#summer lewks

[candidcouture]

the power of blue eyeshadow 🩵

[clarkgriffon]

Buffy Summers + Outfits (1/∞)

[heather--moors]

like it's my birthday everyday

[moonbunnie7]

🎀☠️

[grooviestguru]

hc that andrew is definitely the type who wears sweatshirts with the sleeves hacked off 

[brettesims]

New Podcast Ep. + Look of the Week

WHAT I’M WEARING:

Sweatshirt: Sugarhighlovestoned

Shorts: Vintage

Muse: BretteSims.com

[scare-ard--sleigh]

unaltered, this dress goes past the knee but i think she needs to be shorter

[jeonqkooks]

Obs jk, what if oc raised her daughter but she knows Tae as the dad?

"Wow, that would feel like a proper punch in the gut, wouldn't it? I don't think me and Tae could've stayed friends if that actually happened."

obs hours ~ !

[angelcrane]

[mod-doodles]

Forcing everyone to watch Club Renaissance because it’s important

RENAISSANCE WORLD TOUR 🪩

[thesaurus]

// okay so I need to buy a new dishwasher!

// I didn't realize how much of my mental health really hung on "at least my bagillion glasses (which I somehow use every single day for all my emotional support beverages) and few bowls are always clean!"

// but that's not currently the reality

// and unfortunately I am going to buy these $$$ heart-shaped sunglasses

// and, like, a tennis-ball green silk midi dress

// instead

// and the Adult Purchase is going to have to wait until the next paycheck

// ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

// anyways it's a rainy gross Sunday and I'm going to get dressed in all denim (my interpretation of the canadian tuxedo for te f1 today is a fun dress and either one of my denim jackets, or one of my denim shirts)

// and then go get day drunk

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

“Mom, we should get going,” you say as you check your bag.

Your mother sits at the table. It’s cluttered as always. You can see her inhaler amid the mess. Wait, there’s another one. You cross the kitchen, only two steps, and grab both inhalers. You feel the subtle difference between them.

You take both, putting the full one back in the medicine cabinet and the other in the disposal bin. The doctor said the inhalent would help with your mother’s dopamine levels, balances her out a little, but the new treatment only seems to be another symptom of her disease. She hates doing it, she hates all of it, but you can’t blame her for that.

“We can’t be late for the consultation. We’ll be waiting another six months,” you come back to the kitchen.

She looks at you as she wobbles slightly. The tremor is more prominent than before. Each day you notice it more. All the little things changing about her. She’s a bit slower, her words don’t come easy or always clearly, and her mood grows grimmer and grimmer. So does yours.

You grab your purse and the keys. You’ll clean up when you get home. It doesn’t take very long for living to pile up though. Especially when you’re the only one to keep it in order.

Your mother grips the table and stands up. Getting her dressed was a battle already won. Her posture is slightly crooked as she shuffles around the table, “I’m moving.”

You step back, waiting patiently for her to round the table. She grumbles. Your mother was never bright and bubbly but ever since her diagnosis, she’s lost any glimmer of warmth. It’s like she’s living in a fog, just slowly wading through.

You walk down the hall ahead of her and pick out your shoes from the rack. As you kneel to tie your sneakers, she leans on the wall and slides her feet into the orthotic flats. She’s not very old yet. Neither of you expected her to decline so quickly.

You stand and open the door. You back up though the screen door and hold it for her. Her steps get a bit smoother the more she moves around. The permanent scowl sinks into the lines of her face as she comes out onto the porch. You lock the door behind her as she grunts and leans on the railing, stamping down each step to the walkway.

You follow behind her. That’s another problem. The lawn. The old mower broke. You haven’t been able to replace it.

As you trail your mother to the car, she swats you away. Sometimes you try too much for her. You know she must feel helpless. You back up as she sits heavily in the passenger seat and your eyes skim around the neighbourhood. The white sign on the lawn next to yours catches your eye.

You remember the finely dressed woman, her very image on the sign, and how she grimaced at the weeds and grass. If she’s going to sell the property, the neighbours shouldn’t be living in a jungle. You heard her say as much over the phone as she paced back and forth on the porch.

You mother pulls the door shut but it doesn’t click. You give it an extra push to secure it and round the hood. You get in the car and turn the key, rolling down the windows as the early summer morning crowds the tight space. Your mother mutters and wipes her forehead with a shaky hand.

“Let’s just go,” she sneers, “waste of my time...” she bends her arm over the open window, her fingers quivering, “damn doctors said it enough. Nothing they can do. Charlatans.”

“Mom,” you chide gently, “the surgery could help. If you qualify--”

“I heard ya last night,” she snaps. “Just drive.”

You nod and snap your mouth shut. You shift into reverse and back out of the drive. You know better than to talk too much. Your mother never liked hearing anything she didn’t want to hear. Facts are just an attack on her.

You steer down the street slowly, following the curve of the suburban street. The green lawns and white picket fences are palatial at first glance. It’s a 1950s fever dream implanted in the twenty-first century.

Your house is the black stain on an otherwise pristine canvas. The HOA must curse your grandmother for her leaving a perfectly nice home to a pair of beatnicks. You don’t blame them. You’re the puzzle piece that doesn’t fit, leaving a gaping hole in the picture.

The radio crackles on and you wince. Your mother struggles to turn the knob and the volume pendulums up and down. You reach to help her and she smacks your hand, only softly as she has little strength behind it. You retract and grip the wheel, listening to buzzing struggle of her unsteady. You just hope the appointment goes well.

🏠

Your mother hasn’t said much since the appointment. That worries you. What should be good news is just another dark cloud over her.

She sits as she often does; half-reclined in the chair by the window, watching the neighbourhood just outside the pane. She’s just a resentful of the picture-perfect neighbours as she if of everything else. As she is of you.

You tidy the kitchen table as the unsaid dangles in the air. You know better than to bring it up. She barely acknowledged it when the doctor said it. She’s a good candidate for surgery but it isn’t a cure. It will help with the symptoms but not stop them altogether. It’s not good enough for her but it might just be her only hope of relief, even if temporary.

“Bring me a coke,” your mother calls through and you hear the hollow tin clatter of an empty can.

You bring the dirty dishes to the sink and set them beside it. You go to the fridge to grab a red branded can and let the door shut on its own. As you enter the living room, your mother sits forward, the recliner snapping forward with her weight. She leans on and elbow as she squints through the window and cranes over the armrest.

You pick up the old can and put the new one on the small table by the chair. She sits back and takes the Coke, trembling as she struggles to crack the tab. You know better than to help her. The curl in her lip warns you better.

“Someone’s looking at the place next door,” she says.

“Oh?” You move behind her chair and try to the next house. You can only really see the edge of the porch from here. You could open the side window but that would give more than a view of the siding and might be too obvious. “New neighbours.”

“Eh, if it sells. Could do better without these stuck-up prissy bitches running around measuring grass,” she growls of the Home Owners’ Association.

You nod. She’s right. You’ve had to deal with that nosy blonde too many times.

“We’ll see,” she mutters as she finally gets the can open and slurps. “Just hope it’s not another bitch.”

You cross your arms and step closer to the window. You sense movement just beyond your vision and the realtor in her pantsuit comes down the front steps of the neighbouring house. She turns back to face someone you can’t see and speaks to him. Their words are garbled by the barrier of window and wall.

The woman smiles and spins to strut down to the sidewalk. A man follows after, a slow stroll in his long legs. He turns to face the house again and puts his hands in his pockets as he looks up at the facade. His eyes narrow as he considers it.

His gray hair is streaked with remnants of its former blond. If it wasn’t for the colour of his locks, you might not have guessed his age. He’s tall and his shoulders are broad. He’s built finely for any era.

Your mother leans forward again, “heh, lookie there,” she slurs.

She leers through the window as you stare blankly out. A new neighbour just means another person to complain about the lawn; or another person for your mother to complain about. The man pivots on his sole and pauses, his gaze set in your direction. You don’t think he can see you, not with how the sun reflects off the square panes. He stalls for just a moment before he turns complete, striding up towards the realtor.

You back up and retreat toward the kitchen. You mother hums as she continues to snoop through the window. The recliner squeaks beneath her as she shifts in the seat.

“Bit old for a family man,” she tuts.

[d-criss-news]

juliamat: One year ago today we were kicking off our CAMP DRULIA wedding weekend, and I can taste the s’mores and giggles like it was yesterday🥲🏕️. Here are some moments from the Friday night talent show hosted by @ sydawg and @ joelwaggoner - two of my hilarious and dearest pals who had never met, yet managed to coordinate matching bedazzled denim lewks and host the most joyful and insane show full of surprises and love and happy tears. There were songs, stories, magic tricks, two performances of the court scene from My Cousin Vinny, our families surprising us with an original group poem, college memories, singalongs, prizes, and so much more— in these slides you will see 1) Joel and Sydney performing their meticulously rehearsed Hot Honey Rag 2) DRULIA performed by @ darrencriss @ miavoncriss @ philipsparkle @ iamreedcampbell 3) Joel and myself improvising what we thought might be the title song of Sondheim’s “Here We Are” without knowing anything about it 4) @ sarabareilles gifting us with the most beautiful rendition of “Can’t Help Falling In Love” that Drew and I will weep about for the rest of our lives. The night ended with everyone rushing the stage and scream-singing Wonderwall because what better way to end the show than to say “anyway, here’s wonderwall—“, and I could not sleep that night because I had pure joy shooting out of my heart and eyeballs. Hey @ drewgehling I’m really glad we got married and I think we should find more excuses to go to summer camp with our friends. Happy Anniversary tomorrow ❤️ 9•15•23 📸 @ karenobrist @ thesistersofcedarlakes @ mrjasonmitchell

[most-datable-datable-bracket]

BONUS POLL 3

Anti propaganda warning under the cut

V anti propaganda:

"- This man is so undatable, he's barely present in his own route or after end.

- The martyr complex this dude has is legitimately arrogant, taking blame for something you don't have control over isn't noble, it's just self-sabotaging. Taking blame for shit you do have control over and CHOOSING to change nothing makes the apology worthless. 🙃

-How does a man this rich have the balls to be so dumb? Bro, your bestie is also rich af and was gifted a fuckin island as a kid, why didn't you take the abused little ginger boys there for safety instead of shuffling one into a shady agency and the other to your increasingly unhinged gf who is waist-deep in setting up her cult?? Jumin would have had his back and V didn't even give him the chance to prove it!!

- This man chose to pursue a relationship with a woman who is mentally unstable and let himself become her whole world bc he felt guilty for treating his own disabled mother poorly. When you boil it down, this man chose a woman as a project and proposed to her within months instead of getting therapy for himself. 🫠

- V also lied to his and said gf's friends and family, telling them she committed suicide instead of turning her into the police for starting a cult, leading to the severe depression of her younger cousin and allowing her to continue drugging and brainwashing one of the twins he smuggled along with possibly hundreds of other people.

- When confronted over this, he still resists turning Rika into the police. For contrast, the younger cousin who idolized her immediately restrained her, stopped her from slipping party guests drugged wine and got the police on her. He is a 28 year old man and left the task to her 21 year old cousin who has had the emotional whiplash of finding out that not only was he right about V lying, but Rika is alive, AND she is very mentally unwell and has committed some major crimes.

- V is also mentally unstable af. In other routes, not just bad ends, he also returns to HELP HIS GF DO CULT SHIT.

- This is just subjective, but this wet mop of a man is also boring as shit which is why Cheritz kept him mostly vague and stuck to the background. If you want the fucked up relationship dynamics, just get one of the bad ends with Rika tbh, she at least serves lewks with her brand of crazy cunt.

- in short, you will never be in an equal partnership with this man and he won't be held accountable. The one time he tried, he said some pretty obviously triggering things to the crazy gf and got stabbed. He did not have the foresight to come with backup, announce where he would be, etc. He lived only because the gf that stabbed him calls you to come help him while she's still spiraling out of control.

I say this with full respect to the V fans, who are well aware that this man is an absolute mess and needs so much therapy before he's anywhere in the realm of salvaging his friendships, much less being dateable."

Baxter anti propaganda:

"baxter ward has a summer fling with you, which is fine because you agree to date only for the summer. however, when the time comes to break up, he does so in like the most brutal fashion possible. there was no need to be that much of a dick about it. he then proceeds to ghost you for five years.

five years later, when you meet once again, he opts to ignore you at best and continue being a dick at worst for the first half of step 4. there's no reason anyone should desire to get back together with the man. he needs therapy, not a partner."

[lizpaige]

i have hcs for you.

1. adam likes reading novels for fun (more realistically he discovers this after his life has calmed down a bit i guess)

2. the idea of ronan wearing nothing but black tank tops and jeans for the rest of his life makes me physically ill, so i like to believe shortly post canon he expands his wardrobe and everyone is obviously very normal about it (thinking of gansey’s inner monologuing about ronan in a suit in the deleted trk scene)

3. adam has a Rolodex

thank you ✌🏻

1. YES i bet it starts the summer at the barns going thru the books there maybe reading while ronans off doing chores and adams not about joining him or whatever but i could also see him being a little matilda going to the library and taking out books to escape his life a bit when he’s younger

2. bahaha yessss 👏👏👏 i would love to hear more about ronan trying to find his own fashion lewks. i feel like it just be variations of the same tank/jeans/boots combo but now with added tshirts, sweatshirts, etc all black ofc maybe one gray shirt 🫣

3. yeah i could see this and i could see him still updating it even when he gets a cell phone as like a backup 🙃

thank you for sharingggggg 💕

[seulgisun]

summer lewks (we outside)

cc creds: @magbay @yekkiz @lam-z @b0t0xbrat @charonlee @kikovanitysimmer @tina-sims @eunosims

wcifs open 🫣