#than whatever the brown leather combo was

[saessenach]

"No,” Jon Snow said quietly. “It was not courage. This one was dead of fear. You could see it in his eyes, Stark.” Jon’s eyes were a grey so dark they seemed almost black, but there was little they did not see. He was of an age with Robb, but they did not look alike. Jon was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and quick where his half brother was strong and fast.

Robb was not impressed. “The Others take his eyes,” he swore.

Jon and Robb in AGOT | Bran I

EDIT | finished piece here

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Nobody Important

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> When you first meet Logan you tell him you’re nobody important. But it soon becomes clear you are a lot more important than you say. 

Disclaimer: Contains descriptions of nightmares, couple of swear words, being drugged (nothing bad, just some chamomile tea). Mostly fluff moments with a hint of angst. I watched X-Men and wanted to write something for him. Reader has powers though they're not specified fully. Not Proof Read.

When Charles told Logan someone was going to pick him up from the airport, the last person he expected was, well, you. 

Compared to the pristine and fancy cars that were held at the school garage, you pulled up in a beat up old station wagon that looked like it had seen more than a couple of scratches in its time. And you weren’t dressed…like the rest of them. 

Rather than in some kind of pant-suit combo, you were wearing a long sleeve t-shirt, jeans, boots and a heavy brown leather overcoat. 

“Hey, sorry I’m late. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.” You began immediately as you stepped out onto the curb and rushed towards him. “I was at the back of the forest collecting some berries and lost track of time. Shall we get going?”

Logan looked you over. You seemed a lot more…energetic than he was. 

“Who are you?”

“Professor X sent me. To collect you. You are Logan, aren’t you?”

“That depends. Who are you?”

“Your ride to the school, unless you plan on walking for two hours in the freezing cold.”

Logan grunted and threw his bag into the backseat. You still hadn’t answered his question but the licence plate of your car matched that of the one Charles had told him to look out for. 

However, fifteen minutes into the drive, Logan asked once more. “Who are you?”

You smiled and looked at him for a moment before moving your gaze back to the road ahead. “Nobody important.”

“Okay, fine. What are you?”

You smiled again. “Nothing you need to be concerned about.”

“Alright, listen bub-”

“Logan, whatever information about me you think you’re gonna have me tell you; it’s not gonna happen. I work with Charles and that’s all you need to know.”

Logan furrowed his brows. “So you’re a telepath? Like him?”

“You don’t need to concern yourself with what or even who I am. But,” you reached down and pulled a file from the driver's side door before turning it over on the steering wheel and handed it over to him. “You should concern yourself about this.”

Logan took it, a little confused, and opened it up. 

“He wants you to know what you’re walking into when we get back.”

After that, the rest of the drive was silent save for one question from Logan, only to have you reply with; 

“All the answers you’re looking for are either in there or are with the Professor.”

He didn’t bother asking you another question after that. Not that you would have answered it anyway. 

Once you finally did pull up to the school, it seemed you were beside him one minute and went the next into some unknown corner of the school because he didn’t see you after that. 

But he still had questions. 

Unanswered questions. 

Like who the hell were you? 

A week later, he still didn’t have his answers. But he did run into you again. 

In the kitchens. 

The entire place was a lot messier than the communal kitchen. It looked like some mix between a witches cottage and a mess hall in a school cafeteria. But it didn't smell as bad. 

Instead it smelt of cinnamon, oranges, rosemary and cookies. 

And somehow

It was relaxing to him. 

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Logan looked up to find you standing at the other end of the kitchen, a bowl under one arm and a spoon in the other. Flour was dusted across your face and your hands were splotched with food colouring stains. Which matched the batch of rainbow coloured cookies behind you. 

“Err, no. I was just-”

“Here, sit. I’ll make you some tea.”

“I don’t really drink..tea.” 

Logan was still taking in the room. Every time he looked back to a spot, he found a new detail to it. Extra herbs, or ingredients, or even flowers. 

You smiled, placing down the bowl and spoon before moving across the kitchen to the simmering pot on the stove. 

“Here, try this.”

“Oh, I, uh-”

“Just drink it.” You sighed a little, with a light smile. Nobody would have to meet Logan to know he wasn’t a tea drinker. But he was also polite enough to accept a drink. 

And he did. 

“Is this where you work?”

You nodded, going back to the fresh batch of cookies you needed to start scooping out. 

“Do you usually work this late past midnight?”

You chuckled a little to yourself. “Sometimes. Mostly it’s because I think of a new recipe and want to try it out when no-one's gonna disturb me.”

“Am I disturbing you?”

“No. Plus, I heard you coming down the stairs. Figured it wouldn’t be long before you found another night owl.”

Logan grunted with a soft chuckle. “I don’t think it’s intentional being a night owl.”

You shrugged. “We all have our reasons.”

Logan nodded and took another gulp of his tea. If he thought he felt relaxed when he walked into the kitchen, he didn’t have a word for what he was feeling after the tea. 

“Hey, what’s in this tea?”

“Not much. Chamomile mostly.”

Logan nodded. But then something shifted. He was getting drowsy. Not relaxed. Not sleepy. Drowsy. 

“Hey, what did you put in this?”

Logan went to stand and repeat his question, but he was out like a light before he could finish. 

Logan, for the first time…ever, woke up slowly. From the light that came flooding in through his window, to slowly turning over and feeling the bones in his body crack just right to allow his joints to feel at ease, to not thinking a thing as his brain slowly turned back into gear. 

Then he jerked up. 

With a grunt, he looked around him. 

He was in his room. 

The last thing he could remember was your tea and the kitchen. 

Flinging the covers from him, he tore his way out of his room and down the hallways until he finally reached his destination. 

The Professor’s office. 

Walking inside, he found the situation entirely too calm. 

“Ah, good morning Logan. Glad to see you’re finally awake.”

“What the hell happened?” 

“You fell asleep. Y/n helped put you to bed before you collapsed on her kitchen floor.”

Logan turned at that moment to find you sat on the sofa by the window inside the office. 

“You.” Logan practically snarled. “You did something. What did you do?”

Logan approached you but where anyone else would have flinched, you didn’t. In fact, all you did was sit back further and smile up at him. 

“She didn’t do anything, Logan. You needed to sleep.”

Logan turned and looked at the Professor. “Don’t mean I have to be drugged.”

Then you stood. “It was just a little tea, Logan. The more exhausted you are, the faster and harder it works. But now you look more rested. Your skin looks less like you’ve been thrown into a washing machine for a couple spins.”

“Are you always this blunt?”

You smiled. “It’s part of my charm.”

“Ain’t nothing charming about this conversation, doll.”

“Really? Because I’m finding this thrilling.”

Professor X smiled. “Okay, that’s enough, you two.”

“She started it!”

You just smiled again. “You’re welcome. If you ever need more tea, you know where to find me.”

With a pat to his arm, you walked past him and said your goodbyes to the professor before heading for the door. 

“Don’t worry about it, you can keep your tea.”

“Have to admit, though. I did help.”

Internally, reluctantly, he did have to. Because despite everything, it was one of the best nights of sleep he’d ever had. 

Another week rolled by and despite Logan doing everything he could to avoid the woman that he still considered had drugged him to sleep, he seemed to see more of you. 

Turns out, you taught cooking and baking classes to the students so they could at least make themselves a decent meal every once in a while instead of quick ramen noodles. And you also taught outdoor survival skills which Xavier had Logan help sub in with. 

But this also meant, much to his chagrin, Logan was actually starting to like you. 

Rather than wanting to storm off in the other direction, he wasn’t annoyed by your presence in the room anymore and you definitely had a way with teaching a group of rowdy teenagers who would rather do anything other than learn normal “camp” things. 

It was actually entertaining watching you teach your students. And even he learnt a thing or two.

Another week passed and Logan found himself back in your kitchen, sitting at the kitchen island, watching you as you lent one palm on the counter top, a pencil between your teeth and two pens behind one of your ears. 

“Want some tea?” You asked him after a few minutes of content silence. 

“Are you going to drug me again?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s store bought, Logan. I just added a couple extra things.”

“Really, like what?”

Sighing, with a slight smirk, you turned around and pulled the box of tea from the cabinet before throwing it at Logan from over your shoulder. “Read it. It tells you what to add.”

“They actually sell this stuff?”

You turned back to your messy notebook with a smile. “It helps when your grandmother worked in the tea business for forty years. All the tricks of the trade, passed down through generations.”

Logan watched you work- no, dance around the kitchen. You didn’t even have to look at what you were doing and before he knew it, there was another tea in front of him, in a glass mug with hand-painted roasting logs on it. 

Logan looked at it for a moment and then you spoke up, without looking in his direction. “Being a night owl means different hobbies can be created. Glass painting was one of them.”

Logan shrugged with a nod before drinking his tea. The effects weren’t as quick or as “violent” as the first time. Instead, it was calming, then relaxing, then just plain and simple tiredness. 

“Go to bed, Logan. Before you crash into my floor again.”

“How did you get me to bed the last time? I’m not exactly all flesh and blood.”

You shrugged. “I’m stronger than I might look to you. But, go to bed, Logan.”

“Will you?”

“Will I do what?”

“Go to bed, too?”

You turned and faced him. “Soon. I want to finish this up first.”

“What are you even doing?”

“New recipe. I shouldn’t be long. Look, I promise. Twenty minutes, I’ll be in my bed, fast asleep.”

Logan raised his brow for a moment but then stood. If he waited any longer, he might actually crash onto the floor again. 

“Okay, fine.”

And you stuck to your word. Logan heard your footsteps coming up the stairs less than ten minutes later and after that…he didn’t remember much other than just complete calmness and sleep. 

The next couple of nights followed the same pattern. And even if he still wasn’t a tea drinker, Logan was growing a (small) taste for it. 

Until one night he walked in and found you stood in the corner, changing your t-shirt. 

You already wore a cami top underneath most of your t-shirts anyway – especially in the kitchen, but your first one had gotten too messy. So you were safe when changing. Except, you hadn’t expected Logan to walk in when he did. 

He paused for a minute by the door, a little apprehensive to make himself known but also trying to do so, so it wouldn’t seem like he was just watching you change your top t-shirt. But at the same time, he didn’t want you to know he was standing there because he could finally look at you. 

More so, when he saw your shoulder. 

From your left shoulder spread and faded over the top and to your right, a mark similar to a burn. The skin was scarred, yet healed over. A forgotten memory. The strap of your top cut through the larger scar that ran directly across the middle of the scarred skin, almost in a wave. Parts were redder than others but you didn’t seem to be in pain as you pulled the t-shirt over the top of your head and down your body, covering it back up. 

Logan coughed as he entered and you turned around, greeting him as you did every night. 

“New recipe?”

You nodded, looking at the messy t-shirt in your hand. “Yeah, it didn't go over too well with the mixer.”

“Better luck next time.”

And then you both just…talked. 

You were slowly telling him a little more about yourself each night, even if you didn’t know it yet. 

“I just remember being thrown into the wall and waking up like an hour later, completely covered in green brownie batter.”

You both laughed as you told him the story, but then he asked. 

“Is that where the scar is from? On your back?”

It was almost as if you had forgotten about it, having to take a moment to realise what he was talking about.

“Oh, that. No, that…that’s nothing important.”

Logan knew to drop his line of questioning. If you said it was nothing important, then there was no way of getting you to talk about it. 

Until the day he found you napping on the sofa. 

Everyone was outside for the day considering it was winter break and fresh snow had finally fallen on the ground. Except, you had opted to stay inside, and fell asleep on one of the central sofas in one of the quieter communal areas. 

The large windows let a lot of natural light flood in, and the fire that was crackling away in the fireplace was enough to heat the room, especially when the door was closed. 

And it wasn’t long before the quiet hum of the fire and odd crackle of the wood, mixed with the heat and your lack of sleep, overtook you and you fell asleep. You didn’t even wake when your book dropped from your hand and onto the floor. 

“Hey, Y/n, they’re all-”

Logan stopped in his tracks when he saw you. 

Fast asleep. 

He was careful to remain quiet as he walked over to you, cutting between you and the coffee table to pick up your fallen book and place it safely onto the table, where he sat on the edge and took a minute to just…memorise you. 

Since he met you, you had done nothing but be moving. All the time. From the crack of dawn to nightfall, you were constantly going and running and teaching and baking and doing and…hell, for all he knew, you could be something other than mutant or human – even those two needed sleep at some point. 

Hell, even he needed sleep. 

But you were just constantly forever going. 

Lay on your left side, your elbow tucked under your head, you were lightly snoring. Logan brushed the stray hairs that had fallen in front of your face, away, his hand rested on your cheek for a moment, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone for a second. 

You were fast asleep. 

Your worn Beatles band-tee was twisted slightly around your middle, whilst the waist of your jeans had twisted in the opposite direction a little, leaving a small gap that showed Logan the redness from the indent marks of where you had been lay, probably, on your other hip for a while. 

Logan thought about covering you up, and leaving you where you were, for a moment. But he also knew you could be like him when it came to sleep. And it was best to get it when you could. So, rather than chance the kids coming back in and waking you up, he made a decision. 

You flinched a little in your sleep as he spoke to you and lifted you from the sofa. It wasn’t long before he found your room and laid you into bed before covering you up. 

Once more, he brushed the hair from your eyes as you turned onto your side again. 

He looked around for a moment before finding what he was looking for. 

A heavy blanket. 

He lay it over the top of your bedcovers and you, before moving across the room to light the fireplace. 

Only, as he did so and placed the fireguard in front, you whimpered. 

He turned around but you were still. 

Then you whimpered again. 

“No,” you whispered. 

Logan moved over to you quickly and quietly as he could. You fell silent again. 

He let out a small breath and covered you up a little more before leaning down. He didn’t know why, but he pressed a small kiss to your temple before walking away. 

Except you reached out for his hand. 

Logan looked down at his hand that was connected with yours, then to you. You were still asleep. 

But it didn’t look like it was a good dream. 

You were shaking. Your entire body seemed to be paralysed with fear, all the while you were mumbling words Logan just couldn’t quite make out. 

Then the glass of water by your bed started shaking. Then the table it was on. Then your bed. Then the floor. Whatever was happening to you was spreading throughout your room. 

A picture that had been hanging on the wall outside, fell to the floor. 

Quickly turning back to you, Logan took hold of your shoulder. He kept calling your name but it was like you couldn’t hear him. 

“Please…please don’t hurt them. Please.” You screamed and then grunted in pain. Whatever was happening in your nightmare, you were being hurt. Badly. 

“Hey, Y/N! Hey, you’re okay! You’re safe! You’re in New York. You’re at school! It’s not real, Y/N. None of it is real.”

Your head shifted. You were searching. 

“I’m right here. None of it is real. You need to wake up.”

“L…Logan?” 

The violent shaking in your room slowed for a moment.

He was shocked. Maybe…

“Just follow my voice. It’s just a nightmare. I can’t get into your head and bring you out. Just…follow my voice.”

The shaking around your room gradually slowed, but you still were. Then your eyes opened. 

And glowed. 

They were still your eyes just…brighter. 

“Logan?!”

He had stopped speaking. You were panicking. 

“It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m right here.” Logan took hold of your hand and held it tighter. “You’re safe.”

The shaking slowed and your eyes closed again. 

Then everything stopped. 

Everything went silent. 

Logan looked at the glass of water beside your bed. It was like it had never moved. 

Then you gasped and shot up from your bed. You kicked your legs and brought your hands behind you to push yourself up and the covers from you. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey, hey, Y/n. Hey,” 

You were gasping for breath, dizzy from your nightmare. 

“Hey, it’s me. Whoa. Hey, look at me. It’s Logan.”

He took you by your shoulders then your face. 

“It’s Logan.”

You finally calmed a little, and he watched your eyes search his entire face until you finally recognised him. 

“Logan,” you breathed. 

“Yeah…”

Your shoulders relaxed and you leaned closer to him, wrapping your arms around him. His hand held the back of your head and his other round your back, pressing you further into him. He could still feel your body trembling. 

“What happened?”

“You had a nightmare.” Logan told you. “The room started shaking and I tried waking you up.”

You took a couple of breaths before moving back and pushed the hair from your face and curled your legs up closer to your chest. 

Logan, sat beside them, placed one of his hands on your knee and the other in your right hand. 

“What happened?”

You shook your head. “Nothing-”

“The entire room started shaking and your eyes glowed. That’s not ‘nothing important’, Y/n.”

You swallowed and nodded your head before dropping your gaze and shifting until you were sat up, crossed-legged. 

Logan remained where he was, sat on the edge of your bed. 

“Before I worked as a teacher and cook here, I was one of them.” The last four words came out slowly, almost like you had to convince yourself you were saying them out loud. “I was an X-Man. I was a part of the team.”

“So what happened?”

“The usual. A mission gone wrong.”

“And that’s what the nightmares…”

You nodded. “It was the mission that made me retire. They needed me to do a job, and I couldn’t do it. There were kids, mutants, being held captive. Some rich dick thought he could duplicate mutants. As the team went it, I was meant to be holding ground outside, helping them find their way through. Only, I didn’t shut off my power. We knew they had someone who could detect me if I didn’t. I got so focused on trying to find the kids, trying to make sure the team got to them that the team almost…”

You paused for a minute. You hadn’t told anyone this story. Ever. 

Logan took your hand. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”

You let Logan’s touch soak into your skin. A memory you’d never forget yet never truly remember why you never would forget. 

“They almost died, Logan.” You looked at him and he could see the tears behind your eyes, threatening to come forward and fall again. “Everyone almost died, because I didn’t shut it down. You asked about the scar, the one on my back?”

Logan nodded. He didn’t like where this was going. 

“It’s from that day. One of their scientists had set off some kind of power..thing. Sent me flying blocks away from where I was supposed to be. I crash landed into some old wooden panelling which knocked me down. But once I got up…their Superhuman had found me.”

“Was he the one that-”

You nodded, remembering it as if it was yesterday. “I was thrown, this time on my front. I tried to get up but then all I felt was pure fire. He was burning me. Giving me a reminder of why ‘someone like me, born with the powers of gods’ shouldn’t have them when I was clearly so ‘weak’. By the time he stopped, I realised where he was going. And by the time I got up, everything just…blew up.”

“Y/n, everyone’s safe. You’re all here. Don’t you teach some of those kids?”

You nodded. “Doesn’t mean I don’t forget that feeling. One of the kids had been watching the guards, tracking their materials to find a way out. If they hadn't done that…they wouldn’t have gotten out, Logan. And they almost didn’t. All because I couldn’t fight. I can’t be the reason why I lose my family and the people I love.”

The tears came forward now, streaming down your face at an unstoppable speed. 

“I just can’t.”

Logan shook his head, pushing himself closer to you to hold you. And you let him. Leaning into him, you felt his arms grow tighter around your body. There was a small security in his arms, one that you hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“None of that was your fault.” Logan told you. “I know you and I know this team. You would never intentionally hurt people. And forgetting to turn your powers off? We’ve all made mistakes in moments like that. Sometimes you get so focused on one person, you tend to lose all sense of self. But none of that was your fault. They got out. They’re all here. They’re all alive. And rich dick is spending his life as dust in the fucking wind.”

“Believe me, I’ll be the first to tell you changing your feelings on something won’t stop the nightmares.” Logan continued. “But you need to find a way to let it go. Don’t let them control you. Not when you won. Not when you’re here, with everyone, able to drug me with some store bought tea.”

You laughed a little at that, wiping your tears away before Logan did the same thing, brushing his thumb underneath your eye and across your cheek. Logan smiled a little. Others might have called it a muscle flex, but knowing Logan; it was a small, brief smile. 

“Don’t let them win.”

You nodded, your head still in his hands. 

“Logan? Will you…Can you stay?”

It seemed to take Logan a second to find his answer. What you couldn’t see was that most of that time, he was trying to figure out why his answer came as fast as it did for him. 

“You don’t-”

“I can stay.”

You looked up at him and nodded with a slight smile. 

Moments later, Logan had kicked his shoes off and was lying beside you in bed. 

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

You took his hand that lay between you both and turned your head to look at him. 

“Thank you for staying.”

It was his turn to turn his head and when he did, he felt something. The same feeling he’d been getting since the day you gave him his first cup of tea. 

Logan just nodded before lifting his arm. “Come here.”

You moved closer to him as he lifted the covers a little so you could do so. Then he dropped his arm around your back, his palm flush against its centre before it slid a little lower to hold you by your waist. 

As your head settled close to his chest, he dropped his head a little, leaning his jaw against the top of your head and as he felt you relax and close your eyes, he did the same thing. 

The moment your breathing became even, and he knew you were asleep, Logan settled back down and held you just a little tighter against him as he closed his eyes and joined you in a dreamless sleep. 

Hours passed and Charles hadn’t seen either you or Logan in hours. But when he spotted a picture frame that had fallen onto the floor, just outside of your room, he sped as quickly as he could down the hall, but paused when he saw the door open and a sight he didn’t think he’d get to witness for at least a few more months. 

From the hallway, Charles peered in to find the snow falling heavily outside of your window. The children and other teachers were still outside playing. The fire had died down a little, but even he could feel the heat from the room. 

And in the middle of the left hand wall through the door, was your bed. 

Where yourself and Logan slept soundly, almost as one. With your face and hand on his chest, and his arm around your waist, whilst his other hand held onto your arm in a soft grip, keeping your hand on him. 

Xavier could practically feel the serenity oozing from the pair of you. He knew Logan was troubled and that you yourself hadn’t felt safe or content in a long time. 

And he would never have to tell Logan of the change you brought to him, or the one he brought to you. The change that helped you feel safe again, content again. Happy again. Without the added feeling that something was about to go off kilter. 

Because Logan already knew. 

And so did you. 

And for Logan, no matter how many times you would tell him you were “nobody important”, you would always be important to him. 

[savkirschtein]

AOT character & their personal fashion styles

characters : Eren Jaeger, Mikasa Ackerman, Armin Arlert, Jean Kirschtein, Connie Springer, Sasha Braus, Marco Bodt

warning: all of these are just purely based off of my personal insight and views of the characters and how i think they’d dress today

🪩🥡🪐🎸🎧

Eren Jaeger: 🎱🌪️🩻⛓️

based off of season 4 Eren

i picture Eren in todays world really rocking with a minimalist street style

he’s all for comfort and breathability in his clothing and his style reflects that

a closet full of loose fitting boxy t-shirts

LOVES the cold months so he can layer his hoodies and leather jackets

while also sporting the slutty tightly fitted black shirt grey sweat pant combo every now and then

maybe even just walking out his apartment with a wife pleaser and baggy jeans on as a fit alone

all paired with sneakers, small silver hoops, and a chain of some sort

Mikasa Ackerman: 🍒💿📷🃏

we all know for a fact that Mikasa can DRESS

she just has an eye for fashion and has a unique style of her own

one that isn’t over the top, in terms of being a spectacle, but just well put together and tailored to HER. a girl you 110% give a second glance

she is a girlie who LOVES wearing any skirt whether it be long, midi, mini or knee length she LOVES them

most of her pieces are pretty free flowing with lots of different silhouettes

absolutely loves a good leather boot, pair of mary janes, or platform loafers

she literally could wear a trash bag and make it look like it’s the next trend

and has a huge collection of baggus

Armin Arlert: 🎧📘🍵☁️

Armin will literally never be free of the soft light academia aesthetic

the cable knit sweaters, soft cardigans, and sweater vests will forever have a hold on him

but what college boy Armin loves more than anything is a good quarter zip or quarter button up

or a nice casual white and blue striped button up

almost all of his clothing is soft and warm materials

definitely withholds the cute boy in the library title

Jean Kirschtein: 🪐👁️‍🗨️⚡️🌉

will live and die on the hill that Jean is a Carthartt guy

his look is a casual-relaxed but clean one

he’s all for clothing that is durable and will last him forever

Jean’s style is honestly super basic but NOT boring

although Jean’s style isn’t one that is made to make it hard to look away from its one that really just compliments him well

loves a good hefty Dickies or Carthartt jacket, basic white t-shirt, or a loose button up over a tank top

while wearing a variety of rings, with small hoops and a chain

his clothes compliment his strongly built and lengthy body well, which is why although they are basic, it isn’t boring

Connie Springer: 🎧💽☄️🩻

Connie is a literal fashionista

he probably is tiktok famous for his fit check videos and adventures at the thrift stores

the street style aesthetic was MADE for Connie

knows how to put pieces that may not look ideal together into a cohesive fit

LOVES JORTS and swears he made them trendy again

and wearing jerseys of teams he has no clue of , but it’s for the fit so who cares

Sasha Braus: 🍰🪩🗽🧸

the DEFINITION of downtown girl or coming of age movie in a city aesthetic

Sasha lives for the nostalgia of 90s pieces and it shows in her clothing

comfort is also a huge factor that plays into Sasha’s outfits

color is another component that makes Sasha’s outfits HER outfits

LOVES a good brown leather jacket

Sasha honestly though has a hard time sticking to just ONE specific style and will wear whatever feels good for her

Marco Bodt: 🍙🪴♠️🍊

Marco is a soft boy at heart but he’s traded in the traditional sweaters vests for hardy collared jackets

he absolutely LOVES PLAID

and loves layering his button ups with his worn out thrifted jackets

has a more warm palette in terms of colors and leans more towards earthy tones

super casual in his shoes though sticking to good tried and true high top converse, sambas, or loafers if he's feeling fancy

[chemistry-in-sports]

release the cowboy hat rankings (should u so desire)

Omg thank you for asking and I DO desire. The problem is not all of the drivers have worn cowboy hats this weekend so I can't do the comprehensive cowboy hat rankings that I yearn to do.

Imagine if Lewis had worn a cowboy hat with that all denim fit...i know that would have been an automatic P1. Alas I imagine it has been in Lewis' contract for years now that he doesn't have to wear stupid hats under any circumstances.

And obviously our greatest cowboy hat wearing driver was taken from us but we won't linger on that.

So anyway, we work with what we have!

P1, as already revealed:

WHY is Carlos is such a hot cowboy. It doesn’t make sense, he’s not adventurous dresser! He loves a button down! He loves sport! But we cannot argue with the facts. The hat color was designed specifically to enhance big brown doe eyes. The long-for-him hair is designed specifically to look sexy and shaggy and curl slightly at ends under the hat. I don't know. Why is he putting his hand on his head in that coquettish manner. Who taught him that!

P2:

Okay, I think this might be from a previous season, but this is very good imo. The sunglasses, the belt in the same color as the hat, the jeans, the plain white shirt -> it looks legit fashionable and not like a costume. The football might be confusing matters a little but it’s just part of the vibe I guess and it’s working!

P3:

Unfortunately it is nearly impossible to find a picture of Max wearing any hat that isn't his Red Bull hat (he's probably wearing it underneath this one) but I came across this, which i know is not this weekend, but I decided to include it because look how cute he looks. Look at his face! P3!

P4:

I am surprised that Charles in a cowboy hat does not really move me. Maybe it’s the Ferrari hoodie. We should get him in some leather chaps and see if that helps. You know, I am sure Ferrari has a homoerotic video of him riding a horse or getting lassoed by Carlos queued up somewhere, perhaps that will change things for me. Whatever, he’s still P4 bc he has a perfect face and when he put on the hat he said he was like “a proper cowboy!” so what can you do

P5:

I actually think the whole look with the race suits and the boots is surprisingly good, and I like how Esteban has his hat pulled down so you can’t see his eyes — I think that’s how you’re supposed to wear a cowboy hat! But they look soooo awkward there together, they look like a couple who is preparing to try some kind of cowboy themed sexual role play in an attempt to save their marriage but neither of them are really that into it

P6:

Speaking of role plays…I think Lando having thoughts about Oscar in that boot/shorts combo but that’s not what we’re doing here.

Lando’s head is simply too big for this look. The hat needs to be pulled down more but he can’t because of his ridiculous giant head. Idk I think that’s the problem. He looks cute! But also very silly. I think the hat he wore last year in the video where he was singing Taylor Swift looked good -- maybe the darker color or maybe it was just a better fit.

Also Lando always looks like he’s slightly mortified to be alive and I think the cowboy hat requires a kind of confidence/commitment to the bit that he doesn’t have here.

P7:

Now here is a man who always commits to the bit, and he does get points for that -- George has never met a silly video that he won't say yes to -- but he’s last in my rankings because…well, look at the picture. That face was made for Tommy Hilfiger roll neck jumpers and long expensive coats not cheap cowboy hats branded with the Good Morning America logo. I'd be interested in seeing him in a darker hat with a little more weight to it - I think it needs to be more fashion than costume for George.

I know other people must have worn cowboy hats this weekend but these are the ones I saw! Please inform if there are great hat wearers that I missed!

[keen-umbreon]

yall i am craving some of the foods that my old partner from team plasma made me all the time and i am so tempted to try calling all his phone numbers and visiting his old haunts. he grew all his ingredients in this wonderful green house that he technically-illegally owned off the side of a route. so it wouldnt be the same from a store, i know cuz ive tried ones from stores or from other people.

i miss: his crispy fried soy curls with nutritional yeast and veggie seasoning. his black-bean brownies. his apricorn smoothies with spinach and bananas and lovingly picked berry combos. his home-made-go-meals of buns filled with seitan sausage and cheese substitute or my favorite berry chunks that he'd always have on days where we'd have a raid on a breeding mill. his little candies that he would shape almost like pokemon but theyd always be lopsided. the way he'd always be able to find some form of food that would work great with whatever tea id bring and wed have a short picnic before we got yelled at for absconding for too long. how hed laugh at my jokes even when they were drier than the desert resort and his laugh was this quiet chuckle but it made my world. his roast potatoes with a thick garlic-and-brown-sugar glaze. how we'd both work so well together like the faces of a klink. his little sitrus-and-pecha buns that hed give me to take home the days after we got into fights with each other over different opinions as an apology. how hed love everything i cooked for him back, teas and breads and over-dried fruit leather. how i eventually learned how to read his blank facial expressions clearer than anything and ive never been able to read a human face but i could read his. he understood me and i understood him.

i wonder if he'd hate me now. if he would punch me in the face like he did that one counter-protester at that gym rally. hed probably do worse to me. i wonder if he got out. as part of my parole, i cant contact anyone from plasma. i miss him so much, i feel like im half empty. he wouldnt recognize me, hed see me only as the enemy that we fought against for so long. i dont even recognize myself today. my hairs the wrong color, wrong length, my facial expressions all different, the way i interact with others all wrong, other people are all wrong, trainers and pokemon all wrong, food tastes wrong, im all wrong. im going to bed. maybe everything will feel right in the morning light. i miss feeling right. i miss the certainty. i miss him. damnit alum.

#ooc all the food is from meals ive made or have been made for me and i legit miss those foods but i can never make them right anymore

#ooc so i put that feeling into this and also the feeling of missing someone important and of not recognizing yourself in the mirror anymore

#ooc this is a recovery story similar to mine but hes still in the early stages in some ways

#ooc i had so many nights where id miss something little and then id miss something like the feeling of closeness and shared bond

#ooc and then id go from missing the friendly hugs to full blown wishing i could go back to it

#ooc its the worst feeling to realize that you cant EVER go back to how you were before

#ooc but i wouldnt change my current happiness for that bond ever im a lot better of a person and a lot happier without them

[shopnzsneaketrs]

Step Up Your Style: Trendy Outfit Ideas to Rock Ankle Boots

So, you’ve got a pair of those-so-stylish ankle boots in your closet, and you're itching to show them off, right? But here’s the thing—styling womens ankle boots can sometimes be tricky. No worries! We've got your back, whether you're aiming for a casual vibe or going full glam. Let's dive into some trendy outfit ideas that will have you strutting your stuff with confidence. Get ready to step up your style game!

1. Casual Chic: Denim & Ankle Boots

When in doubt, go with denim. Pairing ankle boots with your favorite jeans is a classic combo that never fails. Skinny jeans are a go-to, as they tuck perfectly into your shoes, showing them off in all their glory. Roll up the cuffs to let those boots shine, adding a touch of effortless cool to your look.

Pro Tip: Don’t Be Afraid of Color

Who says your women's ankle boots have to be black or brown? Opt for a bold, burgundy or metallic finish to make a statement. Pair them with neutral-toned jeans and a sweater to let the boots do the talking. You'll turn heads, guaranteed.

2. Sophisticated Edge: Ankle Boots & Midi Skirts

Want to elevate your ankle boot game? Pair them with a midi skirt. This combination is not only chic but also super versatile. Whether heading to the office or out for brunch, this outfit covers you.

A flowy, pleated midi skirt adds a touch of femininity, while women's ankle boots bring that perfect hint of edge. Midi skirts look fab with heeled and flat ankle boots, so you can choose based on your mood (or how much walking you'll be doing).

3. Glam Up: Dresses & Ankle Boots

Who says you can't be fancy in ankle boots? Dresses and ankle boots are a match made in fashion heaven. Whether you wear a flirty mini dress or a flowy maxi, the proper boots can take your look to the next level.

For a night out, choose a pair of heeled ankle boots and pair them with a bit of black dress (LBD). Add some statement earrings, and you’re all set to dance the night away. If you're aiming for something more daytime-appropriate, a floral maxi dress with flat ankle boots is your best bet. It’s comfortable, stylish, and effortlessly cool.

Mix It Up with Textures

Experiment with different textures to make your outfit pop. Suede womens ankle boots paired with a silk or velvet dress create a luxurious vibe for those special occasions. Or, mix a leather dress with patent leather boots for a look that's all about contrast and attitude.

4. Off-Duty Cool: Ankle Boots & Leggings

When comfort is critical, leggings are your best friend. But don't think for a second that leggings can’t be stylish. Pair them with women's ankle boots and a long, oversized sweater or tunic, and you’ve got an outfit that’s as cozy as it is chic.

The key here is balance. If your leggings are form-fitting, go for a loose and flowy top. This keeps the look polished rather than gym-ready. And if you’re feeling extra trendy, throw on an oversized scarf or a fedora to complete the look.

Elevate with Layers

A long cardigan, a cropped jacket, or vest can add dimension to your look, making your women's ankle boots stand out even more.

Conclusion 

There you have it—four fabulous ways to rock your women's ankle boots with confidence and flair. Whether you're keeping it casual, getting glam, or somewhere in between, these outfit ideas will ensure that your ankle boots take centre stage. So step up your style game and show the world what you’ve got!

Remember, the key to any great outfit is confidence. So whatever you choose to wear, own it and strut your stuff like the fashionista you are!

Source: Step Up Your Style: Trendy Outfit Ideas to Rock Ankle Boots

[llamagirl28]

Hiya, I don't know if this has been asked before but what style of clothing do you imagine everyone wearing?? I know you've mentioned Morgana's dresses a few times but I was wondering about everyone else or what the general style is?? I know it's kinda a broad and big question but even a short answer is fine if you don't feel up to answeing the full thing, I also hope you're doing okay

Oh anon I'm gonna go in depth with it, so this is gonna be long skskxk First off, if anyone wants to get a general feel of fashion in BoC and what each RO wears, there's a pinterest board linked in the pinned post. It's a combo of medieval, renaissance, ancient and folk inspired clothes, as well as just looks-fantasy clothes.

So, here I go

Morgana - her style does change depending on where she's staying, adaption to the local fashion, but her personal favorite fashion is that of Tintal and Avalon (since Tintal has a lot of Avalonian influence). Whatever the style, she always tries to go for vibrant or lush shades, either lighter or darker, that bring out her best features.

Accolon - he usually wears Lothian fashion, (which is inspired by Romanian and other Eastern European folk wear) so a lot of colorful embroidery. He loves vibrant and bright grabs but also pastels and neutrals, and usually goes for softer cuts that compliment his gentle look.

Lot - Lot also wears the Lothian fashion, but goes for subdued and dark colors - dark greens, blues, black, with embroidery that's more shape-based rather than flowery, so with sharp edges and straight lines. Also wears vests and cloaks.

Gareth - also wears Lothian clothes. Goes for lush, darker colors but loves soft, flowery embroidery. Unlike Lot, who seeks to look harsher, he goes for a charming, beautiful look, trying to bring out his best features much like Morgana.

Gawain - lots of doublet and jerkin kind of tops. Shirts with puffy sleeves. Straight sleeves. Lots of colorful motifs and embroidery. Golden and silver thread, gemstones sewn into the garbs. Sleeves with ruffled ends. Think colorful, bright, vibrant! But will also go for soft, gentle pastels. As for pants, loves closer fitted ones, high waisted pants. Make no mistakes, his shoes - usually ankle boots or knee high boots - are just as colorful as his clothes, with different motifs, and sometimes with heels.

Galahad - also wears doublets and jerkins, as well as simple tunics with belts and loose shirts (with that kind of sleeves that gather at the wrist and lacing up the front), usually in calm, subdued, pastel colors, especially in different shades of blue, green, brown. If there's any model/motif on the clothes it's subtle or minimal. If he's feeling fancy, he'll wear something with golden thread/embroidery.

Elaine - doublets, jerkins, tunics, shirts. Both fitted and loose (since in a previous post I've established she got top surgery, she now feels comfy wearing fitted clothes). In the warm seasons, wears a lot of short sleeve/sleeveless tunics and shirts to show off her arms. She usually wears pastels like blue, green, violet or neutrals like beige, cream, brown. If it's a special occasion, she'll wear something with lush motifs, ruffles. Exclusively wears pants. Even when she's not going about her knightly duties, she's a very active person so her footwear is comfortable first and foremost.

Nimue - in Camelot she'll usually wears the local fashion, but she does have a soft spot for Avalonian clothes and will try to sometimes incorporate it into her style, for example wearing Avalonian dresses for special occasions. She usually wears chemises with stays and skirts, and almost always has a belt with various leather pouches hanging onto it. She also wears dresses that are fitted to her figure - fitted sleeves, cinched at the waist, but still have a lot of freedom for moving about. Only wears long, billowy sleeves if she's not working. She hates the cold so the moment the weather gets cool she layers with woolen shawls and mittens. Her wardrobe ranges from bright and light to dark shades, with lots of intricate motifs/embroidery to very simple patterns. In terms of footwear, she wears a lot of boots since she either has to move about a lot - in the woods, gathering herbs and ingredients - or around the castle, but also has slippers and sandals. Doesn't really wear heels.

Isac - doublets, jerkins, shirts. Especially loose shirts, shirts with puffy sleeves that gather at the wrist, half undone to show off his chest, or with deep v necklines, or with sheer fabric. Lots of leather and velvet. Goes for dark, lush shades - black, red, purple. Fitted clothes. Intricate decorations, gilded accents, golden or pearly buttons. Gloves. Lots and lots of rings. Has pierced ears and loves wearing different kind of earrings. His goal is to look sexy, cool and mysterious, and maybe dangerous too.

Sophie - lots of pastels, especially pink. She loves soft colors, but will wear darker shades too. Lots of flowery motifs, or even fake flower applications on her dresses. Loves flowy, delicate looks. The kind of dresses that are so long they trail after you. She also loves dresses with a more provocative cut, like low necklines, open back, leg slits. Off shoulder. Puffy sleeves. Billowy long sleeves. As for accessories, she likes these kind of arm cuffs that are like climbing vines with flowers that wrap around the arm. Lots of slippers and sandals and dainty boots with cute patterns, heels. If the situation calls for something simple and practical, she'll wear trousers with a tunic/doublet and knee high boots.

Agravain - Agravain is very passionate about clothes and sews/designs a lot of stuff themselves. Their wardrobe is a mix of colors and fabrics but they're especially fond of reds and purples. Loves bodices and vests. Jerkins, doublets, shirts, tunics. Skirts, pants, robes. Loves capes and cloaks, gloves. Colorful, flowery patterns/motifs. Gold or silver thread embroidery. If they're trying to look intimidating, they go for black clothes. Love wearing boots. They also like experimenting with dresses of shorter lengths, like knee lenght.

Lancelot - his wardrobe incorporates the Pendragon crest or its colors, red and gold, even in casual wear, to show his loyalty and dedication. Otherwise, especially if he's seeking not to draw the eye, he wears browns and beiges. Also, for special occasions, if he's not wearing red and gold, he also dons white garments, with silver or golden threads, and other soft, pale colors.

Kay - colorful wardrobe, from bright shades to more subdued ones. Most his clothes are both fashionable and comfy.

Arthur - lots of tunics, cinched at the waist with belts. Jerkins. His wardrobe is comprised of a lot of red and gold pieces, since it's the Pendragon colors and he's been advised to display them proudly. Got a lot of ornate and expensive clothes since he's a King, but he prefers simple, comfy clothes - so a tunic and trousers.

Guinevere - her fashion skews toward that of her home Duchy, Cornwallis. So 16-17-18th century inspired dresses. The kinds of dresses with stomachers, bum pads to give it the desired figure, square necklines, round necklines that go a bit off the shoulders, ruffled sleeves, fitted, elbow lenght sleeves, stays. Lots of vibrant colors, decorations, intricate models and gemstones sewn into the clothes for fancier occasions and more subdued, soft pastel shades with flowery patterns for everyday wear.

Merlin - doesn't dress flashy, but he does choose expensive, elegant clothes that show off his status. Wears tops with high necklines. If he wants a bit of flair, he goes for something with ruffled cuffs, gilded buttons or gemstones sewn into the embroidery. Gold and silver embroidery. Wears fitted doublets with jackets over that are thigh long, with long billowy sleeves. Or doublets with sleeveless, long, open robes over. Short capes.

[izzyfandoms]

Like Lipstick Stains On His Skin

SHIPS: Remile

CHARACTERS: Emile Picani, Remy Sanders

WARNING: Anxiety, references to heartbreak

GENERAL TAGLIST: @quillfics42 @aj-draws @phantomofthesanderssides @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game @because-were-fam-ily @imtryingthisout @a-creepycookie @emo-disaster @littlestr @spooky-scary-virgil @fuyel @mimsidoodles @soupgremlin @aroaceagenderfluid @birdsbookshiddeninrealbirdsskin @quirkalurk @gingers-trashy-stuff @iinyxtello @justaqueercactus @melodiread @mrbubbajones @glassferns @pun-master-logan @gayturtlez @k1ngtok1

Masterpost

A Series Of Soulmate AUs Masterpost

Emile Picani had been in love with his best friend for as long as he could remember.

The moment he had first laid eyes on Remy Sanders, his initial thought had been that that was the most attractive person he’d ever seen. And, after getting to know him better, Emile’s thoughts only solidified; Remy was funny and sarcastic, smarter than anyone gave him credit for, and casually flirty in a way that made Emile’s heart stop and pound and ache all at once.

And Emile’s feelings had only strengthened as they grew up together.

From awkward teenagers still figuring out their sexualities to adults with their own homes and jobs and independent lives, Remy and Emile had stayed friends through it all, sticking together like glue since they’d first met in middle school. They knew almost everything about each other, and they were best friends.

But that was just it – they were friends. Nothing more.

And Emile was... fine with that. He was fine.

He loved Remy. Loved, loved, loved Remy.

And, sure, it hurt when he was with Remy, but not really with Remy, not in the way Emile always wanted to be. It hurt to be around him and know that it would only ever be platonic, that his best friend would never love him back in quite the same he loved him.

But time spent with Remy was better than time spent with anyone or anything else. And Emile knew that Remy cared deeply for him, too.

Emile could take the heartache if it meant he never lost his best friend.

When Emile heard the knock on his front door, he immediately recognised it as Remy’s. He jumped up – perhaps a little too enthusiastically and excitedly, but the only person that could see him right now was himself, so there was nobody around to judge. He rushed over to the door and pulled it open. Remy’s eyes lit up when he saw Emile, and he grinned.

Emile would never admit aloud to the tremble of his heart in his chest at the expression on his best friend’s face, but he did immediately squish down the traitorous hope that emerged every time Remy looked at him like that. Which happened almost every time they saw each other.

“Hey, Remy! You’re here early,” Emile said.

“Hope that’s chill, babe. I was not watching the time.”

(Emile did his best to ignore the feelings that the use of the nickname ‘babe’ stirred up.)

Remy’s sunglasses were propped up on his head, as they often were, and his warm brown eyes were on display. He was wearing his signature black leather jacket, too, as he usually was, with a white crop-top – with the word ‘bitch’ across the front in block capitals – underneath, exposing his midriff.

It took effort for Emile to keep his eyes from drifting downwards.

“It’s fine, Remy,” Emile smiled, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on his best friend’s face. “You’re always welcome here, you know that.”

Remy laughed. “If you keep saying that, I’ll end up showing up here at 4am when I’m drunk.”

“Well, I would rather you came here than go somewhere else and get yourself hurt.”

“Even if that means I wake you up from whatever candy-coloured, cartoon-filled dreams you’re having?”

“Mhm!”

“Damn, gurl, you really are sweeter than sugar, huh? How the hell did someone like you end up being besties with someone like me?”

“Aww, Remy, I think you give yourself too little credit.”

Remy laughed again. “Nah, babes, I love myself. I’m just kinda an asshole sometimes.”

“Isn’t everyone sometimes?” Emile said.

“Not you, apparently. Come on, you’re basically an angel, like, 24/7 and I have legit no idea how you do it. You’ve got the patience of a saint and a smile that literally gives me toothache just looking at it. You’re downright adorable.”

Elation bubbled up in Emile’s heart, and those bubbles filled his chest and spilled over in the forms of happy giggles. He covered his smile with his hand, and practically melted on the spot at the soft, fond look that crossed Remy’s face for just a moment – almost unnoticeable, but Emile paid enough attention that he saw it – before being replaced with Remy’s usual grin.

“Do you want to come in?” Emile asked, still smiling.

“Sure.”

Emile stepped to the side, and Remy’s arm brushed against his own as he walked past him. He hoped the stuttered breath at the contact wasn’t obvious.

“I like the new tie,” Remy commented as Emile shut the door and turned to face him.

Emile perked up. “Oh, you noticed!”

“Course I did,” Remy said. “I’ve seen every tie you’ve got like a million times. I could tell that one was new basically as soon as you opened the door.”

“Aww, Remy... you’re great. The best friend a guy could have!”

Emile’s smile was soft, fond, and so, so caring, and – for just a moment – he could have sworn that Remy looked flustered to be the recipient of it: wide-eyed and as still as a statue. But then, the moment passed, and Remy’s expression smoothed over and returned to normal, and Emile was sure that he’d only imagined it.

“It’s nothing, babe,” Remy said, waving his hand dismissively. “You noticed when I got that new skirt last week, even though it’s identical to my old one-”

“Your old one had a big hole in it! The new one didn’t.”

“Yeah, so I had to get a new one ‘cos it made my ass look great and I wasn’t ‘bout to give that shit up, you know? Ooh, and I especially love it paired with those heels that get everyone looking at my legs, ‘cos that combo makes me look fab AF.” Remy paused. “You know what, I think that’s kinda beside the point. Any-gay, you noticed ‘cos you’re cool like that, so me noticing your tie is, like, nothing.”

“Aww, Remy,” Emile reached forward, and poked Remy’s arm. “It’s not nothing, most people wouldn’t even be able to tell! You’re my best friend, and it makes me really, really happy that you notice these kinds of things.”

Remy’s expression softened. “Well, then I guess it makes it pretty special then, huh?”

Emile felt like screaming. Or kissing Remy. Or kissing Remy and then screaming.

(Though, really, if Emile ever got the chance to kiss Remy, he’d be too busy savouring it to even think of doing anything else. Too busy savouring the feeling of warm lips against his own, of Remy’s gentle hand against his cheek, of a chest pressed against his own, of being so close to the one person he wanted to be close to more than anything else in the world. But he never thought he’d ever get the chance.)

Emile stumbled over his words, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other as he fiddled with his hands. He had no idea how he was supposed to respond to that, and wasn’t sure if he even could without losing control of his mouth and accidentally confessing his undying love for his best friend.

“Um...” he trailed off.

Remy laughed awkwardly, running his fingers through his hair and glancing away.

“So, uh... what did- what did your patients think of your new tie?”

“Oh!” Emile perked up again, at once both disappointed and relieved by the return to the original topic of conversation. “Yeah, two of them complimented it. And someone said the red was a nice change from the usual pastels, so I think it was a big hit!”

He smiled, and Remy immediately smiled back.

“Nice.”

“I think the pink tie’s still my favourite, though.”

“Mine, too. It’s a classic Emile colour.”

Emile laughed. “There are classic Emile colours?”

“Sure, there are! You’ve got your baby pink, baby blue and, you know,” Remy reached out, tugging gently on Emile’s cardigan sleeve. “You’ve got your cardigan-colour. I’ve, like, barely ever seen you without this thing. How many of these do you have? Like, a hundred?”

Emile giggled again, covering his mouth with his hand. “I have two. And they’re both a little different!”

“Right, right,” Remy nodded. “One’s, like, a little bigger.”

“Mhm! And this one’s a bit softer.”

Remy nodded again, slowly and with an amused tint to his smile. “So, are we gonna, like, move, or are we gonna stand in your hallway forever?”

“Oh, right!” Emile said, like he’d only just remembered that they were still stood at his front door.  

He moved past Remy, gesturing for his friend to follow as he went into the next room and sat down on the couch. Remy immediately flopped onto it beside him, getting comfortable on the soft, squishy cushions. He leant back lazily and stretched.

“Ooh,” Remy finally said, straightening up. “I bought a new lipstick yesterday!”

“Ooh, what colour?”

“It’s, like, pink. It matches the shoes I bought last week, and it makes me look killer. I’m gonna get all the guys’ eyes on me, so it sucks that I can’t wear it when I’m, like, actually looking to kiss strangers, you know?”

Emile ignored the pang of pain in his heart, and did his best to smile encouragingly.

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned,” he said. “I- I bet you look great in it. And it- it's a shame you can’t wear it when you want to.”

“Yeah, I’m kinda tempted to, you know, but, like, if I’m wearing lipstick, then I won’t know if any marks my lips make are ‘cos of my lipstick or ‘cos of soulmate shit, right?” Remy continued, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “And, like, what’s the pointing of making out with people if I can’t also know if they’re my soulmate?”

“Right.”

“So, I can only wear lipstick when I’m not looking for people to kiss. Sucks, but it’s gotta be done.”

Emile nodded slowly. Then, he paused, and his brow creased in thought.

“You don’t usually wear lipstick when you’re with me,” he said. “Even when we’re going out and it’s just us, no- no kissing strangers involved. How come?”

Remy froze in place.

“Uh...”

Emile blinked at him. He tilted his head questioningly. “Hmm?”

He could practically see the cogs turning in Remy’s head, while he searched for an answer that he obviously did not have or did not want to share. He looked... flustered, in a way that Emile had almost never seen him before – opening and closing his mouth a few times – and Emile just couldn’t seem to figure out why.

Remy and Emile just stared at each other, neither knowing quite what to say to the other. Emile was confused, not wanting to speak up at the risk of interrupting whatever Remy wanted to say. He also absolutely would not let his mind wander to the any possibilities that would fill him with hope.

A crushed hope was definitely not something Emile wanted to deal with, not right now.

Remy cleared his throat. He swallowed.

“Um- there’s...” he then huffed, looking down at his lap and running his fingers through his hair. He let out an awkward laugh, and then looked back up at Emile. “I... okay,” he sighed. “There’s something I think I should probs tell you.”

Emile stared at him, blinking. “What is it?” He asked.

“It, uh...” Remy sighed again. “I have no idea how you’d react to this. The thing I want to tell you... it could probs mess up our friendship.”

“Remy...” Emile said softly. “You’re my best friend. You can tell me anything, and I promise you this won’t mess anything up, okay?”

“You don’t even know what I’m about to say.”

“I don’t need to. I know you.” Emile leant forward slightly, giving Remy his best attempt at a soft, reassuring smile.

Remy stared at Emile for a second. Then he laughed again, a strange mix of awkwardness and nervousness and with a hint of slight joy, too – with a confusing, even a little alarming, effect. His eyes never left Emile’s smile.

“Jeez, babe. How are you making this so much harder but so much easier at, like, the same time?”

Emile blinked. “Um... is that good?”

“Dunno. But...” Remy took a deep breath. He clenched his hands into fists, looking up at the ceiling for a moment before he turned back to Emile. “Okay... wow, I’ve wanted to tell you this for forever, but, like, fuck, this is terrifying.”

Emile’s expression creased with concern. He reached forward, looking him over worriedly, and rested his hand on his best friend’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

“Remy, are you okay? You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he frowned slightly.

“No, I- I want to tell you. God, you have no idea how many times I’ve thought about telling you about my feelings.”

Feelings. Feelings, feelings, feelings.

Did that mean what Emile thought it meant?

The hope rose up, though he tried so hard to squash it down, but it was like trying to fit something large in a container too small and he could hardly keep it from filling up and overwhelming him. His breath stuttered, and he was sure he tensed up and froze in place for a moment, before he finally regained his composure and physically relaxed.

“Feelings?” He asked, in a voice slightly more strangled than before. “What feelings?”

Remy let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, that’s- that’s what I’ve gotta talk to you about. My- my feelings... for you.” He took another deep breath. “I... I love you, Em.”

“I love you, too,” Emile answered back immediately. “Haven’t we said this before?”

They had. The two best friends had been friends for so long: exchanging ‘I love you’s was practically part of their routine, by now.

But it had always been platonic, at least from Remy’s side.

Right?

“We- we have...” Remy said slowly. “But that’s not what I meant. I love you. Like, love love. Like the head over heels in love kind. The- the I can never stop thinking ‘bout you kind. The, fuck, you’re so gorgeous kind. The kind that means I’m, like, basically always thinking about you and about kissing you and about how, wow, you’re- you’re just amazing. I mean, damn, I know last week when I told you that you’re my favourite person, I kinda said it like a joke, but I meant it. I like really, really meant it.”

When Remy realised that he was rambling, he clamped his hand over his mouth, like it was the only way to get the words – the pretty, pretty words that had set Emile’s heart aflutter – to stop tumbling out.

Emile was frozen.

He stared, wide-eyed at his best friend.

“Oh,” was the only thing he could say, in a strangled voice.

He was sure that his face was already bright red.

“Great.” Remy sighed, removing his palm from his mouth and burying his face in his hands. “I’ve really fucked this up, haven’t I?” He mumbled just loud enough to be audible. “I- I know you don’t feel the same way, babe, and it’s fine. It’s totally, totally fine. I’m happy just being friends with you, ‘kay? You- you don’t have to return anything. It’s- it’s whatever. It’s chill.”

Emile’s brain had broken. He could hardly think anything other than the words ‘Remy’ and ‘love’ just over and over on repeat.

Instead of saying anything in response to that – as he wasn’t even sure if he could – he just suddenly burst into nervous, delighted laugher. Emile was sure he sounded like he was crazy, especially when Remy turned to him with a bewildered expression.

“Did- did you really mean that?” Emile asked when he could finally collect his thoughts enough to speak, which took slightly longer than he would have liked it to.

Remy blinked. Then, his expression softened.

“Of course, I did,” he said. “I’d never lie to you about something like this, Em.”

“So, you... you really mean it?” Emile asked hopefully.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did,” Remy said. He hesitated for a moment, before nervously adding: “Do you- I mean, is it-”

“I love you, too.”

There was a beat.

Remy stared back at him, wide-eyed. The moment of silence was somehow simultaneously nerve-racking and also soft and so, so exciting, because, oh my gosh, Remy loved him. Remy loved him, he loved him, he loved him!

Love! Love! Love!

And, oh, heavens above, Emile was about to start wiggling excitedly because, gosh, he really, really just had to kiss Remy, right now. And maybe – maybe, maybe, maybe – Remy would say yes if he asked.

Emile let out another giggle, covering his mouth with his hand.

“You... you do?” Remy asked, eyes wide and hopeful, and Emile was suddenly glad that the sunglasses were propped up on his head, as his expression was always much easier to read that way.

“Yeah,” Emile responded, equally soft. “I really, really do.”

“Wow. Just- just wow.”

Emile reached forward, impulsively cupping Remy’s cheek with his hand, and Remy froze. His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

“Oh, gosh- sorry,” Emile apologised. “I should’ve asked-”

He moved to take his hand away, but was stopped by Remy covering Emile’s hand with his own.

“You’re good- you're- yes. Yes.”

And, well, that was exactly the answer that Emile had wanted to hear.

He leant forward, and finally – finally! – did the thing he’d most wanted to do for years. Years. Since the moment he’d first laid eyes on Remy, he’d thought about it.

He kissed Remy.

Softly. Carefully. Holding Remy’s face so delicately like he was holding something precious.

And the way Remy was kissing him back...

Emile had seen Remy kiss people before – strangers, friends – and he’d always kissed them like he was doing it for fun, not love. He’d never seen Remy kiss anyone as gently as Remy was kissing him, right now.

Bubbles of delight and fireworks of excitement were going off in Emile’s heart and his mind.

He sighed happily into the kiss, and he could suddenly feel Remy smile against his lips.

Emile broke the kiss with another delighted giggle and Remy couldn’t help but just start laughing with him, too. And, of course, that just made Emile’s giggles louder and more enthusiastic.

He was so focused on the laughing and the delighted feeling in his chest from the fact that he had just kissed Remy, that Emile didn’t immediately notice that Remy’s lips were suddenly pink – a light, pastel pink that certainly hadn’t been there before.

And, in fact, it was Remy who halted the laughter first, by freezing in place and staring – yet again wide-eyed – at Emile’s own lips.

Emile paused, and tilted his head in confusion.

“Remy?”

Remy opened and closed his mouth a few times, never taking his eyes off of Emile’s lips.

“Em... your- your lips.”

Emile blinked. He reached a hand up to his own lips, and swiped a finger across them. He then looked back down at his hand, and found nothing – no blood, no anything.

He paused, and then turned his head to look at the mirror that hung on an opposite wall.

His eyes landed on his reflection, and he finally noticed that there was a smear of shiny silver across his lips that definitely, definitely hadn’t been there before.

Emile sucked in a breath as Remy turned his head to look into the mirror, and he realised that Remy’s lips were now a lipstick-like pink, when he certainly hadn’t been wearing any just before the pair had kissed.

“We’re-” Remy started.

“Oh,” Emile breathed.

“Oh,” Remy echoed.

They turned their heads to stare at each other, equally wide-eyed and shocked and excited.

Soulmates.

They were soulmates.

And then Remy surged forward, and kissed Emile again.

[waywardnerd67]

Sweet Slice

Title: Sweet Slice Summary: (Y/N) is new to Lebanon escaping the big city life when she gets a job at a local bakery. Things get complicated when her past returns and her boss gets in the middle. Pairing: Dean x Reader Rating: E - Everyone Warnings: Angst/Fluff Word Count: 2173 Squared Filled: Baker!Dean Bingo Card: @spnaubingo​ A/N: The sandwiches described are from the grocery store my mom works at. They can be found at http://www.straubs.com/category/sandwiches

Check Out: SPN AU Bingo Masterlist

Staring out over the horizon, (Y/N) watched as the sun peeked over rising into the dark sky. Black and navy faded into beautiful pinks and reds as a sign of a new day. Breathing in the cool morning air, she threw up a few silent thank yous to whatever higher being was listening to her. Grateful for a new day, a new start and a new life for her. Carefully standing on the rooftop, she climbed back in through her single window and started mapping out her day.

(Y/N) had only lived in Lebanon, Kansas for three weeks. Finding a studio apartment above the only bakery in town that was owned by the handsome Dean Winchester. She gave him almost all her savings for the first month's rent and went in search of work. In a town of only two hundred-fifty people finding a job was harder than she expected. Until last week, when she approached Dean about the next month’s rent and offered her a job on the spot.

Now, as she pulled the hair out of her face and wrapped a red bandana over it (Y/N) headed downstairs for her first day at Sweet Slice. Approaching the kitchen entrance she could hear Led Zeppelin playing through the store speakers and pans clanging against one another.

“Morning boss.”

He looked over his shoulder a wide smile spreading across his face, “Good morning, let me get this pie in the oven and then I will give you your mission for the day.”

(Y/N) chuckled watching as he finished the pie he was working on. No one would ever believe from looking at Dean that he was a baker. His broad shoulders, muscular arms gave off the impression he was a tough guy. There were a few scars on his forearms she could see from the sleeves of his flannel being rolled up to his elbows. His large hands and thick fingers were the most deceiving as they gently and delicately handled creating the lattice pie crust on top.

“Ready?”

His husky voice brought her out of her daydream as she nodded following him to the other side of the kitchen. On the long table were various deli meats and cheeses along with a variety of breads then seemed to be freshly baked.

“I’ve always had this idea of not only offering specialty pies and baked goods but also to have a lunch hour with sandwiches on some of our breads. Today, I was you to just come up with some sandwiches for the menu and I’m going to taste test them for lunch.”

She smirked, “So basically you want me to make you a sammich?”

His laughter was infectious filling her body with a joy she hadn’t felt in a long time, “Yeah, I guess so. One of the perks for being the boss. If you need anything just holler at me.”

(Y/N) grabbed the pencil and paper on the table and started writing down some ideas she had. Sandwiches were something she knew all about being from New York. As a teenager she had worked at her local deli making sandwiches and giving the old mob men trouble as they flirted with her. The memory sent a chill down her spine. It was in that deli shop she had met Wyatt and her life changed forever.

Shaking her head, she went back to her list of sandwiches and began constructing them. A few of them, she had to have Dean bake up a few hoagie rolls because regular bread would not be right for them. By noon, she had assembled six different sandwiches for them to enjoy. She waited to garnish them until right before they sat down to eat. Dean had taken his flannel off wiping the sweat from his face from being near the oven.

His eyes widened as they glanced over the sandwiches plated in front of him, “These look awesome and I’m starving. Let’s dive in.”

The first sandwich was an Italian Sub that was on a fresh hoagie roll, spread with a mayo mustard blend and topped with salami, top round roast beef, baked and glazed ham, provel, dill pickle, onion, pepperoncinis and shredded lettuce. The noises coming from Dean as he devoured his half made her cheeks burn.

The next couple of sandwiches were simple ones with meat, cheese and simple lettuce, tomato, pickle toppings that could be offered cold or warm. The fifth sandwich was one her grandmother made for her every Sunday. Layers of baked and glazed ham, hard salami, mortadella, and provel topped with an olive Italian dressing blend on fresh baked focaccia bread.

“Now that sandwich sent my taste buds on an adventure. Whew!” He chuckled, finishing the last bite.

The final sandwich was her take on a grilled cheese sandwich. She had called it The Cure All making it whenever she had a particularly bad time of the month or a wicked hangover. On sourdough she placed two slices of cheddar, a layer of jalapenos, two slices of american, a layer of bacon, topped with caramelized onions.

Dean admired the sandwich for a moment before taking a large bite from it. His olive eyes rolled back as he closed them chewing slowly. She watched as he swallowed the bite and his full lips pursed together blowing out a gush of air.

“Wow, I think that may be the perfect sandwich and our signature sandwich to kick off a lunch special.”

Her cheeks were aching from smiling, “I guess I can add sandwich creator to my severely lacking resume.”

“If I have my way, you will never need a resume again and stay with me forever.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth a few things happened all at once. Their eyes snapped up connecting immediately. Her heart leaped within her chest with a bright, burning hope she has not felt in a long time. While Dean’s cheeks flushed crimson.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean… not that I wouldn’t want to be with… um. Crap.” He put his head in his hands, “All I’m saying is you’re amazing and wonderful for what I have gotten to know of you these last few weeks. I think we would work great with one another.”

There was something deep within urging for her to reach out to him and after five years of being with someone who only pretended to care for her and use her she had kept herself guarded. Looking into Dean’s eyes, she could see the kind of man he was. The kind of man to sacrifice himself for the ones he loves. The kind of man to go out of his way to care for someone. The kind of man that would protect those closest to him fiercely and without regard to his own well being.

(Y/N) reached across the table placing her hand on top of his, “There is nowhere else I’d rather be than right here with you.”

It was in that moment that everything changed for them. They became partners in every way they could in their lives. Sharing the business together, his home together, building a life together over the next year. Until her past caught up to her in the little bakery in Lebanon.

It was a normal Tuesday as Dean and (Y/N) prepared for their normal lunch hour. Their business doubled from them adding a sandwich and slice combo. Some of their normal morning customers had picked up a pie or two for that evening so when the bell rang signaling another customer, (Y/N) thought nothing of it walking to the front counter.

“There you are my sweetness. I’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

She froze in her spot, the familiar raspy voice knocking the wind out of her. Looking up, standing in the middle of the empty bakery and locking the front door was the man of her nightmares. Standing nearly a foot taller than her, his jet black hair was slicked back and dark brown eyes narrowing in on her.

“H-How did you…” The words would not come out as fear struck her mind instinctively backing up towards the door leading into the kitchen.

His menacing smile spread wider, “You know I have my ways. You know when I want something I get it. No matter what.” He took two steps towards her as he spoke.

The same desperate fight or flight feeling kicked in pushing her feet towards the kitchen yelling, “DEAN!”

Before she made it two feet through the door a pair of thick, leather covered arms wrapped around her waist. She let out a piercing scream before Wyatt clamp his hand over her mouth. He walked them back through the door holding her tightly against his body where she could not kick or push herself away.

“You’ve always been weak and pathetic, but that’s how I like my women. You can’t fight me.” He snarled into her ear.

“But I can.”

She looked up wide eyed as Dean appeared in front of them stepping through the door. He was holding up a large iron skillet never once taking his eyes off of Wyatt.

“Put (Y/N) down now.” His jaw clenched as he spun the skillet in his hand.

Wyatt laughed pushing her into the front case. She cried out as shards of thick glass sliced and embedded themselves into her skin. She glanced up just in time to roll herself over the glass that had shattered as Wyatt’s large body flew back towards her. Crimson filled her vision as she looked down to the floor. Bile burned up her throat as the sickening cracking of breaking bones echoed throughout the room. Her vision darkened as the last thing she saw was the door crashing open.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Every inch of (Y/N)’s body throbbed. She could hardly lift her eyelids, her vision blurry from exhaustion and her glasses missing. Trying to speak, she coughed and a large hand engulfed hers. Instinctively, she flinched pulling it away. Squeezing her eyes shut terrified she would see Wyatt sitting beside her.

“(Y/N), you’re okay. You’re safe.”

Her eyes snapped open tears freely flowing down her face, “D-Dean…” she croaked.

“Shhh. Don’t try to speak until you’ve had some ice chips.” He stood grabbing a cup and feeding her some ice, “After Sam and I took care of Wyatt, we had to rush you to the hospital. You lost a lot of blood and one large piece of glass embedded itself into your back.”

Dean became quiet looking down at their hands clasped together, “W-What hap-pen?” she whispered, eating some more ice and the cold soothing her burning throat.

She was surprised to see his eyes shining with tears, “We almost lost you and…” he looked away from her wiping his eyes.

“And what, Dean?” Her stomach churned and knotted a thousand thoughts running through her mind.

“And it wrecked me. I didn’t want to imagine life without you and when I did it gutted me.”

(Y/N) reached up wiping the few wayward tears from his cheek, “I’m right here because of you. Thank you.”

Her hand slipped down to his chest gripping his shirt and pulling him towards her. Every move she made was agonizing but worth it as his lips pressed against hers.

“I will always be here for you.” He whispered as she nodded her forehead resting against his.

Lying back she asked, “What happened to Wyatt?”

A low growl escaped Dean’s lips, “He and his buddy are currently in a cell hopefully getting to know their new roommates intimately.”

She wanted to know everything, but exhaustion was consuming her. Her eyes closing as Dean sat beside her on the bed humming her favorite Zeppelin song and lulling her to sleep.

Over the next several months, between her physical recovery and mental anguish as she relive her life with Wyatt to detectives and lawyers. (Y/N) slowly started getting her life back to normal. Dean accompanied her to New York where Wyatt and his goons were all put on trial for what they had done to her. After the guilty verdict was read, (Y/N) felt a great weight lift from her shoulders finally feeling free to live her life in peace.

When they arrived back in Lebanon, they noticed the vacant building across from the bakery had been sold and a new sign was being lifted into the air to attach to the store front. As the tarp fell to the ground, they both stared up completely stunned at what they saw.

The sign had a cake with a halo above it that read Angel Cakes Bakery. A tall, dark hair man stood admiring the sign before glancing over to them. He gave a small wave walking back into the building while (Y/N) looked over to Dean.

His jaw set in a strong line before muttering, “Son of a bitch…”

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[the-raven-who-writes]

Medieval Adventures: A Tale of Kingdoms and Knights

Genre: Slice-of-life, Fantasy, Magic, Self-Insert

Trigger Warnings: Cursing, (but you know that), duel mention, and blood mention

Word Count: 1622 (and 360 for the A/N)

Chapter 4: Show Them

And to think it started all the way back in mid-July.

It’s been three months now. No, four. Four months of practicing sword fighting techniques with a bamboo stick and all the sort. But there was something else I had to do.

Like Ser Sequin said, it was difficult for a woman to become a knight albeit being completely legal. And I’ve always wanted short hair. And I even thought of a name; Joseph Raven. Yeah ‘Joseph’ isn’t the best combo with ‘Raven’ but I guess Sir Jo sounds right

In those three months I also got accustomed to wearing a corset in both normal settings and while exercising. Trust me, this is key. You have to get used to it. I don’t know what’ll happen next. The rest of this story therefore, will be written in the present tense.

With the help of Ms. Simmons, I picked a set of warmer clothing. A cedar-brown long-sleeved tunic over a few under-shirts conveniently hid the shape the corset gave me, with a leather jerkin on top. Woolen stockings, woolen gloves, some nice leather boots, a woolen coif and a belt completed the look.

I waved good-bye to Ms. Simmons, Irene, Lizzy, Avery, Alex, Nancy and Emerald. They’re rooting for me.

“Are you sure your corset isn’t laced too tight?” Avery asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“You have everything you need?” Lizzy asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Then show them who you are!” they said.

I will. I’ll try at least.

—————————————————————————

I wonder why it’s winter. Well, it is November, so…

I tread carefully on the snowy road, careful not to slip again. Even with all those layers, I still feel a bit cold. I am not built for this weather, am I?

Not many people were outdoors, other than the merchants and the sparse passers-by. I think I blended in. Mostly. Some townsfolk are staring at me.

The smell of mist overwhelmed me in the beginning, but now it’s just plain annoying and freezing.

Everyone’s still smiling, however. Some are hard at work, while others are resting. Children are playing near the doors of houses either with little cloth dolls or wooden blocks.

‘Hey Monsieur!”

I look down at whatever was tugging at my knee. Which was a little boy. He couldn’t have been older than seven.

He's glaring at me for some reason. “Are you new here?”

I laugh, unlatching his little hands from my leg.

“Ouais, petit garçon.” (Yes, little boy.)

Before he could say anything more, a woman’s rough voice called.

“Pierre! Where are you?!”

He quickly looks around then runs away, holding onto his woolen hat.

“Arrivant, maman!” (Coming, mom!)

I smile and continue searching for the training hall for the soldiers.

—————————————————————————

I arrived at a large establishment. Stacked stones and marble pillars made up the exterior of it. From here I can hear the clashing of swords and voices.

The sign outside does say “L'entraînement Hall”.

Might as well go in.

The walls were mostly bare and unpainted, large torches on the higher ends of the walls. There were many soldiers dressed in tuscan sun-yellow and grey. Black tricorn hats with gold thread were worn on top.

The Order’s here too, with surcotes furlined at the edges.

One man seems to be monitoring them, with a similar uniform to the knights. He seems to be a knight as well, actually.

I stand dumbly, trying to observe what exactly’s going on over here. I look back at the knights, only to realize some of them were looking at me. A knight with long chestnut hair and blue-grey eyes and another one with black messy- wait are those the knights from the tavern!?

That’s Sir Will and Dame Kyda! They better not recognize me, or I’m toast! I should’ve thought this through.

….

Ok, I have to make a move, even some of the soldiers are staring at me. I take off my coif and stuff it into my pockets because I look stupid in that, like a baby. Not to say babies are stupid.

I marched towards the man in charge, whose build was of a warrior’s.

Jet black, ear-length hair and sharp mocha eyes that took notice of me with a look I could only describe as some sort of contempt. He clears his throat.

“Are you lost, boy?”

I shake my head firmly, standing straight. First impression’s the best impression.

“I am not lost, sir. I have come to become a knight,” I answer, having to look up at him.

He guffaws at that, waving his hand dismissively. In response to that, the soldiers too started to laugh. Now that’s amazing. My eyes are burning… no, not going to cry!

I keep standing with a defiant expression on my face, waiting for those idiots to stop laughing.

“I meant it. I want to become a knight.”

He doesn’t find it so funny now. He’s scowling at me.

“Go home, boy. This is for real men. Understood?”

—————————————————————————

Real men? I can’t stand this drittsekk! There are women and others as well in our army! Just that send him away already! He’s what, 20 something? If Commander Laurens wants to be a ‘real man’ or whatever he calls himself, he should drop that macho act!

—————————————————————————

Well, I’m not a man! But I can’t go ahead and tell him that, can I? I guess being persistent will have to work.

“I’m not going home. Did you not hear me, General?”

“General?! I am a commander, morveux!” he spits, now angry.

“It’s Commander Laurens to you,” he barks, towering over me.

“Did you hear me?”

I hesitated, taking a step back. This guy wasn't just intimidating, he meant to be. He clearly isn't someone I can mess with.

"Excusez-moi!"

Dame Kyda raised her hand from the group of knights. She steps forward.

"Whatever you want to say, Sellanddatter, it better be good."

"Well," she responded nonchalantly.

"He is already here. Why not test his strength with a duel?"

The commander raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

"A duel, you say?" he questions, looking at her.

Murmurs emerged from the curious crowd. They're excited by the chance a duel could take place. This wasn't supposed to happen… I'm not ready for this!

Commander Lauren's grins. Which isn't exactly comforting. In fact, I have a bad feeling about this….

"Traver!" the commander calls.

A young man with jet black hair styled in a taper fade, walks over. He's wearing something similar to the soldiers, but not quite. He has mocha brown eyes like…

He seems pretty submissive, with the way he's cowering. "Oui, C-commander?"

"Find Sir Samson, and bring him down here."

Laurens glances at me.

"Tell him he has a little runt to duel."

Traver pales. "A duel?! But Commander-"

"But Commander!" Laurens mocked in a singsong voice. "Go get him."

Traver gulped, and plodded out of the room.

Oh dear.

Oh no. No no no.

A duel?! I'm not that good! I remember Sir Samson… he was the concept of like a really strong knight. I can hope that he isn't that guy… no, I'm definitely screwed.

What was the dame thinking?! I'm going to have a word with her… if I'm alive..

"At first blood?" I say, mustering every ounce of courage I have. It wasn't a question.

"Of course," the commander agrees.

"Wouldn't want to hurt the little baby."

I'm the only one who could run into situations like this in an almost utopia. I gulp.

"The name's Jonas Raven. And I'll put on a fight."

"Really?" Laurens questions, lifting his head.

He turns to the crowd.

"We want a good duel, don't we?"

Shouts and cheers of agreement emerge from the soldiers and knights.

"So don't disappoint us. I'm sure you don't want to."

—————————————————————————

Dame Kyda begins to regret saying anything. Sir Samson was much bigger than the kid; and size difference was a landslide advantage to the former.

"He could crush him like a twig! Why is this kid accepting the duel?" Will exclaims in disbelief.

"Kyda, why did you even suggest that?" Jakob rebukes.

"It's Sellanddatter during work hours," Kyda countered.

"And do you think I asked him to hurt the 'kid'?"

Aurand pinches the bridge of his nose. "You know Laurens. He doesn't let things go so easy. You gave him the chance."

"Give her a break, Jakob," Sequin supported her. I-I can't watch this, I'm going."

Someone laughs. "And you call yourself a knight, Chevalier?

"Are you scared?" he sneers.

"Ta guele, Cartier," Kyda scorns, turning away from him. "He has a conscience. You don't. And that is the difference."

"Blablabla.."

Kyda sighs. Jonas, you better have something good up your sleeves.

—————————————————————————

Did I say Jonas? I meant Joseph! I wasn't even thinking of Mr. Woolf! Ugh, nevermind, it's not a big deal. No one's bound to notice.

None of the soldiers are sparring anymore. They're waiting for that duel they were promised. Placing bets already. Through the windows I can see the snow fall. Something I can't see where I live.

Oh, what I'd give to be walking in the snow with the rest of the squad! Then we could drink some hot chocolate and talk and play board games and word games…

Focus moron!

No turning back. I'm not turning back. I'm not even gonna think about turning back. Because then I'd be a coward, and that's one thing I'm not gonna be.

Okay, enough of this monologue. You're probably gonna get bored.

Maybe if I just proved to the commander that I'm decent, he'll won't be so annoyed? I don't know.

More importantly, I cannot make a fool of myself. No siree!

We'll have to wait and find out.

—————————————————————————

A/N: Yeah, present tense is hard to write. I keep writing my verbs in past tense!

[and this is me from a day later; actually lost half of what I wrote and recovered it today. That was a scare :’)]

Anyway, about the whole Joseph/Jonas thing… I planned while writing Chapter 2. It's based on something I've done irl lmao.

Basically, I had the opportunity of writing a skit for the morning assembly in school a few years back.

To those who don't know what that is every morning everyone in school goes down to the auditorium (we didn't have one, we had to stand outdoors TwT) and say prayers. I study at a catholic school so yeah. There's bible readings, thoughts of the day and the fore-mentioned skits.

It was something about anti-littering, and I was supposed to be Miss Caroline; teaching students on the effects of littering and what plastics to use and not to use. I didn't really get nerves on stage but for some reason I forgot what my character's name was. My brain automatically substituted it with 'Catherine' and the rest of my class went with the flow. (In my school each class got a weekly turn in the school assembly)

Apparently my lil sister's teacher was a Catherine and that her class and the teacher liked it very much that the educator was named Catherine as well. I ended up meeting her after and I'm sure remembers me even today. I saw her a few months ago too and she seemed happy to see me 😊

‘Ta guele’ means to ‘shut up’ in French, btw.

I've actually had to practice swordfighting with a bamboo stick haha. Props to my sister for helping me with this. Tho I think that she had the bamboo stick and I had a curtain rod lol-

I've got a decent amount of muscle, and I'm somewhat apple-shaped, and I feel if I tried I could pass as a boy. Except my thighs are 'womanly'...

With that out of the way, you'd be surprised to know that the commander was one of the oldest characters for this story, along with Princess Bianca. I'll explain that soon~

Thank you for reading!

[kutemouse]

Caught (Prologue)

Disclaimers: All “Save Me” webtoon and BTS MV/highlight reel/film references and plots belong to BTS and BigHit. Not sure who edited it or made it, but the “I’m Fine/Save Me” ambigram pic I used came from here. All pictures of Kim Taehyung belong to BTS and BigHit, I just edited them for my header. The picture of BTS came from Vogue Japan, I just edited it for my header. I got the Kim Taehyung Wings Film Gif from DannyBriz on Wattpad.

A Note from Kutemouse: Awwww, thank you for reading my stuff, @chocolatewolfuniversitytrash!

So, this sweet little mini series is inspired by several things… The movie 365 DNI, the Save Me webtoon, the BTS MV universe, and ideas I’ve come up with waaaaaay too late at night 😂 Honestly, I’m OBSESSED with the whole MV/highlight reel/wings films arc that started with The Most Beautiful Moment in Life Pt. 1, and I’ve ALWAYS wanted to write a story inspired by it. So, kutie pie @chocolatewolfuniversitytrash, thank you for allowing this dream to come to light.

About the non-con request, I was all like, “EEEERRRRRRMMMMMMMM idk,” because I’ve never written non-con and therefore don’t… know… if I’m comfortable with it…? I will attempt to do my best. Either way, I hope you like what has come out of my brain 😅

Also, thank you to @btssmutheaven for revealing my drafts (NOT REALLY, ILY) to @taemaknae for reading my shit and loving it, and to @kpopyandere for being the best unnie account and helping me realize I can write all the yandere ideas I want.

Age Recommendation: 21+ (this is NOT one for youngsters, kuties, and is MOST DEFINITELY NSFW)

Genre: Mafia!AU w/ BTS, Jailbird!AU w/ Taehyung, Yandere!BTS

Warnings: ALL THE WARNINGS. Just kidding, uh… Swears. There are minors in this section but they do NOT do anything sexual. I ain’t about that kinda life, y’all. F*ckboy Taehyung. Fluffy friendship. Angsty jealousy. Mentions of drug use and alcohol consumption (NOT by minors tho). Yandere themes including unhealthy obsession and possessiveness. Making out. No smut in this part, but it’s heavy af.

🚨TRIGGER WARNING. DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE ISSUES WITH THE FOLLOWING.🚨

Mentions of abusive relationships, mentions of a parent abusing their child, mentions of sexual abuse, mentions of schoolyard bullying, mentions of a violent murder.

These are not fleshed out or detailed scenarios. When I say “mention,” I mean briefly discussed after it happened, not during, and definitely not in any detail whatsoever. You DO NOT have to read my work. You decide what you are comfortable with. All I want is for you kuties to be happy.

Word Count: 6.1k (WTF is this even allowed?!)

Summary: Kim Taehyung was the absolute love of your life… until he became a murderer. With him serving a life sentence in prison, you were finally free to live out the rest of your life however you wanted. Just when you thought you were at the top of your game, ready to take on the world, Taehyung reappears like a monster not even your worst nightmares could dream up. He gives you a year to fall in love with him, but now the question is, can monsters even be loved?

Master List

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Caught (Taehyung Series, Yandere, Smut, Angst) Prologue

I remember the first time I saw Kim Taehyung. We were both fifteen, just starting out in high school. Back then, I remember the way he lazily leaned against a locker with his arms crossed, seemingly waiting for someone. His hair was bleached a ridiculous bright blonde on the top and left brunette everywhere else. He had on dramatic, black eyeliner that served to accentuate his inky eyes, and he wore a studded leather jacket with his shirt and tie rather than the traditional uniform. Intrigued, I opened my locker and picked out my books for my next class, watching him out of the corner of my eye.

I saw him zero in on his target and take brisk, wide strides towards her as she twirled the combo to her locker. She looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes as he caged her in by leaning down to whisper something in her ear. Suddenly, the hallway was filled with flirtatious giggles and I turned away, rolling my eyes. So he was one of those assholes.

I watched him do this with every single girl in our class. I swear, he had his routine down to a science. Chat her up, openly flirt, flirt some more until she caved in to whatever he desired, then drop her like a hot frying pan. It took a couple months for his interest to finally land on me.

“Hey.”

I didn’t bother to look up as I twirled the combination to my locker and popped it open.

“Hey,” he said louder.

I flicked a glance his way. “Do you need something?”

His eyes narrowed. “Do I look like I need anything?”

I huffed out a sigh. “What do you want, Kim Taehyung?”

He let out a snort, leaning against the locker next to mine the same way he’d done a thousand times with a thousand other girls. “So you know my name, but I don’t know yours. You’re new, right?”

“I transferred in at the beginning of the year,” I said impatiently. “And we’re in the same class, so you should know who I am.”

Taehyung’s lips curled up into a playful smirk. “Really? No, that can’t be right. I definitely would’ve remembered you.”

I rolled my eyes and slammed my locker shut, walking quickly away. Taehyung jogged to keep up. “Just tell me your name,” he insisted.

“Why?”

“C’mon, I’m just trying to make friends.”

I whirled around, stopping both of us in our tracks. “Friends? Is that what you’ve been doing with every other girl here? Just making friends?”

Taehyung smirked once more and took a step towards me. I don’t know why, but I took a step back. I should’ve held my ground, should’ve told him to fuck off right then and there. Instead, I let him back me up against the wall and entrap me within his darkened gaze, the same way he would for the next three years of our lives.

He leaned down to whisper in my ear, his breath tickling the skin of my cheek. “We can be more than friends… but first, you have to tell me your name.”

I shoved him off me and practically sprinted down the hall, cheeks aflame with embarrassment. My peers and classmates who saw the exchange teased me for weeks afterward, no matter how much I kept my head down and avoided Taehyung like my life depended on it. It wasn’t until I heard him telling off some of the more tenacious gossipers I decided to give him another chance.

I tapped him on his shoulder as he stood in front of his locker. His eyes widened when he turned to see me standing there. “I’m L/n Y/n,” I said meekly. “And I wanted to thank you for what you said to those people.”

“You heard that?” he asked, the skin of his neck flushing pink.

I nodded.

“You’re welcome,” he said, tossing me a boxy grin.

That day, a seed was planted that eventually grew into a steady, beautiful friendship. A year later, I had come out of my shell quite a bit thanks to Taehyung, and I had a solid group of mates that I adored and relied on. Tae was my best friend, and I was his. Of course, we still got teased quite a bit about being a couple, but I figured we were both long past that.

Taehyung matured alongside our friendship. He stopped wearing thick eyeliner and sporting ridiculous hair colors, instead opting for a softer, more natural look with caramel brown locks and the unblemished glow of his slightly-tan skin. Gone were his dramatic, attention-seeking ways. His voice also deepened, dropping almost an entire octave. Yet despite all of his changes, he still stayed an absolute fuck-boy, shagging a new girl every other week. I came to realize it was all part of his personality, though, and I loved him no matter what.

The summer before our senior year was when I realized that love ran way deeper than friendship. We were at my best girlfriend Chaeyoung’s house when Taehyung stumbled in with yet another girl, his hair freshly dyed a bright cerulean blue. “Hey everyone!” he called out, slinging his arm around the girl’s shoulders. My smile faded as I looked over and noticed she was beyond gorgeous, with waist-length black locks that seemed to flow down the perfect curve of her back. I shuddered as a green monster reared its ugly head deep within me.

Taehyung was with that girl for a few months, which by his standards, was practically a lifetime. The entire time they were together, I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff about to swan-dive into devastating heartbreak. Each time I saw him kiss her, each time I saw him smile at her, each time I saw him lean over and whisper something in her ear, a piece of my soul shriveled up and died. I did my best to put my feelings aside, knowing I already had my chance and he would probably never look at me that way again. Even after they broke up, I kept my love for him tamped down and tucked away deep in the recesses of my heart, scared of ruining our friendship.

His break-up only served to draw us closer together, and slowly, without me realizing it, our friendship began to bloom into something more. Taehyung and I started to tell each other everything, including the messed-up secrets our home lives made us keep. One day, we were sitting in an empty classroom after school. I was trying to study, but kept getting distracted by Tae staring longingly out the window. “What’re you looking at?” I finally asked, putting my pencil down.

“Nothing,” he said simply. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“About when we’ll finally get out of here.”

I smiled, my heart thumping a little faster. “We?”

He turned and tossed me his signature boxy grin. “Yeah. We. We’ll make it out of here someday, Y/n. I’ll get away from my bastard of a dad, you’ll get away from your selfish mother, and we’ll have a house in the country with big, open fields and plenty of space to finally fucking breathe.”

I smiled and stored those words away, using them to comfort myself whenever my mother and her asshole of a boyfriend wouldn’t stop yelling at each other, or worse, when they’d pass out on the couch, too drunk or high to stay coherent.

One night around three in the morning, my phone began to buzz and didn’t stop until I finally popped an eye open, fumbled around for it in the dark, and pressed it to my ear. “Hello?” I mumbled.

“H-Hey.”

I sat up. “Taehyung?”

“Y/n, I n-need your help,” he said shakily. It sounded like he was… crying?

I immediately got out of bed and pulled some jeans on. “Tae, it’s okay,” I said soothingly, trying to hide the panic I was feeling. I knew Taehyung’s home life was extremely hard. In fact, most of our home lives were terrible. The only two in our friend group who even came close to “privileged” were Chaeyoung and Jin, and that was because their parents had more money, not less problems.

I myself had plenty of issues. The reason my mother and I moved here when I was fifteen was to escape her abusive boyfriend, and even then, we still lived in constant fear of him finding us again. I guess that fear drove her into the arms of the first strong-looking man who looked twice at her, because her new boyfriend, Manseok, seemed to fit the same abusive pattern. At least he didn’t hit her when he was sober.

I wasn’t exactly sure how terrible Taehyung’s life was until the night he called me. At his request, I stole a few bills from my mom’s purse as well as her ID and put us up in a cheap motel room for the night. Jumping up when I finally heard his knock, I quickly pulled the door open to reveal Taehyung, his blue hair stringy from the rain outside. He was panting like he ran all the way there. I covered my mouth with my hands as the dim lighting revealed his left eye swollen shut, covered in nasty shades of scarlet and purple. His lip was split and bleeding, and his right cheek had another bruise and cut creeping down to his jawbone. The worst part, though, were the red finger-shaped marks that covered his neck.

“Y/n,” he croaked out. I held open my arms and he fell into them, not leaving their safety until well into the morning. I iced his black eye and bruises as much as I could, and bandaged the cuts that covered his face. Taehyung’s face was pressed into my chest, his breathing deep and even as he finally slept.

I decided then and there I’d never let him go.

Thankfully, Taehyung felt the same way. Within a week, he brushed off every other girl he was chatting up and focused all of his attention on me. We spent hours with each other after school, either in person or on the phone, and it became a common occurrence for him to intertwine his fingers with mine or peck me sweetly on the cheek.

I quickly grew dissatisfied, sick of the friendship barrier preventing us from taking things further. We spent an entire day together one weekend, talking, laughing, walking the streets, and trying different foods from vendor carts. As the sun started to go down, Taehyung wrapped his arms around me from behind, pressing his chest into my back. He was teasing me, I forget about what, and he leaned down to kiss my cheek when I turned at the last second and let him peck my lips instead. I laughed as his dark eyes grew wide with shock.

That was all it took, though. One kiss, and he was mine. Or rather, I was his. Afterwards, he pulled me into a deserted alleyway and we kissed until the sun completely disappeared. As the stars appeared in the sky above, Taehyung asked me to be his girlfriend, murmuring in my ear about how much he loved me and how he had never stopped loving me, even after I turned him down. With my heart practically bursting, I readily agreed.

Back then, Taehyung had a knack for getting in trouble, and me being his new girlfriend did nothing to hinder that side of him. He was definitely the “bad boy” of our school, constantly rebelling against the system by swapping his uniform for street clothes and ditching classes. His favorite form of rebellion, however, was street graffiti. He loved spray-painting words and drawings all over the walls of our neighborhood alongside his best friend, Namjoon. Tae was nearly caught by the cops a couple of times, but thanks to his quick instincts, he managed to give them the slip.

Still, a boy with bright, blue hair was bound to stand out, so after a couple nights of close calls, Taehyung finally dyed his hair back to that soft, caramel brown that I loved running my fingers through. We sat together at a bus stop, watching cars and people go by with fingers intertwined, when Tae stood and pulled a paint can out of his jacket pocket.

“Again?” I asked. Despite my teasing tone, I smiled up at him.

Taehyung tucked his bottom lip between his teeth with a grin as he sprayed something onto the panel beside us. “Look,” he said once he was finished, tilting his head to admire his work.

I stood up to see the words “I’m fine” sprayed in green. The font was the most interesting part, though, too curly in comparison to Taehyung’s usual writing. “Now look at it from upside-down,” Tae said.

I threw him a skeptical look before obediently curving my neck and scoping out the piece of art as best I could. “Save me,” I read out loud.

Taehyung nodded. “It’s for us,” he murmured.

I looked up at him, emotions surging through me like a waterfall surging down a cliff. “It’s beautiful,” I said, my voice cracking.

Taehyung looked at me, concern filling his features. “Baby girl, what’s wrong?”

“I-I have s-something to tell you,” I stammered.

With many tears and a shaky voice, I began to explain to Taehyung the events that had transpired only a few nights before. How my mom’s boyfriend had quietly snuck into my room while she remained passed out on the couch. How he had told me to be quiet as his hand started stroking my arm. How he had held his hand over my mouth and yelped when I bit him. How I had screamed so loud our neighbors called the cops. How he was carted away by the police with my mother shrieking the entire time about how I was a brat and a dramatic liar.

Taehyung’s gaze grew darker with each word. “That bastard,” he spat, clenching his fists. “I will end that motherfucker.”

“Taehyung, stop,” I sighed. “It’s over. For now, at least. I’ll stay at Chaeyoung’s until graduation.”

“What do you mean? He’s not going to jail?”

I hung my head. “My mom left to pay his bail an hour ago.”

Taehyung slammed his fist into the same panel he just graffitied. “So that jerk is going to walk free?!”

I stood up and ran my hands soothingly over his shoulders. “For now. I’m going to press charges, but in the end, it’s my word against his. Who knows how the system will treat him.”

Taehyung let out a feral growl, turning away from me. “I’m sick of this shit,” he snapped. “My dad, your mom’s boyfriend… neither of them should be walking free after everything they’ve done.”

Not knowing what else to do, I hugged him tightly from behind. “Just another few months,” I said quietly. “And then we’ll be out of here. A house in the country, just like you said.”

“That’s not good enough,” Tae snapped, turning back towards me. My mouth parted in surprise as I looked into his eyes and saw something there I’d never seen before. It was like a slow-burning flame, one that hadn’t yet risen into a raging wildfire, but threatened to if it wasn’t quickly put out.

Taehyung suddenly grabbed my hand and tugged me down the street. “I’m dropping you off at Chae’s,” he said. “And then I want you to stay there for the next twenty-four hours. I don’t want you going out for any reason, you understand me?”

“Taehyung, what are you saying? You’re scaring me.”

He stopped walking, turning so we were facing each other once more. The flame I saw earlier began blazing, turning rapidly into something uncontrollable and destructive I didn’t know how to stop. “This ends tonight,” he growled.

True to his word, he dropped me off at Chaeyoung’s, not leaving until he made me promise I wouldn’t go out until he said so. After a week, with Tae’s permission, I went home to get some clothes and personal items only to find my mom sitting on the couch, strung out of her mind. “Is he here?” I asked tentatively.

She raised her red-rimmed eyes to meet mine. “Who?”

“Manseok. Your jerk of a boyfriend.”

My mom shrugged and scoffed. “Haven’t seen that bastard for a couple days now,” she said, her words slurring together. “He upped and left us. Stole some money from me to do it, too.”

The feeling of relief that I felt was short-lived once I remembered that asshole would probably be back for more, just like the others. I quickly gathered my things and left, stopping only to make sure my mom had enough food for the next few days.

Ever since that night, Taehyung withdrew into himself. He still held my hand and kissed me, but it was distant, emotionless, like he didn’t know how to feel his feelings for me anymore. He weirdly became somewhat possessive of me, keeping me practically glued to his side whenever he was with me, and constantly texting me when we weren’t together. Whenever other boys looked my way, Taehyung shot them down with harsh words and incessant bullying our friends joined in on. I insisted they stop that kind of behavior, and for a while, I thought Tae and his friends complied. It wasn’t until much later in life when I realized they never truly stopped. They just got better at hiding it.

One night, I was at Namjoon’s place waiting for Tae when Joon’s phone rang. “Taehyung?” he said, turning away from me when I looked up. “Hey, calm down. You did what?!”

He stood up quickly. I motioned for him to put it on speaker, but he waved me off. “Okay, stop. I’m coming over right now. Just stay put, dammit.”

Joon grabbed his jacket and rushed towards the door. “Wait!” I cried. “What happened?!”

“Nothing that concerns you,” he snapped. “Stay here. I’ll bring Taehyung to you, alright?”

Neither of them came back. Before the sun even thought of rising, I determinedly ran all the way to Taehyung’s apartment, desperate to see him and make sure he was alright. As my sneakers pounded against the pavement and my breath started coming out in ragged gasps, I suddenly felt a hand grasp my forearm and yank me into a side alley.

“What are you doing here?” a voice growled as I yelped in surprise. I looked up to see Jungkook standing there, glaring at me.

“I want to see Taehyung,” I retorted, ripping my arm from his grasp.

He crossed his arms. “Not gonna happen.”

“Like hell it’s not!” I snapped. “Where is he?”

Jungkook grabbed the front of my jacket, preventing me from pushing past him. “Go home, Y/n.”

“Absolutely the fuck not!”

Sick of my shit, Jungkook picked me up, threw me over his broad shoulder, and carried me out of the alleyway. I kicked and screamed the entire way. He set me down once we were on the main street. “Taehyung will call you when he can,” he said firmly. “I won’t say it again, Y/n. Go home.”

“No!” Tears welled up, and I furiously swiped them away. “I’m his girlfriend! Tell me where he is right now or I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Jungkook snapped. “Y/n, you don’t even know where he is. Fucking leave, or I’ll carry you all the way back to Chae’s myself.”

It didn’t take much longer for me to realize Jungkook wouldn’t relent. Eventually, I went back to Chaeyoung’s and spent the day staring at the wall beside my bed. What did Taehyung do? What were his friends protecting him from? When had things gotten so fucked up?

My questions were never answered. After a full week of silence, complete with him missing school, Taehyung showed up at Chae’s place asking for me. “She doesn’t want to see you,” Chae snapped, closing the door as I meandered into the entry hall.

Taehyung stopped her by slamming his palm against the wood. “Please, Chae,” he begged.

Recognizing his deep tenor, I walked up and put my hand on my bestie’s shoulder. “I’ve got this, Chae,” I murmured. She left with a huff.

Taehyung looked terrible. Dark circles ran under both eyes like he’d spent multiple nights without sleep, his hair was unkempt, and his skin was much too pale. Without another word, I immediately took him inside and dragged him up to my room. He took a shower in my en suite bathroom while I washed his clothes. After he dressed, we sat on my bed, still not speaking. “What happened?” I finally asked.

He tossed me a weak smile. “Life happened.”

I shook my head in disgust. “You leave me for an entire week with no explanation, and that’s all you have to say?”

“Baby girl, please,” Taehyung said, clasping my hands in between his large, rough ones. “I’m sorry I left you alone. I asked the guys to keep an eye on you, and they said you’ve been doing fine.”

“Fine is an overstatement,” I snorted, tearing my hands from his grasp.

He didn’t relent, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into his broad chest. “Let go,” I ordered, trying and failing to push him away.

“No,” he said simply, tightening his hold. “I love you, Y/n. Everything that happened this past week happened for us. For our dream.”

I managed to pull back enough to look up into his eyes. The spark of mischief that normally resided there was gone, replaced by a dull sombreness that made me ache inside. Whatever had happened that week completely changed Taehyung for good. He was no longer quick to smile or joke, and I began to yearn for the blue-haired boy of the past. I couldn’t tell him that, though. Despite everything, I still loved him.

A month passed, and as our graduation approached, Taehyung talked more and more about moving out to the country. I responded enthusiastically outwardly, but on the inside, I didn’t know if moving out was such a good idea. It wasn’t just the way he had changed. It was having issues with my mom as well. Since Manseok never came back around, her behavior grew more erratic each day. I moved back in to take care of her, and she depended heavily on me. I was afraid if I left, she would fall off the deep end again and never be able to make it back to the surface.

The last day I saw Taehyung dawned bright and filled with hope. “I’m feeling good today,” he announced, slinging an arm around my shoulders as we walked to class.

I smiled up at him, glee spreading through my limbs when I saw a trace of that mischievous spark back in his eyes. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He tossed me a grin. “I haven’t been able to go out and tag anything lately… but I kind of want to tonight. You in?”

“Of course.”

As night approached, we walked hand-in-hand down the street until Taehyung led us back to that bus stop where he painted the “I’m fine/Save me” ambigram. I sat on the bench and watched as he began to create something new. I don’t think he had a set plan. The painting started off in meaningless loops, the jet-black color standing out in stark contrast to the white behind it.

Suddenly, bright lights filled our vision flashing a blinding blue and red. “Freeze!” a loud voice yelled.

I remember Taehyung’s wide, dark eyes finding mine, filled with panic. I remember the rough skin of his palm sliding into mine and yanking me upright. I remember how we sprinted down the street, the fear of being caught pumping adrenaline through us. How he ran faster than me, tugging me along to keep up.

Taehyung looked back and pulled me into an alleyway to try and lose them. We turned a corner and met a dead end. With our backs pressed against the wall, I looked at Tae. “Dammit,” he panted, the corners of his mouth turning upwards despite our situation.

I began to run out the way we came, intending on dragging Taehyung with me, but he yanked me back, slamming me against the wall that entrapped us. He kissed me, feverishly pressing his tongue inside my mouth before I could stop him. He yanked my wrists upwards, pinning them almost painfully against the brick above us as his mouth continued exploring mine and his hands roamed up and down my body.

He pulled back, allowing me to finally suck in some oxygen, and even as I coughed, he continued pressing kisses from my cheek to my jaw to my neck. Tae finally stopped as loud voices and beams of flashlights got closer. “I love you, baby girl,” he murmured. “Don’t forget that.”

“Tae, what—?”

He stepped out from behind the corner, raising his hands in the air. I ducked down into the shadows the alley provided, scooting backwards and pressing my hands over my mouth.

“Get over here, punk,” a gruff voice commanded. I heard the grinding click of handcuffs closing over wrists as another voice began to read Tae his rights.

I scrambled to my feet, realizing too late what was happening. No, no, no, no, no. He couldn’t take the fall for both of us. Not like this. Still, even as I moved to step out into the light and reveal myself, something stopped me. I don’t remember exactly what it was. Possibly the thought of my mother, my friends, how close I was to graduation. Like I said, I don’t remember. All I remember was the panic I felt when I realized the love of my life had just been arrested.

I showed up late to class the next day, not wanting to answer questions from my friends about what had happened and why I looked like absolute shit. I realized my efforts weren’t needed when two detectives pulled me out of class and escorted me to the police station, causing my classmates to start buzzing with gossip like the annoying wasps they were.

“So… L/n Y/n,” the cop, Detective Kwak, said. I looked up at her, nervously twisting my hands in my lap. “You are dating Kim Taehyung, correct?”

I nodded slowly. She had brought me here for “routine questioning,” yet I began to suspect more when they put me in an interrogation room. “For how long?” the detective asked.

“About a year and a half,” I muttered.

“So your relationship was serious?”

“You could say that.”

“How serious?”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “What do you mean?”

“I  mean, how serious were you? Did you have plans for after graduation?”

“I guess. We were going to move in together.”

“Here in the city?”

“No,” I replied, shaking my head. “Somewhere far away.”

“Because of your troubles at home?”

It was then I got defensive. “What do you know about that?” I snapped.

Detective Kwak stared me down, an amused smile playing around the corners of her lips. “I know enough. I was promoted to detective only a month or so ago. Back in my street days, I was one of the cops called to your house.”

My mouth parted in surprise at her words.

“I remember that night pretty clearly,” she continued. “Your mom’s boyfriend attacked you, right?”

I swallowed hard and sank down in my seat, rubbing my arms with my palms in an effort to keep myself contained. “And she did nothing to defend you, correct?” the detective prodded.

“Stop,” I whispered.

“What about Taehyung? Did he do anything to defend you?”

“What the fuck is this about?” I burst out. “I thought you brought me here because… because…”

“Because of the graffiti?” she asked pointedly.

I nodded.

Detective Kwak leaned forward over the table. “Look, Y/n, I don’t give a damn about the fact you were his tagging partner in crime or whatever. This is much bigger than that.”

“What do you mean?”

She sat back and stared at me, her eyes like cold, dark tunnels. “Kim Taehyung has been charged with murder. His prints match a partial we lifted off of a crime scene.”

My mouth dropped open. “W-What?”

“That’s right,” she said. “We only identified the body yesterday. Does the name Lee Manseok mean anything to you?”

I froze as the syllables of my mother’s boyfriend’s name rolled off the detective’s tongue. She nodded at my reaction. “I thought it would. He was found in an abandoned warehouse about a week after he was killed. He’d been beaten to death.”

My blood ran cold, causing goosebumps to raise on the flesh of my arms. I shook my head fiercely. “No, that can’t be right,” I said. “The guy was a dick, anyone could’ve done that to him.”

“That’s what we thought at first. We first suspected his wife.”

“He… He has a wife?”

“And two kids,” the detective scoffed. “Your mom picked a real winner. But then we finally got Taehyung in custody thanks to your shenanigans last night and what do you know? His prints match the one we found at the crime scene.”

“You’ve got it wrong,” I said firmly. “Taehyung wouldn’t do that.”

“Wouldn’t he?” she asked, folding her arms over the table. “Sounds like he really loved you and would do anything to protect you.”

“No, there has to be a mistake. Even if Taehyung did kill him, it had to be out of self-defense or something.”

“Maybe so. But if you knock a guy out and then continue beating him until he dies, is it really self-defense?”

“It is if that guy could come back and hurt someone you love for revenge,” I retorted.

The detective’s face remained expressionless. “Unfortunately, the law says differently.”

“The law can go to hell for all I care.”

She chuckled. “Whatever you say, kid. Look, the crime scene revealed that more than one person beat the literal life out of Manseok. If Taehyung did this, he didn’t do it alone. Do you happen to know who else would have helped him commit murder?”

I stayed silent as I thought for a moment. Any of our friends could’ve helped him, with maybe the exception of Chaeyoung. I thought of Jin, Hoseok, Jungkook, Jimin, Yoongi and Joon. I thought of the way they moved around school like a unified group, making fun of anyone who wasn’t them and bullying people who got in their way, especially any other guy who dared look my way. Still, they wouldn’t have helped Tae commit flat-out murder, would they?

“Anyone at all?”

The detective’s voice brought me out of my thoughts. I shook my head. “No. No one.”

She sighed. “There’s something else. We’ve been trying to get ahold of Taehyung’s father, but he seems to be missing.”

“Missing?”

“Yes. He hasn’t shown up at his job at all in the past month and a half. His credit cards haven’t been used, either.”

“So?” I snapped. “The guy was an alcoholic, he could be holed up somewhere drinking himself to death.”

“Maybe so, but my guess is we’re going to find him in some abandoned building or maybe at the bottom of the ocean one day. Your boy, Taehyung? I’ll bet he’s the one who put him there.”

I slammed my palms on the table. “LIES!” I yelled. “He wouldn’t do that!”

“Wouldn’t he?!” Detective Kwak shouted, rising to her feet. “Tell me something right now, Y/n. Have you noticed him acting differently? Have you noticed any changes in his behavior?”

I immediately looked down at the ground. “No,” I muttered.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said, NO!”

“Enough with the lies!”

“I’m not lying! You are!”

The detective opened her mouth to retort, then thought better of it and sat down instead. “The evidence doesn’t lie, Y/n,” she said.

“Look,” I said. “If you want someone to put in jail, put me in jail. Taehyung’s gone through enough in his life. Please don’t put him through this.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

Tears welled up in my eyes and I put my hands over my face and began to sob. Detective Kwak stood up and came around to my side of the table before placing a hand on my shoulder. Once my sobs began to cease, she offered me a tissue. I wiped my eyes and blew my nose. “Thanks,” I muttered.

“Listen,” she said gently. “I’ve made arrangements for your aunt to come pick you up.”

I looked up at the detective in surprise. “My aunt?”

“Yes. Your mom’s sister. She’s filed to gain custody of you, and in light of recent events, a judge granted it to her.”

“Wait, my mom’s sister? I thought she lived in America.”

Detective Kwak’s mouth visibly tightened. “No, actually, she lives in Busan. Seems your mom kept that from you as well. Your aunt’s been trying to get in contact with you, Y/n. She says she sent letters.”

I stared at the wall across from me. Every limb, every nerve ending, every cell in my body was starting to go numb. It was all too much. My boyfriend was a murderer, my mom’s ex-boyfriend was dead, Taehyung’s dad was missing, and now all of a sudden I had a long-lost aunt who was now my sole guardian?”

“She’s very well off,” the detective continued. “She’s even offered to pay for your mom to get treatment in a rehabilitation facility. Whatever future you have with her is sure to be a bright one.”

“If you say so.”

“I know so. I’ve met her, only briefly, but she seems very nice.”

I let the silence grow between us, not bothering to give a response. The detective finally sighed and sat back down in her chair across from me. “Y/n, Taehyung is going to jail for a very long time. Maybe even for the rest of his life. I suggest you move on with your life. Move to Busan. You’ll attend a great school there, and probably university as well. You can start down an entirely new path.”

The memory of Taehyung’s handsome face swam before my eyes, his bright, boxy smile lighting my insides on fire the way it had for the past year and a half. “What if I don’t want to?” I whispered.

“Well… That’s up to you. But the sooner you move on, the sooner you’ll stop feeling this pain.”

Detective Kwak stood up, motioning for me to stand up as well. “Come on. Your aunt’s waiting.”

We exited the interrogation room, the skin on my face itchy and dry from crying. I knew I probably looked like a mess, but I didn’t care.

“Y/n!” a deep, familiar voice shouted. I froze in my tracks, slowly raising my eyes to his inky ones. He struggled in the grip of two cops, his hands handcuffed behind his back.

“Hey baby girl,” he said, smirking. “Nice of you to come visit me.”

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Detective Kwak hissed.

“You said to move him into the interrogation room.”

“While it’s still occupied?!”

“Don’t worry,” Taehyung quipped. “We can share, right baby?”

“Get him out of here!” Detective Kwak snapped. “Now!”

The cops shoved Taehyung towards the interrogation room. I turned to look at him, desperation clenching at my heart. I realized this might be the last time I saw him, the last time I would get to tell him something. Anything. My mouth opened but no words came out.

“Don’t worry, baby girl!” Taehyung shouted, lurching towards me. “I’ll get out someday! And I’ll come for you! I will always come for you!”

I shook my head and felt tears prick at my eyes once more as the police wrestled with him. “I love you, Y/n!” he shouted just before they shut the door on him.

“Sorry about that,” Detective Kim said, holding a hand to her heaving chest. “You weren’t supposed to cross paths.”

“It’s okay,” I murmured, and to my own surprise, I meant it. I was glad I saw him one last time. I realized, in that moment, that the blue-haired boy I once knew and fell in love with was completely gone. His eyes, which once held a spark of playfulness and mischief, now held nothing but misery and woe. He let his anger for the world overtake him, allowing it to blaze a path of self-destruction that I could no longer follow.

Maybe the detective was right. Despite the fact that Kim Taehyung was the love of my life, maybe, just maybe, it was time to move on.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

Part One is HEEEEEEERE! 😉

[vertigoimprint]

alright, here are my ramblings about the hellfire gala outfits, with ratings:

these are just my opinions, you can ask about them but be polite. also this post is long, hence the keep reading.

faves first, let’s start this on a positive note.

Storm’s is the best without question. The black and gold color combo, the jewelry, the shoulder pads, the flowing hair, the cape made of clouds and lightning! Perfection. The only thing I dislike about it is the heel of the shoes but that’s easy to ignore. 5/5.

This gives me such 80s/90s rogue vibes. Lace and leather (I’m just gonna assume it’s leather, could be latex idc) is a perfect combo for rogue. The colors are great and I’m a big fan of the sunglasses. However, I’m not a huge fan of how high the cut of the jacket goes. On the other hand, I do like the shoes. 4/5.

Now warren doesn’t have as much going on as some of the others, but I appreciate the look for what it is. I like the jacket/cape and the gold chain holding it in place. Love that there’s no shirt <3 and the flowey pants are nice. The shoes boring but...whatever. 3/5.

alright faves out of the way...let’s get on with the others...

I really like this outfit, the colors are nice, the shoulders are very much padded. However this looks like Jean’s new costume, not the special gala attire it’s meant to be. If it were Jean’s new costume, it’d be a 4/5. In reality, it’s a 3/5.

...Sigh. I see...something here. Potential for something nice, not amazing, but nice. However the weird red stomach and bulky build just overpower the good elements of this outfit. I like the visor but not when it’s paired with this bulky piece. This outfit has the same problem as Jean’s. This feels like a costume he would wear to the next mission rather than fancy gala attire. 2/5. That rating feels a bit generous but in comparison to some other outfits...it’s deserved.

Speaking of other outfits. I will start this by admitting that I am absolutely biased against this outfit due to it being worn by Betsy “Body-snatcher” Braddock. However, you could put this outfit on literally any of my faves and I wouldn’t feel any kinder towards it. First off, why did they give her the cartoon old lady updo and expect it to work with her magical girl cosplay? (not that it could work on it’s own, mind you.) The red face paint is...there, it’s not really doing anything but it’s there. The sleeves are working for me, as I am a lover of puffy sleeves. However, the chest armor and short skirt are not. The boots would be fine on their own but the weird fabric hanging off them just makes them look plain ugly. Also, glove ribbons...no. 1/5.

Oh boy. So I’m not going to point out why using rachel’s hound costume was a bad idea, as others already have. But I will say that while yes, rachel’s hound costume is admittedly very cool looking to me, this is just a much, much, much uglier version of it. Also adding a muzzle was certainly...a choice. Not gonna touch on the leash made of human hair, 1/5. Seriously though, who’s hair is that. Did they make out of donations?

If I had to some this look up in one word, it’d be “Disappointing.” Monet Yvette Clarisse Maria Therese St. Croix may not have the most memorable looks but she oozes glamour out of her pores. This could’ve been her moment to get the luxurious, glamorous, memorable look that she deserves. But we got this...okay look instead. It’s fine. I don’t know how I feel about the sheer pants, I think the headpiece is out of place, the shoes are just ugly, and for whatever reason this look screams beach at me. 2/5.

Oh kitty...never did learn how to put a decent outfit together, did you?

I’m joking. Even though that look might’ve been very...very, it was charming in it’s own special way. I love it in all honesty. I can’t say the same for kitty’s- or should I say, kate’s, gala attire though. This is, in my humble opinion, the worst outfit. There’s so much going on here, I can’t even fully describe how much I hate it. The weird half cape, half prom dress look is ambitious but does not hit the mark. (hit? make? whatever.) Then it just gets worse with the half collar, the marching band sleeve, and the seven of nine eye detail. But what really solidifies it’s place as The Worst...is the brown boots. Just look at them! 0/5. Sorry, kitty.

Last but not least...maybe. We have all three of emma’s looks. Starting with-

This!..whatever it is. Now the idea of putting emma in a big fluffy coat is a good one, one that feels oh so right. But putting her in only a big fluffy coat...with a boob window and some ugly pumps, is not a good idea. I don’t even want to talk about the headpiece, 1/5.

Now this is better. Though not by much. I like the middle piece, I like the cut and the x shapes on her sleeves. I like this...uhm...fur carpet she’s dragging around. Would look nicer as a cape, maybe a boa. But sure, put it around your wrists, you’re Emma Fucking Frost, you can do that. Looking down, however...is when the outfit gets worse. Looking up isn’t such a good option either. What is it with Dauterman and these ugly headpieces? 2.5/5.

And now the final emma look. Which just so happens to be the best. I love that emma’s diamond form is apart of the look. The slicked back hair is lovely. I don’t mind the finger gloves, which is surprising since I’m not the biggest fan of them. I could talk about how I hate the shoes but I’d like to be positive about at least one emma look. 3/5.

[wscldier]

wardrobe:

bucky tends to favor clothes that are durable and long lasting. growing up in the 40′s he was used to clothing that was both tailored to him and made to last and could be darned and repaired with ease. though winifred barnes was no seamstress, she taught bucky how to make do and mend with whatever he had available and as the oldest sibling, bucky took it to heart to know exactly how to look for clothes that would last and how to make clothes out of scraps. it was used in part when steve needed new clothes ---- often resulting in bucky cuffing and hemming his old clothes to fit his friend more snuggly or when rebecca required something for herself.

bucky only did it as his mother grew weaker with her illnesses. winifred was a proud piano player and teacher, and she liked having energy and strength to play. so making and mending and sewing was something that he could take off her mind. it also helped in the long run as steve’s mom, sarah, could never find the time in between steve’s many illnesses and her abusive husbands behaviors. bucky figured it was a load off her mind as well.

once he was conscripted, he found this to be particularly useful as a skill, given the upkeep of his uniform was of utmost importance. it taught him valuable skills such as patience, looking for the finer details and most importantly care and attention. 

during his time as the winter soldier, his wardrobe was dictated once again by vasily karpov who wanted to remind the winter soldier that he had no control over anything in his life. including his dress. bucky was therefore given complicated and heavy duty clothing that was difficult to use and take on and off without assistance with many complicated harnesses, leather parts and clasps, keeping him contained in more ways than just mental. 

breaking out of that control, bucky began exploring modern fashions, favoring things that were durable and comfortable as well. he tends to go for robust fabrics such as wool, cotton, leather and denim , all of which are well made and well kept, always in pristine condition or as close to as he can manage. he takes pride in his clothes, having only a few suits to his name when he was younger.

whilst favoring comfort, his mass and arm limiting tighter fabrics, bucky wears very relaxed fits, hiding his figure if he can. not to say that he wears clothes that swamp him, but he will tend to go for a regular fit instead of a tight close fit with shirts and pants. 

he also favors darker colors, blues, browns, blacks and greys all being staples in his wardrobe. he was once told by a girl in 1941 that he should wear more blue because it brought out his eyes and he’s been wearing the color ever since, even remarking he thinks it makes him a little egotistical.

his clothes remain remarkably similar to each other, jeans, shirt - usually a henley or t-shirt, some sort of sweatshirt/hoodie and a leather jacket. when out on missions his uniform is made of a kevlar material, usually of dark blue to black material and black pants. he also finds his range of movement limited when wearing street clothes so removing his left arm makes it easier for him to move. 

when he is going out or trying to make an effort, he will tend to swap out his hoodie and leather jacket for a smart looking blazer and a t-shirt/collared shirt combo. 

he tends to wear a smart watch on his right wrist and carries dog-tags on his person. his footwear can usually be seen as boots, either doc martens or something similar. both comfortable and durable in the long run. 

as always, when in his streetwear, he will always wear his gloves in case his arm scares others.

oh and for all those who are interested. boxers. not briefs.

[dansedan]

Did anyone ask for bad impulsive original fiction? no? ok so I’m doing it anyway under readmore bc 

1) it’s four pages long

2) It’s not good

open at your own risk it’s gay pining and isolated places bc that’s what I’ve been thinking about latelyyyyyyy 

ok here ‘tis sorry everything I touch becomes brooding and horny at least this one isn’t explicit lmao I started it right after watching brokeback mountain and maybe that’s super obvious and sad!

The blonde man is in a yellow suede coat (for that is what blonde men wear) and the black-haired man is wearing blue (not denim, though, just house-clothes) and they are standing in a bog-road not quite a mountain, too tropical for Western dessert, and the black-haired man is short but the blonde is shorter.

The are moles on the black-haired man’s blonde-skinned face and the blonde man wants to kiss them quickly, kiss repeatedly like a combo in an arcade game. The black-haired man is grinning more than he would really grin and his eyes are proud, round almonds and his hair is long and leather-smooth. The Blonde man looks like carrot cake in essence but not color, he is pale and strawlike.

The Blonde man is shivering under the coat and hat and isn’t used to it, but the black haired man just smiles again and says that Jersey winter’s colder, that he should visit sometime and see it for himself. The blonde man does believe him, still shivers without being cold.

“It’s good that you’ve managed to make it all the way down here.”

The two men are in the cottage- or house, or shack, or whathaveyou- and they’re shedding their coats with warm hesitance. The light from the windows is white-cold and streaming in like sheafs of silk, and the blonde man stares like a movie-still, too conscious and composed. The black-haired man is real, though, and he’s rustling through the kitchen for mugs, and spoons and coffee grounds. Chattering about the weather and elections and the recent movie by the actor they both like to fill the space in the air, and the Blonde man is breathing with intent, too much intent. Like receiving a shirt from a lover, he is breathing in the air of the house (it is still air with no notable fragrance, the coffee from the kitchen exempted by its diegesis) and looking around, taking slow steps like a peppy realtor on a tee-vee show. The house is American, and hand-made several years ago (he knows, for this is how he met the black-haired man, in that year of furrowed brows and little lies and paperwork) and overwhelmingly warm, wooden brown. It is draped in corners with thick fabric, like a swaddled child, and the Blonde man can see embroidery and weavings he himself had sent along with a mutual friend on her much more frequent visits- a pillow with a bird design, a blanket made to look like an old overcoat, art-school projects disguised as adult whims that had never fooled the black-haired man, but had successfully flattered him.

And the black-haired man has finished making coffee, or gotten sick of hearing “yes” and “really?” from the younger man, is instead sneaking up behind him with the mugs.

“neat house, huh?”

“thanks, made it myself.”

And the black-haired man pretends to gasp, and pretends to laugh, and passes on the coffee to the blonde man. And they are not drinking over an open fire, they are walking to the sofa- one in sock feet, one in boots.

“how’s school?”

“s’fine- ‘school’ makes it sound like I’m in sixth grade.”

“…is sixth grade fun?”

“fuck no.”

The black-haired man’s smile is wide, and heart-shaped, and it breaks the blonde man’s heart to see it plastered like that and to know it’s his fault.

“Still, god, how long’s it been now, three years?”

“threeish.”

The black-haired man is looking everywhere other than him, and it’s painfully obvious in the closed quarters of the open living room.

“all because of-“

“yeah, well, and the distance is-“

“of course, of course, still-“

“yeah. No excuses.”

And the blonde man wonders how they can do that- having never heard each other’s voices- how the black-haired man can read his tone and answer without seeing him face, without staring like the blonde man does and is at his small face dwarfed by warm-toned sofa seat.

“You know, you’re shorter than I thought you’d be.”

“really?”

“well, from the photos-“

“ah. Well, my roommate’s- uhm, whatsit… like, five feet? One-twenty cm, whatever that is.”

“oh. Tiny.”

“yeah, tiny.”

And the black-haired man looks away again, towards the door that leads to a half-kilometer of nothing and no-one, and farmlands sat past that, so no-one was making any sort of noise or was otherwise expected. And it is warm inside the house, and they sit apart on the single sinking sofa, their hands next to each other but apart.

“god, you’re white.”

“well, that’s evident in-“

“yeah, photos but-“ the black-haired man reached out, tentatively placing their hands side by side, touching pinkies. “god, in person… it’s a lot.”

“hm.” The blonde man hummed to cover his sudden breathing. He didn’t know where to look, so he stared. “…The British have a lot to answer for.”

“ha! Maybe so,” the black-haired man seemed emboldened, he kept looking amiably about the blonde man’s face, starting to fully touch the surface of the Blonde man’s hands. “do you burn easily?”

“too much.” The blonde man nodded, looking up, jittery. He made a gesture, a short nod up, signaling to notice the field of faint freckles on his face. The black-haired man noticed only the quirk of his pink lips, puckering slightly as emphasis, and the youthful blemishes on his rounded chin that lead his eyes down to the soft expanse of neck and chest under the button-up. It was quiet awhile, both faced towards each other but looking away, choking on still coffee and stale air.

“how is the book-“

“So what did you think about me?-“

And the second the words were out they were still again. The Blonde man had been tentative, the black-haired man weakly attempting a mocking falsetto, crowded into a pose with his feet drawn up on the sofa. They finally locked eyes, both half-desperate and half-heartened, restraining the urge to laugh or cry out of politeness.

The black-haired man broke the gaze first.

“um, well- Book’s okay! Got it into querying, so that’s good.” He scrambled to stretch out again, break pose and settle further away into the arm of the couch, further away from the blonde man still looking at him, still stunned serious.

“good.”

“yeah, good. Pretty good.”

And the black-haired man couldn’t look forward but seemed to feel the stare still standing solid back at him.

“You’re… “ the blonde-haired man hesitated, voice low. “you’re older than I thought you.”

“hah! Yeah, I’m a geezer, right?”

“you’re handsome.”

And that gave the black-haired man some pause, the easy tone he’d suddenly taken then, as if suddenly reporting on some subject he was confident about, like there was somehow more shame in asking him about work than there was in breaking that barrier. And he kept watching and talking.

“you look old Hollywood. Like that one guy- god, what’s his name? He was in one of the older westerns…”

“…s’rude to make fun of folks like that, you know.” He could feel his voice was small, and suddenly those couple inches height seemed to have lost their worth.

“I’m not making fun.” The blonde man said, and he stood up from the couch with his empty mug of coffee, walking back to the corner kitchen and the dripping sink. Even from away, there was a certain elegance in the way he went about the movements of walking and washing the cup, hands flowing soft like thin silk in smooth motion. And the blonde-haired man didn’t speak, while the black-haired man watched and sat in relative silence.

He watched the blonde man wetting, washing, coming up to rub his neck and card through the short-shaved back of his nape. The blonde man ducked his head down, gathered water to wet his face, and his neck was slender and unmarked, snow-white, and the black-haired man could not explain why it made him hungry, recalled the scent of citrus, of the bitter pale-white pith.

He could feel and see the light outside the window finally waning into night, bathing the open room in cold grey-casted light, see its effect on the blonde man, patting his hands dry on his pants and glancing around for a light switch.

“hey- why don’t you bring the matches? Second drawer.”

A brief pause and elegant hands took up the order, diving into the dark of the white wooden cabinet and strolling back over to the sofa.

“do you know how to strike it?”

The blonde man plucks a match out of the box, stares down and strikes it on his teeth.

“I’m not that young.”

The black-haired man wants to make a joke of it- ask about the party trick, make light of the dramatic gesture. But sadly, it works, the blonde man’s little living movie scene gimmick, and while the air between them grows thick all he can do is breath in and lean back, salivate. Candles on the coffee table lit, the blonde man sinks into the seat next to him, breathes even in the silence and doesn’t look away from the flame.

Three years in a cold, golden counterweight. In a joke gone bad and a cheesy gimmick.

The blonde man swore to himself this wouldn’t end with them in bed.

The black-haired man swore inwardly that this could only end with them in bed.

And the night swore nothing, just lay itself on their laps, belly-up and threateningly expectant.

[lacheri]

congrats on 200 !! I was hoping you could write something small for me haha so here’s my info:

My personality type is intj or istj I’ve gotten both before and my enneagram is 6w5. I’m an Aries sun Sagittarius moon and Libra rising. My chosen s/o is Jean Kirstein. My perfered pronouns are she/her. I’m introverted around most people but pretty outgoing with people I’m close with. I love giving gifts to the people I love because I love seeing their reactions. Also although I’m super polite to people I don’t know I kinda love to tease the people I’m close to not anything mean just making jokes. As for my hobbies I like reading I’m just a super slow reader and I’m also into video editing. Some stuff that makes me happy are spicy food, the smell of clean laundry, and my melatonin sleepy gummies 😌. My physical description: I’m 18 yrs old I have brown curly hair and brown eyes. I’m pretty tan. I’m also kinda chubby and 5’5 in height. NSFW info: I personally don’t like degrading or any kind of whips/bondage stuff. I do like to use toys on other people though such as viberators or dildos. I hope I understood your rules correctly when you said check requests but I wouldn’t mind you writing headcannons or a small Drabble depending on the tarot card you pick out. :)

I...literally want to be your friend?? I love the combo of aries sun/sag moon/libra rising, you're the best person to have a giggle with <3 (me and my aries bestfriend used to get drunk and dance to this song in high school so it's an aries anthem for me)

The Fool: this card and the zodiac sign Aries are very much so equals in my mind (the card for Aries is the Emperor). the Fool is card zero, representing infinity and the promise of a new journey. Aries is the first sign of the zodiac, and both these compare in child like wonder and spirit. the man in the card stands on the edge of the cliff with his belongings, head towards the sky, unknowing that he is about to walk off the ledge. the rose he holds represents purity and innocence, the dog his companion, the sun shining down on a cloudless day. I personally love when this card comes out in a reading, it reminds us that it’s okay to indulge in the childish parts of ourselves. not everything is meant to be taken so seriously. it’s okay to have fun without thinking of the future.

anna sun - walk the moon. "Live my life without coming up for air, now it's all I want. I want everyone racing down the hill, I am faster than you. Wait for summertime."

“Jean, you’ve been DJ this entire ride!”

“I have great taste in music, thank you very much!”

You pouted in the passenger seat, arms crossing over your chest, the soft hum of music playing from the radio as you spoke, “Where are we even going anyways?”

“An adventure, obviously,” his honey brown eyes flickered to you, a coy smile on his lips. “Wouldn’t be much fun if I told you.”

“Some best friend you are,” you grumbled, slouching back into the leather of your seat.

The sun had long rid itself of its presence, the moon replacing its position high in the sky. It was a particularly bright night as Jean drove his car down an empty highway, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the top of your thigh. You had been in the middle of reading your favorite novel, sweatpants on with your hair tied up, when you had heard soft thumps against your window. You had sighed, dog earring your page, and trotted over to your window sill, throwing it open.

Jean had a handful of rocks and a silly toothy grin on his face, calling out that he was going to kidnap you whether you liked it or not. You had simply rolled your eyes, trying hard to conceal your smile and ignore the butterflies fluttering in your stomach, and soon enough you were in the passenger seat of his car.

Glancing at the dashboard, the clock read one o’clock in the morning. You would’ve been wide awake reading regardless, but still, you had to admit it was quite late. Jean seemed completely content as he hummed along to whatever song was playing, fingers drumming on the steering wheel as he stared straight ahead. He threw on his blinker, taking an exit you didn’t care to read the sign to. Trees surrounded you on either side, blocking out any moonlight, and the lack of streetlamps was slightly concerning.

Jean had swerved onto a dirt road then, and you couldn’t help but tease, “Are you taking me out in the woods to kill me or something?”

“Yup, this all my master plan,” he smirked back, slowing down over holes in the road and navigating around fallen tree branches. “I’ve had enough of your smart mouth, time for revenge.”

“Yeah right,” you scoffed, placing your hand over his subtly. “You wouldn’t be able to survive without me.”

“Probably not,” Jean mumbled, his eyes widening. “Oh! We’re almost there!”

Headlights illuminated the sparkle of a shoreline, your eyebrows furrowed upon your arrival. There were no beaches around you, were there? Your eyes scanned as much as you could, and it dawned on you that Jean had taken you to, a lake?

“I found it randomly one day with Connie, it’s not on any of the maps or gps,” Jean began to unbuckle his seatbelt, gesturing for you to follow along with his hands. “C’mon, we’re going swimming!”

“Swimming?” you deadpanned, hands frozen on your unbuckled seat belt. “Jean, absolutely fucking not. It’s freezing!”

He rolled his eyes, “Fine, we’re not going swimming. It was worth a try though. But my real reason is less cool, I just wanted to hang out.”

“Just us?” you couldn’t help but ask nervously, hand on the door handle.

“Yeah,” Jean smiled boyishly, fumbling with the radio, sliding out of the driver’s side shortly after. “Just the two of us, baby.”

You let out a nervous giggle, feeling the onset of your heart pounding in your chest. With a quick gesture, you were out of the car, Jean circling around the front to meet you. His phone was in his hand, thumbs tapping quickly away. Suddenly, the mellow sound of smooth music began to play from the speakers, flowing from the opened windows.

Jean put his phone in his back pocket of his jeans, meeting your gaze with a soft smile with an extended palm, “Wanna’ dance?”

You blinked a few times, feeling heat crawl up your cheeks, “Really?”

He strided closer, grabbing your hand at your side, “Yes, really. Now c’mere already.”

You felt Jean as he twirled you suddenly, pulling your back to his chest, laughing as he did so. You couldn’t hold back your own giggles, squealing as he began to move his feet clumsily to the beat of the song, one becoming familiar as the lyrics and music kicked in. You followed his movements, not exactly as dancerly as you had hoped, but it didn’t matter much to you. There was no one around, and the way Jean was “dancing”, you knew he didn’t care much about how well you moved.

You began jumping on your feet, Jean joining you enthusiastically, screaming the words out at the top of his lungs. You laughed hard at the sight, and he threw his arms around your waist.

“You’re like, my favorite person ever, you know that?” Jean looked away shyly at the admittance, smiling so softly it warmed your heart. “You’re the only person I’d ever want to do this stuff with.”

“Awe, Jean, you going soft on me?” you teased lightly, sliding your arms around his neck as the two of you began to sway.

“Just for you,” he breathed, finally moving his honey colored eyes to yours. “Hey, um, have you ever thought about us?”

“What do you mean?” your heart was pounding so loudly in your ears, trying not to get your hopes up. You had the biggest crush on the man for years, and his words were going to effect every single thing from this moment on.

Jean took a deep breath, nearly stumbling over his words as he spoke, “I’ve liked you, for a really long time. You’re my best friend, and I don’t want to lose you if you don’t feel the same, but, I kind of want to be your boyfriend.”

Your mouth hung open, eyes blinking furiously, “Are you serious?”

“You know what, I’m sorry, that was stupid,” he shook his head as if to erase his words, shutting his eyes and pulling away, your arms falling from his neck.

“Hey wait,” your hand shot to his bicep to stop him from moving any further. “Jean, I’ve liked you from the moment I met you. I just never thought you liked me back.”

“Of course I did! I mean, you’re like the coolest girl I’ve ever met. We like all the same music, you put up with my stupidity,” Jean chuckled, gazing at you so sweetly. “You go out on these late night adventures with me. You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning, the last person I talk to before I fall asleep. You’re beautiful, and that helps too.”

“I would be an absolute idiot to not want to be your girlfriend,” you looked down at your shoes shyly, smiling as the pent up words left your lips. “Who else is gonna’ throw rocks at my window like we’re in the 90’s?”

“I’m just missing the boombox, aren’t I?” he joked, fingers brushing past your temples to caress your hair. “You’re just so you, and you’re not afraid of that. You get me, and I get you. It’s always been us.”

“It has,” you flickered your eyes up at the contact, placing your own hands overtop of his.

Jean had no further words, staring intently at your lips. You placed your weight on the tips of your toes, pushing yourself to close the distance between the two of you. His lips were soft as you kissed him gently, he tasted like spearmint and smelled of expensive cologne, and your eyes fluttered shut. His mouth moved seamlessly against yours, smooth and purposeful, and you could feel all the emotions he held within himself pouring into you. Maybe it was your own, but your brain was silent as the music came to an end, softening in the background.

“You owe me a real date,” you whispered against his lips. “Not one at one in the morning.”

“Can’t promise you that,” he chuckled, peppering a kiss to the tip of your nose. “But seriously, do you want to go swimming now?”

LACHERI © 2021: all writing content belongs to LACHERI. I do not allow reposts or translations. this is my only account.

[demi-moron]

Your snap handle is of a racist republican yet you expect us to believe you didn’t vote for Trump? Girl wipe your ass and take a seat.

Ouch. Relax hun. It must be killing your arms to have to reach so far! But don’t worry, I’ll take the seat so I can get on your level and explain it to you.

Since you clearly have no idea who I am, or what you’re talking about, let’s start at the easiest part. I would never vote for someone like the disgusting piece of fruit leather in a toupee that’s currently running our country into the ground. I am not a Republican and will never be one; in fact I find it pretty wild that anyone could even think that I was. If you would like to know, I’ll be voting against him this November because another four years of this mess is absolutely unacceptable.

My snap @presidentnikson (follow me there btw, I’m super active!) is named that way because the last part is a combo of my first and last name, hence Nik-son. I ALSO happen to live near the Richard Nixon library. Don’t know if you know this since it doesn’t seem like you stay that well informed, but this is a pretty conservative area and there are tons of republican lovers here. As a proud, brown, queer, asian, you can probably imagine that it wasn’t the best environment to come out and grow up in.

So why would I take up the name of a president who was nothing more than a hateful, disgusting, uninformed bigot? Because as someone who’s had to deal with the type of shit him and people like him have brought into the world, I thought that maybe if a person like me who embodies everything that he hated ended up taking on his name, he’d probably be rolling in his grave or shaking his fist from whatever pit in hell he got sent to and that’s pretty funny. Plus, it’s been forever and do you know how much work I’d have to do to reset my whole snap account??? I do not have the time or energy lol.

I’m here to be loud and proud, and spread love; I don’t think I could be more ideologically opposite from the paranoid, lying, hatemonger that he ended up being. You know, anon, you might want to take a quick look in the mirror because it seems like you have a lot more in common with him than I do.

TLDR; I’m a dumbass who loves puns on his name, wanted to spite a dead old president, and is too lazy to make a new account.

Remember to vote this November, kids. If the orange man wins, we’re SO fucked.