway, the rest of his body hidden behind the wall of the room he was in. “Come eat lunch with us!”

“Let me get my stuff from the kitchen first!” As much as you liked to eat out with your coworkers for lunch, it wasn’t practical to do it everyday. Plus, sometimes you genuinely missed eating home cooked leftovers.

After heating up your food in the microwave, you headed over to where Chanyeol and some of your other coworkers were. Upon looking inside, you were taken aback to see that the only other people in the room were Junmyeon, one of the assistants to the editor-in-chief, and Kyungsoo, another journalist like Chanyeol. Your stomach began to do somersaults upon seeing the wide-eyed man, a familiar giddiness rising in you once you laid eyes on him.

“Join the rest of us and our sad leftover lunches,” Chanyeol greeted, nodding towards an empty chair at the table. Sure enough, it was the one next to Kyungsoo.

“They’re not sad leftovers,” Kyungsoo argued as you silently slipped into the seat beside him. “Good food is good food, no matter if its been refrigerated and reheated all over again.”

“Alright, sorry. I should’ve known better than to insult food in front of a bona-fide foodie.” Chanyeol winced as Kyungsoo pretended to poke his arm with a fork.

Junmyeon just smiled fondly at his friends’ antics before turning his attention to you. “How’s your day going?”

“Well, aside from some calculations on how much it’ll cost to fly some of out journalists out to that music festival next month and some reviewing of the past week’s expenses, nothing too exciting has happened.” You speared a piece of chicken with your fork, popping it into your mouth as you thought. “Oh!” You hurried to chew and swallow your bite of food before speaking. “But I did hear through the grapevine that the spread on Kai’s new album is gonna be insane.”

“Insane? Like good insane, or...” Chanyeol trailed off, his large eyes watching you curiously.

“It sounds like it’s gonna be really good. They’re thinking of having it set in Milan, since he’ll already be there for a Gucci event.” You sighed dreamily, fork dangling from your hand and you rested your chin in your other hand. “I’m really jealous of whoever gets to go on that trip.”

Kyungsoo was all too immersed in his lunch, picking absentmindedly at his food with a hint of pink dusting his cheeks. Junmyeon cocked his head, studying the other man with interest. “You okay, Soo?”

With a cough, Kyungsoo straightened up. “Yeah. Uh, I’m actually going on that trip. I’m going to be holding the interview with him.”

“You’re what?!” both you and Chanyeol exclaimed at the same time.

“You’re so lucky!” you added, stars in your eyes. “Are you excited?”

Kyungsoo shrugged. “I guess, I mean, his music is good, but I’m just not sure I’m the right person to interview him. I’m not a fan like you and Chanyeol.”

“If you want me to go for you, just say the word,” Chanyeol offered. He broke into a wide grin when Kyungsoo glared at him, completely unfazed.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” you said. “And it’s probably better that we’re sending someone who’s not already a Kai fan. You know, being unbiased and all.” You laid your hand over one of Kyungsoo’s. “We’ll miss you though.”

Kyungsoo stammered, eyes flickering between your face and your hand on his repeatedly. Noticing his friend’s dilemma, Chanyeol smiled wickedly as he leaned back in his seat, arms crossed. “Yeah, we will. I guess we’ll have to send you pictures of us every day so you won’t forget what we look like.”

Easily distracted, Kyungsoo forgot all about the sensation of your hand on his as he was reminded of Chanyeol constantly sending him pictures of random things throughout the day. The worst this week had been one of a pile of chocolate wrappers with no explanation, sent at three in the morning. “No more! No more pictures from you unless it’s actually important. And no, finding a chip in the supposed shape of a celebrity isn’t important.”

Chanyeol pouted. “Okay, fine, I won’t send you any more selfies either.”

Kyungsoo bit back the comeback lingering on his tongue, not wanting to argue with Chanyeol in front of you. Granted, you had seen him and Chanyeol fight playfully before, but still, it was important to Kyungsoo that he keep up a perfect front in front of you. You were always so sweet and bubbly, to put any sort of damper on it seemed like a sin.

“When do you leave for Milan?” you asked, waiting eagerly for Kyungsoo’s response.

“By the end of this month. Our team’s just starting to plan things out with people on your end, so once all of the expenses are calculated and the reservations are made, we can head out.”

“I know you’ll have a great time!” You tapped your feet excitedly against the floor, knees bouncing up and down. “Gosh, you get paid to go to Europe.”

“I’ll bring you all back some souvenirs,” Kyungsoo promised.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, even as Chanyeol shook his head in disagreement. “Save your money to do some fun things for yourself. You deserve this break.”

Kyungsoo’s cheeks turned rosy as he smiled, his eyes cast downwards. “Thanks.”

All talk of Milan was replaced with a story Junmyeon had about a missing story and the frantic 24 hours he just had. Kyungsoo watched admiringly as you laughed in all the right places, and sympathized with Junmyeon in the rest. You were so attuned to others’ emotions, he was surprised that you had chosen to work in what he considered the emotionless field of organization and computing with numbers. But what he didn’t know was that sometimes you needed the distraction that finances gave you.

Especially when it came to thoughts of him. 

A few weeks later, in a fit of boredom, you wandered over to Kyungsoo’s office on the floor below you. Once you got there,you knocked on Kyungsoo’s open door, leaning against the frame. “Hi, can I come in?”

“Of course.” Kyungsoo took off his headphones, clumsily setting them down on his desk. “What brings you over here?”

“Nothing, I just got bored. Things have been slow today since we’ve completed almost everything for the next month’s spread. How are preparations going for your trip?”

Kyungsoo sat up, clearing his throat. “Pretty good. They told me that your team’s already cleared reservations at the hotel, and for the flights there and back. I’m just worried about traveling within the city — how expensive do you think it’ll be to take a taxi or a rental car everywhere?”

“Hmm, I’ll have to get back to you on that. It shouldn’t be too much though. Ooh, you can go biking through Milan! It’ll be like in Roman Holiday. Well,” you put a finger to your chin as you thought. “I guess not exactly like it, since you won’t be in Rome.”

Kyungsoo smiled to himself at your monologue. “I never learned how to ride a bike.”

“You can’t ride a bike?” your voice immediately dropped down into a whisper.

“No. Why are we whispering?”

“Oh, sorry. I was just surprised, I guess. I mean, you know how to ride motorcycles but not a bike?”

“I only know how to ride a motorcycle because Chanyeol practically begged me to learn with him. He said there wasn’t a point in having a license if he had no one to ride with,” Kyungsoo said, rolling his eyes with a smile.

“That’s sweet of you. You know, most people would have just ignored him or told him no straight-up. But then again, you’re not like most people.” You grinned back at him, brushing a piece of hair away from your face.

Kyungsoo stared blankly for a second, eyelashes nearly brushing against his glasses. “Are you flirting with me right now?”

Startled by his sudden bluntness, you stumbled over your words. “I-I guess? I’ve really been flirting with you for a while.” Kyungsoo continued to stare wide-eyed, completely motionless. “Sorry, I um... I’ll just go.” You turned to leave when Kyungsoo got up from his chair, his hand reaching out for your wrist.

“Wait,” he said. “Where are you going?”

“Back to my office. Can we uh, just forget this ever happened?”

“Why?” Kyungsoo’s brows crumpled up.

“Because it’s embarassing, and you obviously don’t feel the same way!” You wrenched your wrist out of his hold.

“What? When did I say that?”

Both of you were equally as confused, you on the verge of running out of the room and Kyungsoo still shell-shocked from your sudden confession.

“Well... you didn’t, really, I guess. I just assumed since you didn’t say anything...”

“I.. you caught me off guard,” Kyungsoo replied. “I’ve liked you for a while, Y/N.”

The two of you were locked in an staring contest, both sides processing the reality of what was going on.

“Really?” you finally spoke up. “You’re not just saying this to make me feel better, right?”

“I’m not,” Kyungsoo replied with a tiny shake of his head.

“How come you never said anything? I never would’ve confessed if you hadn’t called me out on it right now.” You laughed shyly, one hand coming to play with the hem of your sleeve.

Kyungsoo shrugged. “I don’t know. I was worried I was reading too much into it, that I was just imagining what I thought I saw.”

Both hands clasped behind your back, you moved closer until you were face to face with him. “Well, I’m here now. And this feels pretty real to me.”

His gaze dropped down to your lips, his tongue peeking out to run over his own lips briefly. Leaning in, your eyes began to close, Kyungsoo following your lead and doing the same. He was only a few inches away, you could feel the warmth of his body as you slowly, slowly closed the gap until —

“Hey, are you — oh. Uh...”

You and Kyungsoo both jumped back from each other in surprise, your hand on your heart to try and calm the frantic beating while Kyungsoo ran a hand over his hair. “Sehun,” Kyungsoo spoke up gruffly. “What is it?”

“Uh, the boss wants to see you in her office. You too, Y/N. The finance team is running over the final numbers for the Milan trip.”

“Coming!” you chirped up, looking much calmer than you had a second ago. Kyungsoo, on the other hand, was still trying to get over the surprise of Sehun bursting into his office.

With a quick nod, Sehun hurried away, his footfalls soft against the carpeted hallway.

“Well, I guess we’re needed right now.” Noticing Kyungsoo’s dejected expression, you reached up to smooth down his tie and dust off the shoulders of his button-up. “Don’t worry, we can finish this up later.” With a wink, you pulled on Kyungsoo’s hand, leading him to the editor-in-chief’s office.

Lucky for you, your team was let out a bit earlier once the final numbers had been run through and all last-minute changes had been accounted for. You waved to Kyungsoo as you left, giggling to yourself as he looked after you longingly. Seeing as you didn’t have anything immediate to work on, you took another detour back to his office and waited until he came back. It was worth it to see Kyungsoo pause at the doorway when he saw you before beaming widely.

“Hey, what are you doing in my chair?” Kyungsoo asked, coming to lean against his desk.

“Well, seeing as it was empty and no one else was here, I thought I might as well take advantage of it. You know,” you relaxed against the back of the chair. “I think your office is a little bigger than mine.”

“Move! You have your own chair in your office,” Kyungsoo teased lightly.

“Why would I move if I’m so comfy where I am?”

Kyungsoo rolled his eyes with a smile. “Fine, you can sit there.”

“Thanks. I was hoping we could pick up where we left off.” You winked suggestively, bursting into laughter as Kyungsoo gaped open-mouthed at you. “Soo, I’m kidding. But on a similar note, are you free for dinner tonight?”

Kyungsoo was still reeling from your use of his nickname, a goofy grin on his face as he nodded. “Yeah, I’m off at six today.”

“Perfect. I’ll meet you downstairs in the lobby then." Rising from Kyungsoo's seat, you were about to walk past when you surprised him with a kiss to the cheek, your lips lingering for a bit before you continued on, out of his office and back to your own.

He stared after you, dropping into his chair with a hand to his cheek, as if he could still feel your lips there. Just at that moment, Chanyeol walked in, a sheaf of papers in his hand. He paused in his steps when he noticed the dazed expression on Kyungsoo's face, concern twisting his eyebrows upwards. "You okay, Soo?"

"Yeah," Kyungsoo sighed out happily. “Never been better."

A/N: this started off as y/n and kyungsoo getting stranded during a road trip, but I kept coming back to it and nothing was working out, so I ended up trying out another trope i’ve always wanted to do: office romance haha

[amphtaminedreams]

A/W 2020 Fashion Month: Before Vogue Went Blank (Part 2)

Hi to anyone reading,

I was going to start this post by jumping straight into Dion Lee and part 2 in general but there's been a lot going on the past couple of days-although this blog is primarily fashion, it wouldn’t feel right to start talking about designers without acknowledging all the shit that’s been going down.

^Photo Credit to @spiltcoco on Twitter

Yesterday, police footage came out of US police murdering yet another black man in broad daylight-George Floyd. He joins Sandra Bland, Eric Garner, Tamir Rice, Freddie Gray, and Alton Sterling, plus hundreds more named and god knows how many more unnamed African American citizens in the ever-growing list of victims of police brutality.

The majority of these are just people going about their daily lives, a majority of them doing absolutely nothing wrong; even those we know to have committed crimes have been unarmed and non-violent offenders. That being said, their offences are beside the point when we’ve seen the white perpetrators of mass shootings be calmly cuffed and escorted into the backs of police cars as if they were the ones selling cigarettes without permits. American police, given the amount of them that are armed, regularly become judge, jury and executioner trained for 8 weeks by an institution that originated from slave patrols. I cannot imagine how terrifying it is just to walk around as a PoC in America. I cannot imagine the collective trauma that has been suffered because of recent events on top of the intergenerational trauma that most likely exists because of centuries of oppression. I cannot imagine what it’s like to live in a country that was built to suppress you and was by law allowed to do so until very recently, those original structures still in place. I cannot imagine what it’s like to be made to feel like this is your fault. I mean, Boris Johnson is a useless, cold-hearted twat and I won’t defend him or this country for a minute (we have much blood on our own hands, and racial profiling is just as much a thing here as it is in America-I read earlier that you’re 28 times more likely to be stopped and searched in London as a non-white person compared to a white person), but I still can’t imagine him publicly advocating for the mass murder of groups he knows to be primarily made up of black people via Twitter. This whole situation is so unimaginably fucked up; anyone who still sees America as one of the world’s most developed nations needs to take a long, hard look at what is going on and reconsider that opinion.

Whilst we can’t fix everything, we can all speak up and make our voices heard, and it is our duty to do so. It’s not good enough to just “not be racist”, you have to be ANTI-racism, even if that means constantly reflecting on your own privilege and challenging your assumptions. Neutrality is complicity. Signing a petition isn’t going to change the world, but it’s a start:

https://www.change.org/p/mayor-jacob-frey-justice-for-george-floyd?recruiter=false&utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=twitter&utm_campaign=psf_combo_share_initial&utm_term=psf_combo_share_abi&recruited_by_id=7ba70000-a127-11ea-87fb-d1ff0bf6ea96

As I publish this, there’s less than 50,000 signatures needed to hit the target of 6,000,000 so if you happen to see it, get signing! There are lots of other petitions online but Change.org seems to be the only major one you can sign in the UK as the other are US based and require a zip code. I never thought I’d close a paragraph by quoting Macklemore but the line “no freedom 'til we're equal, damn right I support it” is at the forefront of my mind right now. Again, neutrality is complicity. We’re never going to achieve a fair society by sitting on our asses and hoping things will improve. Let’s all do the best we can.

Sorry if that intro wasn’t what you came here for, but I just think it’s so important to talk about. I know I’ve said in the past that fashion is supposed to be an escape from everyday life but there are some times when real life needs our attention and this is one of them. Feel free to unfollow if you disagree.

Anyway, onto the fashion. If this is the first post you’re reading, welcome! There’s a part 1! But I don’t wanna be pushy so start here if you wish!

If you read part 1, welcome back! 

I ended that post by practically falling at the feet of Dilara Findikoglu, and I so wanted to start this post by regaining a sense of dignity and go straight into what-the-fuck-ing at Dior, but I know breaking chronological order would really piss off those “OmG I’m SoOo OCD, tHis BuzZfeEd aRtiCle WiTh DiFfereNt SiZed TiLes ToLd Me!” which is basically me minus claiming liking things to be organised means I have OCD-no, just dermatillomania and the denial that a compulsive skin picking disorder has anything to do with OCD because the neuroses club that is my brain doesn’t have any space left. SO, I have to continue where I left off and star the post with Dion Lee, whose collections I am a big fan of.

I could ramble a bit more but I did enough of that at the beginning of part 1 and am sure I’ll do more than enough in this post anyway, so here it is, Dion Lee:

Considering we ended with the maximalism of Dilara Findikoglu, sliding back over towards the other far end of the scale with a designer that tends to pitch their tent on the borders of the minimalism camp feels correct. Dion Lee, fortunately, seems the perfect collection to open with. There aren’t many other brands who do edge in such an understated and masterful way. If you want to be ready for combat and look like you’d fit right in at Vogue at the same time, look no further. This season’s collection is full of perfectly placed cut outs and immaculate tailoring and subtle street fighter-esque details as ever, and that’s why it pains me to say it:

Not that this is enough in the way of critique to restore my dignity by any means, it’s not a patch on last season.

I don’t think there was a single bad look in that show, and at times it felt like I was weeding through them here. When the looks were good, they were GOOD but a lot I found to be disappointing. Plus I have no idea why you’d put tie-dye in an A/W collection. I appreciate that it’s an Australian brand and that our winter is their summer, but they’re presenting to the rest of the world at fashion week and anyone in Paris, Milan, London and New York is going to be freezing their tits off and looking like a twat in an orange tie-dye sundress. There wasn’t much of a dip in quality for the menswear compared to last season, but honestly womenswear left a lot to be desired. That’s what happens when your expectations are high.

I used to think that if you assume the worst, it’s impossible to feel let down. And then I saw Dior’s A/W 2020 collection. Did a full 180 on that statement.

I suppose it’s a step up from haute couture, but then at least the styling in that was simple, and it just didn’t look like anybody had tried at all; here it’s clear Maria Grazia chucked everything she could at this collection, every headscarf, every gingham print, every shallow feminist undertone, and it was still a fucking mess. At first you think some of the individual pieces are cute but have just been ruined by the styling, and then you begin to look, and realise that even those individual pieces could’ve easily been bought in a New Look Boxing Day sale.

THIS IS CHRISTIAN DIOR, SUPPOSEDLY ONE OF THE MOST LUXURIOUS BRANDS OUT THERE. WHAT IS GOING ON!? 

I don’t know, I included as many looks that I didn't mind as I could, but it’s like there always has to be a crappy, unnecessary detail in there. Everything is so literal. Of course the collection based around the divine feminine has the models dressed like basic ass Greek goddesses, so of course the collection based around the modern woman and equality has women walking the runway in ties and ill-fitting shoes too. Maria Grazia, here is a box:

Think outside of it. 

Next is, thankfully, Elie Saab:

No, not exactly a trailblazer of a collection, but executed with poise and elegance as always. I mean, the styling is spot on. It looks like each part of the outfit was made for another, to contribute to a whole clearly envisioned look, similar to what we saw in the Alberta Ferretti show. Elie Saab is known for its haute couture shows where all the tiny details, the sequins and the silk and the embroidery come together to make something beautiful, and this is just that on a larger scale, with less “wow”s and more quiet admiration, more wishing you were the one wearing that outfit. If you’re gonna play safe, do it this well. The night dresses are stunning of course, but not even my favourite bit of the show. It’s the casual looks, the pussy bows and the ruffles and the neck scarfs and the private girls school monochrome colour palette with the occasional pop of red or purple, a toned down version of what we saw at haute couture, any of which deserve to be worn whilst eating macarons in front of the Eiffel Tower before trip to Musee D’Orsay. It’s Poppy Moore’s school uniform grown up and made fit for a fashion magazine editor:

Somehow managing to cram an Emma Roberts early 2010s fashion moment into every post is my talent, who knew. Wild Child was really a gem.

Erdem was a mixed bag:

With a lot of the outfits, I can’t tell if I actually like the garments that much or if I just like the look as a whole. I mean, without sounding too gluten-free Callie from the Valley, I like the VIBE, but there was a lot of outfits I almost included before I had to ask myself “LAUREN, do you ACTUALLY like this or do you just like the walking-into-your-sugar-daddy’s-will-reading-to-claim-his-fortune DRAMA of it all!?” 

It happened a couple of times, where once I took off my black and white, theatrical violin accompanied entrance filtered sunglasses, I realised that the actual print was ugly. A collection so cohesively ornamental and kitschy is going to lean too far into that at times, and they were a few overly-fussy moments where it seemed less nudge nudge wink wink and more like Erdem Moralıoğlu fell into his grandma’s wardrobe, stole some fabric, and called it a day. I don’t want to sound like I’m not a fan of the collection because overall it’s gorgeous, I just thought it was a bit much at times.

Continuing with the theme of clever seasonal continuity that weaved its way throughout this year’s A/W offerings, Ermanno Scervino kept the core of his summer collection and made it just that little bit darker, added some weight to everything, and this is one of the rare occasions where I like the winter incarnation a lot more. I’m not huge about either but there’s a lot of things I’d love to wear here, the coats especially.

Up next is a reliable favourite of mine: 

Etro.

Was it REALLY necessary for you to include ALL those coats I hear you ask?

Alaska Thunderfuck as Gia Gunn voice: Absolutelyyyy.

When it comes to bohemian fashion, Etro is unbeaten. Everything is always exquisitely coordinated and styled. Like I usually fucking hate aztec print but I love the way it’s done here. I’ve never known a brand to make belts seem like such an integral, tasteful part of the outfit in a field where they so often seem like a last minute addition for the sake of accessorising; it pains me to say it, but Elie Saab, I’m looking at you. It’s your only fault. 

Yes for bringing back embroidered jeans! Yes for all those high necks! Yes for the tapestry print! Yes for the Afghan waistcoats! Etro will keep fedoras cool forever and I love them for that; I don’t know if she ever actually wore any of their stuff but I just know Stevie Nicks was in her prime would’ve ate this shit UP and she is my style icon for the ages. Plus, I might be way off base here but a lot of the collection seems to be inspired by traditional Romani style and it’s a beautiful direction to take things, a treasure trove of layers upon layers and rich textures and opulent prints.

I can��t wait til the phase of my phase of my life where I can swan around in maxi dresses and ponchos. I just hope those maxi dresses and ponchos are Etro.

Onto another brand which hasn’t had a bad show since I started my reviews: Fendi. This season, they took their late 60s/early 70s wild child aesthetic and gave a millionaire’s high maintenance wife spin on it, and what’s not to like about that? 

I mean, Fendi is a brand which is always going to excel in its F/W presentations-the rich, bohemian prints (pro-tip: if you can’t already tell, me mentioning the word bohemian in a review pretty much guarantees I like the collection), the furs, and the warm colour palette all perfectly translate into clothes suited for walks through a city going through a post-summer burnout, where it rains red and orange leaves. You can tell Silvia Fendi is in her element when she’s got texture to play with, something that comes across in the gorgeous coats Fendi consistently puts out, and this season continues that trend. Plus, there’s a lot of adorable details here-shoes that show off the decorative socks underneath, the cube shaped bags and those furry ear muffs which I hope bring about a high street muff renaissance because they’re the equivalent of slipper socks for my ears and THEY’RE ACTUALLY REALLY PRACTICAL. The only thing I’m not in love with is the mirrored glasses, and I can’t help but think how replacing them with a pair of grandad style aviators would be the icing on the cake for the collection. Maybe I just need to see Miss Robyn Rihanna Fenty wearing them and then I’ll get on board. Usually works.

Ah, GCDS. I got so excited for it after last season but this time round, it was a bit of a disappointment. There were a few outfits that semi-matched up to how cutting-edge I saw their last collection, however a lot of the pieces looked pretty low quality. I get that streetwear is in the name, but it’s supposed to be a high fashion take on that, and a lot of the looks were quite pedestrian. Stand outs are the top 2 rows and the leather motocross style jumpsuit on the far right, third row down, but the quality of these pieces wasn’t consistent across the board and I feel like I ended up having to convince myself I liked some of the others just so I had enough photos to justify including the brand. It really sucks when I look back on how ahead of the game last season’s collection was-we’re talking outfits that wouldn’t be out of place on Instagram’s Tokyofashion page and as far as I’m concerned that’s the fashion holy grail. Some of these looks, especially the menswear, could be from a Boohoo TV ad and that makes me sad.

Meanwhile, Giambattista Valli put out a collection that looked like a virtual postcard of Parisian fashion; if a St-Germain-des-Prés streetwear themed Instagram doesn’t exist already, someone should capitalise on that, stat, because if my typical vision of French feminine fashion is correct it would be full of outfits like this. I feel like this is what a fashion novice EXPECTS Chanel to look like. Trust me-these days the reality is much more disappointing.

There’s many things I'm happy to see here besides the tulle and florals and prettiness I expect of the brand. Obviously the berets and the bows and the elbow length gloves are the kind of off-duty ballerina style touches I’ve become accustomed to but there are also some nice surprises here: the military style white jacket, the unexpected snake motif on clothing that’s otherwise overly delicate, and to my delight the return of the boater hat. IDGAF, this is the summer where I’m buying myself one off Ebay and making this happen for me whether they become a “thing” or not. I shouldn’t squander having this little of a double chin; the opportunity may never present itself again. 

I haven’t watched Killing Eve in a longggg time since there’s only so much of two women attempting to kill each other and then miraculously avoiding death you can watch but I’d love to see Vilanelle prancing round a city in this kinda shit slitting some necks again. I hope that doesn’t make me sound like too much of a sadist; only in a purely fictional world is this something I want to see, I assure you.

Givenchy was really, really great this season too, imo. Definitely a step up from the last RTW anyway. Aside from the drama of the exaggerated floppy brim hats and the quirky tassle detail dresses a la Schiaparelli, a lot of these outfits kinda remind me of something a Miranda Priestly/Cruella De Vil type would wear, and you know me; I’m all for that kind of intimidating, about-to-either-slap-you-or-fire-your-ass bad bitch energy. The gathered leather gloves with the androgynous subtly checkered power suits feels CORRECT and if Giambattista Valli is the bottom in this relationship, Givenchy is the top. Am I allowed to reinforce sapphic relationship stereotypes as a bi girl? Probably not. I’m sorry. Won’t do it again. Just this once. And you know I’m right really xoxo

And OMFG Gucci. Another impeccable collection for me, honestly. Once again, it’s probably my favourite of the season. How it is that Alessandro Michelle gets it SO right for me despite his vision being so bold and different every time? He has this specific brand of strange, conceptual beauty which blends past and present trends in a way so supreme it should be considered art. It’s not a term to throw around loosely but the man is a genius, and tbh I’m still not over the human head props from the 2018 F/W winter show.

In my Haute Couture week review, I talked about the Viktor and Rolf collection (which I loved, don’t get me wrong!) and said that pretty meets grunge is my fave thing ever-this is that, but much even more substantial and intelligent. The Wes Anderson-esque pieces or that late 60s/early 70s hipster aesthetic that I loved in last season’s show hasn’t been done away with either-be it the level of detail or the colour scheme, it all somehow fits together. Never did I think I’d see dresses fit for porcelain dolls through the lens of Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen seamlessly slotted in between outfits that could’ve been put together from the clothing rack of Dazed and Confused’s costume department. I want it all-opulent fur-trimmed coats, crucifix jewellery and pilgrim hats I’m sure both Edgar Allan Poe and modern goths would approve of, and the tiered skirts that wouldn’t be out of place in a Westworld saloon. The models were delightfully sad and almost creepy looking and I wouldn’t change that for the world. To say 10/10 doesn’t do it justice, so I’m gonna have to open a reviewer’s can of worms and say 100/100.

Gucci is a tough act to follow, and I’m sorry it has to fall onto the shoulders of Halpern. In the nicest possible way (as if there is any nice way of saying it), I don’t think I any expected anything but a downgrade, so if anything, my standards will be lower so...Michael Halpern, you can thank me I guess? 

That was really mean, I’m sorry. It’s not a bad collection, and I definitely like it more than last season’s. It’s a slightly garish colour palette at times but an exciting one in spite of that, which when paired with the animal print dotted throughout makes this collection the perfect fit for a tropical beach party or at the very least, a semi-decent night at the Caribbean themed bar in your local town centre. The sequins and silk, a Halpern trademark, are as tastefully done as ever, and seeing them on the models, I can’t deny these are some power fits-the kind of clothes you are bound to look and feel confident in; if you wanted to play queen of the urban jungle for a night, this is what you need to be wearing.

Ah, Hermes.

Generally not one to stoke a fire inside me. In all fairness, the tailoring here is really, really nice and French biker chic, and the pieces are perfectly crafted-it’s not that I don’t like the outfits because I think that if I saw one of them individually in a natural, messier setting I’d probably be impressed. These are classy, elegant winter looks and what more could you want when you’re looking for outfit inspiration for this season? It’s just that it’s always a little too neat and uniform for me, and on the runway I like my fashion to be risky. This could almost be the sophisticated mother to a Tommy Hilfiger collection and whilst that’s something I would probably wear if I wanted to look put together, it’s not what you get excited to see at fashion week. Primary colours all together aren’t where it’s at for me either, the infamous colour scheme of the cheap plastic playhouses you’d find in the garden of every working/middle class British household back in the day. Yes, I had one. So did the after school club I was forced to attend whilst my mum was at work. Apparently the negative connotations are still too much for me (a boy I went to the after school club with did once fall off the back of one and crack his head open so maybe it’s justified).

Isabel Marant was pretty much exactly what you’d expect from Isabel Marant; if the Etro bohemian woman is one who rolls out of bed and chucks on the first thing she sees, the Isabel Marant bohemian woman is the one who claims she’s done the same thing but who actually planned it all out the night before. She designs for the gluten-free, bikram yoga Kourtney Kardashian style “hippy” who claims to be a free-spirit but would definitely not do acid with you. I was gonna say it was a collection for the Gwyneth Paltrows of the world but then I remembered Gwyneth proudly released a candle she claimed smelled like her vagina and changed my mind-she’d definitely do acid with you. 

It’s definitely a cohesive transition from the summer collection; both have that seemingly laid-back, clean-cut vibe, and cater to the rich, impeccably groomed scented candle loving woman everywhere. Obviously the pieces are a tad more suited to an alpine lodge in Switzerland than a beach in Malibu this time round, but that same mild colour palette, pretty, naturalistic patterns, and generally relaxed fit persists. It’s cute enough.

J.W Anderson is a bit of an enigma.

Despite the experimental silhouettes and the kooky details that you think would very “look at me!”, the collections still seem to have a chilled, easy-going feel to them. They toy about with the strange but remain entirely sophisticated whilst doing so-I think it’s because aside from the little quirks that make the garments J.W Anderson, they’re otherwise fairly reserved and simple; even the quirks themselves mostly tend to be exaggerated, more conceptual takes on more typical stylistic motifs anyway. Anderson has a knack for producing statement pieces that don’t look like they’re trying too hard to be statement pieces, a talent he expertly deploys at Loewe as well. Whilst Maison Margiela collections are like the fashion equivalent of that Jughead “I’m weird, I’m a weirdo” speech, J.W Anderson’s refusal to conform is quiet and modest. I like it. It’s not generally my personal style but I can admire the thought behind the work, and there are still some things I’d love to try. I have a few standouts-the shoes with the hoop detailing dancing from the ankle straps, the dress on the bottom right with what appears to be art nouveau typography on, the trench coat with the cape detailing and the gossamer dress to its right are all stunning, especially that dress. If I ever want to dress as the bubble Glinda the Good Witch descends in when she meets Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, I know where to go, though I don’t suppose there’s going to be an occasion that calls for that any time soon. Can I just have the dress anyway?

Kim Shui is another new designer I found through blessed Twitter screencaps-thanks guys for doing my research for me. Much appreciated.

But anyways! Like Charlotte Knowles, it’s clear she’s still establishing her aesthetic as a designer, and thus far I love it. The whimsical, throwback prints on urban silhouettes that range from the androgynous suits of city dwelling cool girls to the amped-up sex appeal of nightclub dresses is gorgeous, especially twinned with dainty headscarfs and opera gloves-all in all I think this a very cool and wearable collection and I’m looking forward to the next collection she puts out.

Next up is Lacoste, and IDK why I always include their collections to be honest, considering they’re not really known for “high fashion”. I guess it’s because my dad has collected Lacoste shirts since I was little so I kinda have a soft spot for it and feel obligated to include it every time presentation season comes around. Yes, the outfits are unbearably preppy and the colours are garish but I feel like that’s kind of the appeal? So what if some of the tracksuits look like they could’ve been pulled out of a bad mafia movie? I see the argyle jumpers, with a bit of wear and tear, as a charity shop gem my sister would come across (she has the #Y2K Depop girl knack for finding old designer pieces in the shittiest charity shops without the audacity to try and sell them at a 70% markup) that I would then steal from her wardrobe to wear myself, contrasted with a ripped mini skirt, chains and and docs. I see the POTENTIAL of a look that is very fuck you to the rich middle age tory styling we see here. It’s punk, okay?

Lanvin was STUNNING this time around. Maybe it’s because I’ve been watching Mad Men recently and it reminds me of the fashion on that-which I hope somebody won an award for at the time BTW, it is SO fucking good-but I just adore every look here. I can’t even remember if I reviewed Lanvin’s SS20 show, and so clearly if I did it wasn’t that memorable (no shade intended), however this collection is a different story. Every single one of these outfits is iconic movie moment worthy, a 60s Cher Horowitz plaid two piece equivalent that would get screencapped and replicated ad-nauseam, all the best looks of Betty Draper and Peggy Olsen and Joan Holloway and Megan Calvet brought together and refined for the modern day woman. I might even consider sacrificing my anti-royalist principles if it meant I could transport myself back in time and switch bodies with Grace Kelly so I could make this collection my princess-off-duty wardrobe and drive around Monaco in that Bella Hadid look, roof down, all the drama of the fur trim and the gloves and hair whipping about in the wind (but in this unrealistic vision I can actually see what I’m doing and I’m not choking on random strands and swearing at Mother Nature as if she is a real entity with a personal vendetta against me).

Loewe! More J.W Anderson! I’m gonna try not to repeat myself by arsekissing too much all over again and get the good points out of the way quickly! So rapid fire: elegant! Delicious colour palette! Interesting shapes! I think I’m seeing a Victorian/Edwardian influence there! Correct me if I’m wrong! I like it! The coats are strong! Remind me of the suffragettes! But lets pretend in this case these Loewe style coat wearing suffragettes are not raging classists!

AH. Apart from that, it was a bit too austere for me. I definitely preferred Anderson’s eponymous collection; there were a fair few recurring details in this show that I couldn’t get behind that I didn’t include, in particular this bib-like black panel that just kept popping up on everything. Sorry J.W Anderson. But a 50% success rate is still good! And at the end of the day, having 2 collections on Vogue Runway at once is more prestigious than the accumulative total of every accomplishment I’ll probably ever have achieved in my life by the time I’m on my deathbed so what do I know anyway? Sigh:( At least I’ll always have the honour of having the largest head by circumference of my class in year 4, right *sweats nervously*!?!?! 

Louis Vuitton was definitely a downgrade on last season for me. There were for sure elements I liked-the Vera Wang-esuqe mixing of the tulle bustle skirts with the rougher, more masculine biker inspired vests and jackets was a cool choice, reminiscent of Gucci’s mixing of the lace dresses with harnesses. I enjoyed the baroque jackets and subtle nods to steampunk style too. Though we’ve already seen it a lot this season, the wet look coat with fur trim I can’t help falling in love with, and I’m immune to the potential ugliness of the muted blue monotone look purely on the basis I can picture Ripley from Alien in it. So like I said-it’s not as if I hated it. I guess when it comes down to it, the collection wasn’t bad so much as I just had higher hopes. I will say though, the staging was INCREDIBLE. As a history nerd, I never thought I’d see the day when a Henry the 8th lookalike actor was part of the backdrop of a Paris fashion week show-and I always thought there was no interesting career path for me in the subject!

And another big name I don’t tend to be so partial to, Maison Margiela. IDK, I did like last season but I wasn’t a fan of haute couture and it took me a while to warm to this. Call it deconstructed, experimental, whatever, but you know when you can’t decide what to wear and you’re in a rush so you kinda just throw all the shit you decided against into a pile? Well, my initial thought was that this season Margiela is kinda that, on the runway.

I will say, once I let go of my need to see a clear shape, a lot of the individual pieces were stunning (NOT the puffed up tabis though, I still can’t even get behind the regular ones). I guess I just wish they’d go for less is more with the styling because as it currently stands, it makes it hard to actually take the clothes in. 

Ultimately, one thing you can always say about Margiela, like their clothes or not, is that it has a monopoly on being effortlessly bold.

Marc Jacobs I really liked again, though I will say it doesn’t stand out quite like the S/S collection did. That was absolutely STUNNING-I can’t remember specifically where I ranked it in my top ten but I know it was at least in the top 5. This, on the other hand, is...pretty. It’s very pretty, and very put together, so I’m not saying at all that I don’t rate it. I suppose it’s just a lot simpler than I expected it to be-I don’t have a problem with simplicity, at all, especially if it’s what a brand is known for but I feel like part of the appeal with Marc Jacobs is that it’s pretty kooky. I mean, not Thom Browne or Margiela kooky, but commercial kooky at least. I feel like the kookiness is lacking here? And that’s where this feeling is coming from? And also, the fact that Lanvin tackled the same era and did it a lot better? So there’s that, too. Plus, I adore Miley Cyrus but...why? Random celebrities waking the runway just doesn’t do it for me-it always comes across as a publicity grab, as if the designer isn’t confident enough in their collection’s ability to get people talking on its own, and I suppose in this case that says it all really.

Margaret Howell was...well, Margaret Howell. She’s known for her basics, and they’re always pretty non-offensive “regulation hottie” in the words of the icon that is Damian from Mean Girls. It’s been, what, four years? More? Since I last watched that film but I’m pretty sure watching it about twenty times between the ages of 9 and 15 tattooed it on my brain. I include her because even though they don’t get my pulse racing, I like these pieces; considering the fact that expecting straight white men to ever have style on the level of barbiedrugz (his instagram is my favourite thing ever) or Rickey Thompson is ludicrous, Margaret Howell’s menswear looks are probably are the best, realistic goal for any future partner. Because I like my men dressed like Paddington bear/a depressed Brown University English lit lecturer, okay? Or in other words, Will Graham from Hannibal.

Marine Serre had a few good moments-the looks that I liked were the ones that stayed within her lane of blending the weird with the visually appealing. There were a lot of cool things going on, and I like the utility vibe (the boot with the pouch detailing and the mask are perfect examples of this done well), but outside the fits I picked out a lot of it went over my head tbh.

Marques Almeida is a show I was looking forward to-it has such a youthful, experimental quality to its collections (it’s no surprise the designers said they were influenced by the HBO show Euphoria this year!), similar to Central Saint Martins, and you can tell the designers (Marta Marques and Paulo Almeida) are based in London too; we are talking about the birthplace of the punk fashion movement, and as a designer it’s probably almost a rite of passage that you incorporate elements of that into your work. Marques Almeida does that with a flair and consistency you can count on. Their clothes don’t have the wildest silhouettes or anything like that but the fun they have playing around with print and colour and the ease and confidence with which they settle on those combinations always comes through-the black and white coat with the yellow furs trim is one of my favourite pieces from the entirety of this season’s offerings.

I wasn’t so fond of Max Mara’s SS20 collection and I'm not gonna lie, this isn’t THAT much of a step up for me personally. It’s just one of those brands I feel obligated to include because it’s talked about quite a bit but I’m not totally sure if it’s for me. Too monotone, but I’ll give it another season! And I mean, there is a slight improvement here-this collection is a lot more laid back than the stiff, austere feel of the last, and there are some very well fitted and structured pieces. A lot of the looks kinda remind me of a 2020, fashion take on The Breakfast Club’s “Basket Case”, which is kinda cool, and just from looking at the clothes, the high price tag is palpable. Also, scruffy hair club unite! Though obviously it’s intentional here! That’ll be my excuse for the next time I turn up at work looking like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards-Max Mara made me do it.

Ending on those words of wisdom, I’m gonna bring this post to a close, because I can’t fit any more photos in! I’m desperately hoping that I can fit this all into 3 parts like I did with my last RTW review but even if I do have to make 4 posts, I still include my top 10 shows as I did before. I hope to get that post up within the next couple of weeks! After that, I’ve shot a Lana Del Rey inspired by each of her different albums and “era”s though given last week’s events I’m on the fence about whether to post it or not, especially given her silence over the last couple of days. I’m really proud of what I’ve put together and I’ll always love her art and music (I have 2 bloody tattoos, for fuck’s sake!), so I’m trying to think how I can reconcile that with those awfully worded posts and just the general lack of awareness of bigger issues that she’s displayed the last week. JFC, being a Lana stan has always been so chilled up until now. All the very valid and important takes aside, that “Lana pls delete that post and apologise, we can’t fight the barbz all your stans are depressed” tweet is the only good thing to come out of this shitshow. He got a point. Breathing feels like effort lately:( IDK, if you’re also a Lana stan and you have any opinions on the matter, feel free to DM me, because I’m feeling pretty conflicted rn.

Most importantly though, are the issues I opened this post by talking about, and I thought I’d finish by including the thread of petitions I saw on Twitter. Like I said, a lot of them aren’t available to sign in the UK but to anyone who read up until this point (thank you!) idk where you’re reading from so maybe some of them will apply to you:

https://twitter.com/yericvIt/status/1265801832930045953

Also, while we’re at it, because every tory voting twat seems to treat our country as if it’s some beacon of hope where racism is non-existent and love to tell PoC to stop moaning about their experiences, here’s a thread of black British men and women who have lost their lives to police violence:

https://twitter.com/illh0eminati/status/1266441604170223617

Thank you for reading until the end. I hope that you enjoyed the fashion part of the post but also that if you did read this far, you read the other bits too if you didn’t know what was going on already. It seems like everyone does but you forget that Twitter’s a bit of an echo chamber and that outside of it, there’s a lot of ignorance, whether intentional or not. I know Tumblr has a similar audience to Twitter so I imagine there’s loads on here about everything going on too, but ya know. I wanted to talk about it just incase. 

Stay safe, keep fighting the good fight, and again, thank you for reading!<3

Lauren x

[fossadeileonixv]

Supercoppa: Juventus 1 Milan 0

A post in which I’m not mentioning those guys in yellow

If I would have written this yesterday I would have needed an extra large dose of....

and a drink or 5. As it is, 24 hours later, I’m still annoyed but at least in the state of mind to write something. As usual, ratings for all players with some thoughts mixed in. 

DONNARUMMA 7: Fell asleep for just one moment but was otherwise perfect. Lesson of the day is always play to the whistle and never ASSUME a whistle is coming.

RODRIGUEZ 5.5 Certainly his worst performance in a while. Costa ate him up all game long.

ROMAGNOLI 6.5: Played well but needs that bit of physicality and nasty in his game. Too many times gets pushed aside too easily. 

ZAPATA 7: Continues to play very well. Went into the season as probably 4th choice CB but I think now can be viewed in the first pairing with R13. The team has now conceded 5 goals in his last 8 appearances against Italian competition.

CALABRIA 6.5: Certainly played better than his counterpart on the left. Love his grit. 

KESSIE 4: Even without the red he probably had his worst game of the season. He was all over the place, usually abandoning Bakayoko in the midfield and getting in the way of any kind of offense up front. A true ‘running like a chicken with its head cut off’ performance by him. Completely shit the bed on or best chance all game. 

BAKAYOKO 7.5: Solid as a...

CALHANOGLU 5.5: Created chances. More fluffs. More disappointment. 19 league and cup appearances now: 0 goals and 3 assists. Putrid.

PAQUETA 6.5:Has moments of skill but also held on to the ball a little too long at times. The skill is there though. 

CASTILLEJO 5: Ran a lot. Put in some of the worst crosses I’ve ever seen in my life. Created nothing. 

CUTRONE 6: Just stay up top and be a poacher kid. That’s your spot. That’s really all we want you to do. Leave the dribbling and passing to the other folks.

CONTI 10:  How much longer do we have to wait for him to start? He is such a breath of fresh air. Any more of those crosses and Avia is just gonna start watching games with no pants on. Me too. 

BORINI 0:  Seriously?

HIGUAIN 0: Never heard of him... does he play for Milan?

GATTUSO 5:  Love the starting lineup with the 4312 and Paqueta in the middle.  He’s nice on the ball and it puts him behind a couple attackers and in front of Kessie and Bakayoko. Totally dig it. 

Problem yesterday was that Kessie decided to go full Flamini. He was everywhere and nowhere and that threw everything off. He got in everyone’s way and that led to our shape getting all out of whack. Later on Gattuso brought on Higuain and Borini for Samu and Paqueta. So we went 442, which STILL doesn’t work Rino, and he also took off our best mid? Ok.

After about 5 minutes of THAT, he took off our only real poacher and put in our best crosser, Conti. So he took off our best finisher who wasn’t getting any service and brought on our best crosser with no real finisher on the field? Shoot me. 

Seems to me he could have just brought on Conti for Samu and never brought on either Borini or Higuain at all. I love the idea of having Hakan, Paqueta and Conti all on the field at the same time with Cutrone as the target. That’s our 3 best service guys (Suso was unavailable) and our best finisher. 

Flick-ons and more thoughts about the game tomorrow on a very special WTF,

Cheers

Lisi

[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid Chapter 18

Previous: Cricket & Bunny

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x OFC

Genre: Secret AgentAU, Government AgentAU

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: Our resident P.I. finds who she's been looking for, and gets an unwelcome surprise. 

(two shorter chapters today!) 

Harboring Hoseok

Present Day

           I found Jung Hoseok.

           Let me back track that statement – After months of digging, harassing my sister for more help, using all my contacts in various bureaus, lying to Euna that I’d made progress when I hadn’t, I finally have found Jung Hoseok, Hoseok Jung.

           I know, you’re wondering, how? What finally cracked the case? How did I, the person incapable of finding Min Yoongi, lucky enough to stumble into Park Jimin, find Jung Hoseok?

           You’ll be shocked, you’ll be amazed, you’ll be dumbfounded that I stumbled into him in the most millennial way possible, because I found him on, don’t hold your breath:

           Instagram.

           That’s right, I stumbled upon Jung Hoseok on fucking Mark Zuckerberg owned, Instagram. It was a coincidence, a twist of fate, that I was even in the vicinity of him, because we do not live in the vicinity of each other. I wasn’t sure he was even alive; I wasn’t sure if he had moved continents or countries. But, in the ether, he resides.

           Sometime after Jungkook told me he loves me, and after I created permanent scarring on his back from my too long fingernails (they’ve since been cut multiple times), I went to my favorite Barre3 studio. I’m not going to lie, I go regularly. I’m addicted. Yes, it can be cult-ish, but have you ever worked out so thoroughly your ass hurts when you stand? Or listened to a teacher relay the message that you are strong, that your body is powerful, that you can accomplish any challenge? If not, and I know this is propaganda, but like take a class. I can give you a discount.

           The point is, somewhere between sumo squats and parallel bridge lifts, I noticed this woman, stunning, who seems to come to class every day before or after she hits the gym with her trainer. The. Stamina. Can you believe? On a Wednesday, I accidentally bumped into her, spilling some of my water down her Sweaty Betty matching set. I apologized profusely, and she laughed it off, saying it cooled her down. She noticed my earrings, liked them, and ever since then we’ve been texting. We’ve even gone so far as to get coffee, which prompted me to do my favorite activity, troll her Instagram. Some people say Instagram is going the way of Facebook, which it easily could be, but it’s so damn fun that I pray every day the trend continues in its favor.

           A public figure, Genevieve Yang is the height of couture. She is at every fashion week, Milan, Paris, New York, and donates nearly as much as Kwan and Seo, combined. Leaving the spotlight to work on a smaller sect of her organization, focusing on women’s reproductive rights, specifically women in poverty, she’s rarely photographed or seen outside of said events. Instead, she works 8-5, exercises regularly and rumor has it, is vegan. She’s the eldest of three, and her siblings are a pediatric cardiologist and a Rhodes Scholar. Within the universe of the Lee’s, she’s looked down upon for being biracial, her father, a first generation Nigerian-American, fell in love with her mother, a first generation Korean American from Busan, during their study abroad stint in Italy. I’ve been dying to find a connection to the Lee’s, and here, in all her melanin glory, is Genevieve.

           In scrolling through her Instagram, I came across a photo series from a few weeks ago. To my surprise, standing with his arm around Genevieve’s shoulder, stands a man with dimples so deep and rays of sun beaming through the photo and barreling past my phone screen.

           Jung Hoseok.

           And who should be next to him?

           Lee Kwan-Min.  

           They’re in an ornate ballroom, gold ceilings and ball gowns, masquerade masks held in their manicured fingers. They’ve been drinking and dancing, as is evident in their, what Jungkook would call Asian Glow, and in the caption.

           Drink every night bc we’re drinking to our accomplishments

           A paraphrase from a Drake song, it seems to ring true as I scan through the other photos of the evening. It must’ve been Lee Enterprises semi-annual gala, masquerade theme taking turns with Gatsby or in the era of Bridgerton, Regency London. Their summer event, Polos & Picnics, is as you guessed it, a Lacoste and Perignon soaked day drinking celebration of everyone’s summer tans and Hampton houses. It’s anyone’s guess which event raises more money, or costs more to put on. Jun-Seo and Kwan-Min throw a few other smaller events, brunches and casino nights, all earnings going to their philanthropy. The galas are the hottest ticket in North America, and I am still stunned that Hoseok had made it into the embrace of Kwan-Min.

           Think Crazy Rich Asians meets the Met Ball. It’s all anyone ever wants to attend, and damn if I’m not jealous every year.

           Hoseok is tagged in the photo series, and by clicking on his name, I can see our mutual friend, and nothing more. The age-old question every millennial has to ask themselves is this, is that enough to send a follow request? I don’t know if it is, but what’s the worst that can happen? He blocks me? Alright, that gives me information that I can use. Sure following him would be the best case, but he could leave it pending for weeks.

           I send the request and text my newest friend, Genevieve Yang, who immediately calls me.

           “Oh Y/N, what do I owe the pleasure?” Genevieve asks.

           “I just thought we could chat, I was looking at your Instagram and-

           “Oh my god! Do the pics from the Masquerade look good? I can’t tell if people love them, or just tolerate them, you know?” She sips loudly on what I assume is some green smoothie, her favorite non H2O beverage.

           “Sure, absolutely, I totally know,” I lie.

           “Don’t lie to me,” Genevieve scolds.

           “They’re beautiful, but I didn’t recognize who was in that first one with you,” I bait.

           “Come off it, you absolutely know,” She laughs but I swear I can hear her rolling her eyes.

           “The woman looked familiar, but I don’t know from what,” I tell her, curiosity in my voice. “I have no clue who that man is.”

           If she could see me, she’d laugh. A barely eaten sandwich, cold coffee in a travel mug I got when I was 20, and dark circles under my eyes from my inability to sleep the last few nights. The paranoia of the last letter has seeped into my subconscious, and I can’t bring myself to sleep unless Jungkook is nearby, of which, he isn’t. Gone on a business trip for the last three nights, gone for five more. How incredibly rude of him, but there isn’t much I can do when his boss could possibly be 007 incarnate. Or Danny Trejo.

           “She’s one of the heirs to Lee Enterprises,” She tells me.

           “The Lee Enterprises?”

           “Oh so you do know?”

           “I’ve heard of them, how could you not? Their parties are exclusive, and that’s putting it generously,” I respond sipping on my own beverage. Two can play ASMR phone games, Genevieve.

           “Oh, the most exclusive, top of the line guests, one year, Beyonce performed, and the next, Adele,” She regales me, tempting me to go off topic.  

           “Are you dating that guy? He’s gorgeous,” I inquire.

           “Hoseok? No, no, not for me. I think he was going to ask Kwan out,” Genevieve says.

           “Really? A new boyfriend?”

           Scoffing loudly, “Just because she isn’t like her siblings doesn’t mean she doesn’t date.”

           “None of them have a particularly stellar track record,” I remind her.

           “Does anyone?” She breathes.

           “I suppose not,”

           “Mm, anyway, Hoseok is eying Kwan, I’m single and you’re still with that guy, who?”

           “Jungkook,”

           “Mm, I think Hoseok might know him,” She says.

           “What?” I ask.

           The thing with being a P.I. is accepting the reality that nothing is a coincidence. There are no happy accidents, nothing is considered fate. I’ve been so, blinded, by my personal connection with Jungkook to see the larger picture. What if he is part of this? Could he be conspiring with these other men? Does he know them, like they seem to be implying? How fucking blind have I been?

           “Yeah, he said something to me later, about knowing a Jungkook and wondering if they were the same. He said that it’s not a common name in Korea, so why would it be here?” Genevieve’s soft voice pulls me back from my panic attack.

           “Yeah, say, does Hoseok know a Namjoon?” I ask.

           “I don’t know, do you want me to ask?” Genevieve sets her drink down, the sound clinking through my phone.

           “Uh, no, no, that’s okay,” My hands hastily move against my keyboard, searching Hoseok’s followers for Namjoon.

           But I don’t find him.

           Instead, my blood runs cold at who I find.

Next: Codename Miss Cuttlefish, If Ya Nasty

[madzieloss]

roses are red, so is your face

on ao3

five times cat makes alec blush, and the one time he gets her back (a 5+1 fic)

~5k words

The first time it happened was the first time he met her. Alec had heard plenty about Catarina Loss, of course. He already had a rough familiarity with the name from the Institute’s files, but most of what he knew came from Magnus. While her file had a basic laundry list of her features and attributes - blue skin, white hair, skilled in healing magic - Magnus’s stories had already fleshed her out into a real person before Alec even met her.

Which he was about to do.

Magnus had arranged for all of them to have dinner together - as he said, “It’s about time the two of you meet. So you know I’m not making either of you up.” - and she would be arriving any minute. Needless to say, Alec was nervous. Despite what little experience he had with relationships, he knew the best friend approval was pretty important.

And from Magnus’s descriptions, Alec wasn’t surprised they were best friends. Both of them quick-witted and vibrant, with an underlying compassion in everything they did. And by all accounts, according to Magnus, she and Alec should get along ‘like a house on fire.’ Alec was honestly just aiming for the evening not to end with a literal house on fire.

The doorbell dinged. Alec’s head shot up and he glanced at the clock. Six o’clock sharp.

“Punctual as always,” Magnus chuckled, following Alec’s line of sight. He rose and strolled towards the door, pausing halfway to look back at Alec. “Coming, Alexander?”

“Oh. Right.” Alec stood quickly and followed Magnus to the door. Of course they would both greet her. Obviously.

“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” Magnus reassured him for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. “She’s going to love you.”

And with that, he swung open the door.

Somehow it hadn’t occurred to Alec that she would have her mark glamoured. Instead of the blue skin he had been expecting, he was greeted with the sight of rich brown, her hair long and black instead of the shocking white he had pictured. Maybe the files had influenced his mental image more than he thought.

But when she smiled, arms reaching out to pull Magnus into a hug, Alec saw the Catarina from Magnus’s stories. There was a warmth that seemed to emanate from her.

And then she turned to him. She looked him up and down for a moment, just long enough to make him feel uncomfortable. Then she met his eyes, cocking an eyebrow.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re stupid tall?”

Well that wasn’t what he had been expecting. Alec stared at her for a moment, then began to sputter. “I- You- I mean-”

Her eyebrow inched ever upwards. She turned to Magnus, who sported an amused smile, and shielded her mouth with her hand as she mock-whispered:

“He can speak, can’t he?”

Magnus burst out laughing as Alec made a point of shutting up. This really wasn’t how he had pictured this going.

“Give him a moment, Cat. Although I can assure you, he has certainly been told how stupid tall he is before.” Magnus glanced over at Alec, who remained mute. “But I like it.”

Cat rolled her eyes as she stepped further into the apartment, shucking off her jacket. “Gross. I hope he’s not as cheesy as you are.” But a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth.

“Come now, that’s hardly the worst thing you’ve heard me say,” Magnus replied easily as he and Cat began walking into the main room.

“I certainly hope it’s the worst I hear before I get to eat. I’d rather not lose my appetite.” She paused, and glanced over her shoulder at where Alec was still standing frozen by the door. She looked at Magnus. “Is he coming?”

Something told Alec this was going to be a long night.

And he wasn’t wrong. The evening continued in much the same fashion, with Cat making remarks at Alec’s expense, and Magnus chuckling along. He did tell her to play fair at one point, to which she simply responded, “Now where’s the fun in that?” before winking at Alec. Overall, he wasn’t sure what to make of it all.

When she stepped out of the room, leaving Alec and Magnus alone for the first time all night, Alec turned to Magnus and whispered:

“I don’t think I like her. Or at least, I don’t think she likes me.”

Before Magnus could respond, Cat’s voice rang out from the other room. “I can hear you, pretty boy!”

Alec felt the blood rush to his face. As if the night couldn’t get any worse. Beside him, Magnus chortled softly and ran his hand down Alec’s arm comfortingly.

“She has the ears of a hawk, I tell you. And she likes you just fine, I promise.” Magnus leaned in and whispered, even quieter than Alec had been. “Just don’t let her get away with too much, would you?” Before Alec could even wonder what that meant, much less ask, Cat re-entered the room and Alec become overtly aware of how red he was as her eyes landed on his face.

And she cooed at him. If anything, he turned even redder. Was she really… cooing at him?

Cat laughed. “Well, I must say. I’ve been around for a while, and I’ve never seen a shadowhunter blush before. How adorable.”

Alec opened his mouth to protest, but Cat’s eyes lighted on Magnus.

“Then again, I’ve never seen you date a shadowhunter before. How can you stand the uptight stoicism, Magnus?”

“Excuse me?” Alec was interrupting before he even realized what he was doing. “I called off my own wedding to march down the aisle and kiss the High Warlock of Brooklyn in front of the entire Clave. Now if you want uptight stoicism, you should try them on for size.”

Cat’s jaw dropped, and she blinked. A slow smile spread over her face as she turned to Magnus. She gave a short nod.

“Now he’s a keeper, Magnus.”

Magnus leaned back and shrugged. “What did I tell you?” He raised an eyebrow. “Now are you going to leave my boyfriend alone?”

Cat snorted. “Now that I know he has attitude? Not a chance.” She sat down across from them and gave Alec a wicked grin. “It’s on, shadowhunter.”

And you know what? Maybe Alec did like her after all.

After that, dinner with Cat became a semi-regular thing, so really Alec should have expected it to happen again. The second time ended up being only a couple of weeks later, and they’d already eaten and were sprawled on the furniture, while Cat told a story about Magnus in some of his younger years.

“Don’t listen to her, Alexander,” Magnus said. “She’s a liar! You can’t trust a word she says.”

Cat caught Alec’s eye and mouthed, “That’s not true.” Alec snorted. He knew Cat and her stories well enough by now to know she was liable to make things up from time to time. But he also knew there were some things you just couldn’t make up.

Alec watched in amusement as Magnus pinned Cat with a look. “And you claim I have an exaggerating problem.”

Cat’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, are we going there? Because I could tell your nephilim here about that time in Milan and see what he thinks.”

Alec was sure he remembered something Magnus had said about being banned from Italy for a few decades or so, but he never said why. Which meant this one was sure to be juicy.

“Don’t you dare, Catarina!”

Alec met Cat’s eyes and a slow grin took over his face at the matching mischievous spark in hers. After all, Cat wasn’t the only one with stories about Magnus. A little reciprocation might finally coax out what happened in Italy. He leaned forward a bit, shifting in his seat.

“So, Cat,” he began. “Did Magnus ever tell you about the time we went to Austria? We were at the-” Alec was cut off as Magnus dived across the couch and straddled him, covering Alec’s mouth with his hand. Muffled laughter escaped as Magnus’s eyes bore into his, a mock serious expression on his face.

“Alexander. We do not speak of Austria.” Alec smiled behind Magnus’s hand and lifted a questioning eyebrow, trying to convey an is that so vibe. “... we don’t speak of Austria in front of other people,” he amended. Alec huffed in amusement.

“Get a room, you two.” Cat was sitting across from them, waggling her eyebrows. Alec felt his face heat up, realizing how it looked; Magnus straddling his lap and pinning him to the couch, one hand effectively gagging him. He wanted to sink into the cushions and disappear. Preferably forever.

Cat smirked. “Do you always blush this much, or is it just me?”

Alec groaned as more blood rushed to his cheeks, and he buried his face in Magnus’s chest. Magnus rumbled with laughter, but patted his head.

“It’s not just you.” Magnus’s words were barely audible, not even a whisper, but Alec still heard them.

“Magnus,” Alec groaned again. This had backfired horribly; also, he really needed to get this blushing thing under control.

The third time it happened, Alec didn’t see it coming at all. He had been fortunate enough to leave the Institute early that day - courtesy of Izzy chasing him out and telling him he was working too hard - and he had decided to surprise Magnus. Alec knew his last client for the day had been about an hour ago - a surprisingly light day for him, considering it was only five thirty now. But it worked out well for Alec. He had stopped by a small flower shop on his way home, thinking it would be nice to surprise Magnus with more than just an evening to themselves, and the bouquet he was carrying only improved his already good mood. There was a light spring in his step as he unlocked the door to the loft and threw it open.

“Babe, I’m home!” he called, slipping off his jacket and hanging it up.

“Babe?” came a questioning voice that definitely did not belong to Magnus. Alec froze as Cat rounded the corner. “My, Alec, that is a new one. Are those flowers for me? I had no idea you felt that way.”

While her voice rang with a by-now-familiar teasing tone, once again Alec found himself bright red and sputtering. “I- They’re for-” He stopped himself and tried again. “I mean- Is Magnus-”

“Aw, there you go again. No need to turn into such a tomato.” She patted his heated cheek and took the flowers, bringing them up to her nose. “Good choice in flowers, though. And don’t worry, Magnus just popped out for a quick errand.”

“Oh. I-I thought he was done with clients for the day.” Alec cursed the stutter in his voice. He had hoped he was past that stage with Cat.

But for once Cat didn’t tease him about it, waving it off. “He is. This has nothing to do with a client.” Her tone was flippant, but she had turned away from him, taking the flowers towards the kitchen. She stopped and glanced back at him. “I thought you weren’t supposed to be back for a while, actually.”

“Oh, I got off early, thought I’d surprise Magnus…” he trailed off. Alec squinted an eye at her, suddenly suspicious. “Come to think of it, what are you doing here? Magnus didn’t mention you were coming over.”

“Didn’t he?” Alec had to follow her as she continued towards the kitchen. “It must have slipped his mi-” She whirled around and stopped him with a hand on his chest. “And where do you think you’re going, pretty boy?”

Alec cocked an eyebrow at her. “In case you forgot, I’m the one who lives here. Or did that slip your mind?”

She rolled her eyes at him, but the small smirk playing at the corners of her mouth gave away the exasperated act. As much as she loved to tease and make him stutter, most of their relationship had become founded on this: sassing each other. Well, that and telling embarrassing stories about Magnus. In the end, Magnus had been right. They did get on like a house on fire - so well, in fact, that Magnus had once said he almost regretted introducing them.

“I know you live here. But you do not need to be going into that kitchen right now.” Alec raised his eyebrow further in question and she sighed. “Magnus has a rather… let’s say volatile potion brewing in there right now. I’m keeping an eye on it while he’s out. But that means you-” and here she paused, poking a finger at his chest, “-do not need to be going in there right now.” She cocked her head. “Capiche?”

Alec was almost sure she was lying, but he didn’t know why. Most ‘volatile’ potions that Magnus had to make were never made in the kitchen. He usually kept those to the main room or his study, just in case something went wrong - it never did, but Alec knew Magnus wasn’t above taking precautions. Whatever the reason for keeping him out of the kitchen, it had nothing to do with a potion.

He couldn’t see into the kitchen from where he was - Cat had stopped him before he reached the doorway. He’d have to play along.

“Right. Look, I promise I won’t touch anything, okay? But I need to get through to the other room.” He paused. “I left my phone charger in there.”

“Uh huh.” Cat narrowed her eyes at him. “Sure you did. But I can’t let you in here, Magnus would kill me. And no offense, but I’d rather let your phone die.”

Alec gave up. “Look, we both know there’s no potion brewing in that kitchen, so what aren’t you telling me?”

Cat pursed her lips, twirling the bouquet of flowers. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, shadowhunter.”

“Oh, just let him in, Cat!” Alec’s gaze shot up to look for the source of the voice. The voice that undeniably belonged to Magnus. He met Cat’s eyes and raised an accusing eyebrow.

“Out on an errand, huh?”

Cat shrugged. “His idea, not mine.” She shoved the flowers towards him. “You both are ridiculous, you know.”

“You may have mentioned that once or twice.” Alec smirked as he followed her into the kitchen.

“You know,” Cat called to Magnus as they entered, “I don’t what the point of the charade was if you were just going to let him in anyway.”

“To be fair, my dear, you did a horrible job turning him away. A potion, really?”

Cat huffed at him as she jumped up to sit on what seemed to be one of the only clean spots on the counter.

The room was a mess. Pots and pans were strewn across the countertops, cupboards thrown open, and utensils littered all around. Alec was pretty sure every kitchen item they owned was out, along with some kitchen items he was sure they didn’t own. Predictably, in the middle of the chaos was Magnus.

He was wearing an apron, of all things, and his normally bejeweled fingers were devoid of their usual jewelry save for his signature M and B rings. There was flour in his hair, dusting the tips a powder-white that, for once, wasn’t the result of any hair dye. Any other time Alec might have found it adorable. As it was, he was simply confused.

At that moment, Magnus turned and caught sight of Alec. A grin broke across Magnus’s face.

“Ah, Alexander!” Magnus strode across the room, giving Alec a quick hello kiss.

Alec tore his eyes away from the mess long enough to reciprocate, giving Magnus a small smile. Realizing he was still holding the flowers, he held them out. “Um, these are for you.”

Magnus took them with a smile. “Why, Alexander, what’s the occasion?”

“No occasion. Just that I’m home early and I wanted to surprise you. Now-” Alec waved his hand, gesturing at the surrounding chaos, “-are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

Magnus glanced around with a sheepish expression. “Yes, well, about that…”

As if to remind them she was still there, Cat broke in. “Really, you two are made for each other.” She looked at Alec, heels bumping lightly against the cupboard doors as she swung her legs. “He was going to surprise you, too.”

Alec raised an eyebrow, then turned back to Magnus. “Surprise me with what, exactly?” He lifted his eyes pointedly to look around the room.

“Well, you remember how I haven’t told you about Italy?”

Alec’s head whipped around to look at Cat, who waggled her eyebrows, before he turned back to Magnus.“... yes. Am I finally going to hear that story?”

Magnus scoffed. “Not a chance. But, there used to be this wonderful little restaurant there that I frequented before…” He paused, giving Cat a meaningful look. Meaningful in what way, Alec wished he knew. “Well, before the Incident, we’ll say. But the chef there made the most amazing pansoti I’ve ever eaten, and since I had a few hours before you came home, I invited Cat over to see if she could help me recreate it.”

Magnus eyed Alec. “That is, I thought I had a few hours. We’ve made almost no progress and you’re already here. Your surprise seems to have been far more effective, I’m afraid.”

“Is that so?” Alec smirked. “I don’t know, coming home to my boyfriend cooking a romantic dinner seems like a pretty good surprise to me.”

Magnus grinned, moving closer. His shoulders swayed slightly. “Then I’m sure you’ll appreciate some other surprises I planned for later tonight.”

A thump startled Alec before he could reply as Cat hopped down from the counter, a beer bottle that had seemingly appeared from nowhere dangling between her fingers. “And that, boys, is my cue to leave.”

Alec felt it before it happened, his face heating again as he realised he’d momentarily forgotten Cat was there. That was twice in one day; if anything, he was getting worse at this.

Cat snorted at the look on his face. “You really are too easy, Lightwood.”

The fourth time it happened, Alec should have been safe.

It had been a long day at the Institute, with too many system malfunctions and missing mission reports, and overall Alec just wanted to go home. Because home meant Magnus, and Magnus meant comfort. He didn’t have to be Head of the Institute; he could just be Alec.

So when his phone lit up with Magnus’s name across it, he all but jumped to answer it.

“Alexander!” came the immediate greeting. “I was just wondering if you were going to be late again tonight or if I should plan on you being home for dinner.”

Alec huffed a laugh. “If I had it my way, I’d be leaving right now. But between the system errors and the new recruits, I haven’t had much of a chance to even touch my paperwork. I’m going to be at least another hour.”

Magnus hummed on the other end. “Or, you could leave now and do the paperwork tomorrow.”

“Now that does sound tempting.” Alec grinned, a chuckle escaping. Just talking to Magnus had already eased a tension in his shoulders he hadn’t even realized was there. He sighed. “I miss you.”

But it wasn’t Magnus’s voice that replied. Somewhere in the background of the call, Alec could distinctly hear Cat call out: “Stop being so cheesy, you literally saw him this morning!”

Alec paused as Magnus huffed in laughter, unsure whether he should be mortified or amused. “Magnus…” he started. He could feel the red rising to his cheeks - an all too familiar sensation by now - and was glad to be on the phone where Cat couldn’t see him. “Do you have me on speaker phone?”

“I’m so sorry darling, I’m mixing a potion and I needed to be hands-free.” Magnus’s voice was as thick with mirth as it was apology. “Cat just stopped by for some extra ingredients she needed.”

A snort from the background. “I bet you twenty bucks he’s blushing right now. Are you sure that boy is a shadowhunter and not a tomato?”

Again, Alec was glad to be on the other end of a phone. “I’m not blushing, Cat. And you really need to lay off the tomato comparisons. That got old ages ago.” He was relieved at how steady his voice sounded, dry and humorless instead of stammering like he often did when embarrassed.

“The shadowhunter doth protest too much, methinks.” Cat’s voice had moved closer to the phone, less tinny now. Alec felt his blush strengthen again and he tried to force it down.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh huh. Whatever you say, Lightwood.” He heard footsteps as she walked away from the phone, presumably leaving the room. He was about to say something to Magnus when a portal opened up in the middle of his office.

He pulled his phone away from his ear, instinctively reaching for his seraph blade. The wards only allowed in a few trusted warlocks, but Alec couldn’t think of anyone who would be portalling in-

Cat stepped out, looking entirely unruffled. Upon seeing him - his face still a blotchy red, hair now wind-tossed from the portal’s energy and one hand holding his phone while the other reached for his belt - she burst out laughing.

“What are y-” Alec started, but Cat just strode forward and spoke directly into his phone.

“You owe me twenty bucks, Magnus!”

Alec groaned, sinking back into his seat while Cat laughed. Apparently even a cell connection wasn’t enough to save him.

The fifth time should have been entirely avoidable. Alec had just returned home after a mission, and decided to take a quick shower before dinner. There was ichor caked in his hair from a particularly nasty demon Izzy had taken out just before it reached him, and he didn’t think it was a good look for the dinner table. Magnus had laughed and promised to take care of cooking as long as Alec got cleaned up.

So he did. He took a slightly longer shower than usual - there really was a lot of ichor. He would have to remember to tell Magnus they were out of shampoo now. It took at least ten minutes just to wash his hair. Finally though, the bathroom held an overpowering scent of sandalwood instead of demon ichor and Alec stepped out of the shower feeling significantly less sticky.

His previous outfit, however, lay scattered across the floor and in dire need of a wash. He tiptoed around it, reaching for a towel to dry himself off with when he realized. He had completely forgotten to bring in another set of clothes to change into.

Alec sighed and towel dried his hair until it stood in a poof atop his head. He would just have to go grab some clothes from the other room. He wrapped the towel around his waist - less out of modesty and more in an attempt to keep from dripping water all over the floor - and padded into the hallway. He could hear Magnus in the other room, and he ran one hand through his hair, trying to tame it into something more reasonable while he walked.

Wait. He stopped walking. Magnus was… talking to someone? Before the information could click, he heard a chuckle from behind him. He whipped around, one hand still in his hair, the other on his towel.

There stood Cat in all her glory, a hand covering her mouth as she laughed, looking him up and down much the same way she had when they first met. Except this was a much more awkward situation. Despite the towel, he could feel water dripping and pooling at his feet and he was keenly aware of just how ridiculous this looked.

“Do you dress up like this for all your guests?” Cat’s face looked like she had just hit the jackpot and Alec knew he wouldn’t be escaping this story for a long time. “I mean, I know you’ve never been a fashionista, but I think you’ve learned enough from Magnus to know a towel isn’t exactly proper dinner attire.”

Alec felt the blush rising and he groaned. He thought he was entitled to blushing in this situation though - the dots had finally connected and he realized this was his fault. He had been so concentrated on getting into the shower he had forgotten that Raphael and Cat were both coming over for dinner tonight.

“Oh. My God.” Cat was laughing uncontrollably now. “I didn’t realize your blush went all the way down your neck!”

Neither had Alec until she brought it up. His blush intensified and he cursed under his breath.

“Uh, I’m just gonna-” he gestured to the bedroom. Cat laughed even harder.

“Yes, oh my god. Get dressed, please don’t come to the dinner table like that. I don’t even want to know what Magnus would say. Or think.” She mock-shuddered.

Alec gratefully turned on his heel and practically ran for the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him. He could still hear Cat’s peals of laughter as he leaned back against the solid wood.

When he emerged, this time fully clothed and composed, Cat shot him a wicked grin. There was a glint in her eye that he recognized, but before he could say anything, she turned to the rest of the table.

“Have I got a story for you guys.”

Alec sighed. Something told him he’d be red again before the night was done.

It was a few weeks later and Alec had all but given up on controlling the rush of blood to his face that seemed to happen whenever Cat was around. She knew his buttons too well; it was a lost cause. So of course, he had been expecting something to happen all night.

Alec had called Cat in to help with a situation involving some new werewolves - there was a rogue werewolf on the loose, turning mundanes, and after he attacked the Jade Wolf there were plenty of injuries to go around. Magnus was busy with a client, and Alec knew Cat didn’t have a shift at the hospital, so his first instinct had been to call her.

The mission had been a success, though, and Cat hadn’t said anything the entire time to heat his face, too busy berating the new werewolves for not holding still. Luke had taken care of the rogue, and he was in custody, and the New York pack had grown by a few. It could have gone much worse.

Alec finished talking to Luke about what to do with the rogue - deciding to leave it to the pack to take care of - and turned to look for Cat. He needed a report on how much damage had been done, but when his eyes finally lighted on her, she was talking with Maia.

Maia had taken a pretty nasty scratch to her arm when she and Luke had confronted the rogue and Cat was taking a look at it - accelerated healing or no, it was better safe than sorry. Cat was bandaging it up as he watched, carefully wrapping white gauze around it until it could heal. It should have been a normal sight.

Except Cat was… giggling? Alec couldn’t make out what Maia was saying, but Cat was looking at her like she hung the moon, injured arm nearly forgotten. He gaped at them.

This wasn’t Cat’s dry humor laugh. He knew that one. This looked like flirting.

He approached the pair, clearing his throat slightly to break into their shared laughter. Maia looked up at him, still in mid-laugh and grinned.

“What’s up, Alec?”

He smiled back and inclined his head toward Cat. “Do you mind if I steal her for a second? I take it your arm will be fine.” He indicated the expertly wrapped bandage.

“Oh, sure! She knows what she’s doing, my arm will be good as new in no time.” Maia stood. “Anyway, she’s all yours. I actually need to talk to Luke.”

Cat stood as well. “It was nice meeting you, Maia. Let me know if you need anything else for that arm.” Her expression was warm, a soft smile pulling at her lips.

Maia laughed. “Like I said, I’ll be fine. It was nice meeting you too, Cat.” She cocked her head. “See you around?”

“Of course.”

Maia gave a wave over her shoulder as she walked away, stepping around some broken glass on the floor. Alec watched how Cat’s eyes followed her until she disappeared into the back of the restaurant. Her mouth was hanging open slightly and Alec suppressed a smile.

“Close your mouth, Cat. This is a public place.”

Cat tore her eyes away from the door Maia had vanished behind. “My mouth was not open, shut up.”

“Uh huh. And you definitely weren’t ogling Maia either. Right.”

“I was not!” she protested. But her face looked much redder than it had a few moments ago and Alec stared for a moment.

“Wait a second… are you blushing?” He couldn’t believe it. But her cheeks were growing brighter by the second and Cat was definitely…. blushing.

She reached out and punched his arm. “Don’t be ridiculous, shadowhunter. I don’t blush.”

Alec snorted. “Get a mirror.” He crossed his arms and looked at her seriously. “But it’s nice to know I’m not the only one who can turn into a tomato at the drop of hat. Or isn’t that how you phrased it?”

Cat glared at him and raised an eyebrow. “I thought the tomato jokes weren’t funny anymore?”

“Hmm, you’re right. How do you feel about beets?”

“Shut up, Lightwood.”

And if Alec couldn’t wait to tell Magnus about this over the Chinese takeout he was definitely bringing home after this, who could blame him?

[etiennedatiwa]

Shame and learning to combat it with love.

Wassssup. It’s ya boy. Hope you guys have been doing good. Today is going to be very vulnerable. Vulnerability is a strange thing for me. My friends regularly tell me it’s one of my greatest strengths. I’ve gotten better at being open and honest with my emotions yet…. I still struggle to be fully open. I have trust issues. Not sure where it all stemmed from. Maybe from childhood, I dunno. Maybe I didn’t receive enough emotional support as a child. All I know is that I struggle with people pleasing and fully letting people in because of a fear of rejection. This especially affects me when getting close to women; I get major anxiety and fear sending mix signals because of a mistake I made when I was 18. I didn’t really start being aware about how deep this pain was until I was about 19? So yeah. It’s a process.

Alright, we’re gonna talk about shame. I won’t lie: the last couple of months or so have been hell for me emotionally and I’ve been wrestling with a lot of shame. It stems from my long battle with pornography since my pre teens. Most people can relate with this a lot. Porn is so easily accessible, it’s crazy. Adverts are getting more and more sexual, you have raunchy comedy movies, Netflix. It’s kind hard to avoid it. But lately, the shame hasn’t been necessarily from consuming porn itself, but mostly about the kind I’ve been watching. I won’t go into detail, but it’s been very damaging. Ever since I discovered the link between sex trafficking, sexual abuse and how this is all fuelled by the porn industry, I’ve been suffering from major anxiety.

To explain further, part of me started to believe that I WAS an abuser, that I was the things I’ve seen. And that’s been scary to wrestle with. I’ve felt so ashamed to the point that I thought that no girl would ever want to be with me. It’s still something I wrestle with from time to time. But there’s been hope. I’ve finally been able to tell people about the things I’ve seen and they’ve embraced me with love and without judgment. It’s been so freeing. I sometimes worry that I’m spamming my friends with messages and rants to often, but they’re not tired of me yet lmao. They’ve reminded me that God delights in me, he doesn’t just merely tolerate my existence. That he is not angry with me, that his grace can cover even the worst sins I think are unforgivable. He wants a mutual receptive relationship with me. That changes EVERYTHING.

One of the passages that has been so helpful for me recently is Ephesians 3:18-19 which says “And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is. 19 May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God.” That’s powerful. We combat shame with vulnerability and love, namely the love of God. It’s one thing to read of God’s love, another thing to embrace it.

One of my favourite Church Fathers, St Ambrose of Milan speaks of God’s grace in such an amazing way: “But Christ was sold because he took our condition upon himself, not our sins themselves: he is not held to the price of sin, because he himself did not commit sin….. And so he made a contract at a price for our debt, not for money for himself: he took away the debtors bond, set aside the moneylender, freed the debtor. He alone paid what was owed by all.” That’s amazing. Jesus took all our sin on himself and set us free. We don’t have to live a life of condemnation.

God has shown me his love in two amazing ways recently. One was from a middle grade book from the “Rick Riordan Presents” imprint. The book is called Aru Shah and the Song of Death. It’s a book based on Hindu Mythology. The main character Aru is wrestling with a lot of shame and has a lot of skeletons in her closet. Who doesn’t? We’ve all done things and have a past we’re not proud of. The Hindu Goddess Ratri comforts Aru and says to her “I have seen your nightmares, Aru Shah. They grow in my land after all. They are seeded with moments of doubt, watered with the pain of tears not shed, and pruned by the ghosts of paths not taken. But that does not make then true.” That quote brought so much comfort to me. That God saw my inner turmoil, that he hadn’t forgotten me. Just because I saw my past doesn’t mean it defines me.

Another example was from Avatar: The Last Airbender. The character Zuko is a complex one. Banished by his own father and sought to hunt the Avatar to restore his honour, Zuko goes through a whirlwind of a journey. He ends up betraying his Uncle Iroh who had tried to lead Zuko on the right path. Iroh is something like a Christlike figure. When Zuko meets his Uncle again, he tearfully apologises to his uncle saying “Uncle, I know you must have mixed feelings about seeing me. But I want you to know... I am so, so sorry uncle. (starts crying) I am so sorry and ashamed of what I did! I don't know how I can ever make it up to you, but I...” Iroh, pulls Zuko into a hug before he can finish his speech, which is very similar to the parable of the Prodigal Son. Zuko is shocked and is like “How can you forgive me so easily?! I thought you would be furious with me!” Iroh responds “I was never angry with you. I was sad, because I was afraid you'd lost your way.” What an amazing display of the grace of God. That entire had me bawling. I just felt the overwhelming sense of God’s love washing over it. Grace is scandalous.

We’ve all done things we’re not proud of you, we’ve all experienced trauma. But you don’t have to carry that shame with you. There’s freedom is confessing your pain. Freedom is right at your doorstep. I really do hope this post encourages you.

[fashiontrendin-blog]

Tattoo Advice From 6 People With Years of Hindsight

http://fashion-trendin.com/tattoo-advice-from-6-people-with-years-of-hindsight/

Tattoo Advice From 6 People With Years of Hindsight

I often waffle between thinking tattoos are an insane commitment and thinking they’re no big deal at all. Over the years though, as I’ve gotten my own and watched others get theirs, a few things have solidified for me vis-a-vis permanent ink: Everyone who has tattoos feels very differently about them. Try as we might to find it, there is no consistent script for those who choose to participate. Which is to say: No one approach will speak specifically to yours.

That said, I am always curious to hear more perspectives, and since I know the stories of the young and the reckless getting tatted up against their parents’ wishes all too well, this time I sought out guidance from people a little older, a little wiser, and who have the benefit of hindsight. Below are six people who fit that bill, so scroll to read their stories and advice and then tell me yours.

Olivia Kim

Olivia, 40, is the VP of Creative Projects at Nordstrom. She got her first tattoo at 14.

What made you first want (and get) tattoos?

I got my first tattoo when I was 14! My mom had just gone out for the evening, and my sister and I decided to have a party at our house. Our friends were literally hiding in the bushes and trees and, as soon as the car left the driveway, they all came in. Then my friend, who was a senior and had a car, said that he was going to go get a tattoo. I said, “Oooh, me too!”

I never thought about it or deliberated whether or not I wanted one. I just got one. I think I’m pretty much the same now. The feeling of wanting another one, and another one, and another one never goes away. I don’t like to overthink anything. You can just wind up talking yourself out of an experience.

What about it might you have done different had you known better?

Nothing. Zero regrets. I love the really bad stick-and-pokes from my best friend Jenn that we would do on the floor of my apartment just as much as I love the beautiful super-pro ones done by amazing tattoo artists. I think you have to just get what feels right for you — not your friends, or your fave celeb crush, or something impersonal. If it’s what you want, it’s what you want.

What advice would you give to people who are thinking of getting a tattoo?

I’ve heard people say, “I’m thinking about getting a tattoo but just waiting for the right moment or the right inspiration.” But I think the fun of tattoos is the spontaneity of being in the moment and whatever you happen to be thinking of in that moment. How else do you wind up with a cupcake on your knuckle?

It’s not the most important decision in your life, so be a bit free with it. Have fun! What is the worst thing that could happen? You hate it or regret it? You can just as easily remove tattoos these days as get them.

Richard Biedul

Richard, 34, is a lawyer turned model turned art director. He got his first tattoo at 16.

What made you first get a tattoo?

Believe it or not, the rationale behind getting my first tattoo wasn’t an archetypal act of rebellion nor a desire to follow a trend. It was more of a Leonard (Guy Pearce) in Memento type scenario…

My (twin) sisters passed away when I was very young. As a teenager I was haunted by the notion of their memory fading as I grew older, especially because the memories I had of them to begin with were so limited.

I guess in the simplest terms: I made the decision to get a tattoo to ensure that I never forgot them. I hope that the permanence of the tattoo on my body will act as an eternal memorial to them and to any fading memory of them that I may or may have as I grow older.

What about your journey since has surprised you?

Over the last 18 years, some of the times and places (and ease with which) I’ve been able to get tattooed have genuinely surprised me. From house-parties in Berlin and Brooklyn to shops in London, Paris and Milan. Any time of day or night. Over breakfast, lunch or dinner: the list of strange scenarios goes on and on…

I wouldn’t change anything. I stand by all of the decisions I’ve made to get each and every one of my tattoos. Except maybe the drunken decision to get a unicorn on the back of my left arm…

Thoughts on style choice?

When people ask “Can you recommend a tattooist?” I always say yes, but caveat any suggestions based on what style of tattoo the person wants.

Stylistically, my tattoos are all done by different people from different parts of the world, but they all maintain aesthetic similarity. They probably don’t necessarily fit any one of the major tattoo styles but if I were pushed I would say they’re a mixture of traditional and stick-and-poke…

There has been a large number of people in London over recent years who having never expressed an interest in tattoos have, in the space of 12 months, covered every inch of their body in an attempt to fit an aesthetic that has taken others decades to achieve. On some people it works, on others it looks contrived. It’s like going to Supreme and buying one of everything. Owning these items doesn’t necessarily make you stylish. It just shows that you have a propensity to follow trends (and consume fashion).

Any common misconceptions you’d like to debunk?

“Does it hurt?” I get asked this quite a lot. The longest session I’ve ever had was three hours. Before I had that session I would always say: “No, not particularly.” However, post-wolf’s head, I always answer in the affirmative! But just how much depends on a person’s individual pain threshold. What is tolerable to one is intolerable to another…

Any advice for people thinking of getting a tattoo?

Tattooing, just like art, fashion and music is purely subjective; what one person likes another hates. Obviously you can appreciate the technical expertise that went into the work, but everyone should tread their own path, do some research, find a style or artist that YOU like. Don’t be influenced by your peers, sportsmen or celebrities. Take risks and most importantly…be original!

Mary Dorman

Mary, 67, is a civil rights activist attorney. She got her first tattoo when she was 55.

What made you first get a tattoo?

I believe I have always been an outlier. Since birth. I have never been afraid to be different because I simply am. On the other hand, I am a white female who looks like so many others and none of my friends have or had a tattoo. Maybe a teeny one in a hidden place. Good tattoos have always appealed to me. There was a fabulous show of them at the Drawing Center in the ’90s and I knew I had to have one. I have never regretted it for an instant. I wouldn’t have done anything differently. Now I just want to enhance it but have to find the right artist.

The surprise of my personal tattoo journey is how many people want one but are too chicken to get one.

Any advice on style choice?

If you’re going to get a tattoo, commit to it. Anyone can have a little dot that is a dolphin or a peace sign…boring. Might as well wear a temporary. That said, it doesn’t have to be huge by any means. One thing that I have noticed is how most people get a tattoo in a place that they can’t see it: shoulder blade, back, etc. I enjoy seeing mine.

BUT! My tattoo can’t be seen unless I have shorts on, as it is on my calf. As I age, I would like to get a tattoo of an octopus tentacle poking out of my collar just up my neck, but that may not be in this lifetime.

Any common misconceptions you’d like to debunk?

What cannot be debunked is that if you get a shitty tattoo, you are stuck with it or Dr. Zizmor (who advertises for tattoo removal on subway signs).

Any advice for people thinking of getting a tattoo?

Think about the image and get a true tattoo artist to draw a sketch that you can personalize even further. The tattoo has to be about you. Also — really fight making the decision when you are not sober. Some PRETTY BAD tattoos come out of spring break in Key West.

Charles Taylor

Charles, 56, is a writer. He got his first tattoo at 50.

What made you first want and get tattoos?

It was an idea I toyed with on and off over the years. What would I like? I always wanted a pin-up girl, you know, a kind of Varga girl. But, frankly, I worried what that would look like when I got older. Would it be the tattoo equivalent of the mid-life crisis sports car? I don’t think aging has to mean dullness. I see how reluctant men much younger than I am are to try anything that isn’t run-of-the-mill dull, and it just makes me despair for my entire gender. There is nothing more boring than the sartorial habits of the average American man. On the other hand, you don’t want to look like an ass.

The decision when I made it was simple. My mom died. Six days before I turned 50. I decided I wanted her name tattooed on my left shoulder. I was so marked by her death that marking my flesh seemed of very little consequence.

I asked some of my students where they got their ink. And the same name, NY Adorned on 2nd Ave, kept coming up. I went in on a Saturday and got her name and middle name, Eva Lorraine, in simple black script on my left shoulder. I remember being strangely proud when, after he was done, the tattooist said to me, “Wow! You’re a bleeder.” It felt right that I had bled for the honor of having my mom’s name engraved on me.

My dad was, at first, a little taken aback. But he understood why I did it, and he came to like the tattoo. He even kidded me, “When are you going to get my name?” I did this past April the week after he died, on the opposite shoulder, in the same script, his first and middle name, Charles Henry.

What about your tattoo journey has surprised you?

A few weeks back, I was moving boxes after hours at my part-time job and was wearing a sleeveless undershirt. My boss, who is covered in tattoos, looked at the script on my back and said, “Those look so sick, Charley.” It was a compliment from someone who knows about the artform and who means what he says. It meant the world. There are only a few more names of people around me I love who I would find a place for on my back, but because I love them I’m hoping I go before them. I have toyed with the idea of getting a quote written on my side, but I’m afraid the particular quote I have in mind might be an inadvertent curse rather than the point of pride I would intend it to be. And no, I won’t tell you what it is.

Are you pro or anti-“trendy” tattoos?

Completely against trendy tattoos. It’s not like the thing you buy at H&M to wear for a season.

Any common misconceptions you’d like to debunk?

Well, they are so common now that we can no longer say, “Think of what will happen when you try to get a job.” Cops have sleeves now. That said, like any style that becomes common, not everyone wears them well. I work a part-time job with guys in their 30s who are covered in tattoos and they’ve thought them out, who they wanted to tattoo them, how each would work with each other. I recently met a woman who is having an entire bodysuit done. I saw a photo and it was ravishing: completely thought out in terms of her whole body. The worst thing to me is someone who looks like they are wearing all their clothes at once. Since mine are on my back, I forget about them for weeks at a time.

Any advice for people who are thinking of getting a tattoo?

Do it sober. Put thought into it. Think of what size you want. Will it be visible or not to the outside world and if it is, how will it go with what you wear in your everyday life?

Christie Terranova

Christie, 34 is a hairdresser at Common Good Salon. She got her first tattoo at 18. (“It was a butterfly, because duh.”)

What made you first want tattoos?

I’ve liked tattoos ever since I knew what they were. Not much has changed in that department. I’m still collecting and like to get tattooed when I travel.

Any advice on style choice?

Well, it’s no surprise, good art costs money. When you are young, it’s hard to spend a lot because you don’t have a lot, but hopefully when you get older, you get nicer pieces. As far as tattoo trends, I couldn’t care less about what other people do to their bodies as far as modification. It’s not my place to judge either way.

Any common misconceptions you’d like to debunk?

Where we live, in New York, there’s not much to debunk…we live in a very liberal place. As far as other places, located in the US or outside, being a heavily-tattooed woman is considered strange. But the world will come around. When people ask about them, my usual response is: “I just like them.” It’s that simple.

Any advice for people who are thinking of getting a tattoo?

You definitely get what you pay for. Tattoos are expensive. I know it sounds redundant to say, but they’re permanent. Pay the money. It’s worth it. Also, above all, the people who are tattooing are artists. They are expensive because they don’t get paid time off or health insurance. You’re helping with that. It’s not cool to try to lowball someone. And finally, opinions are like assholes. Everyone has one. So, do what you want. And live your life.

Amanda Wachob

Amanda is an artist and tattoo artist working in New York, New York.

What made you first want tattoos?

I never expected that I would be a tattoo artist, and had never really thought about getting tattoos prior! I got my first tattoo during my apprenticeship; I picked a design from a piece of antique sheet music.

What about your journey has surprised you?

I think what’s really surprised me is how obsessed I am with everything about tattooing. I didn’t expect to fall so completely in love with it. It’s truly my passion and time disappears when I’m working…I feel really lucky for that.

Any common misconceptions you’d like to debunk?

Get the style of tattoo that you want regardless of that whole “longevity” thing.  Your body starts breaking down the tattoo ink as soon as it goes into your skin no matter the color or style or application, and all tattoos will age and need a touchup eventually. We are here for such a short time on this planet, so decorate yourself however you want and enjoy.

Any advice for people who are thinking of getting a tattoo?

Definitely research your artist, and have them make something unique just for you. It’s never good to ask a tattoo artist to copy someone else’s work, it’s best to seek out that artist directly, even if it means traveling to them or waiting for awhile before you can get something.

Illustrations by Eloise Weiss.

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[roseineurope-blog]

Oktoberfest, Football, & Italian

   Traveling to Oktoberfest was easily the worst travel experience I’ve ever had (which is granted not that bad). To begin we left Florence at 2 pm to get on a bus to Milan to get on another bus that goes to Munich. However, the bus that went to Munich ended up being cancelled... an hour and a half after it was supposed to show which we ended up finding out after someone else waiting called customer service of the travel company. So we ended up missing a day of Oktoberfest which was super disappointing but the one day we did have was a BLAST. The most impressive part was that the steins were so heavy but the ladies who served beer would literally come out carrying 8 steins like it was nothing. People would stand on top of their tables to finish their steins and everyone would cheer, there was traditional german music going on, and everyone was socializing with everyone (I’m pretty sure I heard every accent possible). It wasn’t just a drinking event too, sure it seemed that way during the day but at night it seemed like an honest to god fair. Everything about Oktoberfest was so fun I highly recommend to everyone to try to go at least once. 

The following school week we got to talk to a King County Superior Court judge about the law in my ethics class and he kind of terrified me about the Italian legal system (not that I plan on committing any crimes but still). My italian is much better than I thought it would be and just this morning ordering my coffee I was asked by the barista if I was a native italian speaker. This by no means means I am fluent or even remotely ready to hold a conversation but its progress. I also got to tour the hidden passages that are in the Palazzo Vecchio the museum but also official government building for the Florentine government where, beginning with Duke Cosimo I, is also where the Medici Dukes presided during their rule. For those of you who aren’t aware, I’m the biggest Medici fangirl so seeing secret passages and such that they used but especially seeing their secret rooms was just about the coolest thing I’ve ever done. Particularly interesting to me was Cosimo I’s sons secret rooms which was littered with paintings and each painting hid a secret compartment that was full of things for his alchemy organized by a tell of sorts from the painting in front of it. We also got to go up in the area between the paintings in the grand hall and the roof (into the rafters of sort if you’ve ever seen Inferno the scene where they’re jumping rafters and chasing takes place here) and got to see that all the paintings are not actually on the ceiling but hanging from metal wires that connect to the ceiling and have been for over 500 years. 

The week went rather smoothly which leads to my next weekend trip a day in the city of Turin (Torino) to watch the world cup qualifying game between Italy and Macedonia (which fun fact is both a country and the word for Fruit Salad in Italian). It was my first hostel experience which really wasn’t bad at all but also became a reality check for my friend Matt and I as we discovered that we were not nearly as good at Italian as we thought we were. In Florence, we get a congratulations even when we complete butcher what we’re trying to say just because we tried in Torino it was like well you’re clearly not from here moving on. Matt and I visited the museum dedicated to the Shroud of Turin which showed the fascinating story of this religious artifact. On the taxi ride going to the game Matt and I informed the driver that he was not driving the proper direction (as we think he was trying to scam us) and upon that we unknowingly signed up for the wildest ride of our life (Disneyland could look into adding it). At one point the Taxi driver blew through two red lights in a row where opposing traffic could definitely be seen coming. Besides that we watched Italy go 1-1 versus Macedonia but got to have the ultimate cultural experience (this is after all what we’re aiming for, cultural immersion). I feel like between these two weekends I am truly living my best life and crossing things off the bucket list like crazy.  Every new experience I am ready for and I can’t believe how lucky I am to be able to do this.