#of course the polyester one has no pockets! why would anyone need pockets when they have an electromagnetic field!

[nostalgia-tblr]

put a polyester dress on (oh i LOOKED for one that wasn't when i was buying it!) and suddenly i can hear static every time i move like i'm ragnarok!thor at last manifesting my full polyester dress powers.

[mortalfaerie]

Stimulants (S.R)

spencer reid x bau (adhd) reader

word count: 1441

synopsis: reader has inattentive adhd but hasn't brought it up with the team before. after a few on-site assignments that drag into the night, spencer notices the signs of adderall wearing off and asks reader about it.

TW FOR DRUG MENTION AND DISCUSSION

these away assignments could prove to be hellish. it couldn't be helped- the nature of your work meant that you didn't exactly work at normal 9-to-5, and sometimes your team was wracking their mind in a small police station conference room at 2 am on a tuesday, knowing fully well that a killer was still on the loose. generally, you could be relied upon to focused and engaged during cases, providing useful insight or simply making witty banter with your teammates- but inside, you hoped that the case would wrap up timely enough that you wouldn't be blankly staring down into you 4th post-sunset cup of coffee, not taking in a word around you.

however, that's what you were doing at the moment.

"Y/L/N?" you heard Hotch say pointedly.

“Huh?” you snapped out of your haze, embarrassed, and Hotch gave you a sympathetic nod. “I understand, we’re all feeling a little burned out, but we have to focus. The unsub is out there.”

You gave a nod to the table and pursed your lips, then taking a long gulp of coffee.

work, work, work! you chided yourself.

you took your usual dose of adderall around 7 in the morning each day, and you could trust that you’d have a safe 11-12 hours of focus and level-headedness. However, its half-life ran out roughly 7 hours ago, and you were painfully aware of it. you had gotten the short end of the stick mentally, having gotten inattentive adhd as supposed to hyperactive adhd, which most people were familiar with. so, instead of having boundless energy that would have been useful right now, you couldn't stay engaged in the case for longer than 10 minutes at a time, and now your teammates were noticing.

you volunteered to go fetch some back records from the local legal archive next door, needing to clear your head- but with an unsub preying on women alone at night, Spencer was quick to volunteer himself to go with you. you walked mostly in silence to the elevator, but he spoke when the doors closed in front of you.

“Caffeine’s a stimulant.” he stated plainly.

“Uh. Yeah, it is.” you responded, not knowing where he was going with this.

“You know that you probably shouldn't be mixing stimulants.” he added, meeting your gaze in the reflective elevator doors.

you gaped at him for a moment, before loosing a dry laugh. “Are you diagnosing me with addiction, Dr. Reid?”

“Well, no, not precisely. You're evidently dependent on stimulants- I’ll wager that you take them around 7 or 8 each morning before work?”

you just gave a measured nod in response, not in the mood to deny it.

“Ritalin?” he asked, this time meeting your gaze directly.

“Adderall. Prescription, just so we're clear.”

“I figured as much- a normal person on adderall wouldn't have the same decline in ability after the half-life.”

you sighed. “Is it that obvious?” you ask. in the two months since you joined the bau, you had hoped you'd be able to stay on top of late night cases, or that they would be few and far between. as you were learning, the homicidal maniacs of the world didn't obey normal work hours.

he offered you a sympathetic smile. “I don't think anybody else thinks it's anything more than fatigue. I'm just a little more aware of it.” after a pause in which you studied the floor of the elevator, he added “You might consider getting a “bump” pill.”

you looked up and raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you suggesting I do drugs?” you asked, only half sarcastic.

he flushed and backtracked. “Oh, no! I-” and you laughed openly, a good laugh, as the elevator doors opened. You proceeded through the lobby and put into the street with a flustered Dr. Spencer Reid on your heels. catching up to you, he explained, “A “bump” pill is a small amount of a stimulant that diffuses faster than your normal extended release medication, so you get a measured amount of focus for an hour or two after your primary stimulant wears off.”

you nodded, and pulled out your phone to put it on your calendar for your next doctor’s appointment. “Well, thank you, Reid.” you said, tucking your phone back in your pocket. “That would actually be pretty useful.”

clearly satisfied with himself, he gave a quick nod as you continued on to the legal archive. about two minutes had passed in silence before he abruptly said, “Call me Spencer.”

“Hm?” you responded, again forcing your brain to focus.

“Call me Spencer. You keep calling me Dr. Reid or Reid, but you don't have to.” on a more measured breath he added, “My friends call me Spencer.”

at this, you smiled. you had been fond of him since your first day, but were rarely alone to get to know him personally. you could tell the most obvious aspects of his personality and interests that he shared with the team, but all the while, he had apparently deduced that you had adhd and took medication for it by your behavior after hours alone.

“Alright then, Spencer. Then you call me Y/N.” you agreed.

“Y/N.” he said, as though trying out the sound of it.

As you thumbed through files in the archive looking for a specific box of court records, you and Spencer talked more, as he hinted that he knew what it was to be neurodivergent. you had wondered, of course- you were keenly aware of your ability to fixate on things and favor specific sensations over others- you couldn't stand the texture of chalk, and all your blouses were cotton since polyester felt like nails on a chalkboard for you to touch. you had noticed Spencer had similar reservations about things, but they were easily dismissible as him being eccentric.

walking back to the police station, each holding a box of files, he addressed your speculations. “If you wanted to talk about this again, I’d be glad to. I know what it is to have a mind that doesn't run like others do.”

you snorted, and gave you a confused glance. “No, I believe you, Spencer,” you explained. “But it seems to mostly work in your favor.”

he scoffed. “Not always. I have an eidetic memory, but I'd love to be able to read social cues. I'm well aware I can't do that, trust me.”

you smiled. “Well then, I'll trade you social graces for memory. I'd love to actually have a sense of object permanence.”

re-entering the elevator, he laughed. “Then it's a deal, we’ll swap.”

“Fantastic! I've always wanted to know what it's like to be a genius.” you exclaimed on a laugh.

“You don't think you are one?” he asked, more pointedly than you expected.

“I- no? Why would I?” you asked, a little shocked.

“Why wouldn't you?”

“Because I'm impulsive? I can be oblivious to the things right in front of me? Oh, and I have an executive function disorder? That doesn't really sound like Einstein to me.” you listed off, as though it were obvious.

“Impulsive, sure, but you're knowledgeable beyond what anyone would expect. You should see the expressions of the others when you told them the history of the ferris wheel on the last case- you even beat me to it. You see patterns that others don't, and you understand emotions on a level that the others can't imagine, because they've never been in your shoes as a kid with a learning disability.” he countered as the elevator ticked up and up the floors.

“You flatter me.” you said flatly, clearly skeptical.

“No, I'm being honest. You're incredibly intelligent. But if you only ever measure yourself by your perceived shortcomings, you'll never see that for yourself.” he said, matter-of-factly.

As the elevator doors opened again, the two of you were surprised to see the team suiting up in kevlars with Hotch on the phone with the local sheriff.

“Finally!” Prentiss exclaimed. “We’ve got a hit on the unsub, Morgan and I are heading over now- Hotch and local law enforcement are meeting us on-scene. Go put the boxes in the conference room and get back here.”

“Uh- of course!” you said, and you and Spencer exchanged a bewildered look as you rushed to go put the files away.

The clock back in the conference room told you it was closing in on 3 am. You huffed an exasperated sigh. “Does evil ever consider a good night’s rest might be pretty fulfilling?” you asked rhetorically.

“No.” Spencer said, setting down his box. “No, it never seems to do.”

[fatiguing-thoughts]

“Natural” - Chapter 13 - Embry Call x Reader

Movie Night

Waking up in the morning with Embry in my bed was a level of comfort and serenity that I don’t think I could ever describe. I look over at his peaceful form, the sun shining in through the fold in the curtain. 

I watch as his chest rises up and down, his slow, peaceful breathing accompanied by a very light snore. His black hair falling over his face that’s nuzzled deep into my pillow. His warm, russet skin shining in the sun beams. His warmth radiating against my colder skin. 

“Good morning.” His raspy voice mumbles against the pillow. 

“Good morning, Em.” I whisper. 

“What’re you looking at, beautiful?” He smirks.

“Just you.” I blush.

I don’t honestly believe that this is something I’ll ever get used to. Embry, and everything about him, felt like an absolute blessing. It felt surreal, really. 

“Awe, bean. You’re cute when you blush.” 

“Stop.” I whine, slightly giggling. 

“No, I like it. It’s cute.” He sits up, wrapping his arms around me. 

“I mean, thank you.” I look down at my hands. 

“So, I was thinking.” Embry begins.

“That’s a first.” I tease, poking his nose.

“Hah hah, very funny. Anyway, what if we went camping? Now that I won’t have to be here for patrol tonight or tomorrow. We can leave today and spend a night out, and come home for tomorrow. Then you can see your friend and Leah.” His vibrant smile beaming brighter than the sunlight. 

“I would love that. We can start packing now.” I shriek, having a difficult time to contain my excitement. 

“Of course.” He smiles, leaving a kiss on my lips. 

I practically spring up from my bed and begin packing my backpack full of any clothes I would need for tonight and tomorrow. I put on a pair of jeans and throw on a t-shirt. 

“Someone’s excited.” Embry chuckles. 

“We’ve always talked about camping together, and now we can.” I turn around, smiling. 

“I know, I’m so excited to go with you.” He smiles, pulling me close to him. 

His hands grab my hips, driving me nuts as usual. I trace my fingers up his biceps until my arms wrap around his neck, pulling myself up to kiss his soft lips once again. His hands tighten their grip on my hips as he deepens the kiss.

“We have to finish packing.” He pulls away breathlessly. 

“That we do.” I shake my head. 

“We can continue that later tonight.” He gives me a cheeky smirk. 

I nod as my cheeks are deepening to another shade of red. 

I grab some blankets, pillows, and search for sleeping bags in the closet downstairs. 

We pack some food for the small trip before heading over to Embry’s house to pick up his tent and clothes for him to wear. 

I look around for Tiffany while we were here, alas she had to have been working. 

“Have you talked to her the last few days or have you been completely MIA?” I ask as he packs a backpack for himself.

“She thought I was camping with everyone. We’re in contact.” He looks back at me. 

“Good. I don’t want her to worry herself to death.” I smile at him. 

“Me neither.” He sighs. 

We make our way back to my car and he leads the way to a site of his choice. 

“I’ll give it to you, Em. You know these woods better than anyone else.” I chuckle.

“I know, I’m basically a map now.” He laughs, pointing in the direction to turn. 

I follow his navigation and after an hour or so of driving, we eventually make it to a trail leading to a clearing, thankfully a bathroom within walking distance. 

We grab all of our stuff and begin our journey to the clearing. Embry and I set up the tent relatively quickly.

“I’m hungry.” Embry whines.

“You’re always hungry.” I giggle. 

“Yeah, and?” He laughs. 

“So let’s eat.” I smile, reaching into the food we packed. 

I felt my phone vibrate in my back pocket. I pull it out to see a text from Alyssa. 

“Hey (Y/N), are you free tomorrow?” - Alyssa

“Yes I am. Do you wanna come over for a pizza and movie night?” - me

“Sure, sounds good. Should I bring anything?” - Alyssa

“Nope. I can invite my friends, too. If you’d like. :)” - me

“That sounds fun.” - Alyssa

“Okay, come for like 6.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

I place the phone back in my pocket after sending her my address and take a sip of water. 

“We should invite everyone over tomorrow at seven. I told Alyssa there would be a pizza and movie night at my house, but she’s coming at six.” 

“Sounds fun, I’ll send a text in the group chat.” He says, pulling his phone out.

“Great.” I smile. 

We finished eating and cleaned everything up. 

“Can we go on a hike?” I ask.

“Of course, beautiful.” His large hand reaches out for mine, pulling me off the stump I sat on.

I follow Embry’s lead the whole walk, which took about an hour or so. We played a lot of iSpy on the way, though.

A chipmunk, the recycling bin, the bag of cheetos someone left on the floor (which I picked up and threw out), the trees, my backpack, and the dog poop someone didn’t pick up like they were supposed to. Those were the answers to the iSpy game we had. 

“Okay, we’re here.” Embry smiles. 

“Wow, it’s beautiful.” I admire the view.

We were in a canyon of sorts, admiring some of the beauty that the Olympic National Forest has to offer. I look down, noticing the drop off, my heartbeat beginning to race.

“I won’t let you fall, bean.” His arm wrapping around my waist. 

“Thank you.” I continue to look around.

Embry always washed my fears away easily. Being with Embry made me feel invincible. I felt all my worries melt away.

I look over at him, smiling at the beautiful boy. 

We sat there for a few hours, enjoying each other’s company as well as the view before heading back to the campsite. 

It was beginning to get dark and I heard Embry’s stomach grumbling. 

“I can start the fire and then we can eat.” I smile at him. 

“Sounds good to me, bean.” I felt warm, soft lips press to my temple. 

The light from the fire created cast orange all around it, the crackling soothing my ears. The smell bringing me a new sense of peace. 

Embry and I ate dinner and roasted s’mores. I sat basically velcroed to his side, just how I like. 

“Look at the stars.” He points up to the sky. 

“Wow.” I breathe out. 

“Come on, let’s stargaze.” He grabs my hand, leading me over to the picnic table at our site. 

We lay on it, both of us laying our heads on his arms. 

“I like that one.” I point up to the sky.

“Which one? There’s like forty in that direction.” He chuckles.

“That one, Em.” I point again. 

“Ahhh, nice. It’s pretty.” He agrees. 

“You don’t even know which one I’m talking about.” I giggle.

“I don’t have to. I know it’s beautiful, they all are. Just like you.” He presses a kiss to my cheek. 

I turn over to him and press my lips to his. His hands once again find my hips, pulling me into his side. 

“Maybe we should go into the tent.” I raise an eyebrow.

“I think we should.” His smirk sends chills up my spine. 

And so we did, we took it to the tent. 

Soon after, we fell asleep holding each other. 

In the morning, the smell of the trees pleasantly invaded their way into my senses. The heat from the sun invading through the polyester walls. 

“Good morning.” Embry’s raspy morning voice once again sending chills up my spine.

“Morning, Em.” I smile at him. 

“Let’s eat.” He smiles, springing himself up from the sleeping bag. 

“You got it.” I smile, following suit. 

I caught Embry staring at me, once again. Not something out of the ordinary, though I always wondered why.

“What’s wrong, do I have something on my face?” I ask.

“No, it’s just you. You’re so beautiful.” A blush finds its way to his cheeks, following an uncontrollable grin.

“Awe, Em.” I coo, walking myself over and sitting in his lap.

“I just feel so lucky.” He breathes into my neck.

“Me too. Like the luckiest girl in the world.” I smile, pressing a kiss to his warm cheek. 

Sitting in Embry’s presence felt better than merely being near anyone else. It was as if sitting in silence with Embry could beat any conversation with anyone else. I guess that’s a soulmate, though. 

“What time is it?” I ask him. 

“A little past noon.” He shrugs. 

“Okay. So who’s coming tonight?” 

“Well, Seth and Leah for sure. Jacob can’t because he’s basically broken in half for a bit longer. Quil said he would. Overall, the rest of them said they’re busy with their friends or families. Well, Jared said he’s too busy ‘doing hot girl shit,’ whatever that means.” 

“Alright. Good for Jared, I think that’s a tik tok thing. But Seth, Leah, Quil, Alyssa, and us sounds like a good group.” I chuckle. 

“It definitely is.” He laughs, pulling me closer to his chest. 

“Well, we should probably head home soon. By the time we got back it’s gonna be after three. And then cleaning all this crap up.” I sigh.

“We can do this again, whenever you want to.” He smiles at me.

“I would like that.” I press a kiss to his forehead. 

His warm chest felt like home, and maybe that’s why I always felt like Forks was my home. It was my ticket to Embry my whole life. 

We pack up the site and make our hike back down the trail to my car. The drive back once again blasting our shared playlist, revisiting all the feelings we held secret for years. 

Embry insisted we stop at his house first since his mother was at work. My heart ached for both him and his mother. Secrets like this are good for neither of them, I couldn’t imagine the pain it brought to them. 

The drive to my house was quick, and unpacking all of our stuff didn’t take too long. 

I check the time and see it to be after 3:30. 

“Well, what can we do now?” I look over to Embry. 

“Well, we could get stuff ready. Or we can make out.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me.

“I mean, one of those is far more tempting than the other.” I smirk, walking closer to him. 

Next thing I knew, we were on my couch, his warm body pressed against mine. His soft lips pressing onto mine with slight aggression. Embry drove me nuts, there was no denying that. 

Some time later, we pulled apart breathlessly. 

“Maybe I should get the living room ready.” I smile at him.

“I think so.” He kisses my forehead. 

I grab pillows and blankets, creating a comfortable area on the floor for whoever decides to take that instead of the couches. Also blankets for Alyssa and I, as most people who don’t run 108.9 like when they watch movies. I grab snacks and drinks from the latest grocery shopping trip and bring them into the living room, leaving them on the coffee table. 

“Alyssa should be getting here soon.” I say happily.  

“You excited to see her?” Embry asks me with a kind smile.

“Very. That was one of my only actual friends in Forks.” I return his smile back to him.

“That’s exciting. And now she gets to meet all your La Push friends.” 

“She does. And it will be great to finally have some merger there.” 

We sat back on the couch, chatting about more things to do on the next camping trip as we were much less limited than others in terms of safety and location. Discussing a group trip with our friends. 

Our conversation was interrupted by a knock on my front door. 

“Alyssa!” I swing the door open, smiling. 

“(Y/N)!” She laughs. 

“Come in, let’s catch up.” I pull her in for a hug.

“Yes please.” She giggles. 

“Nobody else is gonna be here for an hour, I left that for us to talk about life.” I chuckle. 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

“I’ll go take a nap, let you guys have your girl talk.” Embry says, kissing my forehead before waving and jogging upstairs to my room. 

“So… how is life? How is everything?” I ask.

“Well, my girlfriend and I broke up about a year ago. She cheated on me. So that wasn’t fun, but other than that I’m doing great. I got the program I wanted to a few months ago, I’m gonna become a teacher.” She smiled. 

“That’s incredible! Congrats. On the school thing. But as for Chelsea? Seriously? You guys were together from like freshman year of high school. What a witch.” I look at her with comforting eyes.

“Yeah, right? She’s not worth being sad about anymore, though. I’m ready to have fun again, I’ve been okay for a while. I go to school in the fall and I’ll be dorming. I’m quite excited. What’re you doing for school?” She smiles at me. 

“Well, I got into the program I want, too. I’m going to be going online, though. But I’m studying economics, I think I want to go to law school.” I smile.

“That’s great! Congratulations.” She beams. 

“Right. Wait, where are you going to school?” 

“University of Washington. I’m excited.” 

“No shot, me too.” I smile. 

“No way, you’ll have to come hang out at my dorm sometimes. You’re gonna need to make friends.” She encourages me. 

“That sounds like fun.” 

We catch up some more before I notice the time. I decided to call to order the pizza at 6:45, that way it would come shortly after people got here. I ordered five pies.

“Five pies? How many of your other friends are coming?” She asks. 

“Uhh, I think there’s gonna be like six of us all together.” I shrug.

“Don’t you think that five pies is a lot?” She asks me, raising her eyebrow. 

“Definitely not with them. There is no end to their hunger.” I laugh. 

“If you say so.” She laughs, doubting my words. 

“You’ll see.” I chimed. 

I tell her that I should go wake Embry up and begin my walk up the stairs.

I open my door and she his silhouette laying in the bed. The darkness of my room made it impossible to make much else out.

“Embry, wake up.” I say walking over to my bed.

“Already?” He laughs.

“Yeah, already.” I chuckle, placing a hand on his shoulder to wake him up.

“Alright, only for you.” He sits up, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

“Thanks. Let’s get downstairs.” I mumble, thankfully the darkness hid the reddening of my cheeks at his softspoken words.

“Good morning, Alyssa.” Embry yawns from the stairway. 

“Good morning?” She laughs at his goofiness. 

A knock at the door interrupts us. I walk over to see Quil, Seth, and Leah. 

“Hey!” I smile. 

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Seth beams with his contagious smile.

“What’s up, dork?” Quil laughs.

“Hey, (Y/N).” Leah says softly, smiling at me. 

“Come on in, the pizza should be here soon.” 

“Thank god, I’m starving.” Quil huffs. 

“I just watched you eat two big macs an hour ago.” Leah looks at him.

“Okay, and?” He laughs.

“Alright everyone, this is my friend Alyssa. Alyssa this is Quil, Seth, and Leah.” I smile, pointing to everyone down the line.

“Hello.” She smiles, waving at everyone. Looking at them as I point.

Though her face stopped at one. 

I look and follow her gaze, noticing it stopped at the last face. Leah’s.

Leah had a dazed look on her face, mouth slightly agape. 

My eyes widen, looking at Embry’s face that mimicked my shock. In fact, so did Quil’s and Seth’s. 

“Hey.” Alyssa exhales. 

“Hi.” Leah mumbled, her face quickly turning to one of confusion. 

“Oh, this took a turn.” Quil mumbled, in which Seth quickly swatted him with his arm. 

I gave Quil a glare, letting him know that now was not a time for jokes. 

“Alright, so let’s pick a movie. What movie?” I ask everyone, trying to break the silence. 

“Let’s watch The Cat in The Hat.” Quil chuckles. 

“It’s a true cinematic masterpiece.” Embry agrees. 

“What is wrong with you?” I laugh. 

“I mean, it is really funny. We used to talk about it in class all the time.” Alyssa laughs.

“You’re right. Is everyone good with watching that? I think we all need a good laugh.” I smile. 

“Yeah. That works.” Leah mumbles.

“Sure. I’m down to watch anything.” Seth smiles. 

“Great.” I turn the TV on and begin playing the movie. 

Leah takes a spot on the floor by herself, in front of Quil and Seth that took the couch next to the one that Embry and I sat on. Alyssa found herself a spot on the other side of me. 

About fifteen minutes into this nonsense, I hear knocking at the door once again.

“Do you want me to pause it, babe?” Embry asks.

“Please don’t.” I smile and walk to the door to get the pizza. 

“Your loss.” Quil huffs, laughing at the movie. 

I roll my eyes as I get the pizza from the door. 

“Let me help you.” I hear Leah say behind me, grabbing the pizza from me so I can pay the delivery guy.

“Thanks, Leah. You can keep the change.” I smile at him. 

“You got it. Where’s your bathroom? Also can I borrow a warmer shirt? I’m cold.” She asks, putting the pizza down next to the snacks on the coffee table. 

I look at her confused, as she knows where the bathroom is down here, also because this girl would never be cold. It’s then that I noticed the look in her eyes. She didn’t have to use the bathroom and she wasn’t cold. She needed to talk and she needed to talk now. 

“You can use the one upstairs, there’s one next to my room. I’ll show you where it is and I’ll get you a sweater.” I nod. 

“I’m kinda cold, too. Can I also have a sweater?” Seth asks, noticing the discomfort in his sister.

Quil and Embry look at Seth with a dumbfounded look, though I wave them off. 

“Uh, yeah. Come follow, too.” I manage to say. 

All three of us walk up the stairs and into my room.

“Are you okay?” I ask Leah, shutting my door. 

“I don’t know, I’m so confused.” She says softly, 

“I understand. That was a lot.” I lay a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Seth walks over and places another comforting hand on Leah’s other arm. 

“I just… Everything I saw felt so right. I just, I don’t know her. I didn’t think I would imprint on a woman. It’s not even that I’m mad about it, I always felt attracted to some women, I just never actually dated any. I just assumed I either wouldn’t imprint or I would imprint on a man, because none of the guys ever imprinted on another guy, even in the stories. But what do I make of it?” She asks me in a panic, speaking a million miles a minute. 

“I know, I know. Of course it feels right, it’s supposed to. But just remember, it doesn’t have to be romantic if you don’t want it to be.” I remind her. 

“It was in what I saw. I saw us together, I saw us happily holding hands. I saw us kissing. I saw us cuddling by a fire. I saw it all.” She looks at me with concerned eyes. 

“Leah, it’s okay. It’s all okay. That’s beautiful, if it’s what you want.” I say.

“Leah, if you’re afraid about imprinting on another woman, don’t worry about that. I don’t care. Mom doesn’t care. Nobody here would care. We love you for you and we want you to be happy.” Seth rubs her back comfortingly. 

“You mean that?” Her lip starts to quiver. 

“Of course. You’re my sister, you’re my best friend.” Seth pulls her into a hug. 

“Leah, I’m here for you every step of the way. We all are. I think that you should be her friend, see how that goes. If it develops further, then it does. If not, don’t stress. You’d then have another best friend.” I smile at her. 

“Thank you.” She smiles, nodding her head and hugging me. 

“Who knows, Leah? Take things as they come. We’ll be here every step of the way, okay?” 

“Okay.” She nods.

“Bring it in.” Seth grabs us both and pulls us into a huge hug. 

The crushing weight of his arms was one that felt really nice. I felt all the love in this hug. We stay like this for a few moments before I break the silence. 

“Let’s go get some pizza before Quil and Embry eat it all. Or torture Alyssa.” I laugh. 

“You’re right. We’ve been up here a little long.” Leah smiles softly.

“They better have saved us some pizza.” Seth huffs. 

“I’m sure they did. They might’ve killed two pies already, though.” I chuckle walking out of my room and down the stairs, Seth and Leah trailing close behind. 

“Welcome back, you missed a lot.” Quil chuckles. 

“Shut up. There better be pizza left.” I glare at him and Embry.

“There is, there is.” Embry defends, placing his hands up in surrender, chewing on his pizza.

“Good, I’m starving.” Seth says, grabbing two slices from the box. 

Leah and I both grab a slice before sitting back in our spots. 

“Where’s your sweater, Seth?” Quil teases. 

“They didn’t fit him.” I look at Quil with hard eyes.

“Yeah, it was a shame.” Seth laughs on the couch. 

The rest of the movie was filled with laughter. I sat in Embry’s lap, appreciating the warmth he brought me. 

“Next movie?” Embry asks. 

“We can watch Jackass.” Quil suggests. 

“Oh yeah, because you guys just need ideas. You, Paul, and Jared will be tearing up the town by tomorrow morning if we watch that.” I laugh.

“You got me there.” Quil laughs. 

“Great, it’s settled. We’re watching Mean Girls.” I announce.

“Oh god.” Quil whines. 

“It’s a great movie, you’re gonna love it at the end of the night. You’ll be quoting it, guaranteed.” I tell him.

“It is a great movie.” Alyssa agrees. 

So we watch it, and halfway through the movie I notice that nobody is more invested than Quil, Embry, and Seth. Causing the girls and I to laugh at them. 

After the movie ended, we all began to get up and stretch.

“Thank you for having me, (Y/N). I think I’m gonna get going now, though. I have work in the morning but I had fun, we should all hang out again some time. It was great to meet you all.” She smiles, hugging me goodbye. 

“Yeah, of course, we should hang out again soon. I’ll walk you to the door.” I smile, leading Alyssa to the door and watching her get into her car, noticing Leah do just the same. 

“Thank you!” She calls out as she gets into her car. 

I waved goodbye before shutting the door as she drove off. 

“Well, we should all probably get going soon.” Leah trails off. 

“Alright, I’ll see you guys soon.” I smile before I pull her into a really tight hug.

“Thank you.” She whispers in my ear before pulling away.

“Bye, (Y/N). Thanks for having us. I had fun.” He smiles before they take off.

“I mean, I should probably leave, too. I know you guys value your alone time, now.” Quil wiggles his eyebrows. 

“Shut up, dick.” Embry pulls him into a headlock, giving him a noogie. 

“That’s a weird way to say thank you for helping you not be a father at 18, but okay.” He laughs, wrestling Embry back. 

“Thanks, Quil. I thank you for your help. But Embry did say he would do this.” I giggle. 

“Fine, go get your own condoms from now on. I’m not taking them from Paul for you anymore!” He laughs as they roll around. 

“You stole them from Paul?” I laugh from the couch.

“Yeah, I hold you two with a very high value.” Quil tells me. 

“I see. Enough to risk a beating from Paul.” I laugh.

They both eventually tire themselves out and joining me on the couch.

“You guys done, yet?” I ask. 

“Yeah, I just had to kick his ass.” Embry kisses my temple. 

“Still a weird way to thank me.” Quil laughs.

I can’t help but laugh at my two goofy ass best friends.

“I should go, and you should go home for once before your mom has a heart attack.” Quil says, looking at Embry. 

“You’re right.” He sighs, standing up.

“You should, she probably misses you.” I encourage him.

“I know. I love you, bean. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. 

“Sounds good.” I smile, hugging him.

“Embry, you don’t talk to me like that. I’m hurt.” Quil places a hand over his chest, faking a pained face. 

“Oh shut it.” Embry shoves him, laughing. 

“Goodnight, guys. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

I watch as they walk over to the treeline, knowing exactly how they were getting to their homes. 

I go up into my room and lay in bed, reliving the last few days of my life. 

How fuckin nuts that just two days ago I was face to face with vampires that wanted to kill me.

And tonight I watched The Cat in The Hat. 

Man, life’s pretty weird. 

I pick up my phone and sent a text to Embry.

I love you.

I put the phone on my nightstand, and drifted off.

_________________________ Word Count: 4371

 I  II  III  IV  V  VI  VII  VIII  VIIII  X  XIR XIE  XII  XIII  XIV  XV XVI  XVII  XVIII  XIIII

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Snuit

Sir Pentious/Telly (@usedhearts) has a fancy black-and-yellow suit.

Alastor wants a fancy black-and-yellow suit.

Alastor

How does one gracefully segue into a topic with one's partner? Alastor doesn't know how other people do it; but the way *he* does it is by hovering nearby until Telly appears to have reached a pause in his work, and then immediately draping himself across Telly's coils. "So I saw my alternate last weekend!" Super smooth.

Telly

He'd grown used to this sort of thing-- when Alastor wanted attention, he certainly got it. But Telly smiled all the while, setting aside the set of tweezers he'd been using for some delicate work on his latest project. He leaned down to give Alastor a kiss before speaking.

"Which one, love? You have quite a number."

Alastor

And the fact that he waited at all was how he showed his love.

Smooch! "The one who—well." A self-conscious *ahem.* "The one from the same universe as your alternate that you had that tiff with."

Telly

"Oh!" Telly's brain and face took a few moments to catch up with his ears. His face scrunched briefly, before he smoothed it with a sigh. "Oh, yes. Terrible bother, all that between us two, but I suppose I'm far more grating and less gracious than you are-- in general, that is. Not all Pentiouses are created equal."

He primped a bit, stroking his hood. "So, what's this about your alternate?"

Alastor

"Oh, don't be silly! I'm *incredibly* grating! I just save up all my charm for you." A wink.

He sat up and wrapped an arm around Telly's shoulders. "And wouldn't you know it, after your alternate gave you such a hard time about working with me, *he* went and hired *my* alternate to assist with his security! Can you believe that!" (It was, of course, a far more complicated issue than that—but it didn't hurt to simplify it in a way that gave Telly something to feel smug about as Alastor meandered toward his *real* topic.)

Telly

And feel smug he did! Telly immediately puffed up a big more, his hood flaring a bit in pleasure. "Oh did he now? Well, well, looks like the sock is on the other tail!"

He let out a hissing laugh.

Alastor

"It certainly *is*! Now, don't you go taunting your alternate about it, because he'll figure out how it got back to you and then *I'll* be the one he's sore at." A huff. "But yes! My other's on the staff now! And he's got a spiffy new matching uniform to go with it, complete with everything from top hat to cuff links!"

Telly

"Don't worry, darling, I have no intentions of speaking with Ruddy about anything unless he deigns to speak to me first. And perhaps not even then!" He chuckled, giving Alastor another kiss.

"But a suit! How nice? What's it made of, do you know?"

Alastor

"Heck if I know! My alternate spent more time talking about this little radio lapel pin he got with it—I don't know what he needs it for, *I* get radio in my head—but it's something quality, that's sure enough! This is no cheap polyester off-the-rack suit!"

And now, with the bait laid... "Telly—my darling, my beloved, light of my afterlife..." He lay his head on Telly's shoulder and blinked up at him with big, endearing, doe-like eyes. "When are *you* going to officially hire me and give me a matching uniform?" LOOK at that darling smile. He's *definitely not* trying not to laugh, can't you see how serious he is.

Telly

Telly blinked. And then a quizzical look came over his face as he tilted his head, thinking. And _then_ a sly smile appeared and his eyes narrowed a bit.

"So, does this mean you're done looking for better snake employment offers? I know you spoke in the past about taking a job with another me, but bringing back things to help me-- but since we're all up on our feet, and tails, over here now, well, I can't blame you for seeking gainful employ!"

His fingers stroked his chin. "Though, I'm certain you're already my number two-- there aren't many that I would specially design controls for the airship for, you know, my love."

Alastor

A surprised look. "Telly, I've never been *looking* for better employment offers. That's an emergency contingency plan at best, not a *goal.* What I want is to be with you."

Ah yes—he was getting good at piloting, if he did say so himself. It was fun. "Sure, we all know I'm your de facto number two; but there's a big gap between de facto and official! Here's the thing: with all the cooking and homemaking I've been doing around here lately, I'm starting to feel a little like a housewife. And you know the saying, *behind every great man there's a great woman*—but in every history book, whose name is listed next after the president's? The vice president, or the first lady?" He smiled wanly.

"Now, I may not have any high political ambitions myself—but I *do* want to get *credit* for what I do. And people look at your contributions differently depending on whether you're helping someone because you're part of his organization, or because you're part of his household. I intend to be part of the organization. *Officially.*"

Telly

Telly tilted his head, listening as Alastor spoke, a soft thrum in his chest. He nodded and stroked his chin again.

"I see you're point, darling. But you want, what? Just a suit like the Egg Bois have? Or were you thinking of something more special than that?" He hummed, squinting a bit.

"You do know you'd literally only be able to wear it around the airship, since the public at large doesn't know about us, yes? It would be hard for you to explain to anyone at your hotel about it."

Alastor

"I was thinking more like a suit like *you* have, plus pants—but sure, you could put it that way!"

He sighed melodramatically. "Oh, I know. And it just kills me!" And it was why, in his heart, he wasn't really expecting anything to come from this conversation but a bunch of moaning and sighing. Not for several years, at any rate. Decades, maybe. Potentially centuries. He gave Telly a morose look. "Well... it'll be nice when I *can*, won't it?"

Telly

"It would! It would indeed." He laughed, and kissed him. "Perhaps sometime in the future-- truth be told, I'd like it if only I got to see you in it. Would make it feel special." He winked.

Alastor

"Oh, *I* see. Getting to see the Radio Demon dressed up in your personal colors, as a private little show, only for you—something like that?" He winked back. "Well, I *do* like making you feel special."

Telly

Telly purred and leaned close to flick his tongue against Alastor's cheek. "Exactly. You being dressed up all for me....what a thing."

He chuckled. "Hmm, I've been meaning to find a new tailor anyway-- I think something could be whipped up."

Alastor

Alastor tilted his head into the flicking and slid his free arm around Telly's waist to rub his back. *His* special snake. All his.

"Really?" His eyes brightened. "*Could* you? I realize it's not really going to make a difference until we can go public, but..."

Telly

"Yes, I think so. I could just say I've got a special Egg Boi to give it to." He threw a smarmy smirk at Alastor.

"I'll have to double check your measurements, but other than that, well, shouldn't be too hard."

Alastor

"Pff! A remarkably tall and willowy egg!" He laughed. "Well—sure! Why not?!"

Telly

"It's not like they'd care to check!" Telly laughed, too. "Alright, do you have a measuring tape? I can get down the measurements and then I'll visit the tailor soon."

Alastor

"Sure! Right..." He rummaged around in his pockets. "Here!" He'd been using the thing religiously lately, taking down dozens of measurements in his den as he tried to get his new altar organized.

Telly

Telly took the tape and then scrounged around for a spare notebook that wasn't already filled with calculations and designs. He poked Alastor's back to make sure he was standing straight and began to take down his measurements.

"I think you'll look darling in black and yellow..."

Alastor

Up he goes straight and tall as possible—he's been measured before, he knows the drill. "I hope so! We're going to be in trouble if I look bad in it, aren't we?" He grinned crookedly, "But then I look pretty good next to *you,* don't I?"

Telly

Telly pecked Alastor's cheek as he rounded him, taking the length of his arm. "That you do. Very good, in fact."

He laughed softly. "I can't wait to see the faces of Vox and those other overlords when they see you on my arm in my colors."

Alastor

"Oh, won't that be the day! The horror in their eyes when they realize just how *dangerous* we are together!" Resisting the urge to make grand gestures long enough for Telly to measure his arm was harder than he'd expected. "And the fact that they all underestimate you right now, *oh,* that's just going to make it even *more* delicious when they register that *I'm* in *your* colors, not the other way around."

Telly

Telly measured his other arm and then from fingertip to fingertip, before going down for the legs.

"Mm, yes, it will be deliciously vile of us. I want to see Vox blue screen and cease to function." He hissed, laughing.

Alastor

"I'd be happy to see him cease to function in *any* context," Alastor said wistfully. "What do you think happens to his big tech monopoly when he goes down? Is it strong enough to keep trundling on without him or are the shareholders going to start dismembering it and cannibalizing their holdings?"

Telly

"I would guess the latter, honestly-- Vox is what's holding all of that together, certainly. Without him, it's bound to fall. I could see Valentino and Velvet descending into the chaos and picking up the most scraps but, well...."

He shrugged, taking the inseam. "Once Vox is gone, the debris will be easy enough to sweep away." Telly smirked.

Alastor

"Valentino, I could see—he's already got a multimedia empire, it can't be too hard for him to diversify. Velvet... I don't know. I always got the impression she's more of an entertainer than a manager, but I hardly know, really."

Ooh, uncomfy. He looked up while Telly took his inseam. "One hopes! Maybe they'll start putting something *interesting* on television again."

Telly

"Heh! Perhaps you could diversify-- get your own show! I could see you doing well as a late night talk show host." Telly scribbled down the last of the measurements and straightened up, kissing Alastor's cheek.

"All done!"

Alastor

"Ha! Do they do any talk shows with invisible hosts? Cameras and I don't get along." His smile wilted a bit. "... I guess that *would* be the easiest way to get on air over here, wouldn't it?"

He slid his arm back around Telly's waist. *His* snake again.

Telly

"You could be the first!" Telly wrapped his arm around Alastor's shoulders, smiling at him.

"It's just an idea-- who knows what will happen in the long run? Maybe you could help bring back radio instead. I know Leclerq's apprentice is doing some to help that along."

Alastor

He gave Telly a pointed look. "And you don't think Leclerq would have something to say about his own doppelgänger attempting to *directly* encroach on his domain? While working for one of his worst enemies, at that?"

Telly

"I don't know! I haven't seen or heard much from or about him in a good long while, and I prefer it that way." He sniffed haughtily. "When we take down Vox, the landscape of Hell will be much changed, so who's to say what will happen!"

Alastor

Alastor grimaced. Somehow, he doubted his alternate had stopped caring just because he was spending less time in Hell. "If it was *me*—if I discovered that one of my alternates was secretly in bed with, say, V#x, and he started trying to broadcast on *my* airwaves—I would shred him to ribbons and leave his entrails draped over the gates of Hell as a warning to other Radio Demons."

Telly

Telly frowned, and turned to face Alastor, cupping his cheek. "Well, then, you'll just not do that last bit then. We'll figure something out, it's all just hypotheticals."

Alastor

"Yes. Right." He sighed. "Of course." It weighed on him, though, every time he thought of it. But there was nothing to be done about it now. They'd figure something out.

He offered a thin smile. "Well. In the meantime, I get a suit, right?" He leaned forward to peck Telly's lips.

Telly

Telly smiled back, his thumb stroking Alastor's cheek. "Yes, you get a suit." He accepted the kiss and wrapped his tail around Alastor's legs.

"Now, was there anything else, or is it time for a snack? I'm feeling peckish."

Alastor

Alastor glanced down, brows raised. "I would *love* to go get a snack... but it seems I'm a little tied up."

Telly

Telly purred, giving Alastor's legs a squeeze before loosening his coils. "I sssupossse I can free you....jusssst thisss oncccce." He hissed, winking.

Alastor

"Ooh. Keep hissing at me like that and maybe I won't *want* you to free me." He stepped free of Telly's coils and took his hand. "I'll have to offer you only the *finest* of snacks in return for your mercy. Shall we?"

Telly

"Yesss, only the finessst." Telly grinned, raising Alastor's hand to kiss it before nodding. "Let'ss go, darling."

[dansedan]

A while ago when I first heard the general gist of Disco Elysium I wrote most of this in one sitting and then I finished it today because I still don’t trust myself to write DE fic but I want to do the tropes or something ionno. Enjoy???

When you open the door to the hotel room, there is a comical amount of amphetamines strewn over the floor. You hear a faint groan in the distance- wet, pained, guttural- and smell sulfur wafting in over the too-hot coffee and pink sugared donuts. You look down at your suit, your nice new plasticked-over badge reading FORENSICS, and you frown at the contrast.

If this was going to be a buddy cop dramedy, you wanted to skip to the part where your partner was sexy sober and on his knees for you. Somewhere expensive, maybe, a sorry and a thank you and a case well-shut and life ahead of you. No diamond ring weighing heavy in his pocket but instead the lighter weight of words, of nothing matters except us, partner.

As it stands, that’s unlikely to happen. The lead investigator (once he deigns to appear from his pukethrone) is a schlubby middle aged man with a pronounced, aquiline nose like an early daguerreotype. He’s ugly-underweight, skin sagging on his stomach and his shirtless chest in ways that would fool you into thinking him the opposite without medical training, moving too much with each shallow breath. He’s wet all over- hair drenched, chest sickly glistening, with big dark spots on his cheap polyester-checkered pants where the water has slipped down his body- but he’s clearly still unclean, still sweaty under all of it like oil to water, and he nods like this is nothing of great import, only grunts a little as he takes the paper cup of coffee from the tray resting on your chest and nestles it into his beard, chugging it black.

You might still have considered him though, if it wasn’t for his eyes. Red-rimmed and jutting out and obvious, so you don’t have to bother to look down around his wrists or wonder if he’d lost his balance handling evidence in here. The drugs are his, and so is the room, and all the sweat, and he certainly did not expect anyone to come in and greet him personally.

And considering you’re the only one in his room right now, it’s not out of the picture to assume the others know about it. Fucking hazing, of course, what else could you expect from the police?

But you’ll live, so you mumble a ‘good morning’ and put on your white-wash gloves (as he stares, pointedly. A gay druggie cop, in this day and age? What a fucking wonder) and start picking up the room, lining up any extraneous items on the side-table near the entranceway, where he’s perched himself on the chair half-criss-crossed and half dangling his leg, eating donuts and still watching. It takes you thirty minutes to get everything to some state of cleanliness and by that time he’s eaten all but the last bite of your breakfast.

“mhm- donut, officer?” he brushes crumbs of his palms and rips the end of the piece stuck in his mouth to offer it to you. Deeply unhygienic.

“…sure, thanks…?” you take it anyway, hesitating at the honorific.

“Major Conolly. Jacques Ernest Conolly. You can call me Jay- officer?” he talks too fast, and his voice is shockingly normal. He must not smoke, then. Or drink. So it’s all direct engagement, or whatever’s the current lingo. What matters more is he’s high and clearly lying- there are no majors on the police force, anymore, the title’s been dropped from hierarchy- but he seems convinced about it. Better to not to question it and trigger anything unpleasant.

“yes?”

“have you ever- hmm- partaken?” and before you can say no, he’s off and ranting. “they say- well, I’m sure you know what they say, forensics and all- there must be classes for that, officer? Right. Anyhow- well, they don’t say this- they’d really never say this… (here he laughs, smartly, severely, in a way he doesn’t seem like he should know how to pull off)- there are those who’d say it… well, they’re performance-enhancing, if you understand that.”

And you’ve frankly given up on the major now that you can see he’s well enough to understand things, given up on expecting to do anything other than to babysit, so you answer honestly, picking apart your coffee cup and three separate packs of sugar.

“I don’t need to enhance performance, Major”

And he cracks a smile and laughs again, still little, unconvincing, and he tries to bat all friendly at your hand but seems to stop himself at just the moment before the skin touches, the movement clumsily obvious. He grimaces, self-flagellatory, like somehow it was something he went too far to even consider.

“officer, I’m sure you’re a terrific scientist, but I do mean performance. Don’t tell me you’re a slave to freedom like those other bums,” his gesture is suddenly more violent, in a subtle way, and he’s jerking back behind him like the rest of the investigation’s standing in the next hotel room, not at this point about a mile away beginning work for real at the scene. “it’s only human to cuddle up to vice, you know? To- to sensation… do you like sensation, officer?”

The indents on the side of your nose- ten years of glasses- are itching with the impulse to massage them now. You can feel a headache coming on- hah, maybe he took your decaf. He’s high, but coming down. This is his own work, him joining in for hazing. How does one answer that sort of question from up the hierarchy, anyway? What kind of answer should you give him?

“do please say anything, officer. The truth’s important to me.”

And you look at him and almost start to sigh in that sick audible way you tend to cut out from even the most painful conversations. The man is mad, and old, and tactless, and trying to come off as worse. He needs you to be disgusted by him- that’s how you join the team. It’s how he’s still the lead, the glue, the common element. But he’s still human, and at least in some small part of him wants to be treated that way.

“sensation is all well and good, major, fine enough without enhancements.”

“ah- an ace! Not all of us have natural talents, you know, officer. You should be more courteous about it.” He’s still trying to run you out but there’s no passion in it, with your subdued reaction. You’re not the only one resenting this ritual.

“Sure,” you say. Might as well get out of the room now, somehow. It’s a win-win victory to get away from him, despite your ego’s insistence on passing the ‘test’, and your better, bleeding nature begging you to save him somehow. If this was a buddy-cop dramedy, at least you’d have this scene somewhere less private, some jeering chorus of reminders about how this should end, enough to spite or follow. As it is, the weak silence in the lull of taunts is sickening- or maybe it’s the stale smell of the room, the sweat of your proximity across the meagre table.

“That aside… it’s 0 centigrade out, major. You may prefer to dress heavier to the crime scene.”

And he murmurs in agreement, still looking at you like he isn’t all wet and half-naked and still sitting. Still thinking loud.

“how old are you, officer?”

“twenty-seven, major.”

He nods and murmurs a little more, rock himself more, maybe intending to stand off the momentum of his gesture.

“when’d you join the regiment?”

“this year, major,” you say, not knowing why you bother to keep answering so formally. “I did a doctorate.” Does he even care? Your murky coffee shows no answers, only the grainy, oily surface.

“…really?” he’s starting to get up, slowly, still nodding. His voice at least seems softer- there’s less pep but somehow that’s better for you. He’s nodding quietly in a way that makes you think he might care to hear more for real.

“yeah. Independent research in criminalistics,” and you don’t know why you add “…backwater-ass university you’ve never heard of.”

This seems to amuse him- or something. Well, he’s smiling.

“try me,” he says, all flat, sobering interest. “officer.”

“Jacobean College. Harding, South Dakota.”

He thoughtfully balls up the paper waste from your donut breakfast, carrying everything to the trash on unsteady feet.

“hmm. Well, can’t say I know it.”

“…for good reason, really. I mostly went ‘cause it was cheap.”

He nods, understanding, and starts doing up his shirt,  still stuck with sweat. You don’t speak while he dresses, picking through the piles on the bed for his suit, coat and jacket, but you can see him looking continuously out the window where the winter sun rises high over the valley. Everything is sickly-green, muddy and fresh with a drought of melted snow under the now-cloudless sky.

“it’s another fine day for a murder in Missoura,” the major drawls. He’s all the way to baritone now, grounded, enticing. He’s shaking with withdrawal already. “let’s get to it, officer.”

You only hum, tilt back the last of your coffee with a languid movement and get up and out the door. You don’t know if you’ve gained a team, a partner, or a cross to bear, but you’re out of this room for now, and on your way to your first real achievement of this decade. 

The winter sun smiles down at you. You don’t know if it laughs or winces.

[thealphabetmurders]

Laundry Day

Pairing: Prinxiety

Word Count: 3580

Summary: Virgil walks in on Roman with the door unlocked, causing him to realize some feelings he didn't know he had.From the sentence prompt: "I'm sorry, I thought this door was locked."

Triggers: anxiety, suggestive themes

Authors Note: This is my second Prinxiety fic in a month, what is happening to me? 

Thank you to Koko on my Discord for the sentence prompt. This was really fun to write. 

(Read on AO3)

Virgil didn’t mind his roommates, not at all. Sure, living in a city apartment with 3 other people sounded like a nightmare, and it was sometimes, but they worked together great. Logan was a surprisingly component chef, Patton was good at keeping the peace whenever tensions rose, and Roman encouraged them all to be active to match his own fitness lifestyle. Of course, they are also all close friends, but they had all had their own fair share of bad roommates, and after two years of the 4 of them living together, there was no reason to stop or for that to change. They were in a comfortable, domestic heaven.

***

The Home-osexuals Chat

P: Hey kiddos! Remember I wont be home for the next week because of the convention in Jersey, please do not slack on your chores, I will be upset if I come back to the house and nothing is done :(

L: This is Logan. I believe we still have the list you wrote out for us, we will do our best to abide by it.

R: You have nothing to fear Padre, we will complete everything you need us to!

Virgil looked at his phone, smirking, before placing back in his pocket, blasting the music from his large headphones as he gathered up his laundry as well as his roommates. He felt proud of himself for actually being ahead of schedule and doing his and his roommates laundry a day ahead of schedule.

Normally, laundry would be a task left up to the individual to complete, but 3 months into living with each other, Virgil quickly found out that his roommate absolutely despised doing laundry- a formidable task that Virgil had never had an issue with. So, his job was to wash, dry, and fold everyone’s clothes for that week. It was a bit awkward folding his very platonic roommates undergarments the first time, but after doing it for years, he barely bats an eye now.

With a huff, he reached down, and grabbed the three smaller plastic laundry bins and one large one on top of one another, the stacking made the baskets reach his chin. He struggled to the elevator but eventually made it up to the 14th floor and set the laundry down so he could begin folding.

Virgil began with the large basket- Princey’s laundry. It was the biggest and the most daunting out of the 3. With work out clothes and dancing attire and the fact that Roman spills on himself a lot, he goes through a lot of laundry. No matter. He begins his work at a steady pace, folding the shirts and shorts in the way that he knows Roman likes, separating the clothes in the basket by the occasion. Work out clothes and undergarments go on the bottom, everyday in the middle, and dancing/theater attire goes on top. Virgil let his mind wander about a couple projects he has to complete for work and a potential promotion that is in the works at his job. He bites his lip, shaking his head, wanting to distract himself from the pressures of work on his day off. He steadies himself and focuses on the polyester fabric between his fingertips and the sound of Hayley Williams’ voice.

Once he was finished, Virgil put the basket on his hip, feeling like quite the 19th century maid, and made his way up the stairs where Roman bedroom was. Patton and Roman essentially had control of the upstairs (it only being their two rooms and a bathroom) while Logan and Virgil claimed a hallway for their corner of the house. It didn’t take long to realise that Roman blasting show tunes while Logan was studying for his Masters was not going to work out.

Virgil sighed, knocking twice on the door decorated with golden stars and fairy lights draping on the outside. There was music Virgil couldn’t quite make out play from inside the room, so it is very likely he could have just not heard Virgil’s subtle knocks, “Ro, I have your laundry,” Virgil said, to no avail. He tried the door handle and it twisted successfully, so Virgil pushed himself into the room, “Roman, where do you want me-”

He cut himself off, unable to form any sentences after seeing Roman. It wasn’t Roman fault, Virgil caught him off guard. And it’s not like he was doing anything bad, and yet Virgil’s palm seemed to sweat and his throat dry once he saw Roman doing flexibility stretches. Roman was sat on the floor, holding his right ankle with both his hands behind his head, his other leg bent on the floor in front of him. Maybe it was because Roman was also completely shirtless or maybe it was the small and tight shorts that did not leave a lot to the imagination or maybe it was the way Roman’s olive skin gleamed with sweat under the lights, paired with his Adonis like body. Maybe it was all of that. Maybe it was none. But Virgil’s brain just went white as all he could do was stare.

“Ah, Virgil!” Roman let go of his ankle, and relaxed himself cross-legged on the floor, “I’m sorry, I thought this door was locked,” He stood up, towering over Virgil, stretching his arms a bit. Virgil nodded, dumbly, “Yea, uh, I knocked but the music-” Roman walked over to the speakers and turned off whatever cheesy pop song was playing, and now Virgil could clearly hear all the blood rushing in his ears. “The music is… Is no longer playing,”

“You okay there, Raggedy Angst?” Roman chuckled, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

Virgil nodded, feeling the color in his cheeks rising and he is praying to God Roman is dumb enough to not notice the way he is avoiding his gaze, “Yea, uh, just a bit tired, didn’t get a lot of, um, anything to eat today?” He tried that, hoping he would believe him.

Thankfully, Roman did, sucking in a breath through his teeth, “Yikes, no sleep and no eating, that is really bad for you Virge,”

Roman grabbed the laundry basket from Virgil and it took all of his strength to not whine as his fingertips brushed against Virgil’s waist. Roman was talking, most likely about his sleep schedule or eating, but Virgil was not there.

Virgil was transported into his own personal 80’s style fantasy dream sequence, where Roman had him backed up against a wall. He had on that smirk that used to make him roll his eyes but now has him weak in the knees. Roman brushed the loose hairs out of Virgil’s face, which made him bite his lip and hold back a gasp.

Roman smiled, “You’re so sensitive,” And then he was manhandled onto the bed, Virgil imagining just how soft those silky red sheets would be against his back, as Roman straddled him and lightly kissed his neck before nibbling his ear, whispering into it, “You want me to show you how flexible I can be?” And Virgil wanted that. He really, really needed that. But he was shaken out of his daydream by Roman, the real Roman, shaking his shoulder.

“Geez, you really are out of it,” Roman crossed his arms, concern all over his face.

“Huh?” It took him a moment to process what Roman said, “Yea, I- uh, might have a nap,” He swallowed thickly, his conscious eating away at him from what he just imagined, “Do you- uh…” Virgil trailed off, attempting to find the words, “Do you always workout li-like, y’know… Without clothes,”

“Not typically, no,” Roman shrugged casually, seeming unbothered by the question, “It is just you were doing my laundry when I normally do my stretching, and I didn’t have any clothes to wear. You are a day early,”

Virgil nodded, biting his lip, rubbing under his nose, “Right well, uh, I am gonna have that nap now. Uh,” Virgil did a two finger salute, causing Roman to raise an eyebrow at the awkwardness, “Sorry, I am tired,” His eyes flickered to the left and right before exiting the room.

Virgil closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment, before groaning, “Well, fuck,”

***

Virgil may have gotten sleep but it certainly was not peaceful. The unwanted thoughts kept plaguing his mind, not even his favorite conspiracies YouTube channel could get his mind off of the golden-toned man.

“So, you’re having anxiety ‘cause… You find Roman attractive?” Remy took a long sip from his coffee before rolling closer to Virgil’s chair, “I dunno babe, this one is on you,”

Virgil spun around, angry, “How is this on me?”

“You should have seen that Roman is hot as fuck earlier,” Remy shrugged, “I look at him and am like ‘congratulations dude, you’re literally a 10’. I am honestly surprised none of you gays had a sexy dream about him sooner,”

Virgil cheeks warmed as he gripped the front of his fringe, “I did not have a…” He looked around, making sure there were no co-workers to overhear, “Have a sexy dream about Roman!” Remy raises an eyebrow and Virgil bit his lip, “Not in… So much detail,”

Remy cackles and pulled out his phone, shaking his head, “Ah man, that’s hilarious,”

“Look, it’s not like I have never thought Roman was attractive before, of course he is, but like, I don’t understand why I am having this… Reaction,”

Virgil and Remy were silent for a while, the the latter spoke up, “Maybe it’s all been like, building up and it just took one thing to make you realise, and that was Roman lewdly stretching out on the floor,”

He nodded, “I guess I do find my self seeking Roman’s company more so than anyone else, and we are like, always talking and texting,”

“So it was just a matter of your dumb brain making you realise you have feelings for him, so you’re not just in denial for the rest of your life,”

Virgil raised an eyebrow, “Well, that’s rich coming from you,”

Remy’s expression flickered from smug to sheepish, but blink and you would have missed it, “I don’t know what you are referring to,” He scratched the side of his face and took a long sip of his coffee while Virgil scooted in closer, placing his hands on his knees.

“Oh really? So, you are just never going to address the absolutely giant crush you have on Logan? How you keep having problems with your coursework that only he can help with? How every time you’re around him you always bring your Louis Vuitton galaxy bag in hopes that he’ll ramble about space?” Remy kept sipping his coffee, avoiding eye contact very casually, “We’re not going to talk about that?”

Remy stopping drinking, smacking his lips together and sighing, “Nope,” Virgil rolled his eyes, crossing his arms, “Do you even want to date Roman, or do you just want to f-”

“That’s a good question,” Virgil cut him off, as one of their coworkers walked by to get coffee from the breakroom, “I’ve been thinking about that, and I am not 100% sure. I know I am attracted to him in some weird, ambiguous way, but I haven’t even seen him since the- since the ‘incident’ so I guess I just have to find out,”

Remy nodded, “Well, good news is, you can find out right now,” He gestured his now empty cup towards reception where the devil himself was standing, dressed in his favorite form fitting red sweater tucked into black jeans. “Mm, he looks so good in casual wear,”

“Remy!”

“What?” Remy smirked, “Getting jealous? I may not want to date him but I am also not blind,” Roman walked over to the two men, waving with one hand, holding a drink carrier in the other one, flashing a classic 1000 watt smile.

“God, I bet he doesn’t even know how beautiful he is,” Virgil muttered to Remy, who just nodded.

“Hey, gorgeous, this certainly is a surprise,” Remy smiled, standing up. Roman set the drinks down before pulling him into a hug. He looked over to the drink carrier, pulling out the frappuccino he assumed was his, and collapsed back into his chair.

“What are you doing here today, Ro? You didn’t tell me you were coming?” Virgil frowned.

Roman leaned against Virgil’s desk, ruffling his hair a bit that was damp with moisture. His curly brown locks looked like that of a supermodel, or a 1920’s Hollywood actor. He sighed, putting on a soft smile, “Well, I got done with my lessons early and was in the area, thought I would surprise the two boys that are hard at work,” He looked around the office at everyone either on their phone or browsing Facebook on their computer, “Busy day, I take it?”

Virgil groaned, “We all just finished our projects for the month, so there is nothing new to work on, so we are just at work for the sake of being at work,”

Remy rolled his eyes, “I hate it here,”

“Capitalism really does suck sometimes. The 40 hour work day isn’t even productive. Studies find that people in typical office jobs can accomplish all their work in 3 hours, and to force someone to be at their job for more than double than length actually can cause a sharp decrease in productivity, or, what was that called, Virgil?”

Virgil was taken aback, “It’s called presenteeism. Wait, you were actually listening while I was rambling about that?”

Roman shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing the world, “Of course I did, why wouldn’t I want to listen to you, Virgil?” He softly smiled at Virgil, placing a hand tenderly on his bicep.

Remy smirked into his frappuccino, trying not to say anything while Virgil attempted to not scream.

Internally, he let out the biggest groan, “Well, fuck,”

***

Was Virgil avoiding Roman? Yes. Was he doing it in a way that was super obvious? Of course. Did Logan scold him for a little bit for taking over the kitchen table with unfolded laundry? Undoubtedly. When Virgil finally calmed down a bit from his gay panic (and regular panic), he tackled the pile of laundry he had been avoiding. Many of the clothes were now wrinkled from sitting out so long, so he had to get out the ironing board and tend to those as needed.

He hummed to the lo-fi beats coming from his headphones, ironing one of Logan’s shirts, beginning to relax, when his headphones were ripped right off his head, just as he was beginning to get lost in thought and maladaptive daydream.

“What the hell?” Virgil looked up and saw Roman holding the headphones on the tip of his finger, an eyebrow raised. He was wearing a show shirt that he cut the sleeves off of as well as most of the torso to make into a 00’s style crop top. “Oh, h-hey Roman,”

Virgil was distracted. Distracted that the object of his fantasies was standing right in front of him, looking a bit annoyed and confused, as well as the fact that he was wearing that particular crop top and Roman always looked so good in white… He was distracted, so he ran over his own finger with the iron.

“Ow, fuck!” He exclaimed, gripping his right finger, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes.

“Oh my Lord!” Roman rushed over to the kitchen and began frantically opening cupboard doors, “Where is the first aid kit, where is it,” He muttered to him,

Virgil breathed out heavily, “Roman, don't worry about helping, I- I got it,” He rushed away, making a beeline for his and Logan’s bathroom. He turned on the cold water and thrust his entire hand underneath the rushing water, the cold mixed with the warm from the burn made for an uncomfortable sensation.

“Okay, what is going on with you?” Roman opened the bathroom door (shit, Virgil forgot to lock it) holding the first aid kit, “You have been avoiding me and been weird ever since I came to see you at work. Was it the fact that I surprised you at work, or something?”

Virgil was not sure if Roman could see the bright blush on his cheeks but he would be a fool not to notice the stutter in his voice, as he pulled his hand away from the sink, “O-oh I really didn’t min-”

“Ooh, that looked really bad,” He commented, interrupting Virgil. He manhandled him closer towards himself and held a tight grip on his wrist and he uncapped the burn cream and liberally spread it across his finger, “I have been burned multiple times before, don’t worry, I will take good care of you,”

Virgil is on fire. He is on fire and he is dead. Roman’s eyes twinkled a bit as he hummed lowly an adage that he did not recognize, but it had the melody of Disney. His lips were parted slightly, thankfully not noticing the long minutes Virgil was staring at them. When Roman dragged a tongue across the bottom one and bit it as he was wrapping the bandages, it took all of his willpower to not say something, instead opting to cover his entire face with the hand not being treated.

“There you are, all finished!” Roman patted down the wrap and kissed the bandages, just to add insult to injury.

Virgil nodded vigorously, “Okay, thanks Roman, bye,” He attempted to move around Roman, but Roman’s wide frame compared to Virgil’s small one made it a losing battle.

“Easy, you’re still being weird, what is going on with you?” Roman gripped Virgil shoulders, and he was avoiding eye contact with the beautiful man in front of him.

Virgil should just say something, tell Roman, rip the band-aid off, and they can get on with their lives after a couple weeks of awkwardness. These past couple days have been absolute torture, he doesn’t know if he can keep it up.

But, his anxiety has something else to say.

“Just, forget about it Roman, I’ll tell you some other day,” Virgil mumbled, if the bathroom hadn’t been so quiet, neither of them would have been able to hear it.

The other man sighed, dejected, and Virgil felt a pang of guilt, “Okay, fine, you are under no obligation to tell me, just know I miss talking to you,” Roman lifted his hand to brush the hair out of Virgil face, and of course, his body had to betray him with a involuntary whine, “and I-” Roman cut himself off, raising an eyebrow at the noise. Virgil wanted nothing more than for the floor to open up and swallow him whole. He is sure he is going to be the first person to actually die from embarrassment.

“Virgil?”

He swallowed thickly, eyes squeezed shut, “Yea?”

A beat. “You like me, don’t you?”

Normally, Virgil would respond with some snark or a belittling comment towards Roman, but his nerves were turned up to 10 and he couldn’t even think straight (more so than usual), so in the vast sea of sassy remarks, there was not one to be found.

“Yes,” He responded, honestly.

There were a couple moments of deafening silence in the bathroom where Virgil thought Roman was going to sigh, disappointed in him or hit him or kill him. All irrational, but all seemed very likely in his anxious state.

“Virgil?” Roman asked again, his voice softer.

“Yea?”

Roman placed a hand on his shoulder, “Can you look at me?”

Virgil sighed, slowly placing his hands down to his side, looking up into Roman’s wide brown eyes. He had on a soft smile. Before Virgil could even register what was happening, he was being lifted up by his thighs, his legs instinctively going around Romans waist and arms around his neck. Roman then pushed Virgil back against the wall, holding him there for a passionate kiss.

At first, he didn’t kiss back, so shocked by Roman’s bold actions that his brain was lagging like a 2006 Chrome browser. Roman began to pull away, but once Virgil’s brain caught up with his body, he pulled himself closer to his partner and kissed back with a passion and fervor that he is sure Roman did not expect.

If this were a movie, the lightbulbs in the bathroom would have burst and the music would have swelled, but instead, all Virgil could sense was the softness of Roman’s lips and the heavy weight lifted off of his shoulders. The feeling of ecstasy made his legs tingle, almost causing him to lose his grip on Roman and collapse onto the tile.

Virgil one the one to break the kiss, resting his forehead against Roman’s chuckling slightly, “So, I am guessing you like me back?”

“Have for a while now, Virge,”

The two of them chuckled, peppering soft kisses onto each other’s faces that would normally make Virgil gag, but now it made his heart swell.

They heard the front door open and slam shut and a sigh came from the kitchen, “Really kiddo?” They heard Patton yell, “You couldn’t get the laundry done before I came home?”

Virgil sighed, frustrated, leaning his forehead on Roman’s shoulder.

Roman chuckled, amused that Virgil was about to get chewed out, “Someone is in trouble,”

He groaned, tightening the grip on Roman’s waist, “Well, fuck,”

A/N: By the way, here is the link to the stretch that Roman was doing. I did my best to describe it, but if you need a visual, here. 

[justjessame]

Put Me In Coach 10

I blinked, I swear I must have blinked because it was THE DAY. Graduation day. I felt like I’d counted down since the first day of school, so how did I miss the last two days?

Negan woke me with a phone call as the sun had just peeked above the horizon. “Morning, Amara.” I smiled at the gruff tone of his voice. He must have just woken up. “Just think, princess, tomorrow at this time we won’t need the fucking phone to have this conversation.”

I settled back into my pillows. “Maybe we should keep them fully charged, just in case face to face is awkward.” His laugh was as low as his voice. I hummed. “I get to wake up in your bed, with your naked skin pressed against me, and I am fairly certain that I will think I’ve died and gone to-”

“AMARA!” Fuck. “Mara, open this door right now.” For fuck’s sake.

“Hang on, Negan.” I put the phone against my chest and opened my locked door once I’d extradited myself from my bed. “What is the emergency, MOTHER?!” I could feel Negan’s laughter through the phone vibrating my chest.

“Today’s the day, sweetheart.” And behind her stood the maid of the week, carrying a huge tray. “Breakfast in bed.” Or it would have been if I’d been allowed to stay in bed. “Come on, say goodbye to Mr.-” My glare stopped her. “Say goodbye to Negan, we’ll see him later.” Yeah, WE.

“Bye, Negan.” I said, rolling my eyes as my mother ordered the maid to clear a table and round up two chairs. “I’m having breakfast beside my bed, apparently.” I turned away and stage whispered, “tomorrow I get to have YOU for breakfast, right?”

His laughter carried me through. Through breakfast with my mother. Through a forced spa day that I salvaged by inviting Eric and Mary along last moment. Look, it was my fucking graduation day, if I allowed myself to be tortured into hair and makeup, then I was taking my two best bitches along for the ride.

By that evening, mere hours before walking across the stage to be handed our diplomas, we were once again in my room getting ready together. I wondered, as I watched Mary tease Eric about Steven and going away for school if it would be the last time.

“Shit, I think we’ve triggered Amara’s nostalgia button.” Eric’s eyes met mine in the mirror. He came up behind me and bent down to snuggle into my back. “What’s got you looking so sad, Mara?”

“Is this the last time we do this?” I glanced around, knowing I’d be packing my room up. That I’d be moving with Negan to a different school from the two of them. I was trying hard not to look at the downside, but I loved these two assholes. “Get ready for a major thing in my room?”

“Course not,” Mary answered, cuddling into my other side. “We’ll do it when we graduate from college, different rooms, but all together. We’ll do it again when you marry Coach.” I felt my eyes go wide. “Not soon, you dumb slut, but eventually. And then when Eric calms his dick down enough to pick one, we’ll do it again then. And one day, a VERY long fucking time from now, we’ll do it when I win an Oscar.”

I laughed and so did the two of them. Jesus. I was going to miss this. The two of them and me. “Texts,” I demanded, my hands grabbing one of each of theirs. “Calls, and texts, constantly.”

“Like you needed to fucking command it,” Eric rolled his eyes. “How am I gonna get that pic of Coach’s dick if I don’t stay in touch?”

  Graduation itself wasn’t all that memorable. Negan in a suit was a highlight, as was the announcement that he was leaving the faculty to move on to a new opportunity. His eyes met mine in the crowd of my fellow students and he mouthed ‘I love you’. And then, it was over, and caps were tossed and we were off.

My parents insisted on driving me to dinner. A small concession, since Negan and I were leaving together. I listened as my mother babbled on and on about this person’s kid and that person’s embarrassment. When she mentioned Eric’s name I looked up.

“Why didn’t you tell us that Eric had been made Valedictorian?” Oh right.

I shrugged, my gown still covering my dress, best to leave that surprise until there were witnesses. “I guess I take for granted how smart he is.” And Mary and I had tried EVERY bribe we could to get the programs to read ‘ERIC SULLIVAN-VALEDICTORIAN’. We even tried to get Negan in on it, but to no avail. The three gift bags holding Mary, Eric, and Steven’s gifts were on the floorboards, handles up so when the car stopped to let the valet park, I grabbed them in one swoop and started to get out.

“AMARA.” Fuck, what now? “The gown-” Oh right. Here goes.

I unzipped the cheap polyester graduation gown and slipped it off and tossed it into the car. Silence. Shit. “Let’s go see if our table is ready.” I tried for perky, but when I looked up I saw Mom’s mouth gaping.

“Where’s your dress?” She gasped and I felt Negan’s heat press up against my back.

“Found it,” his hand wrapped around my waist and pulled me tighter against him. “Amara, you look-” I felt exactly how he thought I looked, it was pressed against me. “Edible.”

“I really have a taste for a buffet.” I shrugged and his lips touched my cheek. “Later?”

“Not much.” He whispered, staying right behind me.

“Why would you need to eat at a buffet later?” My mom was muttering, trying NOT to draw attention to her scandalous daughter and her scandalous daughter’s date. “He really does look like a pit-boss.” Jesus, kill me now.

“Mrs. Kendall,” the host had found her in a crowd. My mom,the leader of the pack. “We have your table waiting, and I believe part of your party has already been seated.” Thank fucking god.

Eric and his family were seated. Mary and hers were seconds behind us. Then Steven and his. Once seated, Mom assuring us that she’d taken care of our orders, we settled into the faux casual conversation that came naturally to the Kendalls and anyone unfortunate enough to dine with us.

“Coach Negan,” Eric’s voice, and I was drawn out of my happy place where Negan’s hand had been playing with the bare skin of my back. “You’re getting out of town too, huh?” I bit my lip. They’d known the day after he showed me. “Wherever will you go?” His eyes were twinkling and I bit back a laugh.

Negan’s smile was evident in his voice. “I had a job offer.” He mentioned the school and my mom shot me a look. “It was too good to pass up.” I looked up at him and smiled.

“Aren’t they too freaking cute?” Eric practically squealed, causing other tables to look our way. I couldn’t have planned it better.

“Kiss me.” I whispered and Negan’s grin grew.

“Thought you’d never ask.” And his lips met mine and the room hushed. Of course, I could have just gone deaf from the actual fucking NEED I felt for him. He pulled back and rubbed my nose with his. “I love you, princess.”

“I love you too, Coach.” I winked and we refocused on dinner.

 Eventually the noise level rose back up. Our table wasn’t the focal point for long and we actually started to loosen up as a group. Present time came and Negan handed Eric the bag for me.

“You should know,” I said, as he started to reach inside. “Negan helped pick it out.”

Mary’s laughter was musical as Eric’s eyes widened in happiness. “You got me a fucking crown.” He perched it on his hair, and Steven, proving he was totally boyfriend worthy, fixed it so it sat just right.

“Haven’t you tried to convince me that you are a QUEEN our entire lives?” I asked, taking a sip of my water. “Figured a queen must have a crown.”

“This is why you’re my favorite.” He smirked as Mary smacked him. “I can have TWO favorites.”

My parents had given everyone a gift certificate for dinner. I got a pair of diamond earrings from Mom, the matching bracelet from Dad, and when Negan pulled a small box from his suit pocket another gasp went around the table. Not a chance, I rolled my eyes at their idiocy. The diamond necklace made the trio complete. I kissed him and he whispered just loud enough for me to hear “soon”. My stomach clenched and sighing I pulled away.

Mary had gotten me a gorgeous dress. Eric, the gift I both couldn’t wait to see, and almost wanted to open in the ladies’ room, just in case. Ripping off the wrapping paper, I heard Negan choke on the drink he’d taken as he saw what Eric had gifted me with. That little shit. A gorgeous platinum frame, with a blown up copy of the photo I’d sent him of Negan’s happy trail.

“Let’s see,” my mother urged, and I shook my head. I’d kill him. Stone cold dead.

I put my hand over the picture and held it up for her inspection. “Isn’t it the most wonderful FRAME, Mom?”

“Hand it here, the light is bouncing off it at that angle.” Fuck. Really?

“I’m afraid I’ll drop it,” please Jesus a bone. “I’ll show it to you at home.”

“Just pass it down the table, Mara.” She rolled her eyes and I wondered how many glasses of wine she’d had.

Down the table meant the frame would pass Negan, Eric, Steven, Mary, Dad, and then make it to Mom. Fuck. “Break it and I’ll promise you oral sex on demand from the moment we leave until the day I fucking die.��� I offered Negan, but the devilish smile on his face told me he knew he had that already. Damn it.

And so, I watched as EVERY SINGLE FUCKING ONE, except Dad studied my hot as fuck boyfriend’s abs before it made it to Mom’s hands. And each and every one of them, from Negan on down, made a comment that could be taken in a very innocent, or very fucking dirty vein.

“The craftsmanship of this is very good, quality, but I think a couple more hours under the heat would have made it harder.” Fuck Negan.

Eric, not to be outdone, “I don’t know Coach, do you really have to screw with perfection on the off chance it gets better?”

Steven was a quick study and offered this gem. “Silver, I’m sorry platinum ages so well, doesn’t it?”

And Mary, my ovaries before brovaries, winked at me and said. “Damn, these background pictures are looking close enough to touch or taste.”

Dad barely glanced at it, but then again, his meal was clearly more interesting. And then Mom. “It is a lovely frame.” She squinted. “What is this background? Some sort of mountain range?” She brought the frame closer to her face. “Why that looks just like-” And then she sat the frame down and I could see her trying to decide who to glare at first. “Put your gift away, Amara.” And the frame came back down the table, ignoring the other side with my friends’ families.

“You’re in trouble,” Negan whispered, hot against my ear. “How did Eric get that picture, Amara?” Shit, he didn’t mean with Mom.

“It was the least risque one I had.” I muttered back. “Need I remind you of the night of the cilantro?”

His chuckle vibrated my chair. “You win that one.” His hand was on my bare back again. “I want you, princess. Now.”

I bit my lip. “I think I need to excuse myself, Mom.” She met my eyes and nodded. “Dad,” he glanced up with another nod. “I’ll be back in a moment.” Or an hour.

I stepped outside of the dining room and waited. A few minutes passed and then Negan walked out. “Your mom was glaring at me the entire time I was standing up from the table, sweetheart.” He was grinning. “Looks like I’m in trouble too.”

“Come with me.” I took his hand and walked to the end of the hallway. Opening the door, we were on the dock. “Remember when Mom wanted to do dinner on a boat?”

“And you shot her down?” He smiled, tugging me closer to him. “Vaguely.”

“Wanna have dessert on one?” I tilted my head up and his grin was bright.

 Now, I have to admit, when I asked to have dessert on a boat, I clearly meant sex. I meant sex in one of the below deck rooms, but sex was very high on my expectations. Negan, however, decided that sex below deck in a comfortable bed or on a sofa was too blase. We were going to have an entire night in a bed. Let’s celebrate.

And that’s how we ended up on the bow of the boat, him pressed against my back and me looking for all the world like a really strange figurehead. The skirt of my dress was already indecently short, and when he bent his knees just right, well, you get the picture. And we were in that position, fucking quietly and slowly, when my MOTHER and FATHER showed up.

“Amara? Is that you?” Please go away. “Honey, what are you to up there doing?”

Negan chose that moment to hit THAT spot and I had to bite my lip hard to stop from making a sound only dolphins would understand. “We’re,” I was breathless and strangely not anywhere near out of the mood. “Reenacting that scene from Titanic.” Call me fucking brainless, but he shifted again and I lost my entire mental functions.

“Titanic?” Negan’s lips were touching the shell of my ear and I had to swallow a moan. “Like my-”

“OH MY GOD!” Eric, of course, with Steven. My night is complete. “What are you two up there doing?” You know, because you’re at just the right angle, is that your phone?!

“You two look so darling up there,” my mom was saying, and I shit you not, drew her own phone out. “Let me take a photo, so you can have it forever.”

Sure, of us screwing on a boat that doesn’t belong to us, on graduation night, during dinner. Fuck. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Kendall, I’ve got it!” Eric’s voice rang out. “I’m sure the angle from here is MUCH CLEARER.”

Negan bit into my neck slightly as he rushed over taking me breathless along with him. Fuck. Shit. “Damn, sweetheart, I think-Fuck.” Yeah, no shit. He held me as we both got our breath back, me assuring Mom we’d be in to say goodnight shortly and throwing Eric such a death glare that he should have keeled right the fuck over.

“See you inside, PRINCESS.” Eric offered over his shoulder with a wink. UGH.

Negan was cleaning me up once our audience left and I was trying desperately to not toss myself into the man-made lake. His laughter made me look down. “You do know that Eric saw not just your dick, but your dick in action, right?”

He nodded and looked up at me. “He definitely did, but fuck if I don’t want a copy of it.”

I found myself laughing. I swear I was surrounded by crazy people. “Thank god for Mom’s wine intake.” I offered as he stood and kissed me. “Otherwise she might have asked why you weren’t screaming you were ‘king of the world’.”

“Gotta save something for home.” And our laughter rang out across the lake.

[agentflanders-blog]

                                                                                              — STATISTICS 

“When a body is burned, the heart is the last organ to oxidize. While the rest of the body can catch flame like a polyester sheet on campfire, it takes hours to burn the heart to ash.”

BASIC INFORMATION.

FULL NAME: Claire Elise Flanders 

NICKNAME(S): Claire-Bear ( by her father, on the rare occasions she actually saw him ), Larry ( by her younger sister Eleanor, because ‘Claire’ proved difficult for the lisping toddler to pronounce ), Flanders ( by former partners and familiar coworkers ), CUNT ( behind her back, of course, though she’s not unaware of it )

AGE: Thirty

D.O.B.: October 3rd, 1987

HOMETOWN: Belvedere, California

CURRENT LOCATION: Detrosa, California

ETHNICITY: White; Finnish on her father’s side, Swedish and French on her mother’s

NATIONALITY: American

GENDER: Cisgender female

PRONOUNS: She/her

ORIENTATION: Hyporomantic bisexual 

RELIGION: Lapsed Christian / stubborn atheist  

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: Democrat

OCCUPATION: Special Agent for the FBI, formerly a detective with the LAPD

LIVING ARRANGEMENTS: Currently living out of a dive motel on the outskirts of Detrosa; she refuses to settle, and the FBI is paying her expenses anyway. The only money that comes out of her pocket is for alcohol ( a sizable chunk of change, if you have Claire’s habits ) 

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: English, Spanish, a bit of French 

ACCENT: Generic American. Flat affect. 

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.

FACE CLAIM: Alicia Vikander 

HAIR COLOUR: A natural, virgin chocolate-brown. The ends get sun-dyed.

EYE COLOUR: A deep, warm brown with a distinct yellow cast to them; like caramel. 

HEIGHT: A misleading 5′6 ( she appears proportionally smaller than she is ). 

WEIGHT: A slim 115 lbs ( blame scarcely eating for her diminutive frame ). 

BUILD: Skinny, not slim. Knob-kneed, muscles protruding because of lack of food and not actual bulk. 

TATTOOS: Only one: ELLE, stamped across her hipbone, flanked by a daisy. 

PIERCINGS: One in each ear ( done when she was a baby ). 

CLOTHING STYLE: If she’s working, she tends to wear button-ups and black slacks or jeans, along with comfortable Doc Martens. If she’s off, you’re more likely to find her in some flimsy tank ( for comfort, not fashion ) and slouchy jeans. A Ramones tee hanging off her shoulders. Think haphazard and monochromatic. She scoops up whatever t-shirts she can find secondhand and pairs them with one of her two demolished pair of dark jeans. If it’s cold, she’ll throw on her faux-leather jacket. That’s about it as far as fashion is concerned. Rings, rings, rings. She likes rings because she often absently digs them into the flesh of her legs; hers are particularly pointy, particularly given to drawing blood. 

USUAL EXPRESSION: Prickly. Standoffish. Sarcastic. Blunt. Then, there’s that unmistakable madness in her eyes; sad, lonely, broken. Like a fire still alive in her irises. 

DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTICS: She has two long, deep scars from her two wrist surgeries. They are both long and gashed along her vein, ugly and pink. She likes to cover them up and can usually be seen clutching her shirtsleeves in her palms. The scars from where she cuts herself, mostly on the inner thigh. Just little ticks, like she’s tallying something. 

HEALTH.

PHYSICAL AILMENTS: Chronic insomnia. Further, Claire is left-handed, a choice to minimize the damage to her right (which she needs working). Her right wrist landed peculiarly in her fall, and it has never worked properly since.

NEUROLOGICAL CONDITIONS: Diagnosed PTSD, depression, and ADHD. Self-medicated anxiety disorder. Alcoholism. Opioid addiction. Trichotillomania. 

ALLERGIES: Dogs. 

SLEEPING HABITS: Erratic. She tends to go through bouts of regulating herself to sleeping at around eleven-midnight, and then others of insomnia ( where she often doesn’t fall asleep until four in the morning, if ever ). Usually she falls asleep drunk, and fully clothed. If she doesn’t, she leaves her clothing on just the same (on the off chance that she’ll have to flee in the middle of the night because another fire is nipping at her heels). It’s an odd habit that she has had since her childhood. 

EATING HABITS: Similarly irregular. Oftentimes she forgets to eat, and when she remembers, she always reaches for something palatable rather than nutritious. For her, that means something sweet, like a donut or a candy bar. Quick, goes down easy, fuels her for a while. 

EXERCISE HABITS: Runs on occasion, though that’s more to quiet her mind than anything else. To stop herself from slicing into herself again, again, again. 

EMOTIONAL STABILITY: Claire probably ranks a 4/10 on emotional stability, though that is not necessarily demonstrated outwardly. To most, she would appear to be mild, unaffected. In truth, she’s a deeply emotional human being, and she feels things very strongly, which makes her very mercurial. Her mind is a difficult place to be. When she is sad, it is suffocating. When she is joyful, which is rarely, she feels like a live current. 

SOCIABILITY: Claire prefers being alone to anything, but can become very depressed when she hasn’t seen anyone in a long time. She doesn’t want to admit it, but company is necessary for her. She was once a very social child, but she grew into a reclusive adult; something which was borne of trauma, not her natural inclinations. 

BODY TEMPERATURE: She runs very hot. Touch her hands and they’ll feel like embers; it’s why she likes her air-conditioning up very high. Her room feels like an icebox. 

ADDICTIONS: Alcohol, opioids, cutting. 

DRUG USE: She was first prescribed opioids when she was young in order to treat the pain from her hip and wrist surgeries. For a while, around sixteen, she became involved with a group of people who regularly used heroin. Now, she prefers to stick to OxyContin and poppy pod tea.

ALCOHOL USE: Excessive. We’re talking wake-and-guzzle. She scarcely feels a few shots now; it takes her much more than that. 

PERSONALITY.

LABEL: The Abrasive, The Cynical, The Escapee, The Vanished

POSITIVE TRAITS: adaptable, compassionate, courageous, fair-minded, intelligent, intuitive, persistent, sincere 

NEGATIVE TRAITS: aggressive, aloof, impulsive, cynical, detached, harsh, impatient, inconsistent, mercurial, secretive, unreliable, unpredictable 

GOALS/DESIRES: To solve the cases at hand with skill and efficiency. To become well-respected within the FBI. To transcend what happened to her as a child. To be able to exist idly and be content. To be happy. 

FEARS: Acrophobia. Anthophobia ( due her mother’s love of flowers and the suffocating bouquets that were always located around the estate ). Fear of food ( particularly of meat ). Claustrophobia. She both fears fire and is obsessed with it; with possessing it, controlling it. 

HOBBIES: Drinking, hair-pulling, cutting, listening to music while lying prone ( likely on the floor ) or thrashing wildly, reading ( exclusively pulpy detective fiction or true crime ). 

HABITS: Biting her fingernails. Pulling her hair. Chewing her lip. Cursing in a continuous string. Digging her rings and/or nails into her flesh. Sitting cross-legged. Standing with feet fixed far apart. Avoiding eye contact. Walking fast. Going to bed after 4 am ( if at all ). Not sleeping. Forgetting to eat for days. Sleeping fully-clothed, on top of the sheets. Gives one-word answers. Stops to think carefully before she speaks ( unless she’s sloshed ). Excessive sarcasm. Replies with “hmm” rather than an actual reply. Speaks very deliberately. 

FAVOURITES.

WEATHER: Cloudy, possibly with rain. A crisp 65 degrees. She despises being too warm and begins to feel suffocated by heat. 

COLOUR: Red.

Music: Screaming Females, Hayley Kiyoko, Samia, Courtney Barnett, Deap Valley, The Clash, Talking Heads, Led Zeppelin. 

Movies: The Shining, Psycho, Blade Runner, Fatal Attraction, Dogville. 

SPORT: She can only tolerate soccer. 

BEVERAGE: Teeling Irish Whiskey or the darkest stout imaginable. 

FOOD: A Reese’s peanut butter cup, though she prefers to drink her meals. 

ANIMAL: Hyenas. They are female-dominant. 

FAMILY.

FATHER: Jonathan “Jack” Flanders / Deceased / Former business mogul and owner & CEO of Flanders Farms packaged foods company  + LEGAL GUARDIAN: Elliot Turner / Sixty-three / Former Criminal Psychologist & current True Crime writer 

MOTHER: Virginia Turner Flanders -- called “Turner” by her friends / Deceased / Former Pageant Queen 

SIBLING(S): Eleanor Marie Flanders / Deceased 

CHLDREN: N/A

PET(S): N/A

FAMILY’S FINANCIAL STATUS: Wealthy.

EXTRA.

ZODIAC SIGN: Libra

MBTI: ISFJ - “The Defender”

ENNEAGRAM: TYPE 5 - “The Investigator”

TEMPERAMENT: Melancholy (SECONDARY: Choleric)

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic good 

PRIMARY VICE: Wrath 

PRIMARY VIRTUE: Humility 

ELEMENT: Fire

[sesl2020]

The Details: are they God’s or the Devil’s?

I don’t care; I just love them.

Pick Stitching

Suit Linings

Interior Pockets

Flat Piping

Contrast Collars

and OMG the feel of the fabric.

In 2007 while working at Harry Rosen as Visual Coordinator for Alberta, the new spring season of Etro arrived. I almost cried. The jackets were so beautiful. Colourful mix-matched tweeds, luscious paisley satin linings and contrast lapels to die for. The guys thought I was crazy and not for the first time. (I had recently lost almost 100 lbs with Jenny Craig and was not quite sane) But…

Please excuse me while I rip off my shirt. I’m having a Chinook. This talk of menswear is making me hot. Yes ZZTop, there really is nothing sexier than a well-dressed man. Not necessarily expensive, just well. In the late 70’s/ early 80’s young men made a point of being grubby. Not even cool, like grunge, just grubby and unkempt with the absence of style. It was supposed to be Macho. Or Poetic. Hmmmm. Yes, this is the way I tell a story. Bare with me. He-Heh.

…But, the fresh new offerings reaffirmed my love of all aspects menswear. Back in the day, the mid 80’s, I remember the guys at Jack Fraser Menswear in Winnipeg where I was the Regional Display person (or Displaced Person as the called me)  teasing me at my excitement over a new box of ties. Not just any ties. New Bosa silk paisley ties. Yes, it’s supposed to sound like Boss. I got so sick of polyester neats and stripes. It was like Christmas when something new came in to go with all the pink dress shirts. Oh the 80’s.

And then again yesterday evening…. André, my hunnybunny, had gotten paid in Brooks Brothers Gift Cards. $1800 worth. Go figure. Very sadly, during the apocalypse our local Brooks Brothers closed their doors and, as far as we know, permanently.  So, unable to order online in Canadian Dollars, as usual I ended up calling them in the States where they manually entered my order and Gift Cards. Very Helpful, Thanks Michael!

Less than a week later and after paying $150 in taxes and duty Fed Ex delivered an oddly small box containing 5 pairs of dress pants, a windowpane suit jacket, and a $100 belt.  I says to André: ‘why did you order another black belt?’ He says: ‘I’ve never owned a $100 belt before.’ Fair Enough.

Eeek! forgot to do my 500 steps this hour. Back in 3.

Pant! Pant!

As he modeled them, he has a very cute butt and he knows how to strut, I was carefully taking all the tags and labels off, the feel of the fabric and the precision of the stitching brought me back to my happiest career hours picking out coordinates for the windows and dressing bust forms.  One of my weirder skills is being able to unpackage a dress shirt with all its itty bits put neatly in the shirt bag with my eyes closed in less than 5 seconds. If only there were Retail Olympics…

Anyhoo, it was the Grey Windowpane Jacket that really made me smile. The contrast red felt collar lining, the one red threaded button, the red flat piping along the interior lining and pocket. It even has a strip of lining to hold the double vents from flapping. Classic design well-executed is Nirvana. And makes me drool. 

But, don’t forget to undo the Vent stitching. It makes you look…..inexperienced.

Subtlety and Restraint are two excellent ways to describe menswear in general. Well, British and North American menswear. The Europeans are much more outgoing. As I possess neither subtlety nor restraint these are things I admire and covet. Nothing makes me happier than a faint blue, red, or bronze stripe hidden in charcoal flannel. Pick it out with a blue or oxblood tie, cognac shoes and belt and it’s sublime. Step back (5 foot rule) to see if it works. If the suit is striped add a plaid Windsor Collar shirt or if it’s plaid add a yarn-dye stripe. And a pocket square if you’re feeling impish. 

Ah the fabrics, and the ties, and the patterns and styles all with their unique lingo. Mmmm Lingo. 

Whisper with me:

Bespoke

Epaulet

Haberdashery

Collar Roll

Sartorial

Pinstripe

Sprezzatura…..

Definitely the Devil.

I’ve bought a lot of menswear over the years. For myself. My former partner would have nothing to do with anything that wasn’t an old dirty fedora and a dusty ripped trenchcoat. God, he sounds like a Flasher.  It was kind of the same thing as buying myself a present on Father Day because on Mother’s Day even after 3 children I still heard ‘you’re not my mother’. Not that I’m bitter. I gave the man Twins. What more can I do.

Having never been petite of stature or nature, sometimes menswear was my only option. 5’8, size 11 feet, and superbly curved I did not fit the skinny, big haired lollipop girl ideal of the times. Not only did they not offer any kind of fashion in a size 14-16, but all the pants were too short and all the sleeves were ¾. Ok, I had to take in all the waists in men’s stuff, but, as if being one of the only women working in menswear wasn’t enough, wearing it was my own personal rebellion against the female stereotype. That, and I loved the Jackets. Shoulder Pads reigned supreme at that time and they who had the shoulder pads had the power.

And, in any case, it was suicide to wear anything sexy or revealing. Sexual Harassment was rampant. And expected. And a man’s right. I almost stabbed a store manager to death with my wire cutters one day when he grabbed my ass and I automatically back handed him. Any job you applied for you had to have a professional answer ready for ‘How badly do you want this job?’ The things that were said to me on a daily basis even from my bosses would make your hair curl.

‘Do you know what would look good on you? Me.’

I remember a guy at the St. Vital store that kept trying to get me to go to his place for a quicky at lunch. One day I got so tired of it that I finally grabbed my tape measure and told him to whip it out ‘cause I wasn’t going to waste my time for less than 9”. He declined. And left me alone from then on. 

I digress, it’s so nice to be older and wiser and not care about being taken seriously. And people go to jail now for being…. impolite. I dress like a sexy bamf on a daily basis, embrace my curves and still have more balls than most men I’ve known. And I still love menswear.

Omg! Chinooking again. Why? Why do I wear lycra pants? Oh ya, they make my butt look almost as cute as André’s, but so hoooot. And not in a good way. Excuse me as I take them off also. That’s better.

Despite the handicap of his father, I managed to raise my son to be a well-dressed individual.  I think a lot of it was my Father’s influence as well. My Father came of age in the 50’s wearing khaki’s, Dack’s, golf jackets on the weekends and suits to work every day. And, of course, he taught me how to tie a tie. He was left-handed, but forced to be right-handed in school so he batted and tied his tie from the left. Which was awesome because I was right-handed so it all worked out when he showed me.

This is also the man who refused to by a new pair of jeans for the entire 70’s. He wouldn’t wear flares. He had a pair of twill demin pants in narrow white, yellow, and brown stripes that were so recognizable that my Great Aunt Vera recognized him from her moving vehicle as he was filling up at a gas station. It must have been the ’69 Biscayne*. She had just arrived in town from Winnipeg and hadn’t seen him for a few years. Those were some pants. But they weren’t flares.

The ‘80’s on were a big relief for him. He spent the rest of his life, we lost him to Cancer in 2005, in khakis and neat plaid short sleeved shirts and polo shirts. I kept his Grey Flannel Pants and Navy Blazer for years.

We also called him Sir…

And Again! Forgot to do my 500 steps this hour. Back in 3.

….When we would call him at the office, (in Grade 2, an avid reader, I called him every time I finished a chapter in Alice in Wonderland) you couldn’t just ask for Dad. Everybody was a Dad. So we asked to speak to George. When he came on the line he would say ‘That’s Sir to you, kid.’ And it stuck. Even our friends called him Sir. My sister’s kids called him Papa Sir. Kinda like Papa Smurf only more respectful. My youngest niece, Courtney, called him Papa Sewer, but that was just the way she spoke as a toddler. We found it very amuuuuusing. As did he.

Aaaaand, back to my son. I actually enlisted him to work part time at Rosen’s when he was 16. He wanted (or did he?) a part-time job and we needed a Saturday merchandiser. I’d already taught him and his twin sisters how to fold their clothes properly, iron a shirt, and do their laundry. I also taught them that when they look at clothing in a store they need to put it back exactly they way they found it. Respect for Retail. It was sooo fun to dress him and see him get measured for his first suit. Staff Discounts Rock! We never actually worked together at the same time, but it was cool to work at the same place.

I also told him, it being his first job, that ‘If you’re late, screw up, or make me look bad I will let them fire you.’ I also told him ‘Don’t forget we work this lifestyle, we don’t live it.’ Entitled is not a good look on anybody. He chose his Boss suit for Grad, slim fit with pointy shoes and put his long blonde hair in pony tail for the occasion. This was way before man-buns which he would have scoffed at anyway.

I was so proud of him at the first Christmas Party and and at the 2nd he wore his made to measure Tilford purple velvet peak lapel Jacket. As he danced with his girlfriend on the dancefloor I couldn’t help shouting ‘Shake what your mama gave you!’ He got me back when we did a company paintball tournament. The pic of us two in our guns an gear hung in the staff room for ages. But, kept he shooting me. It hurt.

‘William, we’re on the same team. Stop shooting me!’

‘Then stop being a pylon.’

If anyone has pics or memories of the things I’m describing, please feel free to share with rest of us!

*more on Dad’s Vehicles. ’64 Pontiac Stratochief ’71 Chevrolet Impala Custom and the Volaré Station Wagon Woh-oh. Volaré! Woh-oh-oh-no! Not a GM product. ‘Nuff Said. Stay Tuned.

#welldressedmen #menswear #devilinthedetails #metoo #haberdashery #merchandising #display

[alwaysrunning-never-lookingback]

MONDAY GEAR GOBBLE! Patagonia Duckbill Cap

Let’s talk about some running gear, shall we? Today, it’s the Patagonia Duckbill Cap. It is NOT the Patagonia Duckbill Trucker Hat. Those are different.

Here is a piece of equipment that I’m particularly stoked about, and ever since I got my hands on it two years ago, winters excepted, I’ve rarely run without it. This winter we were lucky to hit single-digit highs in the afternoons, and this is not a piece of gear you want with you on days like that. I love this hat so much I sat down in the middle of my ultra and shed tears over its greatness.

Just kidding I was actually dying here that’s why I was crying so much.

The first thing you notice when the hat is cradled in your hands or is positioned on your braincase is the weight. It’s not just a lightweight hat, I would even go so as far as to say it is an ULTRA-lightweight hat! (I’m very sorry. That was a worse pun that the one I made in my Garmin vivoactive review. To paraphrase John Madden from the football game Madden NFL 2005, I saw an opportunity and I took it)

Its front and brim are both made from Patagonia’s trademarked Baggies™ material, and the headband consists of COOLMAX ® fabric, a common blend of polyester fibers excellent at wicking away moisture. 

The strap on the back of the hat is adjustable, and even comes with a small bit of elastic to really help you get a close-fitting, comfortable fit. I’ve heard from other sources this hat can be folded and stuffed in a backpack or pocket, yet when removed, the brim retains its original shape. Personally, I’ve never tried this, so if your hat is ruined in the attempt, I am absolved of all responsibility. Instead, I’ll put you in touch with the people who have made this erroneous claim and you can hash it out with them if you’d like.

The hat comes in several colors, some better than others. Mine is a faded light blue bill with an off-orange. Not a big deal or anything. Ahem. But Jim Walmsley himself wears the same color. Check out this picture for evidence. 

The Man, the Myth, the Legend. 

Something I didn’t appreciate until a day I forgot my sunglasses is the dark underbill. Or is it the dark underbrim? Whatever the name is for the under-part of the hat that shields your eyes, the dark color helps to keep the glaring sun from destroying your retinas on a mountainous climb in midsummer heat.  And all these features packed into about 2oz of fabric. Very, very impressive!

Wear it forward to protect your face and look like a true dirtbag trail runner, or throw it on backwards for a more aerodynamic approach to a workout or race. Either way, this hat will keep sweat from your eyes as if by magic. And of course, all fabrics in this hat are approved by bluesign. bluesign technologies, a company out of Switzerland, is involved in supply chain management to make sure that chemicals used in production, industrial plants where the fabrics are made, and the end products themselves are safe for employees, environments, and elated customers. In fact, on Patagonia’s own website, they offer background information about their suppliers and what kind of factories they run. Pretty cool stuff!!

Look at those tan lines on my arms! OH YEAH! Also take note of the cheap plastic sunglasses on my face. They make my nose look like the spray paint arrows used to mark the race I just finished.

I haven’t dared to wash mine for two simple reasons: 1. It’s embroidered with a race logo and I don’t know how durable the stitching is. 2. Even if it smells bad, I don’t care. After a few hours in the mountains, a stinky mesh hat is the last thing on anyone’s mind.

There is only one dislike that I have with this hat, the brim. Perhaps this is a consequence of my abnormally large head, but I wish it was just a little bigger. A bit more circumference would do a better job at shielding my eyes and face, and this hat’s brim is smaller than average. I have a flat-brim Burton hat that does a wonderful job with this, but it’s never one I’d go running in. So, even with this flaw, it is easily justified. Obviously, a larger brim means more skin is protected, but at what cost? Can you imagine Anna Frost or Kilian Jornet in a sunhat, running the WSER? What does it look like as they come through No Hands Bridge or make the finish on the track? It sure paints a picture, but the act is terribly impractical. There must be some balance, and Patagonia did a pretty good job here.

At the end of the day, I would recommend this hat to anyone, runner or otherwise, who is outside in the heat. It may not be the most stylish hat to ever make it down an assembly line, but Patagonia has a certain look for a certain kind of person, and this hat fills a niche quite nicely.

Here’s a shot of this hat in action. Even though the final miles of this ultra were little more than a granny shuffle, I had to stay aerodynamically sound. Also forward-facing hats have never been my thing. I’m too..uh..hip, for that.

Do you run in this hat? Maybe a different hat? Or are hats not your style and you’d rather make the case for a visor (because you secretly love golf) or a Buff (because you’re Anton Krupicka)? Tell me what you think! Let’s talk about headgear like we’re all in middle school again! I’m always interested in finding new people to share this passion and trade ideas & philosophies with. But more importantly, I want to hear YOUR stories. Find me on Twitter @KoltonGWilliams and we can talk about running. Or check out my videos on YouTube here. Heck, email me at williamskolton@gmail.com if you feel so inclined. And then, share your stuff with me! Drop me a message, comment, whatever. Let’s connect! I would love to read your blog and watch your videos and follow all your activities, running or otherwise.  Teach me about your running gear and training, ask me a question, or tell me what you ate today. I want to hear it all! Run as fast or as slow as you need to have a good time, but get out there and run!

[fashiontrendin-blog]

What To Wear To A Job Interview

http://fashion-trendin.com/what-to-wear-to-a-job-interview/

What To Wear To A Job Interview

The world of work has changed immeasurably from when your dad was a lad. Back then, there was only one option for a job interview: a dark suit, white shirt and sensible tie. Shoes gleaming, hair combed, handshake practised. If he got the gig then he might introduce a few new shades of shirt, maybe a tie with a pattern. But officewear was, by and large, immutable. You wore what your boss wore. Your boss wore what his boss had worn. Repeat to fade.

Then the workplace exploded. Start-ups. Flexitime. Hot desking. All extremely mutable. The world’s wealthiest men took to wearing chinos, or jeans and hoodies. If you wanted to be like them, were you supposed to dress like them? If you wanted to present yourself as a go-getting, entrepreneurial sort, was this the new job interview aesthetic?

Well, no. The Mark Zuckerberg look is best accessorised with a billion-odd dollars. But also, yes. Roll into your tech interview in a charcoal three-piece and they’ll assume you’re there to discuss their corporate insurance. “You’re dressing to give a good impression to the interviewer and show that you would fit in well with the company,” says Sarah Gilfillan, founder of personal styling service Sartoria Lab. Which means your clothes need to fit their company culture.

To help you make sense of the new world of work, we spoke to some of the country’s finest image consultants, to get their read on what works where. So whether you’re interviewing at Goldman Sachs or Gold’s Gym, you’ll be dressed the part.

The Corporate Job Interview

Even the City has relaxed its dress codes somewhat over the last decade. But if you’re interviewing for a job with responsibility, you won’t get points for wardrobe creativity. “This is not the time to try a new look or mess around with convention,” says style consultant Penny Bennett. Keep it safe and nail the details. You’re going for ‘safe pair of hands’, not ‘fly-by-night maverick’.

The Rules

Number one: wear a suit. Or don’t turn up at all. In the hierarchical corporate world, you should never be less smart than the person on the other side of the table. “Dressing casually just doesn’t show respect for the person interviewing you,” says personal stylist Daniel Johnson, “the person who can potentially change the course of your career.”

But that doesn’t mean you need to overdo it. Smart is not the same as flashy; if your watch is worth more than your interviewer’s car, you could come across as a playboy. For your tailoring, stick to safe colours like charcoal and navy and avoid anything more than the subtlest of patterns. Keep your accessories equally muted; think striped or block-colour ties and, if you must wear a pocket square, white beats polka dots. Once you get the job you can add more personality, but at the first hurdle you don’t want your clothes to distract from your CV. Look at how the contestants on The Apprentice dress, then do the opposite.

More important than what you wear is how you wear it. “Always go for the best materials you can afford,” says Bennett. A grey, cashmere-blend suit speaks louder – and says better things – than polyester checks. Fit is equally important. Designers may have reinvented the boxy suit, but to the uninitiated, you’ll look like you’ve got it wrong. A safe centre ground is best: not spray-on, not baggy. Pay particular attention to cuffs and trouser hems; the former should hit the heel of your thumb, the latter should have a slight break on your shoes. “It’s an easy fix and will make a huge difference to how your outfit looks,” says Gilfillan.

Finally, shoes. “There is no point getting a bespoke suit made and teaming it with scuffed and worn shoes,” says Bennett. “In 2012, researchers at the University of Kansas found we can glean 90 per cent of someone’s personality just by looking at their shoes, including character traits, salary and political inclinations. So invest in appropriate shoes that show you are dependable and indispensable.” Think dark colours, premium materials, leather rather than rubber soles, and laces, not buckles.

The Fail-Safe Outfit

“You can’t go wrong in a navy suit with a white shirt and burgundy tie,” says Gilfillan. “It’s an ultra-classic shirt and tie combination for formal attire. The high contrast between the navy and white makes you look sharp and authoritative.”

Pay particular attention to your shoes. Brogues are too casual, so stick to Oxfords. “Wear oxblood, chocolate or black shoes. Avoid tan, which will look too casual.” And please, make sure they’re polished.

The Professional Job Interview

Welcome to the prototypical British office, home to understocked kitchens, overstocked personal politics and a dress code that’s slowly inching from not-quite-corporate to business casual. Quite what business casual means is anyone’s guess. “But don’t go too casual as it shows a lack of respect and looks like the interview is not important to you,” says Gilfillan. “If you’re not sure, err on the side of smarter.”

The Rules

Appropriateness is in the eye of the beholder. It doesn’t matter what you deem workplace acceptable, you need to meet the standards of the person asking the questions. To figure it out, grab your phone.

“One great trick that I like to use is to do a hashtag search on Instagram and search the place I’m going to,” says Johnson. “You’ll get a real, candid view of what other people are wearing and you’d be surprised at how many people post things at work.” The company’s website should also offer an idealised version of how they expect their staff to dress, and stalking employees on LinkedIn can also offer clues (bonus: they’ll see your activity and you’ll seem keen). To be on the safe side, make your outfit a notch smarter than what your hopefully-future-colleagues wear every day.

Your best bet is a suit, says Gilfillan. “It works for any kind of interview.” But you’ve got a touch more leeway with the details. Great fit is de rigueur, but you’re less likely to get marked down for a jazzy (not novelty) tie or pocket square. Coloured or even patterned shirts are also fine, although keep them classic: stripes good, florals bad.

If a suit feels too dressed-up, break things up with separates. But bear in mind that by dressing down your tailoring, everything else needs to step up a notch – white shirt, muted accessories, very sensible shoes. “Don’t forget to consider your grooming,” says Bennett. “You will undermine all the effort and effect of your outfit if you’re unkempt. Get a haircut the week before, tidy up any facial hair and check that your nails are trimmed and clean.”

The Fail-Safe Outfit

“A grey Prince of Wales check suit, ice blue shirt and dark green tie,” says Gilfillan. “The pattern of the suit and the combination of colours keeps your look interesting but still formal. Add a pocket square that includes both the colours of the shirt and tie to pull the whole look together.”

The Creative Job Interview

The adage of ‘dress to impress’ is what leads men towards garish ties and loud shirts. Instead, you should think of interview style as avoiding missteps. For formal gigs, that means colouring between the lines. But in creative offices, you’ll get marked down for being boring. You need clothes that prove you’re not, but which don’t distract from your ability to actually do the job.

The Rules

A creative interview is, perhaps, the trickiest to dress for. On one side, the risk of being dull; on the other, the ambush of flamboyance. To navigate safe passage, stick to the tried and true.

You might think a suit’s too fusty, but it’s not if you add your own smart casual spin. “It could be a cotton two-piece with a T-shirt and trainers,” says Gilfillan. By remixing a classic, you toe the line but express some personality. Which is also how you want the entire interview to go. Again (and we really can’t stress this enough) that doesn’t mean novelty. Paisley or eye-popping patterns are the wrong kind of unique. But shades that aren’t grey and navy – think beige and light blue in summer, green and cobalt in winter – set you apart subtly.

“For creative roles in creative companies, you won’t need to be tailored,” says Bennett. “But you will still need to look put-together.” Knitwear is your best friend here; as your mum knew, a nice jumper is smart, but not too smart. “You can mix good quality fabrics with relaxed silhouettes. A shirt under a knit, cotton chinos and leather trainers.” That’s right, trainers, to a job interview. If they’re as subtle and well-made as traditional work shoes – and the company’s creative enough – there’s no reason not to.

Which brings up the thorny subject of accessories. Less is more, here. Leave the eagle-headed belts for the weekend. “Carry a leather document holder or appropriate-sized bag for your CV, or samples of your work,” says Bennett. “Don’t turn up with a huge gym bag or backpack, it’s overwhelming and may give the impression you aren’t taking the interview seriously.”

The Fail-Safe Outfit

“If you are not sure how formal or relaxed you need to be in an interview, why don’t you do a bit of both?” says Bennett. “Opt for a tailored blazer in a textured fabric, and instead of a shirt try a knitted polo shirt. Adding texture softens the look but the tailoring still keeps it professional.

“Keep with the textured theme and try a brogue instead of an Oxford shoe.”

The Skilled Job Interview

Whether you’re going to be working in a coffee shop or on a construction site, your outfit isn’t the prime concern. Odds are the working day involves either a uniform or specialist clothing, so this is more about being presentable. If it’s a customer-facing job, then pay particular attention to your grooming. “Never have dirty hands,” says Johnson. “It’s so easy to solve.”

The Rules

The big risk here is dressing too far down. You’re not auditioning for a modelling gig, but you still need to show that the interview is important. “I hate when people arrive for an interview and they’re dressed for whatever they have to do later in the day,” says Johnson. Make sure you’re wearing something that’s for the actual interview – if you need to stow a change in your bag, so be it.

A suit might feel too formal, but it also shows effort. So if in doubt, make that your fallback. “I once dressed a friend for a job interview at a builders,” says Johnson. “He was going to be a labourer and had just left school. I made sure he was suited up, shoes polished and tie on. Out of 20 applicants he got the job and got promoted within six months. He’s a grafter, of course, but I can’t help but think making that little bit of effort to stand out really helps.”

Again, you’ll want to avoid too much flair and focus on the little things. “Never go in dirty or rumpled clothing,” says Gilfillan. Chinos, a jacket and an open-neck shirt are often fine, so long as everything’s pressed and pin-sharp. If you’re driving in for the interview, try to hang the blazer so it doesn’t crease. Make sure you leave enough time for a quick once-over in the bathroom, too. A lint roller in your bag will also pay dividends.

The Fail-Safe Outfit

“A charcoal suit, white shirt and striped navy tie is ultra-simple, classic and sober,” says Gilfillan. “It shows you’re serious about the job.”

[tortuga-aak]

The best men's bathrobes you can buy

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The Insider Pick:

Bathrobes are welcome all year round thanks to the casual comfort they afford, but they're indispensable during the cold winter months. If stepping out of the hot shower into the chilly bathroom is your nightmare, then a soft, warm robe is a dream come true. The TowelSelections Men's Plush Kimono Robe is our top choice because it's well-priced, well-made, and luxuriously soft.

I went to college just before social media flourished and only a year or two before smartphones with cameras became ubiquitous. I'm grateful for the timing in regards to the technology for two reasons: First, there was no quick and ready way to solve debates over this or that random fact (e.g. "No, Braveheart won Best Picture that year, not The English Patient!" or "Dude, the capital of Colombia is Bogotá, not Caracas! I think..."), so the conversations often spiraled off into the blissfully ridiculous; second, there are relatively few candid pictures of me and my friends dressed like idiots and/or doing decidedly idiotic things.

For indeed I must admit that, for a semester or two, I was often to be seen wandering around the halls of the dorm and even at times plying the streets of Boston wearing a bathrobe. By my junior year of college, I had decidedly shifted away from wearing loungewear in public, and today, I'll scarcely be caught bringing trash to the curb without first having donned proper attire.

In the home, however — and especially when the late autumn chill sets in — I'm still a great aficionado of the bathrobe. I have a cotton robe I often don immediately after bathing and a fleece robe I'll wear about in the morning until it's time to dress in actual clothes. My son has a fleece robe that may or may not match its navy blue color. And my wife has a cashmere robe of which I may or may not harbor secret envy.

You don't need to spend a lot of money to get a good bathrobe, but on the other hand, if you're willing to shell out some cash, you can get a robe that will last you for many years. The funny thing about bathrobes is that for some men, their best choice is often a low-cost option. For example, I don't care for the feel of silk. I would never buy a silk robe, thus incidentally shielding me from the elevated cost. A man who lives in a warm climate might want a thin, lightweight robe, thus de facto ensuring he will end up with a lower cost garment. And polyester fleece, one of the softest and coziest materials, is also one of the cheapest.

Choosing the right robe isn't rocket science, but as you might wear the thing every single day for the next ten years, go ahead and choose with care. Consider materials, the weight and warmth a robe, the length and fit, and of course the price. And if you think you might wear your bathrobe while walking down Bolyston Street on a Thursday afternoon, then, by all means, consider style, too. (Then reconsider your public sartorial choices.)

Read on in the following slides to learn why the TowelSelections Men's Plush Kimono Robe is our top pick and why you should also consider the Alexander Del Rossa Men's Fleece Long Hooded Bathrobe, the Latuza Men's Cotton Flannel Robe, the LilySilk Men's Long Pure Silk Robe, and the Cashmere Boutique Men's Full Length Robe.

The best men's bathrobe overall

TowelSelections

Why you'll love it: The warm, well-made TowelSelections Men's Plush Kimono Robe will be as comfortable after 100 wash cycles as it was the first time you slipped it on.

If you close your eyes and picture a bathrobe, it probably looks a lot like the TowelSelections Men's Plush Kimono Robe. This is a warm, plush robe with a thick collar, a broad belt, and a pair of large pockets. The collar helps to keep you warm, the wide belt prevents uncomfortable pressure, and the pockets are perfect for cold hands or to hold a bottle of shampoo and your comb as you head toward the bathroom.

The robe is machine washable and can be tumbled dry at lower heat settings, and it will last for years and years of daily use provided you launder it with care. That quality is largely due to the centuries-old tradition of garment production in Turkey, the country from which the TowelSelections Men's Plush Kimono Robe is imported. While it's not made from traditional cotton, the skill with which the company manipulates modern polyester fleece will be immediately evident.

All things considered, this well-priced robe is a fine choice to wear during your evening hygiene regimen, but an even better choice to wear all day long on those lazy Sundays.

The TowelSelection's Kimono Robe has an excellent 4.7-star average rating on Amazon, with one owner calling it "the best robe I have owned," while another satisfied customer says it's "light in weight but very warm" and adding that he would "definitely recommend it to anyone."

A writer with Bathrobes Design notes this robe's "excellent smoothness and absorbency," while a product reviewer from Bathrobes.com appreciates its "lightweight design" and ease of machine washing and drying.

Pros: Retains softness for years, available in several colors, good price for good quality

Cons: Sizes run large

Buy the TowelSelections Men's Plush Kimono Robe on Amazon for $35.95 - $38.95 (originally $78.99)

The best warm bathrobe

Alexander Del Rossa

Why you'll love it: There's no reason to fear those cold winter mornings when you can wrap yourself in the extra warm, extra long Alexander Del Rossa Fleece Hooded Bathrobe.

There's little better than settling down into the deep bubbling waters of an outdoor hot tub on a chilly winter evening. But there's basically nothing worse than getting out of that warm, welcome water and scrambling through the frosty air as you head inside. When the bathroom floor tiles are cold underfoot and the cool bedroom air is wafting through the door after your hot shower, just getting cleaned up can bring its share of shocking cold. That is, unless you have the Alexander Del Rossa Fleece Hooded Bathrobe.

This ankle length bathrobe is made using twin layers of polar fleece. It has a large hood that wraps over your head, keeping your crown, ears, and neck warm, and its generous fit wraps around your body with plenty of overlap. Basically, this bathrobe will keep you warm from the top of your head right down to your ankles, and that includes your hands, thanks to a pair of oversized pockets.

This is a big, soft, warm robe. It might even be too bulky or too warm for many men, but for those who hate being cold after bathing, after a swim or a soak, or merely while lounging about the house, it's a surefire winner.

With more than one thousand reviews logged online, this robe has an admirable 4.6-star rating. One gentleman who loves his Alexander Del Rossa Fleece Hooded Bathrobe appreciates the "soft thick fabric, with enough fabric to wrap over itself in the front and keep those drafts out," with another customer adding that the robe is "very long, VERY soft and comfy." He adds that he would "rather be in this than any other clothes."

A product review with DigPerformance.com called this bathrobe "high quality" and pointed out the fact that it was "colored with inactive dyes which are chemical free." That helps the robe maintain its color and means reduced exposure to potentially hazardous compounds.

Pros: Dual-layered insulation, hood for added warmth and comfort, stays tied reliably

Cons: Fabric pills with repeated washings

Buy the Alexander Del Rossa Men's Fleece Long Hooded Bathrobe on Amazon for $54.99 - $64.99

The best low cost men's bathrobe

Latuza

Why you'll love it: The Latuza Cotton Flannel Robe is an absolute classic right down to its materials and print design, plus, it's affordable.

The Latuza Men's Cotton Flannel Robe would not have looked out of place hanging on the bathroom door at your grandfather's house, and chances are good that this robe will still look right at home in your grandchildren's closet, too. This is an elegantly simple garment that's lightweight enough for year-round use but warm enough to take the sting out of a frosty morning newspaper recovery when draped over your pajamas.

The Latuza robe is 100% cotton flannel and comes in several different plaid patterns, including a timeless red and blue blend and a few different light and dark checkered styles. Comfort and classic styling aside, this bathrobe is perhaps most attractive thanks to its low price tag. The robe costs less than $30, yet it will last for years and years whether worn for a few minutes after the shower or whether serving as your outer layer of loungewear for hours on end.

With an average 4.6 out of five-star rating, this robe is almost universally well-liked by its owners. One gentleman calls it "well made and nice looking," while another says "it's nice and warm."

Just bear in mind that, as many reviews warn, this robe will shrink "after a couple of trips through the hot dryer." Being as it's made from cotton, you should expect that, though.

Pros: Great low price tag, classic styling, lightweight but comfortable

Cons: Shrinks with washing, belt too thin

Buy the Latuza Men's Cotton Flannel Robe on Amazon for $24.99 - $34.99

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