#woolen trench coat

[iris-qt]

𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚞𝚖

☕️ ʙʟᴀɪꜱᴇ ᴢᴀʙɪɴɪ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

☕️ ʙɢ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ: ᴄʟɪᴄᴋ!

☕️ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ

☕️ ᴀ/ɴ: ᴍʏ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜰɪᴄ ɪᴠᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ꜱᴏ ꜰᴀʀ

☕️ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ʙʟᴀɪꜱᴇ ᴢᴀʙɪɴɪ ꜱᴛᴜᴍʙʟᴇꜱ ᴀᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴜꜱᴇᴜᴍ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴇɴᴅ ᴜᴘ ꜱᴘᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ…ᴘᴇʀʜᴀᴘꜱ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ꜰᴀʟʟ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ

“Order for Blaise..er Zucchini?”

Blaise scoffed, rolling his eyes as the frazzled ginger barista in that muggle café tarnished his name. He strode up to the counter, grabbing his nightly cup of coffee.

“Cool name, man,” the barista said, and Blaise couldn’t help but think he bore an uncanny resemblance to Ron Weasley. Don’t be silly, Blaise. Not all gingers look the same. 

Blaise answered him with a disdainful look and walked off, into the cold winter air. Winter break from Hogwarts was great and all; aside from the fact his father forced him to intern at the Ministry. He had just finished his shift and was in much need of some coffee. As difficult as it was for him to admit, muggles sure knew how to brew some nice, strong coffee. Bitter and pure black bean juice. Just the way he liked it.

His black woolen trench coat billowed around him as he braved the winter wind, finally entering back into wizarding London. He walked down the usual high streets, sipping his scalding hot coffee every now and then. Of course Blaise could just apparate home, but why would he be in any rush to return? He’d already spent all day at the Ministry doing his father’s tedious, excruciating paperwork and his return back home would simply include interrogation from his father about the manner in which he completed the paperwork.

Work, work, and more work. 

He couldn’t take it anymore. 

He detoured to the wide luxury streets filled with shops selling the most high-brand robes and cloaks. Looking around, Blaise passed the vast marble building known to be the largest wizard art museum. Domus Artium. Latin for The House of Arts. There was a small line of well-dressed witches and wizards milling about and making their way in. Upon closer inspection to a giant plastered poster, there was some sort of art curator and historian event occurring. 

Blaise couldn’t stop his curiosity and made his way inside…

Moving art as far as the eye could see. Nighttime is when the portraits no longer have to stay in their own frames and act polite to the museum’s visitors. Night is when they could run free and visit their friends in a frame in another wing. He’d never been to this museum despite living so close. His family only valued art when it served to display their wealth and power.

He strode inside, aware he was not invited, but it wasn’t his fault the man in charge of the guests that came in was too busy talking up some older woman. Plus, he was Blaise Zabini. What were they going to do? Kick him out? Laughable.

He was walking down the corridor which contained a few people observing the paintings. Looking behind him to make sure he was clear, he rounds the corner and runs into someone, yelping as his coffee flies into the air.

The person he ran into expertly flicks their wand and freezes the coffee in midair, returning it back to the cup and the cup back in Blaise’s outstretched hand.

“Are you supposed to be here?” you smirk, slightly surprised at Zabini’s presence at your gallery. He straightens his black formal shirt and gazes warily at you.

“Y/L/N..uh yes..I’m a huge art enthusiast,” he scratches the back of his head as you lean in teasingly, taking in his familiar expensive scent. Was that black cherry? You could never puzzle it out. You mused at his slightly panicked expression. You had a knack for always catching Blaise at his worst moments. 

“Oh yeah? What’s your favorite art piece in this gallery?”

Blaise, however, found you absolutely infuriating. Such a know-it-all. He thought the worst part about it was that you acted so clueless and normal…then you pounced with your genius knowledge. Absolutely infuriating. Everything about you. From your perfectly styled hair to your little uniform you were wearing that just so happened to accentuate every possible curve…

He shook his head. No way he was falling prey to your witchy charms. He’d never be caught dead.

“That’s quite a difficult question. So many pieces come to mind.”

“Oh I’m sure,” you smile, biting back a louder laugh at this piece of gorgeous free entertainment that just waltzed into your domain.

“I suppose the one with the ballerinas.”

“I sure hope you’re not talking about that one painting on the History of Magic O.W.L. exam last year?”

He sighs, realizing there was no way in hell he’d get past you. Well, he wasn’t quite sure how you were here in the first place. He wasn’t aware you held any high place in society.

“Don’t you think dressing up as a museum curator to sneak in seems a bit desperate?” he smirks, looking you up and down in your formal uniform, flicking your little name tag. 

“For your information, Zabini, I work here on breaks,” you dramatically spread out your arms, grinning “welcome to my crib.” 

He scoffs in response. “You expect me to just believe you got a flexible job at an esteemed place such as this?”

“My family owns this place, genius.”

He raises an eyebrow in surprise. Surely he’d know if you held such a high place in society.

“Merlin, you don’t know anything about art do you, Zabini? Not even my family name?”

He averts his eyes. There’s nothing he hated more than admitting he was wrong or didn’t know something. That’s precisely why he found you so frustrating for he was always somehow in the wrong when it came to you.

To his surprise, and to yours as you’re not sure where this burst of confidence came from, you grabbed his hand and began leading him down a darkened corridor, blocked off by a sign that said ‘DO NOT ENTER’. His hand was cold from the harsh winds outside and you grasped it, hoping he would find some warmth in you. Blaise was someone you’d always felt content with. He wasn’t intimidated by you nor was he avoidant. He resisted every teasing comment and challenging situation you threw at him. He was insanely stubborn and arrogant. And you lived for it. His little frustrated faces and his neverending efforts to upend you. You could spend the rest of your life doing that with this man that was now in your grasp.

“Perhaps you need another set of eyes because that sign clearly advised us not to submerge ourselves in this dark hall,” Blaise deadpanned, attempting to hide the shiver of excitement your touch brought him. You were warm and he had to fight the urge to bury his ice cold nose in your neck. Thank Merlin it was pitch black so you couldn’t see his flustered expression.

With a mutter of a spell, the entire room you had led them into lit up. The floating candles burst with warm flames, dancing along the walls, as some of the remaining figures in the portraits grumbled as they awoke. 

“My apologies, Hecate,” you muttered to a painting of the powerful ancient Greek goddess of magic who was glaring at you from her lounge chair.

Blaise couldn’t help but be in awe of the various paintings lining the walls. Of course the walls of Hogwarts were littered with various paintings, but none as skillfully made as these.

“Gorgeous, aren’t they?” you leaned your elbow on Blaise’s shoulder simply to fluster him, looking up at his sculpted, ethereal face. Merlin, if you took Blaise to the marble statue portion of the museum, it wouldn’t be hard to observe the godly resemblance between statue and Zabini.

“I can’t believe I’ve never visited this place..” Blaise mutters under his breath, gazing in awe at the various works of art. This beautiful building was just a few blocks from his penthouse home, and he could not believe he had never stepped foot inside. He knew now that he could get lost in here for hours among the art.

And that’s precisely what you and Blaise did. You slowly made your way around the room, stopping at the plaques so Blaise could read the information and facts about the paintings. You’d already memorized most of them, so you took the time to study his gorgeous face. Hours went by as the clock waned down to the wee hours of 3 am. Sharing in little quips and jokes, Blaise became aware of why he always found you so fascinating. Why he ceased to be interested in anyone else from his first moments with you. You were so passionate and beautiful as they circled the various rooms of the vast museum. He loved standing, observing the paintings, while being shoulder to shoulder with you. Heart coming to life at the slightest touch.

The sleepless night brought a sense of delirium as you couldn’t contain your laughter. You and Blaise walked around, tripping over each other, giggling like little maniacs at the silliest things. Distant noises, certain paintings, gossip that Blaise oh so loved to share,

“Is it just me, or does that troll resemble Crabbe?” You gestured, snickering, toward a painting of an Icelandic troll, who was kicking a rotted tree stump.

“What? I assumed that was a self portrait?” Blaise burst into yet another fit of laughter 

A nearby cherub began playing its harp, the melancholy music reverberating around the circular marble room. The candles twinkled, wax dripping down and evaporating into twinking magic before they could fall any further. The crescent moon was visible from the domed glass ceiling, and as you looked up, Blaise gazed at the moon reflected in your smiling eyes. In a trance, he watched you; a goddess in the moonlight.

“Earth to Zabini?” you waved your hand in front of his face, laughing softly at his dazed expression.

On a whim, Blaise held out his silver ring-clad hand; slender fingers reaching for yours in the atmosphere of the ethereal harp music.

“May I have this dance?” he said, smirking his smitten smirk.

You can’t help but roll your eyes at his cheesy grin but, of course, take this beautiful man’s hand anyway, his rings cold to the touch. 

He gently held your hand as he sweeped you around the candlelit room; eyes meeting under the twinkling flames. Blaise’s deep eyes, usually cold, melted like milk chocolate at the sight of you twirling. He held you as gently as if you were a fractured ancient statue. As if you could break at a touch. He never wanted this moment to end. He never wanted to leave your museum. He could stay here forever. 

The moment ended and the both of you broke apart. The cherub in the painting ceased to play its harp with one last, hauntingly beautiful note. Blaise couldn’t help but gaze upon you in the dim light. He couldn’t help but realize that this was the most magical day of his life. And he’s literally a wizard. You leaned in and hugged him tight, face buried in his chest. You never wanted this to end. You wanted to be held in his arms forever. But alas every moment must end, as your aunt briskly walked into the room, her echoing footsteps warning you fast enough to pull apart before she could see. She looked frazzled, holding a small piece of parchment.

“Y/n...Mr. Zabini what are you doing in my museum?” She looked slightly angry.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?” You walked up to her, looking nervous at her unusually negative expression.

“Mr. Zabini’s father has sent me a letter stating that witnesses saw his son walk in here and it looks like they were not incorrect,” she glares at you. “Do you know what time it is, Y/N? Its 4am. Why would you sneak him in here?”

“Auntie, calm down. We just lost track of time..”

“Lost track of time?? Do you know what his father could do to our museum? With one bad review in the Daily Prophet we could be practically shut down. We’re definitely on his bad side now…” your aunt muttered, hiding her face in her hands.

Blaise walks up and addresses your aunt “Mrs. Y/L/N, I assure you this was all my own fault. I was curious to see what event was going on and got distracted by your wonderful collection of art. I deeply apologize and I shall profusely inform my father this is my own doing and ensure your museum will not be bashed in the Daily Prophet. My job is to overlook the writing my father sends out anyway,” he warmly smiles at her.

After she walks away, convinced and apologizing for her outburst, you turn to Blaise, folding your arms teasingly.

“Looks like you were out past your bedtime, Zabini.”

He scoffs fondly, taking your waist in his arms again, leaning his head on you. You couldn’t help but blush as that, averting your confident gaze much to Blaise’s amusement.

“You work here everyday during this break, right?”

“Mhm.”

He grins widely, his gorgeous chocolate skin breaking into smile lines that you had to fight the urge to kiss.

“I’ll be visiting everyday for…research purposes,” he winks dramatically and you can’t help but laugh.

“I’d be more than happy to assist you on your research endeavors, Blaise.”

“Perfect, because I’ll be specifically requesting you,” he whispers, gaze averting to your lips.

You lean up to reach his perfect lips and they connect, a flame brighter than all the candles on the ceiling igniting within the both of you. 

[angryducktimemachine]

Now this is a detective who'll be kind and respectful. He will also steal your pocket change tho so idk you win some you loose some.

Was mentioning how the one (1) thing BBC Sherlock was correct about was putting Watson in that sweater. It's also the main thing I remember from when I enjoyed it back in whenever it came out. And then @yamikakyuu suggested that I put Matthäus in the BBC Sherlock coat and well that was an absolute brilliant idea so I went to work. He has never looked more like three rats in a trench coat. I also added a Frederick in said sweater - left his trousers tho because I feel like they're such an important part of his character.

[ID: a digital drawing of Matthäus and Friederick, the artists OC. Matthäus is a three headed Ratfolk with brown fur and Friederick is a gnome with light skin and brown hair in a long braid. Matthäus is wearing a long dark greatcoat with a dark blue scarf. Friederick is wearing a white sweater with short trousers and grey woolen stockings underneath. /End ID]

[storiesofaot]

Hange Zoe in autumnal colours would look so stunning! Burnt orange, golden yellow, dark red/maroon, olive - those colours would suit her SO well. Trench coats, bomber jackets, paired with A-line skirts in a checkered pattern, or jeans. Woolen sweaters, big hoodies. Brown crossbody bags, or beige jute bags (with lots of books in it, of course!). Ankle boots in brown, black or white (she'd definitely love Chelesea boots!!) 🧡🍂

....yes, I need a cheesy rom-com set in autumn, with Hange Zoë in it! 🥺

[eirian-houpe]

Dies Irae - Chapter 1

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Wicked Witch of the West | Zelena, Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Grumpy | Leroy, Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Grace | Paige (Once Upon a Time) Additional Tags: AU, Angst, Violence, archeology, psychic questing, Religion, spirituality, Magic, Supernatural - Freeform, Romance, Smut Summary:

A strange man confronts Doctor Belle French after one of her lectures, and claims to need her help. He also claims to know that she is troubled, and can offer her protection. When events transpire that lead Belle to take up that offer, a desperate search begins to find a series of ancient artifacts, and Belle and her friends - both old and new - face increasing danger as they try to secure the artifacts for the powers of good before they can fall into very wrong hands, and possibly threaten every living thing in Storybrooke and beyond!

Chapter One: Ēvincere

Etymology of the English word evince (v.) c. 1600, "disprove, confute," from French évincer "disprove, confute," from Latin evincere "conquer, overcome subdue, vanquish, prevail over; elicit by argument, prove," from assimilated form of ex "out" (see ex-) + vincere "to overcome" (from nasalized form of PIE root *weik- (3) "to fight, conquer"). Meaning "show clearly" is late 18c. Not clearly distinguished from its doublet, evict, until 18c. Related: Evinced; evinces; evincing; evincible.

"And I cannot stress hard enough…”

He didn’t move.  While all around him in the lecture hall, those gathered in unspoken conspiracy seemed to squirm and shift uncomfortably in their places on the long, hard wooden benches, he remained immobile.

“…that if you are coming into archeology with dreams of… fame and fortune; of glory even, then you have been sadly misinformed.”

He sighed - perhaps the first sign of life since he entered the hall - and moved his hands with slow, measured precision, to turn to collar of his black, woolen trench coat up as if to defend against a unwelcome draft. He’d heard this before, several times, and as she continued, almost syllable for syllable, matched her litany.

“Treasure comes in many forms,” he muttered as she spoke, “and it isn’t always - is rarely as a matter of fact - gold or precious artifacts.” He recitation was lifeless and without the passionate inflection with which she spoke.

“But is something more precious still…” She gave a pause then, and in his line of sight, the watcher could separate those that had been caught in her spell, and those that were merely along for the ride. The former leaned, slightly, toward the front of the lecture hall, where the diminutive Doctor Belle French held court, and finished with all the mysteriousness it seemed that she could muster, “Knowledge.”

If she might have continued, he would never know, as the bell signaling the end of the alloted time sounded, and the ever impatient students began stuffing backpacks and tote bags with notebooks and textbooks; wooden boxes full of sharpened pencils and depleted ink pens, and hurried to rise and leave.

Still, he sat immobile, one booted foot up on the desk-like shelf in front of him, the other splayed slight to the side, toward the aisle.  Others along his row shifted impatiently; pointedly waiting for him to take his foot down at least, so they could sidle, inconvenienced, past this apparent miscreant. He didn’t move. He didn’t even respond to the irritated murmuring; never once took his eyes off French as she too began packing away the lecture notes into folders, then the folders into piles on a table already replete with books and other papers.

“Are you gonna move y’foot, mate?”

Apparently, the patience of the nearby attendees had worn thin, or at least their courage had thickened, one or the other.

“Go around,” he said, his voice low and full of gravel, as well as gravitas. It was all he said, and neither did he make any attempt to remove his foot from blocking the way. 

After another moment of immobility, and with the press of other students behind him, the one that had spoken tried again, more threatening this time as he grumbled, “I said move yer foot.”

With the grace of a highly trained dancer, and turning as he did indeed move his foot to stand, he turned to face the student, towering over the younger man as he said quietly, and with patience that somehow held a deadly quality, “And I said, go. Around.”

The student opened his mouth to make a third protest, but as he shifted slightly, something seemed to change the younger man’s mind and, muttering something not quite audible, but he was certain was unlikely to be very complementary, did indeed turn, and pushing the other students ahead of him, moved and exited the row from the other side.

The students were already forgotten though, and he turned his attention back to Doctor French. She was slowly clearing the table in front of the podium of all the books and papers littered there, packing them away in her already overstuffed messenger bag, paying absolutely no heed to the room around her, nor - he guessed - the energies in it. 

When he felt the moment was right, just as the light descended enough to case a beam across the lecture hall and illuminate the dust that had yet to settle, he spoke.

“It isn’t true, you know?” he said. Though his voice was still soft he pitched it so that the acoustics of the hall carried it clearly to the professor. She started slightly, then looked up at him, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the light that concealed him.

“I beg your pardon?” she shot back, her voice terse, a challenge.

“Granted,” he said, and began to slowly descend the steps that flanked the tiers of seats.

“No, that’s not—” she began, slightly flustered, before annoyance got the better of her and she demanded, “I’m sorry - who are you?”

Once he reached the floor, he strode across to her, his trench coat almost billowing, cloak-like behind him, and once close enough held out a hand in her direction.

“My name is Jefferson,” he told her, “And I need your help to do something that I can’t.”

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

Belle blinked, then with a slight scoff, and ignoring his still outstretched hand said, “Well you have a very strange way of showing it!” Then she returned to packing her bag.

“In return,” he continued, apparently unmoved by her response, “I may be able to assist you.”

“I don’t need your help,” she snapped. The tone in his voice made the small hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end. Had he been watching her?

“There are powers in this world, Doctor French, who have no regard for the living, nor respect for the dead. I suspect you know the type, if not the very ones of whom I speak.”

She looked up at that, fixing her eyes first on his face, undeniably handsome, but clearly more than a little haunted behind the seriousness of his expression, and then traveling the length of the sombre-clad figure that stood before her, seeming to know more about her than a stranger should.

She couldn’t help but notice the small pin that graced his otherwise unadorned lapel: an equal armed, red cross, their width narrower at the center than they were at the ends, set against a white background that was stark against the black of his coat.

“Now you listen, Mister Je—.”

“Just Jefferson,” he corrected.

“I don’t know who you are, or where you came from,” she tried for indignation, but even to her own ears, the tone spoke more of fear, “or even why you’re here, but—”

“I told you,” he said, his voice soft, “I need your help.”

She frowned, and couldn’t muster an answer, just stood and shook her head.

He raised his long forgotten, outstretched hand to her again, and as if by magic, though she was certain it was slight of hand, he produced a velum business card and held it out to her, clasped between his index and middle finger.

“There’s a man, his name is Mister Gold,” he said. “If you have cause to change your mind, all you have to do is go to him. It’s very important you tell him what’s been going on. He can protect you, but you must tell him exactly what’s been happening. He’ll know what to do.”

He nodded then, just once, to the business card he still held, and hesitantly, she reached for it, and glancing down at it, saw the words that graced the center of the otherwise unadorned card.

“Gold - Antiquarian,” it said, and then in relief around the edges, words that she had to turn the card one way and then the other in order to read. Latin words.

Non nobis Domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam.

When she looked up, Jefferson was already gone.

[supernaturalfreakout]

Pang

[History on Your Side—Chapter 10.] Sam Winchester x Reader

Chapter summary: Your arrival back in Kansas is met with a wintery chill and a burning warmth. Unsated desires begin to be explored. *Please see the masterlist for entire work summary and tags* Masterlist | Read on AO3

"Nice wheels!" The words escaped your lips in a frosty breath as you reached the car, the winter air painting your breath in delicate wisps. The setting sun cast elongated shadows over the parking lot, compounding the chill in your bones.

"Thanks," Sam chuckled, flashing you a grin as he loaded your bags in the trunk. "It's not quite the Impala, but... it's got its own charm."

"Dean wouldn't let you take his 'Baby,' huh?" you asked, a playful tease leaving your lips as you recalled the conversation before the ritual.

"Absolutely not!" Sam laughed, his amusement resonating in the crisp air. "He's more attached to that car than he is to me..."

Your laughter mingled with the chilly breeze, prompting you to hug yourself tighter for warmth, despite your layers of clothing. 

Sam, attuned to your discomfort, hurried to open the car door for you. "Hey, jump in, you look freezing..."

You complied, gratefully. December in Kansas never failed to remind you of its icy grip.

As you slid into the passenger seat, the faint scent of aged leather mixed with traces of Sam's cologne greeted you, adding a touch of familiarity to the vintage interior.

Sam closed your door with a gentle click before rounding the car to take his place behind the wheel, sinking into the seat beside you. 

As Sam settled next to you, the outside world faded into insignificance. The interior seemed to shrink, the confined space transforming into a sanctuary of shared intimacy as the proximity between your bodies, the mere inches that separated you, became supercharged with an undeniable energy.

Sam started the ignition, the engine roaring to life before he fumbled with the heater settings. A small trickle of warm air finally emerged from the vents, offering a feeble reprieve from the cold that lingered within the car.

"Sorry..." Sam said, glancing at you apologetically. "The car may have its charms, but the heating system is not one of them..." he chuckled, a hint of self-deprecation in his tone.

A shiver ran down your spine, the winter chill seeping through the car's thin insulation. "It's fine, Sam... I'm fine," you reassured with a faint smile, though your chattering teeth betrayed you.

"You're an awful liar," he teased, observing your attempt to brush off the discomfort.

A rueful smile graced your lips. "Guilty as charged..." you admitted, concerning to the truth.

Sam huffed in amusement. "Wait here," he said, hopping out of the driver's seat to pop open the trunk.

He returned swiftly, bearing a large, black, woolen trench coat.

"Here" he said, as he offered you the coat.

"Thanks," you murmured, as you immediately wrapped it around yourself like a burrito.

The coat was thick and warm, and it took the edge off your chill. It also smelt like him, a fact that warmed you in a different way.

"Better?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

You met his gaze with gratitude, a cheeky smile playing on your lips as you clutched his coat to you. "Much better, thanks..."

Sam chuckled, a gentle shake of his head accompanying his amusement.

"What?" you prodded, a playful grin tugging at your lips.

"Ah, nothing..." Sam deflected with a smile, glancing in the rear-view mirror.

"Come on..." you nudged him teasingly beneath the cocoon of the coat.

"I'll tell you later..." Sam's gaze held a glint of mystery as he started reversing the car out of the parking spot.

Later... The promise lingered in the air, a subtle reminder of the night that stretched ahead.

As Sam navigated onto the road, your anticipation eclipsed the cold, infusing you with a newfound warmth that had nothing to do with the coat.

With the sun setting even further below the horizon, you snuck a glance at the man sitting beside you, his profile bathed in the soft, waning daylight, and a sense of awe enveloped you as you mused at his beauty. You couldn't help but find him captivating. You observed the way his fingers gripped the steering wheel with confident control and the subtle determination etched into his hazel eyes as he focused on the road. His focus was unwavering, you realized, a faint smirk touching your lips as you sensed his extra effort to concentrate. This is as hard for him as it is for me...

The remainder of the drive slipped away in a haze. Lost in thought, you barely registered the transition from the freeway. Conversation between you remained on the surface, deliberately restrained, as if tiptoeing around uncharted territory, afraid to plunge too soon into the depths where unsated desires dwelled. Instead, the journey became a myriad of fleeting glances and escalating tension, each stolen look adding fuel to the fire that was already burning your insides. Thank God it was only a short drive back to your house. Any longer and you thought you might explode.

As the Mercury pulled to a stop outside your house, your mind flashed back to the last time you were here; stood on the sidewalk, leaving Sam behind to go to Mystic Falls. Jeez, was that really a month ago..? Being with Sam again made it feel like no time had passed at all.

"Home sweet home..." Sam remarked, his voice soft as he cast a tender glance your way.

You replied with a smile, unwrapping yourself from his coat with a thankful look.

"Thanks for this," you said, folding the coat neatly in two. As you did, something slipped from its pocket, landing in your seat.

You raised an eyebrow as you inspected the fake FBI badge that had fallen out.

"Agent… Smith?"

"Can't always be Bonham and Peart" Sam retorted with a smirk, knowing you'd appreciate the joke.

"Fair point," you chuckled, slipping the badge back into its pocket.

Sam slipped out of the car and swiftly gathered your bags from the trunk.

You hurried to assist, eager to share the load. "Hey, I'm pretty strong, you know!" A hint of pride laced your tone. "I can handle a few bags."

Sam flashed you a smile, a playful glint in his eye. "I don't doubt that, but... save your energy," he advised, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he began striding toward your house.

Save your energy...? His words echoed in your mind, a teasing jab that made your knees tremble.

You hurried after him, bounding up the steps to your front door.

You fumbled with your keys, sensing Sam's lingering warmth behind you, the anticipation too much to bear. 

As you stepped inside, the warmth of your little townhouse hit you in the face. You had left in such a rush you hadn't even thought to set your heating to holiday mode. Shit...

Before you could dwell on the oversight, Sam closed the front door behind him, the sound snapping you back to the present moment.

As you turned to face him, your heart raced, a whirlwind of adrenaline and lust consuming you, dispersing all logical thought from your brain.

"So, um…" Sam's voice broke the silence, attempting to bridge the gap with conversation. "How does…"

Sam's eyes widened for a split second as he registered the look on your face. His sentence stood no chance.

You were on him in a heartbeat, straining on your tiptoes, tugging on his jacket, aching for the taste you so badly craved.

He yielded immediately, dropping your bags to the floor as he crushed his lips to meet yours in a fiery, desperate kiss.

---

Sam's hands gently cupped your face as he reluctantly pried your lips from his. You panted, catching your breath, lips flushed red with the heat of your blood boiling under the surface.

"Hey…" Sam whispered between his own breaths, forehead resting on yours as he caressed the side of your face. "Are you sure about this?"

You pulled back slightly to look him in the eye. "I've never been so sure about anything in my life," you said, with complete conviction. "What, are you not...?" You creased your brow, a hint of worry  in your eyes as you looked back at him, wondering why he was even questioning this.

Sam, immediately taken aback by the hurt in your expression, rushed to reassure you.

"Y/N..." He leaned in to whisper your name in your ear, his hand tracing down your arm to grip your fingers. "Does this… feel like I'm unsure?" He asked, grabbing your hand and pressing it against his straining arousal.

Your breath hitched as you felt the outline of his erection in your hand.

God, he felt huge. You gulped.

Sam breathed in your ear, before moving his lips to your neck. "Feel what you do to me...? Of course I'm sure..." he mumbled against your skin.

Each coming phrase that left his lips was punctuated with agonizingly tender kisses, and nibbles to your neck.

"I've been sure…" Kiss "since the day…" Kiss "I fucking met you." Nip.

A breathy moan escaped your lips as you felt his cock twitch under your hand.

"I need you, Y/N…" He stared into your eyes then, as he said your name. "I can't control it…" he purred, gently caressing your face with the back of his fingers.

Your head spun. He is such a fucking tease... And you were lapping it right up.

"Then don't.. " you whispered, as you palmed him through his jeans, staring him dead in the eye.

He groaned.

Heat pooled between your thighs.

"You might regret that..." he warned, in a low, longing tone as he stared down at you with a fiery gaze, now caressing your hair.

The bastard... He knows very well what he's doing...

You bit back, squeezing your hand a little firmer as you peered up at him with your best 'fuck-me' eyes. "Try me."

He all but pounced on you then, pinning you back into the wall, his eyes clouded, heavy with lust. You clung onto his shoulders as he hitched your legs around his waist, pressing his body firmly against you, holding you up by your ass.

Whoa. You suddenly felt very small… delicate… breakable… useable. It was a fucked up thought, but it turned you on to no end.

You could feel his cock against you, just a few layers of clothing between where you needed him... craved him.

He ground his hips into you and you moaned, tilting your head to the ceiling, exposing your neck fully.

Sam seized the opportunity, burying his face into your neck as he kissed… sucked…nibbled… eliciting a series of breathy whimpers from you, as you twined your fingers through his hair.

You strained to roll your hips back into him, but the hold he had you in would not allow for it.

"Samm..." you breathed against his hair.

"Yes, Princess?" he mumbled against your neck.

Fuck. A rush of dopamine flooded your nervous system as you hear him pet-name you.

You panted, your words coming out in a series of breathy whispers. "Need you.... need to feel you... everywhere..." 

Sam removed his mouth from your neck and peered up at you. Jesus, she looks even more hot and desperate than I imagined... She's practically begging me to fuck her...

Sam felt a drop of precum leak at the thought. Shit... not yet. We've waited so long for this…. need to make this good for her... 

"Is that right?" Sam breathed against your lips as he squeezed your ass, your upper back still pressed hard against the wall.

"Mhmm..." you hummed in response.

"Huh? What was that?" Sam teased, a telling shade in his voice and glint in his eye as he scanned your face with a collected calm.

Gulp. You knew that look—that possessive stare and authoritative tone only found in someone who could scratch that itch you so desperately craved. Fuck... I knew it. You couldn't help the small smile that formed on your lips as you averted your gaze in submission.

You feel his gaze rake over you, neurons short circuiting as he took in your response.

You felt his cock twitch again, against your thigh.

Slowly, he relaxed his grip on you, letting your feet meet the floor and your arms fall from his shoulders.

He towered over you now, staring you down.

You kept your glance lowered, pining at the loss of contact, sucking on your bottom lip as you anticipated his next move.

Sam raised his hand to your face, raising your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

You noticed the corners of his lips twitch upwards. He was struggling to maintain his cool, you realized. You chewed on your lip, suppressing a smile.

"Well?" He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "What is it that you... need?"

You looked up at him defiantly and said, with absolute determination:

"I need you to fuck me, Sam. Now."

Chapter 11 coming soon...

Taglist: @safiyas-world @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx

[lone-nyctophile]

Cottagecore in Autumn

Foggy mornings, wooden chairs, fallen oak leaves, embroidery on sweaters, Wafting scent of freshly baked pies, golden sunrays, woolen socks, afternoon tea, misty evenings, pumpkin spice, trench coats, ginger ale, woolen sweaters, mittens.

[fitzrovie]

Essentials for this month: trench coats (both woolen and lighter fitted beige), Twilly eau de ginger, library sessions into the night, Dark chocolate, greek yogurt at almost every meal, falling in love with Austen for the first time, feeling very British, Winterreise, Greig: lyric pieces, thermal tights, V&A visits, practicing ascticism in other area of my life, contemporary dance, Kate Middleton

[naussensei]

Eruri Teachers AU - The One in Which Levi and Erwin go to a Field Trip

As agreed earlier, the different groups met at the Main Street in front of the Parliament building at lunch time, students and teachers sharing their experiences and making plans for lunch. It was the only real moment of freedom they had, able to walk around freely and choose where and what to eat with, and —Levi hoped— to drink.

After the students had regrouped with their friends, the teachers watched them scatter around the area, advising them not to go too far, as they would meet in about an hour again to continue the tour. Some of them took off instantly, others continued to take pictures with their friends, while most lingered around the main street like stray pups unsure of which road to take. Levi remained there for another minute, trying to decide which need he wished to fulfill first. Rest, eat, smoke, or pee.

“Levi,” he heard Erwin call, and turned to find him browsing in a hotdog stand in a corner of the street.

“Where’s Hange and the rest?” Said Levi, joining him.

“Not sure. They already went for lunch, I think,” said Erwin as he received the two hotdogs he’d just ordered, and thanked the vendor before he handed one to Levi.

Levi’s eyes narrowed at him with suspicion, but accepted the food either way, and followed Erwin across the street and into a park to sit on a bench.

“Thanks for the food… again,” Levi said, staring at his hot dog thoughtfully before taking a bite. “This is no good, I’m getting too used to being well fed by you.”

“I don’t see the problem with that,” Erwin said with a half smile as he took his first bite.

There’s no problem, Levi thought, except for what I’ll do with myself the day you get tired of me.

He shook his head, and saved the thoughts to himself, for there was no use in verbalizing them. He’d never been a man of many words, anyway; actions always spoke louder to him, and so action he would take.

They watched the people come and go into the park, eating mostly in silence, occasionally commenting on the trip so far. The sun was bright above them, warming the first leaves sprouting from the tree tops, a sign that spring was around the corner. And yet a breeze still chilled the air around them, and Levi had to pull up the collar of his trench coat to cut the cold air from his skin.

Just as he did, he felt the weight of a woolen scarf around his neck, and turned to find Erwin wrapping the scarf he had been wearing this whole time around Levi’s head until his face was nothing but eyes; the wool was still warm from Erwin’s body heat, and impregnated with his scent.

“Better?” Erwin said with a smile. It would’ve been the most charming smile Levi had seen from him so far, if it wasn’t for that miserable ketchup stain ruining the glamour of the image.

With his own napkin, Levi reached for Erwin’s face to wipe off the stain, Erwin’s eyes widening at him.

Satisfied by his work, Levi smiled now too. “Better.”

But the longer he looked into Erwin’s eyes, the deeper a feeling of uncertainty unsettled his stomach all of a sudden; the warmth around his neck too overwhelming to handle.

It was as if every time Levi took a step, Erwin always took two steps ahead. Was he doomed to always follow behind like a shadow and never lead? The thought was frustrating.

Levi suddenly rose from his seat.

“Wait here,” he ordered, and left Erwin sitting at the bench while he approached the ice cream stand to fetch a cone for each.

When Levi came back with two cones of ice cream, Erwin’s face lightened up instantly.

“Now we’re even,” said Levi.

“I think I haven’t had ice cream in a cone since I was a child,” he said, accepting the treat with the eagerness of a child trying candy for the first time, eyes glimmering.

“Were you ever a child, though?” Levi chuckled viciously, taking a seat next to him. “I thought you were born an old man.”

Erwin moved closer then, their legs now touching. “Look at you, making actual funny jokes that don’t involve defecation. I think Jean’s humor has rubbed off on you.”

“Fuck off,” Levi leaned on him in protest, although he was smiling, “the brat can be funny sometimes, I’ll give you that.”

Erwin pushed back softly, and they were soon bouncing back and forth, pushing and pulling,  ever so naturally, as if they were on the couch of Erwin’s living room. Before he could even think about it, Levi was resting his head on Erwin’s shoulder, one leg resting on Erwin’s lap, and a hand on his chest. Erwin instantly recoiled, stiffening in his seat as he averted his gaze; his reaction reminding them both of where they were.

Levi straightened up in his place, looked around the park, watched the people passing by with hurried steps, many of them couples walking holding hands, some others teenagers in school uniforms, but all of them too busy to mind them, to Levi’s relief.

“Sorry,” said Levi, clearing his throat before he resumed eating his ice cream, now melting in his hand; the white viscous liquid dripping from his hand.

He licked his fingers thoroughly, making sure he didn’t get any of it on his clothes —it was already his second change of clothes that day—. He was about to look for a tissue in his pocket when Erwin’s hand latched onto his wrist to pull him closer. Their gazes met, and for a moment Levi feared their lips would meet, too. But Erwin’s mouth went to his hand, and Levi watched Erwin’s tongue run up and down his dripping fingers. His jaw dropped, both excited and horrified by the scene.

Erwin stared at him with hungry eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he licked his lips , pupils dilated. It was only a second, but it was enough to make Levi’s stomach drop and his face burn red. Erwin seemed to realize this, and was now searching for a tissue in his pocket to hand it over to Levi.

“Now we’re even,” he said with a faint smile.

“That’s hardly being ‘even’, Erwin.” Levi huffed in frustration, bringing his free hand to his face. But his frustration came not from an unfulfilled carnal need, it was something else he couldn’t quite grasp. Once again, no matter what he did, for every step Levi took, Erwin had already taken another two.

That’s when Levi realized that actions wouldn’t suffice. Not with someone like Erwin. He was going to lose him, and the thought weighed on him more than Levi had ever imagined, for in order to lose something, one must first own it, and Erwin’s was never his to begin with.

“Erwin—“ he began, but before he could even put his thoughts into words, Erwin’s phone rang in his pocket with a call from Hange.

Levi watched him pick the call, his anxiety spiraling as he took a moment to reflect on the words he was about to say, words he wasn’t even aware of until that very moment.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34050205/chapters/117758536

[deancasswitchbang]

Second Weekend of June

Author: Tossukka (@sitruunavohveli​) Artist: DimitryRmy (@dimitrirmy) No Major Archive Warnings Tags: anonymous sex, hidden identity, weddings, one night stands, bachelor & bachelorette parties, semi-public sex

Summary: It’s a tale as old as time. Two men meet, give each other fake names, and have a one-night stand. It’s fun and uncomplicated, and they never expect to meet again. They’re both keeping busy planning a wedding among other things anyway, Dean as the best man to Sam, Castiel as the man of honor to his best friend Eileen.

Except then they do meet again and start developing feelings for each other.

Preview: “One Irish Coffee, please,” a deep, raspy voice said to the bartender, and Dean gave a glance to the new customer.

At least Dean had meant to only give a glance, but he found himself unable to turn his eyes back. The guy had taken off his woolen hat which had left his dark hair pointing in every direction. His face was handsome, and he had slight stubble on his cheeks. The trench coat wasn’t attractive but since it was wet from sleet, the guy removed it and put it away. Underneath he was wearing what Dean assumed to be a work suit. After getting his drink, he glanced towards Dean and gave a slight smile. Dean took that as an invitation.

“Hey,” Dean said and moved to sit next to the guy.

“Hello,” the man answered, and the smile stayed on his lips.

“Haven’t seen you before,” Dean said. “New to town?”

“Actually just here for work,” he said. For a moment he looked like he was about to say something more, but he shut his mouth again and instead took a sip of his drink.

“You look like you had a long day too,” Dean said. “I can screw off if you’d rather be alone.”

“No, it’s fine. I would like some company,” the man said and gave Dean a once over. “Only… Okay, let me be honest here for a moment?”

“Sure,” Dean said and took a sip out of his own glass.

“I’ve only just broken up from a complicated relationship, and I’m not looking for anything serious. Nothing that would further complicate my life. So I’m going to give you a fake name. Is that alright?”

Okay, that was new. Dean could take some uncomplicated, not serious for one night. Not like he had never had anonymous sex before.

“Sounds like a deal. You can call me Michael,” Dean said and reached out to shake the man’s hand.

“Is that your real name?”

“No.”

The man laughed.

“Thank God. You can call me Jimmy,” Jimmy said and shook Dean’s hand.

“So. Why was your workday shit? Bad boss? Overenthusiastic coworkers? Office gossip?” Dean asked.

“None of those. We have a big project going on in cooperation between offices from two different cities. So I’ve been to meetings all day and in every single one I’ve had to pretend to be ‘innovative’, ‘excited’, and ‘extroverted’. I’m none of those things, so pretending in front of strangers for over nine hours gets a bit rough,” Jimmy explained making full on air quotes with his hands. Dean thought it was adorable.

“Why are none of your coworkers here drinking with you?”

“I assume they were rather tired as well. Or had families to go home to. Maybe they didn’t want to brave the weather,” Jimmy said. “I was also only going for one drink and then go back to my hotel room.”

“Mmm, is your hotel far away?” Dean asked emptying the rest of his whisky. Jimmy smiled again.

“Just one block over,” he answered.

“Perfect.”

POSTING BETWEEN APRIL 23rd AND MAY 6th, 2023!

[silenttapestry]

I finished sewing this trench coat after a very long hiatus. I bought the material back in 2017 at Golden D'or Fabrics in Dallas, but a lot of other projects got in the way, and I was reluctant to start something so elaborate. It was meant to be a cosplay of Harry Dresden, but cosplay doesn't seem so important anymore. I got the idea of sending this to someone who inspires me, but he's a musician who has no idea who I am. He might think it's weird and creepy to get a present from a stranger, although he might love having something like this--after all, I imagine there aren't too many trench coats made from woolen material with rayon lining. (I like how this feels on me; it's soft and comfortable. So if I give this away, whoever wears it will like it too, I think.)

[marichiworld-blog]

Styling Tips for Oversized Woolen Scarves

Five Styling Tips for Oversized Woolen Scarves

While woolen scarves and shawls are worn to keep us warm, they also double as a styling accessory. Oversized woolen scarves are perfect for winter fashion as they offer a functional way to look chic, elegant and stylish with minimal effort. Here are a few styling tips you can try with your oversized woolen scarf or shawl.

The chunky neck scarf - This is the easiest way to style your oversized scarf. Simply bunch up the scarf and wrap it around your neck multiple times to create a thick, chunky look. This look can be worn over a trench coat, a blazer or even an oversized sweater with knee-length boots.

The vintage drape - This classic style requires folding your scarf into a long rectangle and placing it over your neck so the two sides fall down the front of your body. For better functionality, loop one end of the scarf around your neck. This simple and neat look goes well with both formal and casual attires.

The elegant wrap - For this look, fold your scarf into a triangle, and wrap it over your shoulders to let the two pointy ends fall in front of you. Take the two ends from the front to behind your neck diagonally and tie a loose knot. Adjust the layers in the front neatly to create a smart and clean appearance.

Oversized woolen scarves and shawls, also known as blanket scarves, are a dynamic piece of clothing that can be worn in many creative ways. They are practical, functional and work with multiple looks, designs and styles. Learn more ways to drape your woolen scarf and shawl for a stylish and warm winter.

[elder-thing]

The Ocularist

Thump. Thump. Thump. His knock filled the cavernous space of my home, isolated in the white noise of the storm. The door groaned when I opened it. There he stood, tall and gangly like stretched taffy. Everything about him was devoid of colour. Except for his lips, which were a bright red. Cloaked in a thick woolen trench coat, an umbrella hung from his left arm like an oversized bat. From his right hand, he held a bloated velvet case.

His smile was all teeth when he bent towards me and whispered, “Shall we begin?”

[burke-johnny]

Coats for Different Occasions: Dressing up and Dressing Down with Outerwear

When it comes to menswear, the coat is not just a piece of outerwear to protect you from the cold; it's a statement of style, personality, and occasion. Whether you're dressing up for a formal event or dressing down for a casual outing, the right coat can elevate your look and ensure you're appropriately attired for any situation. In this article, we'll explore the versatility of coats, providing insights into how to select the perfect outerwear for various occasions.

The Essential Guide to Selecting the Right Coat

Choosing the right coat involves considering the occasion, weather, and your personal style. Here, we delve into the nuances of selecting coats that not only provide warmth but also enhance your overall appearance.

Dressing Up with Coats

For formal occasions, the choice of coat is paramount in complementing your attire. A well-tailored overcoat or a classic trench coat can add an air of sophistication and elegance to your ensemble. These coats are not just functional; they are symbols of timeless style. When selecting a coat for formal events, consider the length, material, and color to ensure it harmonizes with your suit or formal wear.

Dressing Down with Coats

Casual occasions call for a more relaxed approach to outerwear. Parkas, bomber jackets, and denim coats offer comfort without compromising on style. These types of coats allow for greater flexibility and can be paired with a wide range of casual wear, from jeans and sneakers to chinos and boots. The key is to choose a coat that reflects your personal style while providing the necessary warmth and comfort.

Coats for Every Season

Understanding the seasonal appropriateness of different coats ensures you're not only stylish but also comfortable throughout the year.

Winter: Woolen overcoats and down jackets are ideal for the cold winter months, providing maximum warmth and protection against the elements.

Spring: Trench coats and lightweight jackets are perfect for the mild weather of spring, offering a balance between warmth and breathability.

Summer: Although coats are less commonly worn in summer, a lightweight linen blazer can be an excellent choice for cooler evenings or formal summer events.

Autumn: Leather jackets and pea coats are great options for autumn, offering warmth and style as the temperature begins to drop.

Accessorizing Your Coat

Accessories can play a significant role in enhancing the look of your coat. Scarves, gloves, and hats not only provide additional warmth but also offer an opportunity to inject color and personality into your outerwear. When selecting accessories, consider the color and texture of your coat to create a cohesive and stylish look.

Coats and Sustainability

In today's fashion landscape, sustainability is becoming increasingly important. When purchasing a new coat, consider the materials and manufacturing processes used. Opting for coats made from sustainable or recycled materials can make a significant difference in reducing your environmental impact. Additionally, investing in high-quality, timeless pieces ensures longevity, reducing the need for frequent replacements.

Conclusion

The right coat can transform your appearance, providing both style and functionality. Whether you're dressing up for a formal occasion or dressing down for a casual outing, understanding the nuances of coat selection is essential. By considering the occasion, weather, and your personal style, you can choose outerwear that complements your wardrobe and enhances your overall look. Remember, a coat is not just a piece of clothing; it's an extension of your style and personality.

For a wide selection of coats suitable for various occasions, visit Coofandy's coat collection.

At Coofandy, we pride ourselves on offering a diverse range of coats that cater to different styles, occasions, and seasons. Explore our collection today and find the perfect coat to elevate your wardrobe.

[priwenshallprevail]

Open Starter

The air once been stale now resided damp and lethal. Distant thunder bellowed loudly off the mounds in between no man's land. Machine made quakes with each shell's incremented force shook the very earth to which the soldier sat partially under. Stirring dust, dirt and other forms of debris off oak beams and support eaves. Cascading soil down into already rutted trenches . Dry bedding such slops of mud briefly before the moisture quickened upon hindering any to all tractive force; swamping paths into perilous clay.

LSgt. McCullum had earned his relief that day. Spending most of it under canopy and decrepit beam writing letters to his men back home. Letters that just so happened to contain secrets; conspiracies , human and supernatural alike. Providing them down onto code , warning about greater dangers to come. He had been scribbling erratically out atop a piece of parchment that was partially soiled with earth and blood. His hands stained with similar residue, smearing the discoloration further.

Huddled over one makeshift table constructed from barrels harboring rations. Whilst his seat, no sooner realized - was the culprit to which his hands remained sullied. This corpse with it's brass cased stake of oaken root lodged into the chest cavity deep, painting the clay beneath them with a pool of coagulating blood.

The beast had proven to be comfortable..if not distastefully elected as furniture for the more triumphant display cast from his domineering victory. Up until he registered movement off to the corner side where the trench elevated, noise that began to stir to one side with echoes and gathered with volume.

Certain of himself using what others would perceive as a fallen man; one being used as this comfortable chair proved to be, would not tarry over well had one witnessed him doing so. The dead man wore the same uniform for starters. Having no doubt raised suspicion had he remained seated. Geoffrey reluctantly rose to his feet over the thought, not soon after the noise began to amplify. Folding his letter up to settle into a concealing breast pocket inside his woolen over coat which kept him somewhat warm. Irritably tossing the writing utensil to roll out across barrel tops.

" T'ere goes privacy, I guess " he groused with a grit of teeth, spitting for good measure to wallow on it's distaste. " Was nice whil'it lasted.. "

[ericclothing-009]

Dressing for the Magic Hour A Fashion Journey Through at 6PM Seasons

As the clock strikes 6 PM, a unique transition occurs, marking the magical hour where day meets night. This blog post delves into the world of clothing choices during the enchanting 6PM season, exploring how fashion adapts to the diverse atmospheres and temperatures each season brings. From the breezy styles of summer to the cozy layers of winter, we'll embark on a sartorial journey that mirrors the beauty of the changing seasons at this magical hour.

Autumn Layers and Cozy Textures: With the arrival of autumn, the 6 PM season ushers in a need for layers and textures. The fashion palette shifts to earthy tones, and cozy sweaters, scarves, and ankle boots become staples. The transitional nature of autumn evenings prompts a mix of lightweight outerwear and versatile pieces that can easily adapt to fluctuating temperatures. The fashion narrative at 6PM Hoodie in autumn revolves around embracing the crisp air while staying comfortably chic.

The Effortless Elegance of Summer Evenings : Summer at 6 PM brings a canvas of warm hues, and clothing choices reflect the desire for comfort and breathability. Flowy sundresses, lightweight fabrics, and vibrant colors dominate summer wardrobes. The ease of slip-on sandals and casual accessories complements the relaxed atmosphere of outdoor gatherings and sunset strolls. As the temperature cools slightly, fashion embraces the effortless elegance that defines summer evenings.

Winter's Warmth and Sophistication: As the sun sets earlier during winter, 6 PM takes on a quiet elegance. Winter fashion at this hour involves embracing warmth without compromising on style. Coats, woolen scarves, and knee-high boots take center stage, creating a sophisticated silhouette against the winter backdrop. Darker hues, plush textures, and accessories like gloves and hats become essential components of the winter 6 PM wardrobe, ensuring both practicality and fashion-forward flair.

Spring's Playful Transition: Spring at 6 PM marks a playful transition from the cozy layers of winter to the lighter, brighter styles of the upcoming summer. Floral prints, pastel colors, and lightweight jackets become key elements in spring wardrobes. Fashion during this season reflects the optimism of blooming flowers and the promise of warmer days. From flowy skirts to stylish trench coats, the clothing choices at 6 PM in spring capture the essence of renewal and freshness.

Conclusion: Dressing for the 6 PM season is an art that allows fashion enthusiasts to align their style with the ever-changing moods of nature. From the casual elegance of summer to the cozy sophistication of winter, each season brings a unique fashion story to this magical hour. Embracing the sartorial nuances of 6 PM allows individuals to express their personal style while harmonizing with the enchanting beauty that unfolds as day transitions into night.

[fashionshopping]

Woolen Sash Trench Coat Overco ... Price 4.16$ CLICK TO BUY