#showroom racks

[general-cheezits]

Wine Cellar Expansive New York Huge idea for a craftsman wine cellar

[skinks]

I miss 80s/90s film cinematography and set design so deeply… everything looks so rich and textured and orange and sweaty and cluttered… when I see a modern movie shot on digital where everyone’s clothes look steam pressed off a studio rack and the interiors are harshly lit and bare as a showroom I throw up in my mouth. and a little dribbles out

[tsianfan-blog]

Exhibition hall Granite Stone Sample Waterfall ​Display Frame-SG1020 https://www.tsianfan.com/product/granite-stone-display-stand.html

[perfectsunlight]

I BET YOU THINK ABOUT ME - JISOO

kim jisoo x reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: implied age-gap, class disparities, isolation, belittling, emotional manipulation, mentioned breakup.

synopsis: despite being broken up, you bet your wealthy ex-girlfriend still thinks about you.

there were many things you enjoyed about dating kim jisoo. the way her laughter could light up a room, soft but knowing, like she was in on a joke no one else understood. how her touch was always delicate—calculated, even—as if everything she laid her hands on was an extension of the control she had over the world around her.

but her wealth and status? no, those were never the reasons you stayed.

even now, walking down the narrow, cobblestone streets where red and gold leaves scattered beneath your feet, you couldn’t help but be swallowed by memories of her. the crisp autumn air bit at your skin, a sharp reminder of the past, tugging at your thoughts like the wind tugged at your coat. it was in this season that jisoo had always seemed to glow brightest. her beauty matched the fall—effortless, rich, like a vintage painting come to life. she was untouchable.

however, she was just as cruel.

you just didn’t realize it at the time. how her perfectly manicured fingers—always cold to the touch, always adorned with rings that shimmered in the dying autumn light—had dug deep, not into your skin, but into your spirit. each time she mentioned your "quaint" lifestyle, your "charming" lack of understanding about the finer things in life, it had been wrapped in a velvet glove of affection, so you hardly noticed the sting at first.

it had felt like walking through the falling leaves, admiring the beauty, unaware that winter was creeping closer, ready to strip everything bare.

she had always made sure you knew she was from another world—one where silk sheets were the norm, where every meal came with a waitstaff and a glass of wine you could hardly pronounce. her apartment had been like a showroom, sterile and pristine, with floor-to-ceiling windows that stretched out over the city like a kingdom she ruled from above. and you, standing in the middle of it all, had felt small.

but now, in the aftermath, you could see how she had looked at you, like a pet project. an amusing distraction.

you remember the last dinner you shared at some restaurant you couldn’t pronounce, where the chandeliers above flickered against the dim light and the leaves outside the window swirled like some gilded snowstorm. she had ordered for you without asking, her voice as smooth and cool as the autumn breeze that crept into the cracks of your jacket.

"it’s adorable," she had said, waving her hand dismissively at your confusion when the plates arrived, "how little you know about this. really. it’s sweet."

at the time, you’d laughed it off, sipping the wine that burned your throat more than it soothed. but now you realize how sharp her words had been, each one a blade wrapped in silk.

the holiday parties were even worse.

you’d always felt out of place, like an actor in the wrong movie, wandering through rooms filled with people who looked like they belonged in some old-world painting. there were always murmurs of stocks and art auctions, people in tailored suits that hung off them like armor. you, in your off-the-rack blazer, had felt like an imposter. but jisoo, with her arm linked loosely through yours, had moved through the crowd effortlessly, her smile cold and practiced, like she knew every secret and every face in the room.

the air inside was thick with perfume and candlelight, but it never warmed you. outside, through the towering windows of the penthouse venues, you could always catch glimpses of the world you belonged to—the same city, but miles away, where people didn’t wear silk scarves that cost more than your rent or talk about vacation homes in hushed, reverent tones. the autumn leaves that still clung to the trees seemed desperate, the last few hanging on in the icy wind. much like you had been, clinging to jisoo’s side, pretending not to notice the subtle, cutting remarks she’d make about your clothes, your taste in music, your background.

"you know," she’d say in that breathy, disinterested tone of hers, eyes scanning the room like a queen surveying her subjects, "maybe next time you could wear something… a little more appropriate for the occasion?"

the words had stung, but you’d smiled, nodding like you hadn’t just been dressed down in front of people who already looked at you like you were her charity case. you’d downed your drink, hoping the burn of it would distract from the ache in your chest, while jisoo had already moved on, laughing airily at some joke from a man whose name you couldn’t remember, but whose disdainful eyes stayed with you long after the night was over.

at those parties, she’d always introduce you the same way: “this is y/n.”

nothing more, nothing less. like you were just another accessory—another piece of her perfectly arranged life. your name alone always hung in the air, stiff and formal, with no affection behind it. 

it was a title, not a connection.

but the way she spoke about herself was different. she was kim jisoo, daughter of one of the wealthiest families in seoul, a woman who everyone admired but no one truly knew. she never missed a chance to remind people of her lineage, of her success, of the places she’d been that you could only dream of. you’d stand there, smiling politely, the outsider in your own relationship, as she charmed the room with stories of her luxury trips to europe or some exclusive party she’d attended.

you used to tell yourself that maybe this was just her world—one you didn’t quite understand but could learn to navigate. after all, you thought, love was supposed to be about growing, about adapting to each other. but now, looking back, you see it differently. you hadn’t been adapting. you had been erasing yourself.

you remember the first time you’d seen her living room—everything about it had been a display of understated opulence. the couch, soft and inviting, had been custom-made in italy, a piece of furniture that cost more than you’d make in a year. the kind of thing you wouldn’t even dare to sit on without an invitation.

she’d caught you staring at it once, your fingers brushing lightly over the velvety surface, as if afraid you’d leave some permanent mark on it.

“do you like it?” she’d asked, her tone casual, almost playful, as she kicked off her shoes. organic shoes, she’d said—handcrafted by a designer who only used sustainably sourced materials, each pair worth thousands. she’d tossed them carelessly to the side, as if they were nothing more than an afterthought.

“it’s beautiful,” you’d breathlessly answered, unsure of how to respond. what else could you say? the couch was more than a place to sit. it was a symbol of everything that separated you from her.

the older woman had smiled, that knowing little smile of hers, and settled onto the couch, curling her legs beneath her. “it should be,” she’d replied, her voice laced with a subtle arrogance. “it cost a fortune. but you can’t put a price on comfort, can you?”

at the time, you’d nodded, sitting beside her, careful not to spill the coffee you’d brought from a café that seemed almost comically out of place in her world of curated luxury. but now, looking back, you realize how much weight that moment held.

the couch, the shoes, the apartment—it was all part of the same narrative. jisoo’s life was meticulously designed, every element perfectly placed to reflect her status. even her so-called love of organic, sustainable products wasn’t about caring for the earth; it was about showing the world that she could afford to care. it was another layer of the image she presented, another way to remind you that you didn’t quite belong.

the shoes—those ridiculously expensive shoes—had been one of the first things you’d noticed about her. how she would glide through the city in them, effortlessly chic, while you tried to keep up in your well-worn sneakers. how she never seemed to care about the price tag, because to her, money wasn’t something you worried about. it was something you had. something you displayed.

you remember asking her about them once, marveling at their craftsmanship, at the intricate details stitched into the leather. “they’re nice, right?” she’d said, almost bored with the conversation. “made by a small artisan. i like supporting brands that are more...conscious. but it’s not just about the shoes, you know? it’s about a lifestyle.”

at the time, you’d nodded along, impressed by her philosophy, thinking there was something admirable about her commitment to sustainability. but now, with the clarity that only distance can bring, you see it differently. it wasn’t about responsibility or caring for the environment—it was about exclusivity. 

jisoo didn’t just buy things; she bought status. and as a result, she never let you forget where you came from.

she didn’t need to say it outright; her silences were louder than any words. the way her gaze would graze over your simple gifts, a flash of disappointment quickly masked by a too-sweet smile. the way her laughter, always so soft and melodic to anyone else, would carry a sharp edge when she’d point out how "cute" your attempts to impress her were. every look, every gesture, had been a reminder: you would never be enough.

and the holidays only magnified the divide between you. her family gatherings were a spectacle—elegant, with a quiet kind of opulence, but they were colder than the snow beginning to fall outside. conversations were distant, sterile, filled with politeness and half-meant compliments. you’d watch as jisoo’s mother raised an eyebrow at you, a polite but questioning smile on her lips, while her father barely acknowledged your presence at all, too engrossed in conversations about business acquisitions and real estate.

you remember the first time you had brought her home to meet your family. the warmth in the room had been undeniable, even if the house had been modest. the table was small, the plates mismatched, and the wine was cheap, but there had been laughter. real, full-bodied laughter, the kind that left your cheeks flushed. but jisoo had sat there, stiff and out of place, a polite smile frozen on her lips as she delicately picked at her food. she had said all the right things, but you could tell—she didn’t belong in your world, just as you didn’t belong in hers.

and after that night, she’d never come back. not once.

"it’s not my kind of environment," she’d said, as if your family home was some quaint little corner of a forgotten world. but you hadn’t pushed it. you’d just smiled, hoping that love would eventually smooth out the rough edges between your lives.

but it never did.

your image of her entirely changed once she launched her own dior collaboration.

the transformation was undeniable. jisoo had always been poised, elegant, and out of reach, but when her dior collaboration was announced, it was as if she ascended to another level entirely—a world you never truly belonged to. the moment you saw her in those campaign ads, draped in luxury from head to toe, with that distant, unreadable expression in her eyes, you realized something had shifted. it wasn’t just the clothes or the brand—it was her.

the once subtle differences between you were now glaring. she’d always had a way of making you feel small, of making the simplest moments feel like they were being measured against some invisible standard. but now, with the world’s eyes on her, she no longer had to hide it. she wore her superiority like couture, and her status was no longer just an undercurrent in your relationship—it was the defining feature.

you remember scrolling through your phone that first day the campaign was released, seeing her everywhere—billboards, social media, magazines. her image was iconic, flawless, unattainable. the woman in those pictures wasn’t the same person you once loved, or perhaps she was, and you had simply refused to see it. the jisoo in dior was the one the world adored: polished, elegant, and untouchable. and the jisoo you had known—the one who laughed with you on lazy sundays, who curled up next to you in bed with soft whispers—felt like a figment of your imagination.

that night, you sat in your apartment, surrounded by the faint scent of coffee and fallen leaves, watching her face appear on the tv during yet another interview. the host praised her for her taste, her grace, and asked how it felt to be a global ambassador for such a prestigious brand. jisoo smiled that small, practiced smile, the kind that could melt an audience but had always left you feeling cold.

“it’s an honor, truly,” she said, her voice as smooth as ever. “i’ve always been drawn to the finer things in life, and working with dior is the perfect alignment of that vision.”

drawn to the finer things. those words echoed in your mind long after the interview ended. it wasn’t that she loved the finer things—anyone could—but the way she lived for them, the way they seemed to define her, made you realize just how different you were.

the last time you saw her in person, it was the tail end of last fall, the leaves almost entirely stripped from the trees, the sky a muted shade of gray. you’d met for coffee, though it felt more like a final performance than a reunion. she had walked in, dressed head-to-toe in dior, effortlessly chic in her monochromatic outfit, the click of her heels on the hardwood floor echoing like some distant reminder of all the ways she had outgrown you.

she hadn’t even taken off her sunglasses, those oversized black lenses that concealed any hint of vulnerability. the moment she sat down, you knew—this was the end.

“i’m heading to paris for fashion week,” she had said casually, as if she were talking about a trip to the grocery store. “things have been busy.”

you remember nodding, unsure of what to say, feeling the weight of the unspoken words between you. there was no warmth in her gaze, no familiarity in her voice. the woman sitting across from you was a stranger, more concerned with her schedule, her image, her empire, than with you.

when you finally found your voice, all you could manage was, “i’m happy for you.” it sounded hollow, even to your own ears.

she had smiled—an empty, fleeting gesture. “thanks. it’s good to hear you say that.” her leaving behind the scent of her designer perfume felt more symbolic than it probably should have,

that’s when you knew—there was nothing left of what you once had. 

the girl you had fallen in love with was gone, replaced by someone who only cared for power, prestige, and perception. and as the autumn wind howled outside, rattling the windows of the café, you realized you weren’t mourning the loss of her, but the version of her you had once believed in.

jisoo wasn’t just a woman anymore. she was a brand. a symbol. a masterpiece crafted by the very world she belonged to. and you? you were simply a chapter in her rise to the top, forgotten as soon as the ink dried.

you didn’t date kim jisoo for her wealth. 

you dated her for the way she seemed to know the world in a way you never could—confident, poised, above it all. you thought that maybe, by loving her, you could somehow touch that world too. but love wasn’t what had tied you together. not really.

it had been power.

she loved the way you looked at her, like you were eternally trying to catch up. the way you stumbled over the names of her favorite designers, or blinked in confusion when she mentioned some art exhibit you hadn’t even heard of. she loved the control. and you—god, you had loved her for it. back then, you thought it was awe. now you see it for what it was: submission.

but there, in the middle of the bustling autumn streets, as you watch the leaves scatter across the pavement in a dance as fleeting as your relationship, you find yourself wondering—does she think about you?

does she ever sit in that apartment of hers, surrounded by luxury and untouched by the season, and wonder what it would be like to be less than perfect? does she ever close her eyes and picture the messier parts of love, the parts she could never let herself fall into?

you smile bitterly, pulling your coat tighter around yourself. maybe she does.

maybe, even now, as you wander through the city you had once explored together, her mind drifts to you—the one person who had never fit neatly into the frame of her perfectly curated life. maybe she remembers how, despite everything, you were never quite small enough to be molded. 

and maybe, just maybe, in her moments of silence, with her designer bags and high-rise views, she thinks about how she’ll never find someone quite like you again. someone who saw her for more than just the polished surface she presented to the world. someone who, despite it all, had loved her—flaws, cruelty, and all.

the wind howls, scattering more leaves into the air, and you watch as they swirl and disappear. there’s a certain beauty to the way things fall apart, you realize. a kind of freedom in it.

jisoo might not know that, but you do. however, your mind refused to let you rest.

it was 3 am, and you were still wide awake. the cold light of your phone screen cast shadows on the walls of your tiny apartment, worlds away from the penthouse where jisoo was probably fast asleep. you imagined her there, wrapped in those luxurious silk sheets, her breath steady, undisturbed by thoughts of you. in her city. the one that always felt a little brighter, a little shinier than yours. a place you never quite belonged.

your mind wandered, picturing her with someone new. someone from her world. the kind of girl who knew all the right names to drop at fancy dinners, who could wear those thousand-dollar organic shoes without feeling like an imposter. a girl with a perfect pedigree, someone who her friends probably thought was “better” than you. you could almost hear them whispering it, their voices low but full of certainty.

it wasn’t long ago that you had tried to fit into those circles. you’d been the outsider, awkward and out of place in jisoo’s world of high-society dinners and private parties. but you tried, back when love made you brave, when you thought if you just held her hand tight enough, the rest would fall into place.

they let you sit at the table, once. out of courtesy, or maybe because you were still attached to her arm like an accessory she wasn’t ready to give up. you’d laugh when they laughed, your smile tight as they sat around talking about the meaning of life, throwing around names of philosophers and books you’d never heard of.

“the book that just saved me,” one of them had said, casually, like it was a known fact that certain books saved people. you’d smiled and nodded, even though the title flew right over your head, another reminder of how little you belonged.

jisoo had glanced at you then, her eyes softening in the way they sometimes did when she noticed you struggling. she squeezed your hand under the table, like she used to when you were still hers, when you thought her world was one you could live in.

but that was before. before the doubts crept in, before the weight of her world pressed down on you. now, it felt like she’d moved on, maybe even found someone who fit in effortlessly where you never could. someone who didn’t have to pretend.

you rolled over, the silence of your room closing in, and you couldn’t help but wonder if she was asleep now, completely at peace. and if the girl in her bed had the right name, the right look, and could keep up with her friends when they talked about art and life and all the things that always seemed just out of your reach.

the thought made your chest ache, that deep, familiar loneliness that always seemed to come with thinking about her. about them. those nights when you sat in the background, silently wishing you could be enough. but no matter how much you tried, you could never quite silence the feeling that jisoo’s friends were always comparing you to someone else, someone better.

and tonight, even though you knew it was pointless, you couldn’t stop wondering if they were telling her that the new girl was everything you never could be. or maybe jisoo was out at one of those cool indie concerts she dragged herself to every week, trying to feel young, trying to prove she was still part of the scene, even though she didn’t belong there any more than you did. it was always about feeling cooler than she actually was, pretending she wasn’t inching further from the age of the crowd around her.

but even with her friends laughing by her side, pretending to be someone else, you knew the truth. 

“i bet you think about me.”

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I love weird, unusual, what-was-the-architect-thinking houses, and this 1966 stone house in Sublette, KS not only has 3bds, 3ba, 2,736 sq ft, but it can be yours for $499k.

Two-story entrance hall with stone pillars, stone floor, ledges, wood paneling, plank ceilings, and carpeted stairs. The keyword here is "texture."

In true mid-century modern fashion, there's a conversation pit around a fireplace. However, all of the walls are stone, the windows are round, and the fireplace is unconventional in design.

The rest of the living room. I'm not understanding why there are doors and then one pillar away there's a large opening, that they've blocked with a table. The primary bedroom is also open, but has large sliding doors.

The living room and rounded bedroom have carpeted flooring.

The main bath has a long entrance lined with closets.

At the end of the closet hall there's a sunken tub with original tile. Look at the little tile mural in the wall, too.

Then here, there's a family room with a corner fireplace. Note the niches in the walls.

In the middle, there's a large area with a dramatic focal point. There's an opening and a fountain, so I would imagine that you can sit in there. Large light above- not sure if it's a skylight or a light fixture.

This view reminds me of a furniture showroom.

So, the kitchen is nice. It looks like it's open to a patio.

The cabinetry is lovely and there's plenty storage.

Going up the stairs, I like the railing.

The 2nd bedroom is up here and it's also got a wide opening. Both bedrooms seem to have very large sliding doors that close for privacy.

This must be used as a guest room b/c it has a luggage rack. Love that desk.

But check out the little guest house.

It has a large fireplace, bed, and room for a sitting area.

The bath is small, but it has a large closet.

Large private walled patio with a pergola is at the back of the house.

.84 acres lot

https://www.zillow.com/homes/615-S-Inman-St-Sublette,-KS-67877_rb/91171842_zpid/

[yourfavoritewitchbitch]

Chapter 3 - To Have and To Hold

A Mafia!Steve Harrington AU (featuring Mafia!Eddie Munson)

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Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Weddings should be joyous occasions but the union of two families only brings about distant memories and yearning for a life that could have been. Stolen glances and longing stares across the room, and finally finding yourself face to face with the one person who can change the future.

18+ Only! Minors DNI! (Future smut and mature themes!)

CW: Minimal use of Y/N. Reader is referred to as "Dove." Pet names. Slow burn. Exes to lovers. Mutual pining. Angst. Lots of tension. Spousal abuse - reader is assaulted and choked.

WC: 5.9K

Days at the gallery quickly turned into long nights. Sometimes not going home until the wee hours of the morning. After the last few interactions with Nik you decided it was best to avoid him altogether.

He'd never set foot in here, for which you were grateful. It was your own oasis from a life that was suddenly so stifling, drowning you without a life preserver in sight.

It was easy enough, the two of you had been sleeping in separate bedrooms for a couple of years now.

You would rather take an acid bath than let him touch you. Sex became completely non-existent when he'd started coming home with lipstick stained collars and trying to push himself onto you knowing he'd just fucked God knows who else, any illusion of a loving, dedicated husband completely dissolved.

You hadn't seen or heard from Steve since the day he'd bought that painting. You found yourself wondering where he might have hung it. It was one of your favorites and knowing it went to a good home warmed your heart.

Abigail knocked you from your current train of thought when she walked over to you with a massive bouquet of white roses.

“Mrs. Petrov, these were just delivered for you, though the card says Ms. Alexander. An old client perhaps?” You shifted the flowers from her arms as she spoke, their delicate scent faintly surrounding you.

“Thank you.” You called out, already heading to your office.

You gently laid them down on the desk, plucking the card from between the soft petals.

You couldn't help the smile that crept across your face as you opened it to read the contents, already suspecting who they were from. No one else in this town would dare use your surname anymore.

Passed the flower shop and thought of you. Hope they brighten your day.

S.H.

You immediately looked for an empty vase in the storage closet to display them on your desk, hiding the card away in the bottom drawer.

It wasn't unusual for clients to send you flowers from time to time, so it didn't seem out of the ordinary.

Much to your delight, it didn't stop there. A fresh bouquet was delivered every few days from that point forward. Not just roses, something unique each time all accompanied with a personalized note signed S.H.

His small way of showing you he was still here while reluctantly maintaining his distance.

For two weeks the flowers and notes never ceased but you still hadn't seen Steve.

There was a wedding slated for the weekend between two prominent families that you had to attend.

Finding yourself in need of a new dress, you were browsing the brightly lit showroom, admiring a very beautiful lilac colored floor length gown in the corner when he spoke.

“That's not your color. Much too pale. What about that one?” You rolled your eyes as he pointed to a deep red, lacey, eye-catching number across the store.

“It's for a wedding, Steven. The attention shouldn't be on me.” You quipped. “And that shows far too much skin.” Turning away, as you began to rummage through a few dresses on the rack.

“If you say so, but you're the only one I'll be looking at.” You stopped, hands stilling on the silk in front of you as you processed his words.

“You're going Saturday?” Managing to squeak out, despite the sudden lump in your throat.

It shouldn't really come as a surprise. All of the big named families had been invited. Maybe you were expecting Steve to be more like Richard in that regard. Send his well wishes but decline the invitation.

“Of course, Dove. Can't miss the wedding of the century. A Gambino marrying a Stratori? It's unheard-of.” He made a mock gasping sound that made you snort a small laugh.

“You should have seen the looks at my…” trailing off when you realized what you were about to say. It wasn't so long ago an Alexander marrying a Petrov was big news.

“Anyway, doesn't matter. I won't be going if I don't find something to wear.” Quickly changing the subject back to the matter at hand.

“Trust me, you'll look good in anything. Wear a potato sack and you’ll still be the most beautiful woman there.” His doting words and simple praises never let up when he was around you.

Your soft blushing and sweet smiles only encouraged him further, reminding him of the younger versions of you both. These moments he would hang onto for forever if need be.

You stared at him a moment, the way the sun filtering through the window cast a glow around him, appearing almost ethereal. His skin tanned by an Italian sun, making his freckles and moles only more prominent. Those same ones you would trace across his back, finding the constellations hidden within.

Your lips twitched at the thought of kissing those same marks, as a deeper blush crept your cheeks that had you quickly looking back to the dresses laid out before you, clearing your throat.

“Steve, I…” Mouth snapping closed when you weren't sure what you were attempting to say.

“What is it, tesoro?” Looking back at you expectantly, eyes soft, giving you his full attention.

“Thank you for the flowers. They're lovely, all of them, but you don't have to do that.” Your gaze drops momentarily as he regards you for a moment.

“Let me ask you something. Do they make you smile?”

“Well, of course.” A grin lifting the edges of your mouth you couldn't contain.

“Then yes, Dove. I have to send them. At least I know for one fleeting moment of the day I've had the pleasure of making you smile.”

You both stilled for a moment, silently gazing at one another.

“Excuse me? Can I help either of you?” One of the associates had walked over, interrupting the small moment.

You smiled at her, asking for a couple of dresses to try on in your size.

“Right away, Mrs. Petrov. And for you sir?” Looking back toward Steve, eyeing him up and down as she spoke. A small scowl of contempt passed over her momentarily, oblivious to who she was speaking to.

“Nothing for me today, thank you. I'll see myself out, momentarily.”

She nodded and walked toward the back to gather the dresses you had asked for.

“I suppose I'll see you tomorrow then.” Finally looking back to him, reluctantly getting ready to take your leave and follow her into the dressing room.

“Of course, Dove.” He says, leaning in close. “I still think the red would be a better choice.” Voice dropping an octave lower, winking as a shameless grin spread across his face.

His persistence had you fondly rolling your eyes, but a grin matching his own spread across your features.

“I think I'll find something a little less salacious but thank you for the suggestion.” Laughing as you walked away, a sound that was like music to his ears as he took his leave.

You glanced back once more, as you reached the back, but he was already gone.

The associate had gotten a large, very well-lit room ready for you. The dresses you had asked for were already on display, hung up across the back wall as you entered.

“This should be all of them. Will there be anything else Mrs. Petrov? Shall I stay and help you try any of them on?” She asked kindly.

“That won’t be necessary but thank you.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving you alone with some of the fanciest garments that money could buy yet you stood there feeling hollow, sighing deeply to yourself.

You slid the first dress from its silk hanger. A lilac gown with beautifully beaded detail on the bodice. Once you had managed to get it on, you stood in front of the mirror with a grimace. Steve was right, it was much too pale. You hated that he was right. A man who barely knows you anymore and still knows too much.

It was much the same as you tried on each one of the expensive gowns. None of them seemed quite right. Either the color was off, or it didn’t fit quite right leaving you empty handed on the way out.

Later that afternoon, the sun was setting low, as you worked through a few things before you would reluctantly head home for the evening.

Abigail enthusiastically walked toward you with a large black box, wrapped with a red, silk ribbon and a large matching bow on top.

“Mrs. Petrov, this was just delivered for you. It's from Figueroa.”

The dress shop you had visited earlier in the day. Confusion spread across your face, as you took it from her opting to open it in your office and dismissing her for the day.

You gently lifted the edges, immediately met with matching red tissue paper and a small, white card that simply read: This was ALWAYS your color. See you tomorrow.

You pushed aside the wrapping to reveal a deep, burgundy colored gown held within. The material was a beautiful velvet, soft to the touch, letting your fingers melt into the fabric as you pulled it from the box. It was stunning. A mermaid cut, with long sleeves dropped for the sweetheart neckline that would show some cleavage. It was sexy yet stayed somewhat moderate.

You didn't remember seeing this one in the store because it would have surely caught your eye.

Steve always had good taste. It came as no surprise he chose something that you would have picked out for yourself.

You hid the card in the desk, amongst the ones that have accompanied the flowers, hiding away any evidence of where the dress had come from. Your insides twisted at the thought of hiding him away forever. It was never meant to be this way with Steve.

You gripped the edges of the box on the ride home with a permanent smile etched across your face at the thought of seeing him tomorrow, if only for a brief moment, you would be the one to make him smile.

You sat in silence, staring out the window, ignoring the grunts and protests from Nik.

“I shouldn't even be going to this stupid wedding. I've got shit to do at the club tonight.” Huffing out like a petulant child, pushing his back further into the seat.

You simply rolled your eyes and tried to picture yourself literally anywhere else. The thought of spending the entire evening by his side turned your stomach. All dolled up to be HIS arm candy, but it would be your secret who you were dressed FOR.

“Hey, are you going to talk to me? You've got to play the part sometime tonight.” He grabbed for your hand, but you swiftly moved away from his touch at the faintest brush.

“I'll play along in public, but do not fucking touch me when we are alone. I don't know where your filthy hands have been. Or who they've been in, for that matter.” You spat, already over his behavior.

He let out a deep, hearty laugh, throwing his head back.

“Someone is feisty. I like it.” Grabbing your knee, laughing once again when you pushed him away. “Oh, come on baby. Give us a kiss.”

“Fuck off, Nik.” You hissed.

“Don't worry, sweetheart. The feeling is mutual.” He straightened back up in his seat, promptly lighting a cigarette, blowing the smoke your way.

“Do you mind? I don't want to smell like smoke before we get there.” Waving it away from you and your face, letting out a small cough.

“Aw, don't want your new dress to smell like smoke?” He chuckled, pinching the fabric at your side. “Poor baby.”

Your hand tightened around the clutch you held in your lap, as you closed your eyes holding back your anger as best you could, seething just below the surface. You just had to get through a couple of hours, saying pleasantries and having lighthearted conversation while rubbing a few elbows with certain people.

Calming your nerves as best you could, taking a few deep breaths and slowly opening your eyes once more.

Nik was distracted on his phone, leaving you for a few moments of peace before you pulled up to the venue.

The driver came around to open his door first, but Nik made no attempt to come around to your side to let you out, making the driver go around to open your door as well. A real gentleman.

“Let's get this over with. I've got shit to do.” Finally coming to stand beside you, extending his elbow for you to take.

“You've already said that.” You hissed, reluctantly taking his arm as you headed toward the entrance. “Just fucking behave Nik, you can't act like an ass in front people tonight.”

As much as you hated your husband, he still had a portion of business to uphold with many of the attendees tonight. Your father's reputation was at stake just being associated with the prick.

“I'll do as I damn well please.” He hissed back through gritted teeth, glaring down at you as you entered the large room. Ignoring him, you will yourself to throw on the best fake smile that you could muster.

The wedding was being held downtown, at one of the oldest buildings. Its gothic architecture and high ceilings were a beautiful backdrop for a wedding.

Nik made a beeline for some of his associates, immediately grabbing some champagne from one of the waitresses as he pulled you along. It didn’t go unnoticed the way he so blatantly eyed her up and down as he passed.

You busied yourself looking around at the decor, sipping your own champagne trying to ignore the conversation he was having around you. Some things you couldn’t understand at all as he spoke in his native tongue. When you had first gotten married you took an interest in learning Russian but that quickly subsided as your marriage started falling apart.

The room quieted down to a dull murmur when he entered. His very presence commanded the attention of everyone present. Heads began to turn his way, all clambering to catch a glimpse of the so-called prodigal son of Richard Harrington as he made his entrance, his first public outing since the funeral.

He ignored the hushed whispers around him, walking in with Eddie falling right in behind him, the crowd parting as he made his way to pay respect to the happy couple.

He looked as handsome as ever sporting a black suit, with his hair slicked back and quaffed perfectly but his burgundy shirt and tie beneath his buttoned suit jacket is what really caught your eye. It was the exact color of your dress. A detail that brought a small smile to your face.

“Who the hell does he think he is?” Nik scoffed, as some of the other men chuckled, pulling your attention back to the small group.

He downed the rest of his champagne, eyes never leaving Steve, following his movements across the crowded space.

“I need something a little more stiff, come on.” He grabbed your arm, pushing his way through the crowd to get to the bar, dragging you along beside him. The abruptness caught you off guard. For a moment, you wabbled on your heels.

“Nik, you need to take it easy tonight.” You whispered through gritted teeth.

“And you,” he hissed. “Should shut the fuck up.” He gripped your arm a little tighter as you reached the bar tucked away in the corner before ordering a bourbon, downing it in one gulp, slamming the glass back down. He would never outwardly push it out in the open like this, showing his true colors but it was surprising, nonetheless.

He finally relinquished his grip to grab his next one, turning to meet his associates as they began to huddle around him, picking up their conversations from before leaving him to ignore you once more.

Steve spotted you as soon as he walked through the door, smirking to himself. The dress he had picked out fit you spectacularly, showing off your curves while staying somewhat modest. You were breathtaking.

Reluctantly, his attention drew back to the matter at hand as he made his way through the crowd to greet the wedding party and their family, wishing them the best.

Steve quickly made his rounds, shaking hands and chatting with some familiar faces or some new introducing themselves, but he couldn't keep his eyes off of you.

He and Eddie grabbed some flutes of champagne, chatting amongst themselves in the corner where he temporarily lost you in the crowd, but quickly caught up with you again heading toward the bar with Nik.

His jaw ticked seeing the way he gripped you, pulling you alongside him.

Eddie noticed how he stiffened, following his line of vision over to you just in time for them both to witness his hold on you grow a little more harsh.

Steve took a step before Eddie moved abruptly in front of him, halting him with a palm to his chest.

“Steve. Not here.” Eddie warned, as he looked past him once more. You had already moved away from Nik, standing to the side of the bar.

Eddie was right. This was not the time or place to lose his head, but it didn't mean they couldn't have a little chat.

You heard him before you saw him, heart promptly leaping into your throat when you realized he was headed in your direction, but he only caught your gaze nodding slightly and greeted Nik instead.

Realizing you could do nothing but stand there and watch as the scene unfolds, you downed the rest of your champagne bracing for the worst.

“Nik, gentlemen. How are we all doing this evening?” Asking with that charming Harrington tone, as Eddie hung slightly behind them, hands in his pockets, looking relaxed but you could tell he was anything but.

Nik’s amusement seemed to fade, his smile dropping, moving the glass to his lips for another sip. He stood up a little straighter, squaring his shoulders to the other man.

“Harrington.” Nodding back, as the others stated their own greetings.

“Didn't expect you to show up here. Your father never came to shit like this.” He sneered.

“Well, little Niki, like I told you the other day, we aren't our fathers. And I, for one, am striving to be a better man than he was. We should all strive to be better men, right?” Leveling his gaze right at your husband as he spoke.

A flash of anger split Nik's face before regaining his composure, already a little too much to drink to effectively conceal his emotions. The nickname he gained in his youth that he had come to detest, trying to live up to the elder Nikolai, his father, always falling in his shadow. Something that he and Steve had in common however they chose very different avenues to deal with it.

“Right.” Scoffing, as he set his glass back to the bar, taking a small step toward Steve, once again squaring his shoulders. “Any suggestions on how I should go about that, since you're doling out the advice today? I'm all ears.”

“I don't know, Nik. Maybe the old ways of handling business are outdated? Kind of like, oh I don't know?” Pausing, pretending to think for a moment. “Raising a hand to your spouse to keep them in line? That shit just doesn't work and makes you look bad.”

Your cheeks suddenly heated at the bluntness of his insinuation, hoping no one looked over at you.

“And what the fuck would you know about business? Last time I checked, you were still riding daddy's coattails.” Leaning further into Steve’s space as he spoke trying to make himself more intimidating, but he stood his ground, not so easily dissuaded.

Eddie made to move forward, but Steve quickly held a hand out, halting him.

Nik's raised voice began garnering a little attention their way as you scanned the other guests standing close by.

“I'm just saying.” Taking a step toward Nik this time, both men practically nose to nose. “Sometimes it's better to get with the program, or you could lose everything.”

“Are you threatening me?” Nik spat.

Steve let out a small chuckle, shaking his head as he stepped back, reminding himself once more that he couldn’t lose it here.

“Trust me, you would know if it's a threat. Just some friendly advice.” He clapped him on the arm as if they were old chums, sharing a good laugh which only infuriated Nik further.

“You can take your friendly advice and shove it u…” One of Nik's associates got in between the two and tried to calm him down. Steve was trying to goad him to gauge his reaction and he had taken the bait flawlessly.

“Well, gentlemen if you'll excuse me, we are here for a wedding after all.” He nodded, as he and Eddie headed back across the room, leaving you a little speechless in the process.

“I don't know who the fuck he thinks he is.” Nik began to rant, so you decided to leave him and make your way to your chair for the ceremony. You also hoped he would cool off before coming to find you as other guests began to fill the empty seats around you.

You caught Steve out of the corner of your eye as he passed, taking a seat across the aisle, one row up on the end.

The ceremony was beautiful with a blushing young bride and a handsome groom. They seemed genuinely happy and for their sakes you hoped it were true.

You couldn't help but feel sadness now thinking back to your own wedding. The joy and hopefulness that day brought only to be a complete fabrication.

As the couple said their vows, your eyes found his across the aisle, as if he had already been looking toward you. There seemed to be a sadness etched within him as well, his eyes lacking their usual sparkle.

Images flashed and danced through your mind of a life that could have been. A fall wedding, surrounded by your closest friends and family. Honeymooning on the Italian coast and coming back to a home full of love and promise without any doubts.

Steve would have given you the world without any hesitation. He loved fiercely, willing to do whatever it took to make you happy. He made it so damn easy to see what a bright future lay ahead for both of you.

You hadn't noticed a tear escaping until it rolled down your cheek, and onto your hand situated in your lap, suddenly bringing you crashing back to reality.

He was still looking at you when you diverted your gaze away, because it was all too much. Your chest ached as the couple kissed, concluding their vows and made their way down the aisle, now united in holy matrimony with smiles gracing their happy faces. It was suddenly too suffocating.

“I have to go to the restroom.” Excusing yourself from Nik’s side, not waiting for his response, quickly dashing out the side door into the empty hallway.

You breathed a small sigh of relief, briefly pausing, your hand leaning against the wall to steady yourself and regain some composure.

You willed yourself to conceal your emotions as you began to make your way down the corridor but as you rounded the corner someone grabbed your forearm. Your back was suddenly met with a warm chest, taking you by surprise. Their large hand clasping over your mouth stifling any noise from escaping you, as they step further back with you in tow, closing the door.

Before you had time to react, his soothing voice washed over you.

“It's okay, Dove. It's just me.” His lips so close, ghosting the shell of your ear as he spoke. He waited a moment for it to register before he removed his hand from your face, finding the light switch.

“Steve! What the hell?” Saying as you swung around to face him, your pulse racing from the small scare. He had pulled you into a small, dimly lit utility closet, away from prying eyes and just big enough for the two of you.

“I'm sorry, honey it's the only place I could get you alone.” He shrugged, shifting toward you, with a small pout.

“I shouldn't be in here.” You reached for the handle, but he was quick to place his hand overtop yours, effectively halting your movement.

“I couldn't let you leave without telling you how beautiful you look.” He whispered, closing the small gap between you, his hand coming to rest on your hip, heat radiating from his palm. His touch was searing, even through the fabric of your gown.

“I saw this on the way out of the shop and had them match the shirt and tie perfectly.” He inches just a little more into your space, releasing the hold on your hand so he could plant it firmly to your lower back pushing you further into him.

Your hands find the expanse of his chest, holding yourself steady, feeling as though your knees could give out at any moment. He had unbuttoned his suit jacket, your palms finding the warmth beneath, flat against his silk shirt.

He didn't need to utter it aloud. The dress. The tie. It was his way of subtly staking claim to you. You were and always had been his.

“Steve, what are you doing? You can't exactly woo a married woman. Especially one married to someone as powerful as Nik. He…” You stopped, when you saw the look in his eyes, utterly and completely gone for you.

“I don't have to woo what's already mine.” His voice low and husky, dripping with desire.

“That’s very presumptuous of you, Mr. Harrington.” You breathed out, trying to maintain your cool but even you could hear the waiver in your voice.

No matter the distance or time, you couldn't forget this man no matter how hard you tried. He would simply not let you. It felt like torture to be this close to him now, yet so far away.

Your head kept telling you that you needed to run, but you couldn't find it in yourself to move. You were transfixed, gazing up into his golden, mossy framed orbs.

You let your eyes trail his features. A small scar above his left eyebrow that had been there for years, a memento of his childhood. The way his lips had the perfect cupid's bow and remembering just the way he tastes.

He leans down looking for any sign of trepidation, finding none; your face mirroring his own, full of unspoken adoration.

“You're not denying it, tesoro. Just tell me you want this, as much as I do.” His nose traces down the slope of yours as he speaks. Your heart hammering so hard in your chest, you were sure he could hear it beating.

“Amore mio.” You whisper, top lip grazing his, releasing a shuddering breath before the realization of what you'd just said fully hit.

You'd never spoken those simple words to anyone else, only ever reserved for Steve. He had taught you some phrases in Italian, mostly sweet talk. You were always his tesoro mio and he, your amore mio.

You lean back, clasping a hand over your mouth as he was fully leaning in, eyes closed, lips chasing yours.

“Oh my God!” You gasp out, pressing yourself backward, stumbling a bit in your heels but he catches your elbow as you regain your balance.

“Dove?” He asks, voice low, coming out a little timidly.

“I… We can't do this Steve!” He can see your internal conflict and what he can only infer as fear written all over your face. It dawns on him then. The way you had winced when he grabbed your arm at the gallery. The way Nik had pulled you through the room earlier.

“Dove, did he hurt you?” His hand on your elbow begins to draw you back in, laying his other to your jaw, coaxing your face toward him but you still refuse to look up, eyes cast downward.

“No, Steve. You just… you don't know what he's capable of.” Your eyes grow glossy, tears threatening to spill over your lashes and ruining your makeup.

“Hey, honey, I'm not worried about him.” He does his best to soothe you, speaking softly. “If anyone should be worried, it's him. You hear me? Look at me.” Gently, his thumb grazes your bottom lip.

“Dove, look at me.” Pleading one last time, his voice was raw and pained.

“Steve, I can't…” Your eyes finally meet his, tears spilling out and down your cheeks. He does his best to wipe them away when his hands come to cup your cheeks. “I…I’m sor…”

“Shhh… no need for that, tesoro mio.” He doesn't want to let you go, but he's afraid of pushing you further away.

He leans in, warm lips press into your forehead as your eyes close. A tender embrace, your hand coming to grip his wrist holding him in place for a moment longer before quietly slipping from his hold.

You wipe your tears, pausing with your hand on the handle, looking back over your shoulder at him.

“It's better if you stay away from me.” Whispering out without waiting for a reply, quickly opening the door and checking the hall before stepping out. Your footsteps are the only sound echoing down the corridor as you walk toward the restroom to clean yourself up.

The interaction only lasted a few minutes, but the feeling of his hands and lips still lingered on your skin.

“It's better if you stay away from me.”

He blows out a deep breath but doesn't say anything.

Better for who? He bitterly thinks. Certainly not better for him. You're all he's thought about since returning. It's driving him insane.

He can't bring himself to think about you with Nik. The asshole getting to have you all to himself. He can touch, kiss or bed you anytime he pleases. The thought makes him sick, but the brief interaction solidifies what he already knew to be true.

When he heard “amore mio” glide past your lips so easily, he knew he still had you. His heart ached to hear you say that just once more, something he hadn't heard uttered in so long, nearly taking his breath away. You're still his.

He waits a few more moments, letting you get ahead of him before he makes sure the coast is clear and exits the closet.

Heading in the opposite direction and rounding the corner, he spots Eddie leaning against the wall smirking at him.

“Everything okay, boss?” His grin drops, shoving himself off the wall seeing the annoyed look plastered to Steve's face. Not what he had expected.

“No, but it will be. We're leaving.” Grunting out as he continues to walk, leaving Eddie to catch up to his stride.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, wiping the makeup that had run. It took a few minutes, but you made yourself presentable.

Nik was waiting for you right outside the bathroom, crossing his arms giving you a death glare when you spotted him.

“What the hell have you been doing?” He hissed.

“I had to pee, and the wedding made me emotional, so I cleaned myself up. I can't go to the reception looking like a mess.” Responding, as you headed past him, but he grabbed your arm. The one he's so fond to take here lately when you get out of line.

“We're going home.” He spat, getting in your face for a moment before a cruel smile stretched across his face as his whole demeanor changed.

“Kitten, I know you're tired, it's been a long hard day.” Ushering you out into the reception area, pulling you through the crowd toward the exit, holding tightly to your wrist as if you would try to flee at any moment.

The car was already waiting outside, as he ushered you inside and slammed the door. You held your breath when he sat down beside you and began to loosen his tie, unbuttoning the restricting collar.

Silence for a few moments as you head back home to your prison.

“Do you think I'm fucking stupid?” He finally asks, turning his head slowly toward you.

“Wh– What?” You asked meekly, shrinking into yourself.

“I asked if you think I'm fucking stupid?” Enunciating each word a little slower and more clipped.

You furrowed your brow, trying to decipher where he was going. Had he seen you and Steve exit the closet?

“Where'd the dress come from?”

“My dress?” You tried to stay calm, looking down at the velvet fabric. He'd put those small crumbs together.

“The dress Y/N. That fucker bought it for you, didn't he? Didn't think I'd notice his goddamn matching shirt and tie? You two think you're really cute.” He clenched his fists on his lap, as his jaw ticked. He was anything but calm right now and the dam was about to burst.

“Nik… I…” He suddenly lunged at you, hand around your throat pushing you back into the seat. You gasped out in surprise, as he pressed in just a little harder, fingers flexing and cutting off your air supply. Your hand flew up to clutch at his, grasping and desperately trying to pry him away.

He leaned in close, gritting his teeth as he spoke.

“Its like you want me the fucking hurt you, leaving me no choice. Pull a stunt like that again, and not even your father will be able to protect you.”

He eases back, placing a chaste kiss to your temple before releasing his hold on you. Your airway opened, leaving you gasping in a heavy breath while letting out a small, choked sob.

“I warned you.” His last words for the evening, before lighting a cigarette and thoroughly ignoring you, taking a phone call leaving you to sulk in the corner.

He dropped you off at home, no doubt heading to his club, but you were grateful to be left alone for the night hoping for some miracle that he wouldn’t come back home at all.

You drew yourself a hot bath, letting the magnitude of everything that had transpired wash over you.

The wedding brought up so many morose thoughts and feelings. Steve blatantly threatening Nik, Nik threatening you, it was all too much.

Your fingertips graze your cheek where his hand had been not long ago. If you closed your eyes, you could feel him still, imaging he was here with you. His touch had electrified you. Something you had never felt with anyone else. A feeling of being totally alive. The gray, dreary past melting and giving way to a future full of bright color.

“Steve.” You whispered out, pulling your knees into your chest, as you cried.

Lying to yourself would be useless. Steve was everything that Nik never was or would be. Years apart and he still holds your heart. You were still in love with him, just knowing he felt the same was all you needed.

You had to think of a plan, while still trying to maintain your distance until Nik was out of the picture.

This was a very dangerous game, but you couldn't bear the thought of letting him go a second time.

No, you wouldn't let that happen this time.

Taglist: @micheledawn1975 @girlwiththerubyslippers @thecreelhouse @teen--marvel @taccobelle

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[bangtanhoneys]

BTS Wedding Series: Picking the dress

Seokjin

Plans were finally starting to be placed now the venue had been booked and the date had been picked. You had made yourself a little checklist on your phone so you could start ticking things off now the ball was rolling. On your list was the next important thing - your wedding dress. You had an idea of what you liked and you had an idea of what would suit your figure but you honestly had no idea of what you were going to end up with. 

The bridal consultant sat you, your mother and your maid of honour and started asking questions as to what your wedding was going to be about - your venue, what kind of colour scheme you were going for and what would match you as a person. 

The consultant picked five dresses and took you to the changing room, giving your mother and maid of honour a quick chance to have a look through the racks to see if they could find a dress. Every option was a no - each dress having something wrong with it though there were bits you liked. 

“We found one, could you try that?” your maid of honour asked, seeing how frustrated you were getting. This was the fifth shop this weekend and you wanted the dress to be found already. 

“Of course, which one is it?” the consultant asked as she removed the dresses you had tried on and put them back on the racks. She glanced over to where your maid of honour was pointing and she felt a little sceptical about the dress that had been chosen. It wasn’t like anything you had gone for so far but stranger things had happened. 

You looked as undecided as she did about the dress when it was brought into the changing room and you felt a wave of doubt as to whether you’d actually get a dress. Seoul had a limited range of wedding dress showrooms to go to. 

The moment the dress was slipped on and your arms through the off-the-shoulder straps, there was an instant change in your demeanour. You felt confident, you felt secure in the dress, it fit right and everything so far felt perfect. 

The reaction from your mother and maid of honour said it all - they gasped and then immediately reached for the tissues, your mother especially when she saw her little girl in the dress she had picked. 

“This is it,” you agreed and pressed your fingertips to your lips, staring at your reflection in the mirror. 

The dress was minimalist, off the shoulders neckline and light pink glitter flowing through the bodice and skirt in the tulle material. There were buttons on the back that matched the material of the dress and when your consultant added a veil that had 3D ivory flowers sewn into the edge and around the sides. 

“This is it. This is everything.”

And just like that, you got the dress of your dreams with a veil thrown in for free. 

Yoongi 

Before you had picked the venue, you had looked through the internet to get ideas for your wedding dress. And while you didn’t show Yoongi what you had picked in the end, you had shown him a few ideas to gauge what he would like. Of course, the reaction to each option had been littered with the usual ‘pick whatever one you want. You’ll look beautiful either way.’ 

Useless.

You knew what he didn’t like without having to ask him though. He didn’t like over the top, didn’t like hard material and he didn’t like anything that was showy. It lined up with what you wanted - something simple, elegant and detailed in the accessories. 

And so off you went looking at wedding dresses on your own because it was your decision at the end of the day and you knew what you wanted and what you didn’t want. You had the ring, you had the venue, and you had the man (technically) so now it would be down to your choice of your dress.

You were at your first dress shop and you had already gone through a few dresses which weren’t giving you the vibes you wanted. You had shown the stylist the photos you had saved on your phone of dresses and decorations you were going for: simple glass centrepieces with ivory and white flowers, everything low and long, candlelight and delicate. 

She gave you a glass of champagne, told you to take a seat and she’d be back in a moment. You weren’t too nervous as there were plenty of other shops around and so far you had ruled out things you knew for certain you didn’t like such as massive princess dresses, flouncy material. Satin was working wonders so far today. 

The stylist came back with a few options and she hung them up on the rack, letting you have a good look at them all first. “I’ll try this one first,” you said as you ran your hands over the material of the dress. 

The dress was called Vaness, a sheath-style dress with gave comfort but flattered your figure in all the right ways. The puffed sleeves balance the open back to perfection, showing off enough skin of your back but hiding everything else. The skirt was long enough to give a train but not too long you were going to trip over it and there was a long set of buttons gliding suggestively down the back. 

It flowed and moved easily around your legs as you walked through the showroom and the stylist added a band of small white and cream beads that hooked around your waist and onto one of the buttons at the back. It set everything off perfectly and with an open back, there was no need for a veil. 

“It’s everything,” you agreed with the stylist and bought the dress there and then, left it at the showroom until you found a seamstress to tuck in the dress to your size.

Hoseok

Now, your fiance (you had to remind yourself of that) was a fashionista and he knew enough designers to make the dress of your dreams. Luckily enough for you both, his sister had stepped in and said she would design your dress and have it made since she ran her own clothing business and she knew the pain of trying to find the right dress.

She knew what your decor was going to be, what colours you were going for, what the style was going to be, and where the wedding was. She was your wedding planner in a sense and every idea was bounced around with her before Hobi. 

The two of you had gone out for a girly lunch two months ago with both of your mothers and you all threw ideas of what the dress would look like. It would have to be sparkly enough to match the crystals in the venue and it had to be unique enough to stand out in the bright colours of your decor. 

Jiwoo had taken all the suggestions and done some rough drawings, though what she showed you later on was something completely different to what you had discussed but everything you wanted. 

The dress she had designed and had made was on a mannequin, glittering lovingly in the light. The impressed gasps of the two mothers was more than enough for Jiwoo to know she had done a good job but ultimately and obviously, this was your dress and what you wanted mattered the most. 

You silently, very silently, tried on the dress and came into the main room again to look at it in the full length mirror. 

The skirt was made out of miraloma satin and the bodice was completely beaded, with silver beading used for the corset dealing and ivory beading across the soft scoop necklace. At the back, the zipper was covered by buttons down the length of the bodice and most importantly, the dress had pockets. 

It was simple yet extravagant. 

The light from the room bounced off all the hidden diamonds on the bodice and lit up, causing you to twinkle with every movement of the dress. The veil Jiwoo used also had the same beading around the edge of the long veil and that glittered in the light as well.

“Thank you, it’s gorgeous,” you whispered as Jiwoo took your hand. “It’s everything and more. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

She grinned and pressed her cheek to yours, watching the two of you in front of the mirror. “He’s so going to cry when he sees you.”

Namjoon

Even though you had your venue booked and everything and there was plenty of time for you to plan things, you wanted to get your bridal dress bought and sorted before anything else. You had figured out a theme for the wedding with Namjoon already and you had a good idea of colours, shades of green to represent the nature that brought you together and that matched your engagement ring. 

With all that in mind, you had started searching for dresses to match - dresses with colourful flowers, dresses with 3D flowers, dresses even made out of recycled material. You had looked at it all but there was one dress that stood out to you the most when you had spent the evening searching local bridal shops. 

It was called Clara Reese by Alison Webb and it was everything you wanted. 

A-line gown, made out of Italian jacquard, decorated in vines and leaves with a delicate accent waistband, buttons at the back and a bow that made it complete. You fell in love with it the moment you saw it and you just hoped it would be the right one for you.

This is why you took your best friend with you when you went to try it on because if there was anyone’s opinion that mattered, it would be hers.

You hadn’t told her about the dress in particular but you had told the bridal consultant who had secreted the dress away in the changing room ready. Between the three of you, you had picked another so many dresses to try on but none of them had compared to what was waiting. 

Every dress you tried on, your best friend would give an instant thumbs down. 

However, when you came out in the dress you adored, she had a completely different reaction. 

The sip of champagne suddenly choked her and she quickly coughed into a tissue, eyes wide as she took in the details of the dress then your face which just screamed happiness. 

“You already know, don’t you?” she questioned, wiping her mouth and discarding the tissue.

You let out a small giggle as you nodded, smoothing down the material of the dress and you loved how it felt underneath your hands. “I saw it online before I booked the appointment and it’s everything I want. And it’s going to match really well with the theme and with the bridesmaid dress colours as well.”

She got off the couch and walked over, smoothing a hand over the dress as well then played with the bow for a moment. 

“You’ve got your heart set on it, girl. Go for it.”

Jimin

It was great having a fiance as hands-on as Jimin. So far every decision you two had made, you had completely agreed on (well the venue he had to accept and go with it). The colours you two had chosen, you had chosen your bridal party together and you had even agreed on the wedding favours. 

Everything was going completely smooth sailing and he had even sent suggestions on the colours of the bridesmaid dresses and your dress. 

“You can’t come with me to the appointment,” you chuckled as you got ready to leave to meet your sister, Jimin’s mother and your mother at the bridal shop. 

“I hate that tradition,” Jimin grumbled as he flopped onto the bed. “You get to see and pick my suit and everything else. Why can’t I see and pick the dress?”

“Because it’s bad luck and a surprise. A big surprise that you’ll get to see on the day. Only a select few are going to see the dress anyway,” you shrugged while grabbing your back. “I’ll contact you when I’m on my way home because I have no idea how long I’m going to be.”

You were right as you were out all morning and most of the afternoon, going around each bridal shop in Seoul. You were arriving at the last one and you had to say you were getting a bit fed up, a bit tired, a bit hangry and you really wanted your pyjamas and a glass of wine. Because shopping was a nightmare. 

It was very high-end and somewhat expensive. You could see your sister and your mother exchange a look in the mirror when they saw a couple of the price tags but Jimin’s mother just waved a black card at them. This was on Jimin. 

After an hour, you were on your ninth dress and about to go on your tenth dress when your bridal consultant came in with a dress that you never would have picked. 

It was a light pink, full-on princess dress, with a mix of 3D flowers (including a mix of cherry blossom flowers) covering the bodice then slotted down the tulle skirt and along the train. It was a fairytale dress and it completely matched what you were going for in terms of decor for your wedding.

You were already holding back tears when the bridal consultant helped you walk through to the waiting area. 

“Oh my god, that’s it,” your sister whispered. “It matches perfectly.”

Your mother couldn’t answer but nodded as she cried into the tissue she had picked up and Jimin’s mother was in a similar situation but she smiled over at you. “You look like a princess.”

And that was that. 

Taehyung

Hollywood glamour. Beverly Hills. Red roses. Candlelight. Glamour. Red and glitter silver. These were the things you had given to your bridal consultant for your appointment at a bridal shop in Los Angeles, one that had been arranged by Taehyung so you could take your parents and his parents over to Beverly Hills so they could see the venue and you could do your bridal shopping at the same time. 

Good thing you were proficient in English and could translate for everyone. 

Of course, your Dad and Taehyung’s Dad had no interest in dress shopping other than handing over the bank card with the words: go for it. So a girl’s shopping it was. 

You started the day with a big breakfast, a manicure and a pedicure at the hotel and you were driven in a private car to your destination. No expense had been spared and everything was permitted. Obviously a bit extravagant for bridal shopping but when it came to Taehyung and what he wanted, nothing was going to stop him. 

The stylist had laid out five dresses for you to try and pick on when you got there and they hadn’t matched what you quite wanted. So after explaining some more of what you were looking for: Hollywood glamour, art deco, red roses, candlelight, sexy and more, the stylist got what you wanted. 

She brought out a Sophia Tolli dress called Monet which caused Taehyung’s mother to chuckle. “Well, we’re on the right track.” Given Taehyung’s love of classical art and Monet, this was right on the money. 

“So, Monet is all about drama,” the stylist explained to you in the changing room while you were getting it on. “She’s fashion-forward with the scooped square neckline but she’s got a daringly low v-back. She’s made out of glitter tulle, misty tule, stretch jersey and beaded schifit lace so it gives you that ultra-flattering fit,” she added as she zipped up the back and it suckered you in, in all the right places. 

She then brought out something that you had not thought of - a detachable train made out the same material but completely plain, apart from the beaded belt. It gave you two dresses for the price of one. 

The dress flowed with you when you stepped out into the light and the train followed on, almost like an after thought. The stylist let you and the mothers look at it for a good moment, then removed the train to let you look at the dress itself. 

“It’s art-deco in it’s styling with the beads,” your mother complimented as she ran a finger over the intricate styling. “What do you think?”

“It’s utterly gorgeous and it’s everything we want and it’s going to match so well. And I feel glamorous, like Hollywood and yet like a bride at the same time,” you agreed and no matter how hard you looked at the dress, no matter how much you tried to find a fault, there was none. 

Monet became the dress of your dreams. 

Jungkook

So far, in terms of the wedding planning, things were going pretty easy. 

Jungkook had picked the ring from an ARMY who had designed it, it was made especially for you by a local jeweller. He had proposed in the most unique way by creating a puzzle for you to do and then the venue had been chosen in Busan with relative ease. It was going easy. 

Apart from when it got to your dress. 

It had to be simple. Literally simple. And trying to find a wedding dress or a wedding designer who did simple was a nightmare. There was either beading you didn’t want, material that you knew wouldn’t suit or there was a slit up to the thigh that would put you off. 

You weren’t fussy but you knew what you wanted. 

This was one of the reasons why you were at Hybe, in a meeting with the stylists who did the clothing for the boys and who knew you well enough that you could ask them to make something how you wanted it and they would do it. 

A meeting took place which lasted four hours and then you got a phone call three weeks later, that they had a rough version for you to look at and try on and then they could play around with it if you weren’t happy. 

It was like putting a puzzle piece together and you enjoyed that. 

So with your mother, you went into Hybe with passes and high security who led you through the back way towards where the stylists worked. Jungkook wouldn’t be allowed in if he was in the building, no other member of staff, not even Bang Si-hyuk.

It was a rough cut but it was gorgeous as they helped you step into the dress and pull the spaghetti straps up to your shoulders. It was made out of chiffon, so it flowed well but instead of it just being a skirt, they had made light-flowing ruffles that didn’t necessarily look like ruffles. It all flowed so well and the bodice had been made out of the same material, just as plain, but rouched to crisscross over your body with a sweet-heart necklace. 

Simple yet effective. 

“I don’t know how you guys do it, but you did it,” you grinned as you walked up and down the room, letting the material flow around you and through your legs. 

“Maybe some small beads along where the bodice and skirt meet,” your mother suggested. “Maybe light purple for ARMY who designed your ring.”

The stylists and you turned to her in amazement. Why hadn’t they thought of that? Within a seconds, the stylists were carefully sowing on light purple beads where your mother had suggested and it finished it off well. 

“There, now you look like a bride.”

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[astarab1aze]

i was thinking a bit about kaede’s cleaning habits and his bedroom and what you might find inside it. he’s never been the type to live in a messy environment willfully, but in this verse, he’s allowed to cope poorly. so his room at his estate is messy.

blankets strewn about a bed that hasn’t been made in months. stacks of old books with some seemingly permanently half-open or damaged by tea and coffee stains, others with unattended, fraying binding. sheafs of parchment and calligraphy brushes splayed across his desk, inky pawprint in trailing and erratic patterns going every whichway - also stained by spilt tea and coffee. some haphazard bundles of ancient bloody bandages hanging out of the waste bin, long forgotten and deliberately ignored. empty prescription bottles, a broken mug on the shelf, a collection of classic horror and romance movies beside strange and bizarre trinkets and knick-knacks. instructional diagrams on the shikabane clan’s techniques that were hastily plastered to the wall when he was a teenager.

a collage of old photos secured to corkboard with broken thumbtacks, one of the pictures torn irreparably. his hamper, overflowing with forgotten laundry. all manners of weapons he sifts through before a mission either racked or sheathed, or resting in hazardous places around the room. boxes upon boxes of old reports, files, information. kimono and hakama thrown over the back of a chair, another he’s been attempting to mend for months. dark blue curtains bunched over the windowsill, an open first-aid kit lying in the middle of the floor with bandages, gauze, antiseptic, and a needle and thread thrown on the lid. the tv remote is lost somewhere and there are more inky pawprints on the hardwood. his only mirror is broken and hidden under a sheet he once used as a ghost costume. a freshly emptied ash tray on his nightstand next to two packs of cigarettes, one with a smudge of blood on its film where the other is untouched, and no lighter to be found (likely borrowed by aoi).

he has a rather large bedroom. in fact, he has too much space, so he subconsciously dumps all of his crap into it to make it seem less empty. he doesn’t know how to use the space as anything but a place to hide and nest in - but not comfortably. it’s why so much of his room is in disarray versus simply being a room that’s lived-in, why he can’t bring himself to clean up and put things away. the mess becomes overwhelming, too much to bear, and he largely ignores it for as long as he can. his room is just as big a mess as his head, sort of serving as another tangible manifestation of his mental health and how he’s been treated by his family - depressed and utterly, completely neglected.

with all of that said, kaede is an almost obsessively cleanly person when not in a poor state of mind. most times he’s home, he prefers to keep his room in that sort of ’ no one lives here ’ condition, so he’ll usually clean up and organize during his down time. it has to look and feel as if he hadn’t been there at all, ever. his room is just a fancy guest room with some personal knick-knacks included to make it seem homey. a glorified showroom, like the estate will be sold off tomorrow. which means his collection of books is where it ought to be, all neatly settled in alphabetical order on his bookshelf, that all his laundry is done and put away, his tools and weapons are categorized and racked, and the list goes on. clean, with everything in its proper place.

in the event he stays elsewhere, like a hotel or a friend/ally’s home, he is meticulous and tries to minimize his presence to the utmost so as not to be a bad guest. he will not leave anything behind, not even a hair. blankets will be neatly folded and set aside, any wrinkles smoothed, dust and dirt swept away… real ’ no one was here ’ about it in the same way he is about the estate.

[mads-weasley]

Legacy Pt. 7: Broken Promises

tfatws!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: HI!!! It's been soooo long since I added to this series...and I mean like a YEAR long. Sorry to all my wonderful followers who were waiting on this update. Life got crazy and this series got pushed to the bottom of the barrel, but the good news is... LEGACY IS BACK, BABY!! And as always, I don't own any characters except (y/n). Enjoy!

Summary: While (y/n) was recuperating at Sharon's, Bucky makes a decision and breaks a promise he made to her, putting strain on their newly labeled relationship.

Warnings: mentions of injuries, sibling death, car accidents (not graphic), drunk drivers, just sad

When we finally got to Sharon's building, Bucky helped guide me through her art gallery. As usual, he and Sam were bickering about the paintings that filled her showroom, but I tuned them out. Bucky's arm around my frame was the only thing keeping me from falling over right there. I heard Sharon quickly cut them off.

"Come on. You guys need to change. I'm hosting clients in an hour."

"Alright, alright," Bucky starts. "Where can I take (y/n)?"

She gestures to follow her with a jerk of her head. "This way."

Following her into a nearby room, my eyes widen at the size of it and what it contains. There are multiple couches, a full bar, and a rack full of formal clothes; designer, I assume. Buck seems to be surprised too but soon breaks out of his stupor, guiding me to lie down on the couch. Even though my headache is very slowly going away, I still feel like I could pass out if I didn't get to sleep soon. 

Gently, he crouched down in front of me.

"How're ya feeling, doll?"

"I'm okay, just super tired. At least my headache is going away, though." I say softly.

He starts to lightly rub my hand that rested on my thigh. "Good. Get some rest, okay? I'll come get you when we have a lead."

"Okay. Thanks, boomer."

The laugh that escaped him made my heart flutter. After a few seconds, he got up and grabbed a blanket and pillow from another one of the couches before returning and placing it behind my head. Once I was comfortable, he draped the soft blanket over my body. As I started to snuggle into it with closed eyes, a soft smile grew on Bucky's face. 

~

Bucky silently watched (y/n) start to doze off, and he was so thankful that he had her in his life. Even though she felt terrible, she accompanied him to Selby's just to make sure he was okay. No one had put him first for as long as he could remember. At one point he thought Steve would have always done so, but even he abandoned him in the end. Sharon's piercing voice broke him from his thoughts.

"Bucky. You need to get dressed." She said, gesturing to the coat rack Sam had gotten his outfit from.

He nodded, looking back at (y/n). Although he didn't want to leave her, he knew they needed to follow this lead if they were going to stop the flag smashers. Leaning down and kissing her on the forehead, he whispered something to her. She shifted positions and whispered something back, but it was really just a sleepy slur of words. Bucky felt his heart melt as Sharon once again called out to him.

Frustrated, he crossed the room looking through the rack. There were some very, well, interesting outfits on it, but he decided to stick with a basic black suit. Slipping it on, Sharon continued to talk.

"So what happened to (y/n)?"

He sighed, "The flag smashers. That's what happened."

Raising an eyebrow, she asked the question Bucky had been waiting on. "When did you two start...whatever you've got going?"

"Few days ago." He says before walking away to sit on the couch next to the one (y/n) was laying on. 

Luckily for him, Sharon started talking to Sam, giving him a break from her questioning. Their conversation soon led to her explaining that she had a way to find Wilfred Nagel, the doctor who Selby had given up. He too, worked to the Power Broker that neither Sam or Bucky knew much about. 

Soon after, Sharon's guests arrived and they were led out into the "client showing" she was hosting, which was more like a rave. The music began to blare and Bucky hoped that (y/n) was still asleep, unbothered by the electronic sounds. He was reminded of Zemo's existence when he saw him pumping his fist at his side to the beat of the music next to the bar. With a scoff, Bucky turned away from the unique sight when Sharon tapped him and Sam.

"Hey, guys. I found him."

As they began to follow her, his promise to (y/n) that he would come to get her if they had a lead, floated in his head. Even though he did promise her, he knew she needed the rest. Things had been non-stop for her, and with her injuries, she really should be on bed rest if not in the hospital. Even though he knew she would be mad when she woke, he decided to leave her be on Sharon's couch.

Peeking her eyes open, (y/n) was met with Bucky's smiling face before her, shaking her gently.

"Time to get up, doll. We've got a lead."

(Y/n) blearily looked around her, noticing she was still on the couch in Sharon's apartment. The main difference, though, was that daylight shone through the curtains, illuminating the once-dark room.

"Buck, what time is it?"

He sighed, knowing exactly where this was going. "It's morning. I know you needed it, so I let you sleep."

"Wait," she paused, a look of betrayal on her face. "Did you follow a lead without me?"

"(Y/n), sweetheart, liste-" he started, but was cut off.

"Don't "sweetheart" me, James. You told me you'd come to get me if you found out anything."

Sitting up abruptly, her hand shot to her temple, wincing at the sudden movement. Instinctively, Bucky lurched forward towards her, offering his help, only to have it batted away.

"I'm fine. Let's just go."

Before he could protest, she got up and started walking out of the room. Bucky had to force his eyes away from the way her hips swayed in the dress she still wore. Sighing, he got up off the couch and followed after her.

"You might want to change into something more comfortable!"

"Danya Madani. She's a refugee, yeah," Sam spoke, on the phone with Joaquin. "Okay. Call me if you get a hit. Thanks, Torres."

He plopped into the plane seat with a sigh. (Y/n) could tell all of this was starting to weigh on him.

"You okay?" She asked, eyeing Sam from where she sat, refusing to look where Bucky sat cleaning his arm.

Sam turned his gaze to the ceiling. "Just thinking about all the shit Sharon had to go through."

"Yeah," the woman whispered, thinking about what they all went through on the run.

Bucky and Sam continued the conversation, but (y/n) couldn't stop a particularly hard memory from resurfacing.

Germany, 2018

"How much?" (Y/n) asks in German, holding an apple at a local market. The bright fruits and smells of freshly baked bread brought her a sense of home she hadn't felt for a while. Her basket was full as she made her way back to her, Sam, and Steve's temporary apartment. After traveling around Europe, they finally came back to Germany for a short stint.

Unlocking the door, she threw her keys on the kitchen island before placing the basket on the counter and placing its contents in the cabinets.

"I got a good deal on some oranges. Sam, I know how much you love to make fresh squee-"

"(Y/n)," Steve interrupted softly, approaching her slowly. She was no telepath, but she could tell something was majorly wrong by his tone alone.

Tears involuntarily filled her eyes in anticipation. "What is it?"

"It's your sister, Sophia," he whispered, holding your arm gently. "She was in an accident. She didn't make it, (y/n). I'm so sorry."

She heard his words but they wouldn't register in her mind. Sophia? Accident? Didn't make it?

"What?" The woman croaked, feeling her heart clench as the words began to process in her mind.

"Sam got a call from a friend. She was hit by a drunk driver. It was instant."

Looking over his shoulder, she noticed sam for the first time. He was leaning against the doorway with a somber and sorrow-filled expression.

"She can't be gone," she paused, shaking her head. "She's supposed to graduate next month."

Just as the first sob escaped her lips, Steve pulled her into his arms, taking all her weight when her legs failed to hold her up.

"I'm so sorry, (y/n/n). I'm so sorry."

Sam was able to find out the date of Sophia's funeral, so they could at least watch from a distance. Although it was a hassle to get an inconspicuous flight back to the states, they were more than willing to do it for (y/n).

When the time came, the trio watched from afar with heavy hearts as the 18-year-old Sophia (y/l/n) was buried, her sister unable to grieve with the rest of their family. Being so close to her loved ones, (y/n) was tempted to run to them, pull them into a loving embrace, and talk about all the good times they had with their beloved Soph.

As soon as the service was over, Sam and Steve went to the car, leaving her to grieve alone. Even though she felt like crying and screaming at the world for taking her sister from her, all that poured out of her was a single tear.

(Y/n) was thankfully pulled from her memory when Bucky gently rubbed her knee, leaning forward in his chair.

"You alright, doll?"

Blinking, she realized a tear had leaked from her eye. She wiped it away quickly, clearing her throat. "Yeah. Just thinking."

He moved his hand to hold hers gently. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

Remembering she was upset at him, her emotions hardened and she pulled her hand from his. "Just how you lied to me, James."

"Please, (y/n/n)," he sighed "When will you believe me when I say I'm sorry?"

"When you include me, no matter what is happening, and regardless of how we feel about each other."

With a nod and a soft, "yeah," he leaned back into his chair just as Sam's phone began to vibrate.

(Y/n) was lucky she changed into some sweatpants and a t-shirt before they left, or she was sure he'd be able to see goosebumps that littered her skin from his touch.

"They found Madani," Sam announced mournfully. "Dead. She died in Riga, a city near the Baltic Sea."

An all too familiar accent made an appearance, "I have a place we can go. I, for one, am looking forward to coming face-to-face with Karli."

(Y/n) scoffed, recalling the damage Karli had done to her when they'd first met. The thought seemed to awaken the deep ache in her bones, especially her arm, in which she had not been following the doctor's orders and wearing a sling.

Sensing this, Bucky leaned forward again. "How're you feeling? Need any pain meds?"

Although she could've used some, the (y/h/c) shook her head. "I'm good."

She could tell he didn't fully believe her but didn't push the subject either.

"Ozenik," Zemo called. "We're changing the course."

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[archivist-crow]

On this day:

FOUR-DAY SLEEP WITH FIRE

On November 12, 1974, garment merchant Jack Angel pulled his motor home, which he had converted into a mobile showroom, into a hotel parking lot in Georgia and fell asleep for four days. Angel had been unable to get a room at the hotel and decided to stay in his vehicle on a sofa amid the racks of apparel. When he awoke, much of his body was covered with third-degree burns—on the inside of his skin. His legs and back were severely burned, a hole had erupted in his chest, and his right arm was blackened. The clothes he was wearing and the sheets he slept on were unaffected.

Unaware of any pain, Angel stumbled, in a trance-like state, from his motor home into the hotel lounge and had a Scotch. Suddenly feeling nauseous, he headed for the washrooms, only to pass out along the way. Next time he awoke it was in a hospital. Now the pain was excruciating, sweat began to pour off of him, and no reason for the occurrence was forthcoming. Frustrated, he transferred to a facility that specialized in burn injuries, but he was no closer to understanding the event.

Frantic for answers, he ordered the mobile home taken apart, right down to the wheel base, and searched for faulty wiring or other oddities. But everything proved in satisfactory condition. Nothing in the interior had been damaged in spite of the flammability of much of the material on board. In the end, Angel and investigators were left with the perplexing riddle of how he had gotten third-degree burns on much of the inside of the skin covering a large portion of his body, yet the hair on the outside of his skin had not been burned at all. Recuperation was quicker than normal.

Angel underwent hypnosis three times, trying to recapture the memory of what had happened during his sleep, but no answers ever presented themselves.

Text from: Almanac of the Infamous, the Incredible, and the Ignored by Juanita Rose Violini, published by Weiser Books, 2009

[starres-stuff]

FFXIV Writes 2023 | Day 12 | Dowdy

Dimitri accompanies his sister Viviane on a shopping trip to Ul'dah before a show she has coming up.

“I will never understand you Sister, You are a stunning woman but you seem to think oversized robes are the perfect style. They are shapeless!” It started with Viviane inviting him to go shopping in Ul’dah which of course he jumped upon. How could he not his favorite tailor was nestled within the City and he was dying to see what types of fabrics he had for his fall line.

“Oh now if you put a belt or tie something around your waist you can see the figure.” They were currently hunting for a few items Vi needed for a performance she was doing, and everything Dimitri had suggested was met with a crinkled nose and a look of annoyance that occasionally came with a roll of her eyes or a wave of her hand which he had learned to mean no.

“Viviane! It is bloody hot here, we are in the desert and you look like you just fell out of the Shroud in time to catch the Gridania Airship. For fucks sake you still have dirt under your nails from digging in the garden. You look, well not to be cruel but you look dowdy.” Immediately he recoiled after he said it, the guilt rising and his heart thudding in his chest as he waited to see if she would be offended.

“Oh hardly.” Viviane snorted “I make this look good. The Green compliments my hair and skin. The tie around my waist lets me efficiently hang things from it and I even put my makeup on like I always did. Why Dimitri darling I don’t even have a piece of hair out of place. Perhaps you are just jealous that you couldn’t make my shapeless wonder of a robe look as good as I do.”

There was a narrowing of his eyes then, and he went to open his mouth to reply then closed it with a snap. There was nothing worse than trying to debate with Viviane, that Ishgardian sensibility of hers could drive a man to drink, and it was not easy to get her riled up. Not to mention she was quite the fan of dry humor and could pick on herself without shedding a tear. In many ways even though she could not see it herself, she was rather well-adjusted.

“Chocobo got your tongue Brother?” Oh, now there was the smirk, as she moved from the rack of lingerie she had been flipping through to the next, her fingers flicking attractive metal hangers with little bows of different colors to the left as she continued her search for something she liked, even though she had already passed twenty or thirty different corseted designs that would have looked lovely on her hourglass figure, or so Dimitri thought.

“No.” He replied flatly as he looked up at the size key, noting the color of ribbon that she likely needed, then he proceeded to shove his hand into the rack and pull out three pieces without much thought that would look darling on her. “Here, try these. You are dead set on being conservative while preparing for a Burlesque Show, it is just not going to work, Vi.” he sighed softly and shook his head. How did he end up the more fashionable of the two of them? It was something he would never understand.

“Spinner save me.” He heard her murmur as she held up one piece and then the other, turning towards a mirror on the showroom floor and holding one of the black lace numbers up in front of her “Dimitri I am in a committed relationship, How in the name of the Twelve, am I supposed to wear this.” He had to suppress a laugh, her eyes were wide when he noticed her in the mirror and he had no doubt in his mind her hands were sweating as well.

“Viviane, you agreed to do this show. You used to be a stripper for fucks sake, and you will be mostly naked by the end of the song anyways. Why not put on something a little sexy? It’s not like the people in the audience can touch you! Besides, if Kovalt and Clement are in the audience wouldn’t it be amusing to see their faces?”

Once again her nose crinkled, and she jammed the three pieces back onto the rack and then pulled out a long gown that hid just about everything and had extra support for the chest sewn into it. “How about this? It is form-fitting!” She argued, “It is still sexy, it just doesn’t show my entire body as if I was hanging from a hook in the meat mark over on Sapphire!”

“Right, so you only have ONE thing to take off leaving you in nothing by the second line of the song. There is nothing attractive about that dress, it’s something I would give Penelope to wear to dinner with Leopold. He referred to his adoptive parents who were both sixty-five summers as of this cycle. “You are not that old! Goodness, all those years living with Aunt Doshaine did nothing for you.” Rounding the rack he tried again pulling out another black lace piece, this one with a long, sheer robe. “I would wear this one. It comes with garters, a pair of stockings, and a pair of stilettos you would look ravishing.

“I would look like I was going to sell..” Viviane’s hand went over her mouth before she could finish the rest of the sentence, her cheeks flushing at what she almost said which caused Dimitri to bark a laugh in her direction. “Oh, my dear sweet half-sister. How did someone so beautiful end up convinced that she should never show an inch of her skin outside of the privacy of her own home.” he reached out to pat the top of her head crushing several crimson curls under his palm. “You are not doing this as yourself” he scolded “You use a stage name, an alter-ego for a purpose. These people do not even know who you are. They know Mysteri L’etranger what would she wear.”

Viviane swallowed hard then shuffled towards the other side of the rack and picked up one of the first outfits he had thrown at her. “Mysteri would want to wear this.” She replied meekly, her cheeks flushing even more, it was a good thing that it was lunchtime and the store was mostly empty. “Careful with that name please and thank you.” she would add moments later as she gained a bit of confidence in herself “I prefer not to have the two sides meet if you understand what I’m saying hmm?”

From her hand, he stole the piece she was holding up, and to the counter, he rushed before she could yell after him to stop. In fact, by the time her little legs carried her to the front of the store he was already fishing out the correct amount of gil needed to purchase the outfit she had picked. “Now you have an outfit for your performance number.” He said as he jutted out the bag. “And since you’ll feel guilty if you do not wear something given to you as a present. It is a gift from a caring Brother to his silly Sister, who needs to see life through another set of eyes for a night.”

For a moment it looked like Vi was going to bite him, and if she did he certainly deserved it but eventually, she took the bag and peeked inside of it to marvel over the outfit that sat carefully folded between pieces of soft material so it wouldn’t end up ruined. “Thank you.” Her voice was quiet, and she sighed softly.

“I-” she trailed off then motioned him outside the store. Once they were both out there she would finish her thought. “I appreciate the help, I would never have purchased it. I would have found all of the reasons not to buy it and then would have wished that I did later when I was getting ready for the show.

“You know I could help you replace your entire wardrobe the same way.” He flashed her one of his award-winning smiles before he said “Look I know life hasn’t been easy for you, and you have been judged more than once for how you can be but they are gone, you know? All of those things don’t matter anymore Vi. You’ve got two guys who think you are pretty amazing. Close the door on those other people. All they did was shatter your confidence and sense of self.” He gave her a shrug and then motioned down the way.

“Want to hit the curry place? Get some lunch?” He quickly changed the subject knowing how much he hated talking about his past, and he certainly wasn’t going to put his sister through it. “Don’t suppose I could convince you to stop into that dress store over there so we could get you out of that thing you are wearing.” he motioned to her robes again and made a face about how frumpy they made her look.

“Oh to hells with you” Vi laughed looking down at her robes, the frayed threads hanging from the sleeves catching her eyes and a smile appearing as she saw them. “You won part of the debate Dimitri, Let's just go from there. If I end up going back to Noble Life I’ll let you commission the weaver and design some of the outfits if it will make you happy. I will need a much more modern wardrobe for that. For now, just let me be Aunt Doshaine for a little while longer hmm?”

Then off she trotted in the direction of the restaurant he had mentioned, the worn patches of the robe catching Dimitri’s eyes and causing him to pinch the bridge of his nose, though he did notice her clutching to the bag as if her future depended on it. “You’ll be alright someday Vi” he whispered “Between me and the guys, you will be alright.” Then after her, he dashed.

[blackacre13]

hi please continue the Notting hill au🥺🥺

15 is here: https://blackacre13.tumblr.com/post/692789693985718272/would-you-update-notting-hill-au-pleassee-tysm

Here's part 16:

She didn’t know what career she wanted. What interviews she should do. Did she need a stylist? Should she use a nutritionist?

She wanted to run away. She wanted things to be simple again. But she couldn’t. She wanted Lou. She wanted to run straight into her arms. This was simple. Choosing Lou was simple. But now everything was so vastly complex.

She had decided to clear her head. To try her hand at shopping as a distraction. A new date night outfit would do her some good. But that was how she learned she had a chauffeur. And that Lou had booked her private time at a selection of shops with pre-selected outfits. And that Linus liked to talk a lot. And help a little too much. And that wasn’t this showroom a bit hot and this dress material was a little thick.

Debbie blinked her eyes slowly—the sound of mechanical beeping filling the air and the weight of something on her shoulder.

She tried to take a deep breath, but her chest felt tight. Her forehead sweaty and her hands clammy as she clenched and unclenched them. The last thing she could remember was that swanky shop that she certainly didn’t belong in, but there she’d been. Ushered into a chair, handed a glass of champagne. An over eager shop assistant pushing out an overflowing clothing rack of expensive looking dresses and smart pantsuits. She remembered wondering if all of this was for her one date night outfit or if she was supposed to be picking out an entire new wardrobe from scratch?

There had been a try on of two or three dresses and Linus had been asking her some responses for canned questions that he could feed to reporters himself without having to bother her and the assistant has been zipping her into a plum colored sheath dress that wasn’t at all her and screamed legal conference more than it did dinner and suddenly she couldn’t breathe, and the zipper was too tight, and then—

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” a voice whispered, chuckling quietly.

Debbie let her eyes blink again, searching for the voice. Lou.

The blonde was leaning over her in a velvet suit, much like the one she’d worn on the day they’d met in Debbie’s bookshop, but this time it was blue. Debbie made a mental note to ask whether it was her or her stylist that had managed to find a shade of blue that matched Lou’s eyes exactly. On second guess, Debbie had a sinking feeling that 99% of Lou’s suits would be custom made and that any color was achievable. They’d probably whip her up a matching dress in the same shade if she just casually mentioned it to Linus.

“Debs?” Lou asked, her face drawn with concern as she peered down at Debbie. Debbie looked down at their interlocked hands and realized that she was gripping the life out of Lou’s, blotched with white spots from too much pressure, but Lou barely seemed to mind. The pressure on her arm turned out to be an IV. She floundered around looking at the room. It hardly seemed like any ER she’d ever stepped foot in. “Private suite,” Lou grimaced. “I told Linus you’d be pissed, but they didn’t want the tabloids saying anything and this was the only way we could sneak you in without calling attention to either one of us.”

“Lou,” Debbie breathed, lifting her other hand to stroke the blonde’s cheek.

“You ruined my joke.”

“Kiss me,” Debbie murmured, trying to pull at the other woman as Lou laughed, shaking her head.

“Watch that IV, Ocean,” she grinned. She leaned into Debbie’s space, meeting her lips halfway as she kissed her softly.

“What was the joke?” Debbie asked sleepily.

“That we have to stop meeting each other because one of us is on the ground,” Lou frowned. “Speaking of, is there a habit of you getting wasted on champagne and passing out in dressing rooms that I need to know about or is something going on?”

“Definitely not trying to make this a habit,” Debbie grunted, trying to sit up higher as Lou rushed to help her. “Fuck. Did I ruin your schedule?”

“You’re the only thing on my schedule,” Lou promised, adjusting her pillow before glancing at each of the machines with a look of concentration and then checking Debbie’s forehead with the back of her hand.

“We both know that’s a lie,” Debbie exhaled. “That Linus kid…he’s—he’s a lot. It’s all…a lot.”

“It was too much,” Lou shook her head, squatting next to the bed as Debbie gaped at her. Who the hell made themselves level in a hospital room by crouching in…her eyes scanned the floor for a second…rhinestone encrusted chunky heeled boots? “I threw it all at you all at once and I left you with a puppy to go over it with you. That should’ve been my job. We should’ve done it together. We will do it together. I promise.”

“It’s okay,” Debbie smiled, squeezing Lou’s hand. “I know you’re here for me. It’s just a lot to adjust to and it’s such a weird world. I mean, private wing in the hospital for fainting? I’m more of a smelling salt and a gatorade to heal at home on the couch kind of girl.”

“Linus may have overreacted.”

“Oh god, did he like—call an ambulance?” Debbie groaned. “I can’t even remember—“

“No,” Lou blushed. “But I didn’t help. I sort of tried to carry you here?”

“Lou,” Debbie laughed. “I’m in a private wing to not draw attention, but you tried to carry me here?”

“I wasn’t there for you. It’s my duty to—“

“Your duty?” The brunette raised her eyebrows. “Damn, you’re chivalrous, Miller.”

“Thank you, m’lady,” she grinned. “But luckily, my driver thought better of it, and after following me for a few blocks, helped us settle into the car and drove us here. I even allowed a nurse to escort you in a wheelchair instead of carrying you through the doors. See? Self control.”

“I think we need to evaluate what you deem normal and exercising self control, babe.”

“Just promise me, you won’t go disappearing on me like that. I’m worried about you. And I know it’s a lot. It is. But I can’t lose you. And I want you to be able to talk to me about these things, Deb.”

“I will,” she nodded. “Promise. Honesty. Key. I know. Which, please don’t be offended, but I never really picked out an outfit  and I don’t know if I can handle a whole restaurant or—“

“Honey, I’m already ahead of you,” Lou grinned, motioning to brown paper bags on the other side of the room. “The only decision you need to make right now is wonton or egg drop and egg roll or spring roll.”

[ceramiccity]

Minimalist Fashion Showroom Design

Everlane hq. Photo by carloschavarria - Modern minimalist fashion boutique interior with white decor, clothing racks, lounge area, and plants. Follow Ceramic City on Tumblr Source: https://research-lighting.tumblr.com/post/747769894654902272/everlane-hq-photo-by-carloschavarria-follow

[inun4ki]

i was thinking a bit about kaede's cleaning habits and his bedroom and what you might find inside it. he's never been the type to live in a messy environment willfully, but in this verse, he's allowed to cope poorly. so his room at his estate is messy.

blankets strewn about a bed that hasn't been made in months. stacks of old books with some seemingly permanently half-open or damaged by tea and coffee stains, others with unattended, fraying binding. sheafs of parchment and calligraphy brushes splayed across his desk, inky pawprint in trailing and erratic patterns going every whichway - also stained by spilt tea and coffee. some haphazard bundles of ancient bloody bandages hanging out of the waste bin, long forgotten and deliberately ignored. empty prescription bottles, a broken mug on the shelf, a collection of classic horror and romance movies beside strange and bizarre trinkets and knick-knacks. instructional diagrams on the shikabane clan's techniques that were hastily plastered to the wall when he was a teenager.

a collage of old photos secured to corkboard with broken thumbtacks, one of the pictures torn irreparably. his hamper, overflowing with forgotten laundry. all manners of weapons he sifts through before a mission either racked or sheathed, or resting in hazardous places around the room. boxes upon boxes of old reports, files, information. kimono and hakama thrown over the back of a chair, another he's been attempting to mend for months. dark blue curtains bunched over the windowsill, an open first-aid kit lying in the middle of the floor with bandages, gauze, antiseptic, and a needle and thread thrown on the lid. the tv remote is lost somewhere and there are more inky pawprints on the hardwood. his only mirror is broken and hidden under a sheet he once used as a ghost costume. a freshly emptied ash tray on his nightstand next to two packs of cigarettes, one with a smudge of blood on its film where the other is untouched, and no lighter to be found (likely borrowed by aoi).

he has a rather large bedroom. in fact, he has too much space, so he subconsciously dumps all of his crap into it to make it seem less empty. he doesn't know how to use the space as anything but a place to hide and nest in - but not comfortably. it's why so much of his room is in disarray verus simply being a room that's lived-in, why he can't bring himself to clean up and put things away. the mess becomes overwhelming, too much to bear, and he largely ignores it for as long as he can. his room is just as big a mess as his head, sort of serving as another tangible manifestation of his mental health and how he's been treated by his family - depressed and utterly, completely neglected.

with all of that said, kaede is an almost obsessively cleanly person when not in a poor state of mind. most times he's home, he prefers to keep his room in that sort of ' no one lives here ' condition, so he'll usually clean up and organize during his down time. it has to look and feel as if he hadn't been there at all, ever. his room is just a fancy guest room with some personal knick-knacks included to make it seem homey. a glorified showroom, like the estate will be sold off tomorrow. which means his collection of books is where it ought to be, all neatly settled in alphabetical order on his bookshelf, that all his laundry is done and put away, his tools and weapons are categorized and racked, and the list goes on. clean, with everything in its proper place.

in the event he stays elsewhere, like a hotel or a friend/ally's home, he is meticulous and tries to minimize his presence to the utmost so as not to be a bad guest. he will not leave anything behind, not even a hair. blankets will be neatly folded and set aside, any wrinkles smoothed, dust and dirt swept away... real ' no one was here ' about it in the same way he is about the estate.