#Fit and flare jumpsuits

[sabitagupta]

Designer Jumpsuits for Women | Label Gayatri Bishnoi

Shop handcrafted Indian jumpsuits at Label Gayatri Bishnoi. Discover fit & flare jumpsuits, red jumpsuits with drape, and mustard yellow embroidered co-ord sets.

[mandeep122]

Shop handcrafted Indian jumpsuits at Label Gayatri Bishnoi. Discover fit & flare jumpsuits, red jumpsuits with drape, and mustard yellow embroidered co-ord sets.

[rosemaryhoney27]

Dont mess with our daughter

Wrath of the Fentons

Jason Todd had seen a lot of weird things in Gotham. Lazarus pits, immortal assassins, fear gas-induced nightmares—hell, he'd been one of the weird things, once upon a time. But watching a bunch of black-market meta traffickers haul a very pissed-off redhead into an unmarked van in broad daylight was quickly climbing the ranks of what the fuck moments.

She wasn't screaming. That was the first sign that something was wrong. Most metas—or normal people—would be terrified. Instead, this girl looked annoyed.

Jason had been tracking this particular ring for weeks. They specialized in kidnapping metas with "unique features"—horns, glowing eyes, animal traits, things that marked them as different. The bastards made a killing selling them off to the highest bidder.

The girl—Jazz, he caught one of the thugs saying—fit their usual type. Her hands, bound behind her, had faint green veins pulsing under her skin, as if something otherworldly coursed through her. Her eyes flickered a ghostly green before settling back into a sharp, human blue.

Jason knew that look. It was the look someone got when they were waiting.

For what? Backup? Did she have a tracker? A hidden weapon?

He was about to interfere when Jazz sighed dramatically and muttered, "You poor, poor idiots."

Jason didn't have time to wonder what she meant before his comms flared to life with a frantic Oracle.

"Red Hood, stand down—I repeat, do not engage—the girl's parents are en route, and—holy shit—these guys have no idea what they just did."

Jason frowned. "Parents? Who—"

And then he saw the tank.

It barreled down the street, mounted with weapons that absolutely should not be street legal, glowing green with ominous energy. The side of the vehicle had a logo painted in jagged white letters:

FENTON WORKS

The doors flew open, and a massive man in an orange jumpsuit leaped out, wielding what could only be described as an anti-aircraft cannon converted into a rifle. His wife followed, a visor covering her eyes, her sleek blue bodysuit glowing with strange symbols.

"JAZZ!" the man bellowed, aiming the cannon at the traffickers as if they were just another ghost to blast into oblivion.

"Hey, Dad!" Jazz called, still completely unbothered as one of the thugs tried to hold a knife to her throat. "You might want to be careful. They think I'm a meta."

"Oh, honey," her mom said, pulling out a gun that looked like it belonged in a sci-fi horror movie. "They won't be thinking anything in a few minutes."

Jason took a slow step back.

He'd seen Bruce handle hostage situations with surgical precision. He'd seen Dick talk down armed criminals with nothing but charm and a smile.

He had never seen two civilians go full scorched earth on a meta trafficking ring without so much as a plan beyond "rescue daughter, destroy everything."

The traffickers barely had time to react before green energy blasts tore through their van, their weapons, and the street around them. The sheer destructive enthusiasm was a sight to behold.

One thug made the mistake of aiming a gun at Maddie Fenton. She shot him with a glowing net that phased through his skin before electrifying him into unconsciousness. Another tried to run—Jack Fenton threw what looked like a modified bear trap, which snapped shut around the guy’s legs and dragged him back, screaming.

Jazz, still tied up, sighed as one guy tried to use her as a human shield. "You do realize that you're standing between me and them, right?"

The thug barely had time to consider his life choices before Maddie calmly shot him in the leg.

Jason, crouched on a nearby rooftop, slowly exhaled.

Well. The ring was definitely out of commission.

As the Fentons loaded the unconscious criminals into their highly illegal ghost-proof containment units, Jazz finally noticed Jason watching. She arched a brow.

"Hey, Red Hood, right?"

Jason, still processing, just nodded.

Jazz smirked. "You look like you're having a what the fuck moment."

Jason stared at the still-smoking wreckage of what used to be a human trafficking operation and then at the grinning, trigger-happy Fenton parents.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, that about sums it up."

[obscoros]

Humanformers time! I have all of their designs with the jumpsuits done (thought it’d be cute if they had a matching uniform, even though I headcanon that in this universe, Ratchet and Pharma do their best not to wear it whenever possible). Not the happiest with Pharma’s but I can always come back to it.

Design breakdowns & my thoughts for each character below the cut. 🫶

Ratchet

Ratchet doesn’t like to wear her combat medic uniform- she prefers her simple lab coat and slacks. The additional armored plating makes everything feel too real and she’d rather not confront the big emotions she has with the war and what that means as a doctor and CMO.

The armored chest plate is blue to mimic Ratchet’s windshield plating that some iterations of his root mode have, and there are some ECG motifs as a reference to TFP Ratchet. I like Ratchet being more red, but I kept her hair orange as a reference to TFP and IDW.

Here are her other looks!

First Aid

My favorite design of the 4. Unlike Ratchet, First Aid prefers to wear the jumpsuit because it’s comfortable and practical, and has her own unique jacket she often wears over top.

First Aid’s mask translates really well to a human healthcare worker, and instead of giving her a helmet that’s an exact replica of First Aid’s helm, I gave her a hat and had her hair in buns that mimic the way it frames her face.

This version of First Aid sort of reminds me of an EMT. She isn’t one, but I took inspiration from EMT and first responder uniforms with her in general, due to how quick on her feet she’d have to be working directly under Ratchet and the chaos that ensues in the medbay.

Ambulon

I’m not sure how well I achieved it, but I wanted her jumpsuit to look ill-fitting and slightly worn compared to the others which fit them more tightly. The cuffs of the pants are too wide and the scalloped collar flares more than it should. The jumpsuit wasn’t always hers, after all. There are elements of Ambulon’s paint scratches, from the scuffs on her boots to the purple turtleneck she wears underneath.

She has a chevron she wears as well, but I accidentally made her bangs way too cute and so I wanted to showcase both. Her hair isn’t naturally blonde- all part of her trying to fly under the radar and try not to be recognized for her former alliances.

Pharma

This design killed me. I might come back to it but I knew that my humanformer Pharma wouldn’t wear this jumpsuit if she could help it, just like Ratchet.

Gave her white hair and a red chevron in reverse of Pharma’s normal colors because it made her unique compared to the other medics.

Long coat covering the jumpsuit because she thinks it’s ugly.

She’s a very classy individual, and I wanted to have each unique element she added to the medic uniform represent that.

[correctbaby]

GhostWalker WIP

I haven’t posted fic in years, much less incomplete ones (this is 2/3 chapters) but given the lack of content for this ship I figured I’d take one for the team <3 This is incredibly whumpy and self indulgent! Also includes some speculation for how Ava managed during the snap. Enjoy!

Ava was too stubborn to die.

Truth being, she was too scared to face the ghosts lined up behind her. She felt their breath on the back of her neck sometimes, when she woke from fitful sleep to a whip’s crack of pain arcing through her cells.

Nights like tonight.

Her hands groped her nightstand in the dark, cursing as the quantum regulator passed through her fingers before she could get a hold of it. It was a crude harness made from trial, error, many cashed in favours, and a bit of blood under the table. Five years without access to quantum experts, and she’d had to get crafty.

Truth being, she’d given up hope the pain would ever go away. Janet had given her the briefest glimpse of freedom, and then it had been ripped away. She wished she had never felt that relief. Had never known. It hurt too sharply, returning to how things were.

Ava crawled to freedom herself. She built better gear. She honed her mind. She learned to generate her own quantum energy, a truly minuscule amount but enough to keep her alive in a pinch. There were even days her pain would settle to a low hum, and she could come up for air. Her survival tasted like battery acid, but it was hers.

Tonight, it tasted like kerosine. Pins and needles spread from her scalp down her arms, down her chest—filling her veins with a deep discomfort. Then, like a match strike, she felt herself rip open.

A liquid fire spread across her nerve endings. She had to get her backup regulator on quick—or she’d be in for a fun night clinging to the mortal coil with both hands.

Truth being, she couldn’t be in her suit constantly. That worked as a kid, when SHIELD would sanitize her like a dirty towel run through a steam cycle. Now, as an adult, cohabitating with a tower full of people, she had to take care of herself. At least enough to keep them from looking closely. Which meant, among other agonizing tasks, allowing her suit to be taken for dry cleaning.

Valentina saw it as an “organic opportunity for technological development”. Meaning, while Ava was forced to go without her suit, she could test whatever prototype Val’s team of scientists had cobbled together that week. In theory, the blue jumpsuit that took too long to put on should help with this flare up. The lining of it felt peculiar in some areas, cool like gel under an ultrasound.

Ava gathered all her focus, planted herself firmly in time and space, reached out— and her hands passed uselessly through the regulator.

Alarm bells started ringing in her head. She shouldn’t be struggling to keep her hands solid—she’d trained herself out of those slips years ago, during the dark years when she’d had nothing to keep herself together but her own mind. She shouldn’t still be woozy and slow. She never even slept soundly to begin with.

A memory cut through her mental static. What was it Valentina had said when delivering this new suit?

“It’s our most comfortable one yet! You’ll sleep right through those pesky flare ups, I guarantee it.”

Ava was going to kill her.

There was a force unnaturally pushing at her mind- willing her to sleep, to relax, to let go. There was also a force, timeless and all-powerful, causing so much carnage to her body that rest was impossible. And then there was Ava, caught in the middle of familiar pain and unfamiliar mental fog, completely powerless.

Panic started to boil in her chest. Or maybe that was the feeling of her ribs disassembling, the lining of her lungs tearing open. Again and again and again and again—

Don’t think about it. Keep yourself together. Here and now. Breathe when you can.

Her focus had been taken from her. She couldn’t get the suit off- it was a mess of buckles and zippers she’d dutifully fastened like the lab rat she was. She couldn’t get to her backup regulator. Instead she was being battered in the winds of agony with no way to keep her footing.

And truth being, she was scared.

—

John was tired of being the only normal one on his team.

The responsibility of it chafed at him. It forced him into positions he’d much rather delegate. Unfortunately, everyone else around him was an unstable liability, never around when you needed them, or both, so John had to step up.

Which is why he found himself knocking on Ava’s door at 2am.

John had his room’s noise-cancelling feature off by default—if something was happening in the tower, he didn’t want to rely on Valentina’s sensors to inform him. As a result, he was intimately familiar with the sleeping habits (or lack thereof) of his teammates. At least once a night, he’d bolt upright in bed, jolted awake by someone on their floor hollering from a nightmare.

Ava was no different, but she was uniquely unsettling. She never yelled. The first time she woke him up, it was with the sound of a drawn-out, heaving inhale that brought him right back to the night his newborn son choked on his own spit-up. He’d run straight into her room with his blankets still caught around his legs, and then stood there, utterly disoriented, as she screamed at him to “get the fuck out!”

“Why don’t you lock your door?” he’d asked, half-asleep and still trying to figure out why he wasn’t in his son’s nursery.

Ava had, understandably, shoved him back into the hallway and slammed the door in his face.

She didn’t lock it. He still didn’t know why.

When Ava would wake him up after that, he’d sometimes catch himself in his own doorway—or even out in the hallway—before he remembered where he was. But he never crossed the threshold into her room again.

After her gasping usually came a beeping noise, followed by an odd mechanical whirring. More mysteries he tried not to dwell on. Maybe she had a CPAP machine, or an industrial-grade oil diffuser. It made no difference to him.

But, tonight. Tonight had been a double whammy. First, Bucky screaming into the night (his noises were both the shortest and the loudest). Then, just as John’s nerves had calmed enough for sleep to pull at him again, his Next-Door-Ghost decided to forget how to breathe.

Hearing it while fully awake was worse. It sounded like a sucking chest wound, like the whooping part of a whooping cough, like his baby turning blue. John massaged his temples and waited for the beeping to start.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The sounds of unknown machinery never came. Instead, he was treated to a host of new noises— gritted curses flung like knives and keening groans that settled under his skin uncomfortably.

There was no way she could be injured, but John had to check regardless. He quickly found the team logs on his tablet. Yelena and Alexei had been sent on a mission that morning, and they wouldn’t be back for another forty-eight hours at least. Ghost had been in the tower all day. He’d seen her that evening, when the staff came to collect laundry. Ava always looked strange out of her suit, but she seemed fine.

She gasped for air again, and John’s jaw clenched so tight it nearly cramped. Ghost, he reasoned, was a grown woman who could handle her own baggage, a woman who had made it crystal clear his help was not welcome. So he shoved his misplaced concern aside—this was not his son—and turned on the noise-cancelling feature in his suite.

The silence felt louder, somehow.

He rolled onto his back. Pulled the covers up to his chin. Closed his eyes. And was perfectly fucking comfortable. He was lying on the highest quality mattress and sheets he’d ever owned. The temperature was just-right, down to the slight breeze coming from a faux-open window.

And John was so on edge you’d think he was defusing a bomb.

Anything could be happening in the tower, and he wouldn’t even know it. An assassin could disable their security and make it in through the penthouse. Bob could be going Void any second, and Yelena wasn’t around to keep an eye on him. There could be a fire. Or an attack on the street below. Someone could be calling for help.

Ava…

Thirty minutes went by like molasses, willing, begging, pleading with himself to sleep. It was no use.

“God— damn it!” John slammed his fists down on the mattress. He was tired, so tired and frustrated his throat felt tight and his eyes prickled with heat. He grabbed his tablet and turned off the noise-cancelling in his room.

Ava was crying.

He sat up abruptly. No, not possible. Maybe she was watching a movie? Or laughing at something? But then he heard a string of muffled curses, followed by a sob, and it was undeniable. It was the delirium that brought John to his feet. The sleep deprivation, the clock blinking 1:59, nothing else. Except the fact that Ava, who held herself like ice wrapped barbed wire, should not… fucking… sound like that.

John grabbed his robe, and padded out into the hallway. Of course, of all nights, Yelena chose this one to be away. On a mission he would’ve been just as capable of heading, mind you. It was up to him to step up once again. Of course it was.

John knocked on Ava’s door.

When he didn’t get a response, he called out, “Ghost? You alright in there?” He had no idea if she should even hear him. Would the noise-cancelling be bypassed if someone was at your door? Would someone that didn’t lock their door even turn it on?

He listened closely, but all he could hear was that awful, grating, crying that set every bit of him off kilter. He barked louder now, “Ava, answer me or I’m coming in.”

John waited until his misplaced concern couldn’t take it anymore, and then he opened the door to Ava’s room for the second time.

[megalony]

Resemblance

This is an Evan Buckley imagine I just had to write after watching the newest episodes. I hope you will all like it, please please let me know what you think.

(A few spoilers for S7 but not too many)

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@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella

@shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @ml572 @jessie-lynn28 @lolalolsstuff

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Summary: When Evan introduces (Y/n) to Eddie, she resembles someone he used to know. And he can't help himself when he's around her, leading to frightening behaviour.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Sorry, am I… early?"

Confusion pooled on (Y/n)'s face as she took a look around the room she had walked into.

She knew she had arrived a few minutes late. She thought by now that the room would be crammed with people and she would have a hard time walking in with how packed it would be and how her panic would flare up. But as (Y/n) looked around the function room that had been booked out, her lips rolled into a thin line and her eyes narrowed.

There were only two people in here; one of whom was her boyfriend.

Her eyes scanned between the pair of them, soaking them in and assessing what they were wearing and drinking in what they looked like. Well, more specifically, what Evan looked like.

He had on a plain white shirt that stuck to his chest, outlining his collar bone that stuck out prominently and also gluing to his abs. Over his shirt, he wore a blazer the shade of pastel mint blue with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. And matching trousers that were pulled rather high up on his waist. (Y/n) noticed that the front button on his trousers barely managed to do up, it looked like it would pop open and take someone's eye out at any moment.

But Evan looked ravishing.

"Right on time, babe."

Evan's voice broke (Y/n) out of her lusting thoughts and she grinned, relaxing into herself a little more when he advanced towards her.

His hands found her upper arms and he pulled her close until her chest bumped into his and her hands found his shoulders to steady herself. (Y/n) tilted her head up and let Evan capture her in a kiss, melting in the way that his teeth scraped out along her lower lip and how when she parted her lips for air, he stole her breath in one swoop.

When they parted, Evan tipped his forehead down against hers and the way he sighed made (Y/n)'s knees go weak. He was relieved she was here, she could feel it in the way he gripped her arms and how he found it hard to hold himself up rather than let himself melt into her.

"Go on then, what're you supposed to be?" He murmured softly, letting his eyes rake up and down her choice of dress for tonight.

He felt (Y/n)'s fingers tighten around his shoulders while he looked down at her deep turquoise jumpsuit. It flared out at the ankles, mostly covering the black ankle boots she wore and it had two thin straps looped over each shoulder.

It was a perfect fit, hugging each curve on (Y/n)'s body and the V-shaped neckline was where Evan's eyes kept dropping to.

"Abba… Waterloo?" (Y/n) looked down at her jumpsuit before she looked back up at Evan.

When he said tonight was an eighties theme, (Y/n) wasn't sure what to wear. She didn't want to go full outfit or costume because she could tell that Evan wasn't going for that vibe. It seemed like a casual dress kind of party and when (Y/n) found this old jumpsuit, she realised it was perfect to match the Waterloo video from Abba.

Her black ankle boots would have to do rather than finding a pair of over the top knee-length blue boots with thick heels. (Y/n) thought she looked rather good and no one would know she was coming to a themed party which made her calmer since she had arrived alone.

"Brilliant," His voice was soft and his eyes creased with the wide smile that danced across his lips.

He leaned down and stole another kiss before he finally turned, remembering they weren't the only people in the room.

Evan curled his left arm around (Y/n)'s waist, tucking her into his side while he moved his right hand to run up and down his chin and along the side of his jaw. His smile turned sweet and he glanced his eyes from (Y/n) over to Eddie who was stood near the buffet table, hidden mostly behind his glass of beer.

"Babe, this is Eddie. Eddie, this is (Y/n), who I was telling you about." He rubbed his hand up and down (Y/n)'s back and pressed his lips to the top of her head. He felt (Y/n)'s hand graze across the front of his chest and her cheek pressed against his shoulder as she smiled sweetly.

"It's great to finally meet you."

(Y/n) smiled across at the only other person in the room, trying to take in the sight of him and see whether he looked like the image she had built up in her head. The image of Evan's best friend. The man who had been with him through thick and thin, on all the good calls and the bad. The person who fought for Evan almost as hard as his sister did. The man Evan had clawed through the dirt to try and find and who Evan had dragged beneath a fire truck when they got shot at.

The person in front of her did indeed match the rough outline she had come up with in her head.

He was slightly shorter than Evan, with his brown locks slicked back on his head into waves which would suit Evan if he grew his hair longer like he used to have it.

His suit was a ringer for Evan's too, a lovely pastel pink that matched Evan's cheeks and nose when he was just starting to blush at something.

"I- I… hi."

Eddie couldn't formulate a sentence. He couldn't string together one simple word or even a small 'hello' which would have been a lot better than what had just passed his lips. The only thing on his mind was one word that haunted him in the dead of night and followed him around like a shadow he couldn't shake.

Shannon.

There she was. There was his wife. The woman he hadn't been able to forget for the last four years. The woman who seemed to ruin every relationship he was in because no woman he found would ever match what he had with her.

And now she was stood in front of him. He could see Shannon in those eyes. Those deep eyes that were like black holes pulling him in until he was lost forever, unable to return to his former self. The curve of her lips was the same and her smile made her lips part like she was looking at him in wonder of something he couldn't quite place.

The way she tilted her head to one side was the way Shannon always looked at him whenever something was playing on his mind and she wanted to find out. Or how she looked at him when he was being sweet and she didn't know he knew she was staring at him.

Even the way she laughed quietly when Evan murmured something into her ear was exactly the way Eddie remembered his wife laughing when she was in public and didn't want to draw attention to herself.

How was this even possible?

How could the girl Evan was forever talking about, the one who had captured his heart so quickly and who seemed to know him like the back of her hand, how could she be the person Eddie was looking for in his dreams?

How could she be what Eddie was searching for? A way to get Shannon back in his life, in some form or another. A way to feel absolved of the guilt he carried with him like a weight in his heart, forever present, never gone. A way to tell Shannon how sorry he was, how much he loved her, how much he wanted her back because what they had was what Eddie wanted. It was something he wanted so desperately. Something he couldn't find with any other woman, no matter what or how hard he tried.

Could Eddie find it with her? In another world, could she be his second chance, rather than Evan's?

"Yeah, so Eddie's halfway to being pissed. Do you want a drink?" He spoke against (Y/n)'s temple and squeezed her waist, silently telling her that this wasn't how Eddie normally was.

He was usually first to have introductions and make people feel welcome and he was easy to get along with. Clearly he was somewhere else tonight and he was on his way to being drunk. He didn't have Chris tonight and he knew Chris was safe with his Abuela so he could let loose and get ad drunk as he liked tonight.

"I'll have whatever you're having."

"Oh, this is gonna be fun." Evan muttered against her temple and (Y/n) suddenly regretted what she'd just said when he sauntered out of the room towards the bar that was right outside the doorway.

Turning her head to the right, (Y/n) looked across at Eddie and tried her best to look calm and approachable.

The last thing (Y/n) wanted was to get off to a bumpy start with her partner's best friend. She knew how important Eddie was to Evan and (Y/n) wanted to make a good impression. She wanted to try and get along with all of Evan's friends who would be here tonight, but Eddie especially. He was like a brother to Evan and therefore (Y/n) wanted to get to know him and find common ground with him.

With that thought in mind, (Y/n) laced her fingers together in front of her and slowly glided across the room towards Eddie.

He was stood near the end of the buffet table, staring at it longingly like a man who'd been starved for days. He almost looked ravenous.

One hand was stuffed into his trouser pocket and the other was holding his glass right under his nose. Although, (Y/n) hadn't actually seen him take a sip considering how long he'd held the glass over his lips. It was almost as if he was using the glass as a mask to hide behind rather than to refresh himself and have a drink.

"You don't look drunk to me." (Y/n) spoke quietly but the glimmer in her eyes had Eddie's heart stuttering out an incomprehensible rhythm that physically pained him.

He could feel his shoulders pulling inwards and his upper body pushed forward like his chest was suddenly weighed down with stones.

"Hm, not yet. Soon."

There. He was speaking. Not much, not properly, but it was something. He was moving in the right direction, although he didn't quite know which direction he should be going in with her.

Why was she looking at him like that? Why did she have to smile like that? Her smile was infectious. It always had been; it was like a drug to Eddie and he wanted to get high. He wanted to get higher than he'd ever gotten before.

His eyes darted down to her lips more than once until all he could stare at was the way she darted her tongue across to wet them and his breath caught in his throat for a moment. He felt his stomach tensing and pulling inwards and when (Y/n) leaned across to look over the table, Eddie's eyes followed her.

He followed the way her hair fanned across her shoulders when she leaned over. He watched how her chin tilted down and obscured his view of those lips that resembled the ones he had missed so much. He noticed the way she pushed on one foot and leaned off the other when she stretched over to reach for one of the bowls of crisps on the table.

Before he could stop himself, Eddie reached out for her hand. He lowered his glass down so it hovered over his chest while his left hand untucked from his pocket and curled around (Y/n)'s wrist.

The way his fingers skimmed across the back of her hand sent electricity surging through his blood and Eddie suddenly felt alive. He felt on edge, reinvented, brought back to life. Charged.

"Buck wants to wait for Chimney… almost lost my arm when I went for a sausage roll." He couldn't find his usual voice. He was either speaking in hushed tones or an octave deeper than he was used to, there didn't seem to be an inbetween anymore for his normal voice.

(Y/n) stayed perfectly still when Eddie continued to hold her wrist. She could feel his fingers tapping against her hand like he had a beat in his head he was trying to drum out against her. Her back was starting to ache from staying hovered over the table, but she didn't know how to move.

Something about the way Eddie was gripping her hand made her feel nervous, worried even.

She felt like moving away from him would cause him to tighten his grip and pull her back. She worried that dropping eye contact with him would flare up some kind of reaction.

There was something about the way that Eddie looked at her that made (Y/n) feel vulnerable and afraid. It was as if he knew her but somehow, she didn't know him. He was searching for something and it was frightening. (Y/n) didn't know what he was looking for when he stared at her like that and she wasn't sure how to act around him or what to do.

When she suddenly felt his thumb glide around the underside of her wrist, she froze. He applied the slightest bit of pressure until her pulse was throbbing against his skin and she realised he was trying to feel her heartbeat.

What was he doing that for?

"Then don't let him see." (Y/n) found the will to move her hand forward and she was relieved when Eddie let go of her wrist almost as swiftly as he had reached out for her.

She took a sausage roll and popped it in her mouth while Eddie reached for a handful of crisps and followed her lead.

Turning on her heels, (Y/n) took a step away from the table just as the door opened and her sights set on her partner. She felt relieved, more than relieved, to see Evan again and feel the tension start to fade from the room.

When it was just the three of them, the atmosphere felt calmer. Even after Hen and Karen, Ravi and then Tommy all arrived and subsequently left a few hours later. It still felt a little more relaxed after they had gone and (Y/n) wondered if it was because Evan and Eddie had come here with the intention of letting loose and having a good night, whether the rest of the team joined in with them or not.

She had a feeling that Tommy would have stayed to have a party and he would have had some fun with them, if he didn't get called in for a shift.

Moving out of that function room and going into the actual bar felt a lot better, it was like the three of them could come out of their shells and relax.

(Y/n) couldn't keep up with the amount of shots Evan and Eddie were taking, and she didn't want to either. One of them had to be somewhat responsible and able to get them into a cab home and call it a night when things got a little too intense or went overboard. Someone had to keep an eye on everything.

A lazy, mostly tipsy smile graced (Y/n)'s lips when she tilted her head back onto Evan's shoulder.

She felt his arms tighten around her waist and his chin perched on her shoulder so he could look down at her. The way his knees started to jitter up and down made (Y/n)'s stomach churn and also made her head start to spin. He was so fuelled on alcohol that he was starting to vibrate.

She wasn't sure how long she had been sat on his lap. As long as it had been since she last went up to the bar and Evan dragged her down to sit with- or rather on- him because he said he was starting to feel lonely. How someone could feel lonely after only three minutes was beyond (Y/n), but she was more than happy to make him feel loved and secure again.

"Want another drink?"

"Hmm, I'm running on empty." He looked towards his glass which had been empty for the last ten minutes, but he didn't have the will power to get up. Or the energy to let (Y/n) climb off his lap either.

He tilted his head round and pecked her lips once, then twice. Then again until he was taking every ounce of breath held within her lungs and he had her hands digging into his wrists while he swallowed every moan he ellicited from her mouth.

"Won't be long," (Y/n) spoke against his lips, wriggling on his lap both to tease him and to get him to let her up.

She felt his hands slip round to hold her hips while she got up from his lap, taking a few seconds to find her balance. She wasn't quite drunk yet, at least not on Evan and Eddie's level, but she was getting there.

Evan's hands stayed on her waist as long as they could and she felt one hand curve round to her bum before she was finally too far away for him to hold. And he slumped back against the leather booth, whining and stretching his arms out like a lovesick child waiting and begging for attention.

It was cute.

It was more than cute, it was endearing. (Y/n) stole a glance over her shoulder and blew him a kiss before she veered to the right and wobbled towards the bar.

Her arms folded over the bar that was slightly damp and sticky with beer, vodka and God knows what else. But she didn't care. She flagged down the barmaid and mumbled "Refill please."

She knew the woman would know what drinks she was after. The amount of times they had all been up and down to the bar within the last two hours was almost unbelievable. Her fingers drummed against the counter and her lower back arched out while she leaned her head to one side and waited patiently for her drinks.

"Are we having shots?"

That dark, sugary voice took (Y/n) by surprise and she looked over her left shoulder, watching as Eddie stumbled over to her. He managed to keep himself on his feet without falling on the floor and he drummed his palms down on the counter.

His smile was so wide that his eyes were barely open anymore and he flashed his pearly whites in a smile that was clearly intoxicated but still amusing and rather cheeky too.

Somewhere during the evening, Eddie had taken off his shirt and his blazer, but now he was back in his blazer again which was left unbuttoned, showing off his shirt to anyone who wanted a look. His chin tilted down and his teeth sank into his lower lip but it didn't obscure his smile.

"No more shots for me, but you go ahead." (Y/n) didn't fancy anymore. One more shot would be enough to keel her over or have her throwing up in the toilets.

"Ah, come on. You're good at shots."

"I've had about two," (Y/n) laughed, tipping her head back before she pushed up to stand a bit straighter and clear her head. She had done two shots with the boys tonight and both of them had made her cough, even if she had downed them quicker than Evan had managed his.

"You were always good at shots. You could drink me under the table any day."

What did that mean? Where did that come from? What was he talking about?

(Y/n)'s brows furrowed and she let her head fall down at an angle while she tried to think over Eddie's words with the sober part of her mind. She hadn't met Eddie before tonight. She hadn't done shots with Evan on many occasions so surely he wouldn't have said anything to Eddie about (Y/n) being good with downing shots.

She had never drank Eddie under the table and he had far surpassed her on the drinking front. He was three miles ahead near the finish line while (Y/n) was hanging back. So what was he talking about?

"Come on, let's have some shots." It was as if his previous comment had been discarded and (Y/n) found herself nodding, although she wasn't sure if they were both on the same page or not.

She watched the barmaid place their drinks down on a tray along with six shot glasses which she started to fill up, per Eddie's request. But her eyes darted across to Eddie again when she suddenly felt his hand on top of her own.

It was different to how he had held her earlier. This wasn't him silently trying to tell her not to antagonise her boyfriend when he was in organising mode. This wasn't him holding her and subtly checking her pulse as if he thought she might be unwell or panicking over something. This wasn't Eddie holding her wrist and staring at her with a million questions she couldn't decipher nor understand.

There was an urgency in the way he dug his fingers into her wrist. He started to squeeze tighter and tighter until (Y/n) was sure she was going to have indents from where his fingers were.

When (Y/n) looked up at his eyes, she could see one hundred and one things burning within them. A drunken haze had taken over his pupils that were very dilated, but there was something in his brown orbs that made her panic. What was he doing? What was running through his mind?

"I've missed you," He tugged her hand closer until it was near his chest and he swayed back before leaning forwards, trying to find his balance in his drunken state. "So, so much."

"Eddie…"

What was she supposed to say to that? He was drunk. He was clearly thinking about something, or someone, and deflecting it onto (Y/n). She didn't know how to help or how to diffuse this situation.

"I love it when you say my name." He leaned closer and (Y/n) feared he was leaning in for a kiss.

"I- I don't understand."

He started laughing. His laugh was almost cynical and the way he tossed his head back towards the ceiling and started to run his free hand over his chin made (Y/n) take a sharp breath. It was almost like he was teasing her or making fun of her, but she wasn't so sure that was what he was doing.

She wanted to move, to take a step back and go over to Evan and tell him Eddie was drunk and might need to call it a night. But she couldn't go anywhere when Eddie yanked her wrist so sharply it was as if he had pulled a muscle. He dragged her arm across the bar until she slumped against it and her head tilted back to look up at him in fear.

"You shouldn't have left." Where did he think she had gone? Who did he think she was? What did he think was happening?

His grip on her wrist was tightening by the second and the smile faded from his lips when he leaned closer until their noses were almost touching. From a distance, it looked like he was going to tell her a secret or whisper some little knowing thought to her. But (Y/n) wasn't sure what was going to come out of his mouth next and she didn't know what to do or how to get out of his grip.

"Come home." His words were almost a whisper and something softened in his eyes for a brief second.

When she saw his eyes glazing over again and the hardened exterior coming back, she took her chance to wrench her wrist from his grasp.

Her trembling fingers curled around the drinks tray and she turned around, stumbling to aim for Evan who was on his phone, clearly messaging someone. Although he was having a hard time typing, he was squinting to try and see his keyboard clearly.

Eddie was just drunk. He was clearly having one of those moments and (Y/n) doubted he would remember this in the morning.

But she would. And his actions frightened her.

Who did he think she was? What else would he have done if she didn't manage to slip away from him? Why was he acting so strange around her?

***

Adreanline sparked in (Y/n)'s stomach when she felt a familiar pair of arms curve around her waist and Evan's fingers digging into her hips lovingly. He gave a gentle squeeze, pulling her back into his firm chest while he leaned over so his chin rested on top of (Y/n)'s head. It almost felt like he was a blanket or a jacket perfectly shaping and curving around her.

Reaching her hands down, (Y/n) held onto Evan's wrists and gave a little squeeze, letting her shoulders tilt back into his chest so she was leaning on him slightly.

Her eyes cast up and her head tilted back until she managed to catch his eye and grin up at him. She felt him press a kiss to her temple before she looked back ahead of them.

She had never been to a hospital wedding before.

It was a different experience, having everyone cramped into the same room, all coiled together. Some smartly dressed, others wearing something casual that they slipped into last minute to make sure they were here on time.

Although (Y/n) had to admit that seeing Evan's niece in her little dress holding her balloon was a beautiful sight that made her heart melt.

For this being the first time (Y/n) had met most of Evan's team, they all seemed lovely and they were very welcoming.

She had met Maddie already, but this was the first time she had been introduced to Chimney which felt so strange to first meet someone with them lying in a hospital bed.

"…You can now kiss the bride."

She felt Evan's arms tightening around her and she grinned, dancing her eyes across the room that was packed like sardines before she looked back up at Evan. Pushing up on her tiptoes, (Y/n) pressed a kiss to his cheek and grinned when Evan tilted his head to catch her lips with his.

When they pulled apart, (Y/n) shivered at the feeling of Evan's lips gliding across her jaw until they moved to hover over the shell of her ear.

"I'm glad you're here with me." He murmured softly into her ear, feeling the way (Y/n) took a deep breath and the feel of her heartbeat pulsing beneath her skin. There weren't many special moments in Evan's life that weren't overshadowed by other things or people he'd rather forget.

To have (Y/n) here with him today to celebrate with his family made all the difference in the world to Evan. He felt comfortable, having (Y/n) in his arms made him feel complete. Like everyone in this room had someone to share the moment with, and now, so did he.

Maddie's first wedding had been a day Evan wanted to forget. It hadn't been a big occasion, most of the guests had been Doug's side of the family. And their parents hadn't bothered to show up, something Evan would never forgive them for because of how distraught it had made Maddie.

And there were so many occasions and parties and times when Evan had been there alone or he felt like an outsider. Or something had happened at work or with a partner that had dampened his mood.

So having (Y/n) in his arms, making him feel loved and happy and whole meant this day was going to be a good day. It was going to be a memory that wouldn't be tainted by bad thoughts or moods or by something bad happening.

"Me too." (Y/n) let her temple rest against Evan's jaw and she took a moment to close her eyes and savour in the feeling of his embrace.

Her lips curved up and her hands tightened around his wrists when he gently but firmly started to tug her backwards with him towards the wall. Moving them both out the way so that Maddie could move and the cake could be brought in.

Pulling on Evan's arms, (Y/n) pushed up on her toes and hovered her lips over his ear.

"Just going to the bathroom, save me some cake."

"Will do." He muttered against her cheek, turning to steal another kiss from her lips before he eventually let her squirm out of his arms.

(Y/n) tilted her head down, a shy smile gracing her lips as she coiled her arms into her chest and slowly weaved her way through the other guests in the room. She tried not to push or bump into anyone and wormed her way out the door, taking a deep breath when she was finally back in the corridor.

It was lovely to see so many people enjoying the ceremony, but it wasn't great for them all to be cramped together like that. The A/C had been turned on full blast once everyone was inside the room so they didn't overheat or begin to sweat. It was good to have a little breather and some room to herself.

Once the room had started to fill up, Evan had graciously looped his arms around (Y/n) and moved her in front of him to keep her close and so she didn't have to be too close to people she barely knew. He knew wrapping himself around her would make her feel at ease. The last thing he wanted was for (Y/n) to panic.

Rattling her fingers through her hair, (Y/n) smiled to herself and made her way down the corridor and turned the corner. She wasn't too sure where the nearest toilets would be, but she was sure she would find them on her walk.

"Hey,"

Tremors rattled through (Y/n)'s chest and sent shockwaves down to her stomach that became electrified.

Eddie.

She hadn't realised he wasn't in the room either. She should have noticed. She should have looked around the room again and noticed that his son and his aunt were there, but he had seemingly slipped away. Since she and Evan had turned up at the hospital this morning, (Y/n) had glued herself to his side and kept a look out for his friend.

Part of her wondered if Eddie remembered any of what he'd said or done last night. She wondered if he remembered acting strange around her or grabbing her or telling her to come home, something that had confused (Y/n) greatly.

But the way he nodded and smiled at her this morning when he arrived and how he patted her shoulder in passing like they were old friends made (Y/n) doubt herself.

She doubted whether last night had happened. Whether she was overreacting or if the alcohol had made it seem worse than it was.

Eddie not remembering any of what he said last night was a blessing though. It meant he wasn't going to act awkward around (Y/n) and it meant she could try and forget it and move on and try to make bridges with Eddie and be friends.

She wanted to be friends with him. She knew from the way that Evan spoke about him that Eddie was a great guy and she wanted nothing more than for them all to get along together. For Evan's sake.

"Hi," (Y/n) dipped her head down and ran her hand up and down her arm while she tried to control herself.

Don't act strange around him. Be normal, he doesn't remember.

"Have I missed the cake?"

"No, no they're just cutting it now… it's a bit cramped in there." She looked over her shoulder, unsure whether she was referencing the crowded room or whether she was hoping someone would round the corner and join their conversation.

"It can get a bit much, with everyone around."

Eddie stuffed a hand in his trouser pocket and moved his other hand to trace across his jaw. He hadn't shaved yet. He needed to shave. Shannon always hated it when he tried to grow stubble, she liked to trace her finger across his jawline and feel how sharp and smooth it was. There hadn't been time to shave this morning; Eddie barely had the time to get changed from his messed up suit, let alone run a hand through his hair and freshen up.

"Just a bit." (Y/n) tried to smile and tilted her head to one side. "Do you know where the nearest bathroom is?"

Her eyes narrowed and something flashed across her eyes when she noticed that Eddie seemed to be drifting. He was staring down at her hands that were interlocked in front of her, but it was like his mind was somewhere else completely.

"Eddie, are you okay?" (Y/n) took a deep breath and moved a little bit closer when it looked like Eddie was in a trance.

Maybe he was still feeling rough from last night. He certainly looked worse for wear when she saw him earlier this morning.

Placing her hand on his arm didn't seem to be the right move. The moment she touched him, Eddie seemed to snap out of his trance. His head bolted up from staring at her hands. His shoulders stiffened and pulled up. His lips pressed into a firm line that almost made him look angry, if it weren't for the sorrow building up in his eyes.

"Eddie?"

Panic pooled in the pit of (Y/n)'s stomach when Eddie moved closer. He took long strides until there was no space between them, and then kept moving. His chest hit (Y/n)'s chest and she stumbled back, tripping over her feet as her stomach churned. She wasn't sure how much further she could walk backwards, but when her back hit the wall and Eddie stood in front of her, blocking her exit, she tremored.

What was he doing? What had she done to upset him and make him act this way around her? Surely he wasn't like this around everyone else? Evan never said Eddie had a tendency to be weird or act strange around new people.

"You're here… you're actually here."

She didn't understand. She couldn't understand the utter wonder and relief in Eddie's voice or the tears that were pooling in his eyes which he was desperately trying to push to the sides.

Her hands moved to press into his chest, trying not to be too rough as she tried to push him away. She couldn't have him standing this close to her, effectively pinning her to the wall. What would people say? What would they think if someone walked around the corner? This was the first time (Y/n) was meeting Evan's team and his family, and they would all think she was a cheater if they saw this compromising position.

It wouldn't matter that Eddie had started this and that (Y/n) didn't know what to do or what was happening. No one would care that she hadn't instigated this and that she didn't want this. They would see her as betraying Evan. She would never do that.

"Shannon…"

(Y/n)'s efforts faltered for a brief moment and she exhaled slowly while the wheels started turning in her mind. That wasn't her name. Eddie knew her name. Evan had been talking about introducing her to the team for weeks, he told them all about her. He introduced her last night and Eddie had heard her name. So why was he calling her that?

She couldn't hang up on the name she had never heard or been called before, she had to get Eddie off her. But Eddie felt like a brick wall, unmoveable as a mountain and his chest puffed out and became sturdy when (Y/n) tried to move him away.

Her efforts were in vain and her heartstrings became severed, dropping her heart down to her stomach when Eddie kissed her.

His lips were rough like sandpaper. His force pushed her head back into the wall. His right hand cupped the side of her face and harshly pulled her chin up to keep her level with him.

When she squirmed her head and tried to shove him off, his other hand clamped down on her hip. He pinned her hips into the wall and dug his fingertips into the back of her neck until she was shaking from the force.

Something about the excessive need and the push behind his lips made (Y/n) want to scream. There was so much he was silently trying to tell her in the kiss, but she couldn't understand any of it. She didn't want to. She hated the way his lips bruised hers as he pushed and stole what he could from her.

She felt his tongue bully its way past her lips and something between a gasp and a cry mewled into his mouth when he sank his teeth down into her lip.

(Y/n)'s hands curled into fists and she slammed them down on Eddie's chest with as much force as she could muster, trying to match the power he was pushing into his kiss.

He finally pulled back to claw a deep breath and (Y/n) tried to do the same, gasping for air while she rammed her arms into his chest to get him off her.

"No!" Her fists swung at his chest again when he pressed his weight down onto her chest, pinning her into the wall while he stole another wretched, rough kiss that made her cry.

As soon as she managed to push her weight to the left and drag her head out of his grasp, (Y/n) reared her hand back. She slapped Eddie with as much power as she could muster, watching the way the blood pooled beneath his skin and sent his face a fiery shade that would match the flames in Hell.

The slap seemed to knock some sense into him.

The fog clouding his eyes started to fade and every burning emotion welling up in those brown eyes was replaced with something close to remorse.

"I- I didn't- I'm sorry-"

When Eddie took a step back, (Y/n) stumbled to the side. She added as much space between them as she could while both her arms wrapped around her waist and she gasped for breath.

Why did he do that? She hadn't given him any signals- had she? Surely (Y/n) hadn't led him on in any way either last night or right now. She had tried to be friendly with him and get to know him, but that had been hard last night when Eddie became drunk and seemed to switch personalities. And just now, he hadn't called her by her name.

Who did he think she was?

The way he ran his hand along his jaw before he smothered his palm over his mouth made (Y/n) pause. She could see the panic building up in his eyes and when his free hand clamped down on his hip and he turned away from her, (Y/n) could see what was going through his mind.

Evan.

His best friend. The person who would come out of this worse off if he found out what Eddie had just done. Evan was the understanding type. He forgave people even when they least deserved his understanding and his respect and forgiveness. But (Y/n) didn't know how Evan would react to something like this. Eddie didn't know if this was something Evan would forgive him for.

"Don't do that again."

(Y/n)'s voice came out gritty and hollow and she brushed her hand beneath her eyes, clearing away the tears before she started to sob. She couldn't have anyone seeing her in distress and asking what was wrong.

She couldn't have Evan asking questions. There was no way she could tell him what had happened just now. She couldn't cause problems between him and his best friend, between him and his family. And this was his day. This was Evan's time to be with his sister and have a great day and have some fun and make memories.

(Y/n) could never ruin today for him.

Forgetting about going to the bathroom, (Y/n) bypassed Eddie, leaving as much space between them as she could as she made her way back down the corridor towards the room.

Part of her thought about leaving. She thought about turning left and running out of the hospital and going home. That would ensure she didn't cause any arguments, but she couldn't leave without saying goodbye to Evan first. He would think he had done something wrong and (Y/n) could never put that sort of panic onto him.

She didn't reach the room before a familiar figure caught her eye. Evan was stood out in the corridor, his shoulders slouched into the wall and his phone in his hands.

She didn't give him a chance to look at her. She couldn't risk Evan seeing the remnants of tears in her eyes or notice the panic written across her face. Or see the shallow breaths she was huffing. If he thought something was wrong he would try and find out and if (Y/n) caved in and told him, she would cause a scene and make waves between Evan and his family. She wasn't going to do that.

She ducked beneath his arm to burrow herself into his chest, binding her arms tightly around his waist while her face smothered in his chest. Each breath she took fanned against his dark blue hoodie and it helped to control her breathing and stop her from hyperventilating against him.

"Hey baby… you okay?" Evan finished the text he was sending and bound both arms around (Y/n)'s waist, tilting his head down to kiss the top of her head and breathe into her hair.

She hummed. What was she supposed to say? What was she supposed to do now?

Turning her head, (Y/n) pressed her cheek against Evan's chest and hugged him tighter until she was almost cutting off his circulation. It made him smile against her hair and he rested his cheek against the top of her head.

But he felt the shiver that rolled through (Y/n). And she hoped to God that he didn't realise it was because Eddie was walking towards them.

[gothamite-rambler]

Dick entered the room wearing a flared jumpsuit that fit every curve.

Dick: Do you guys think this will work for a disco-themed party?

Raven spat out her drink, bursting into laughter so hard that she fell out of her seat.

Raven (between sarcastic laughs): I've rarely, if ever, laughed this hard! I needed this! You… You… You look like a stripper at a disco-themed party!

Dick: I’m taking that as a compliment. Donna, Kory, what do you think?

Donna: Outside of the party's theme, only you could make that work. For your work party… you can rock that suit.

Kory blinked, unable to respond as she stared at her boyfriend. Donna waved her hand in front of her friend’s eyes. Raven sat back up, her laughter fading into a happy sigh as she covered her eyes.

Kory: Yo- Your butt is popping out.

Donna (slapping Kory on the arm): Speak, girl!

Dick (turning slowly): Yeah, that’s the point. I don’t mind showing it off for this party. Do you like it? Your opinion matters most to me.

Kory moaned, nodding. She gripped Donna’s hand, causing the woman to wince with a tight smile.

Raven (stifling her laughter): I’m so glad you people are my friends. I’d have no entertainment if I was friends with boring heroes.

Dick: Glad we could keep you entertained. Now be honest, does it work or not?

Raven: Dick, you wore Discowing with no shame and still think the suit looks good. My opinion doesn’t matter. Star, how are you handling the suit?

Kory (looking at the table while still gripping Donna's hand): I have to hold out until tonight. That is my response.

Dick: I appreciate that. I have to be focused for most of this party. I love these work parties; they’re always fun. Don’t worry, Kory, when the night ends you can rip this off me. Until then, I’m going to strut in this until we have to head out.

Donna: Strut on, Boy Wonder.

Dick left the room humming happily, and as he walked out, Beast Boy could be heard shouting.

Beast Boy: Rock on, dude!

Donna (yanking her hand away with some struggle): Let… go… of… my hand!

Kory: Sorry, sorry! I’m usually good at suppressing my urges when he wears those outfits, but my… time of the month is here, and my libido is—

Raven: Like a dam about to burst?

Kory: Yes, that’s accurate! I am both the luckiest and unluckiest woman at the present moment.

Raven: I’m in my twenties, and I’ve grown, yet I remain confused about what you people see in him appearance wise.

Donna (icing her hand): Dick is a fairly attractive man, and most women and men want that. They want to perform moves that only the Kama Sutra details.

Kory: We’ve gotten past page fifty-nine; it’s been fun. I’m glad I could tell my besties this.

Donna (tilting her head with a puzzled smile): That’s… what friends are for.

Raven: I vicariously enjoy your stories because they’re not as intense as Rose’s.

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: Spring Wardrobe Essentials

Staple Tees & Tanks:

**Purchase in Modal, Pima cotton, linen, silk, or Tencel fabric**

Fitted scoop neck tank

Fitted high-neck tank top

Structured, relaxed fit crewneck tee

Fitted scoop neck/crewneck tee

Halterneck tee/mockneck tee

Contour tank/tee bodysuits

Blouses/Shirting:

Linen button-down (can be long/short-sleeve or a tank variety)

Silk button-down (can be a long/short-sleeve or a tank variety)

Relaxed fit silky tank

Relaxed fit silky cami top

Sweetheart neck tube top

Any other desired silk shell top/t-shirts/camis (for layering)

Sculpt knit top(s)

Self-tie wrap blouse

Halter-style silk blouse

Bottoms:

Black straight-leg jeans

Black bootcut/flared jeans

Black straight/bootcut trousers

Wide-leg trousers (I love a solid black, black pinstripe, and black with lace-up detail selection)

Split hem trousers

Black linen trousers

Stretch jersey pants (straight-leg, bootcut, and/or flared)

Black satin midi skirt

Leather skirt (mini or midi)

Tailored shorts (Tencel ones are great for various climates/weather that drastically in temperature/humidity throughout the day)

Leather shorts

Tailored black linen shorts

Dresses/Jumpsuits:

Slip dress (midi-length for every day; mini for hotter days/nights out)

Linen button-down dress (for work/modest dressing)

Linen tank dress (for layering/hotter days)

Little black dress (shift dress/A-line cuts are great)

Minimal black jumpsuit ("LBJ")

Black linen or silk jumpsuit

Blazer dress/jumpsuit

Long-sleeve playsuit/romper

Tuxedo jumpsuit/playsuit

Jackets/Outerwear:

Well-tailored black blazer

Well-tailored black vest

Leather moto jacket

Black trench coat

Tailored longline sleeveless blazer/vest

Neutral-toned racer jacket

Structured utility jacket

Satin coat/trench/blazer (great over transitional nighttime looks)

Footwear:

Black loafers

Square-toe/pointed-toe flats

Slingback/mary-jane flats/casual kitten heels

Short black lace-up boots

Sleek low to mid-calf black square/pointed-toe boot

Western-inspired boot

Minimalist white sneakers

Black pointed-toe pumps

Sleek mules/cut-out flats

Slingblack pointed-toe wedges

Rain boots

Accessories:

White/black ankle & crew socks

High-waisted shapewear shorts

Chunky/small chain necklaces & bracelets

Simple pendant necklace(s)

Pearl necklace

Simple diamond studs

Crystal drop earrings

Minimalist bangles

Stackable rings

A sleek, minimalist black tote (can fit a laptop for work/travel)

Black shoulder bag

Small black bag (top handle, crossbody, etc.)

Statement bag/evening bag

Silk/decorative scarf

Sleek neutral sunglasses that suit your face shape

Lingerie/Loungewear:

Seamless bra/underwear

Lace bra/underwear

Matching pullover cotton sweatshirt/sweatpants

Tencel, Modal, or cotton top/lounge pants set

Luxurious pajama set (Long sleeve/pants + short-sleeve/tank + shorts, depending on the climate – silk, Tencel, cashmere, etc.)

A to-die-for piece of lingerie like a lace slip/silk teddy

Silk or cozy robe

Open-back slippers

[murderbot-moodboard]

Episode 7 of Murderbot, plus recently discovering some new songs to love, has inspired me to assemble the two Murderbot TV playlists I'd started—one for Murderbot, and one for Gurathin—so they're now ready for listening.

First, four notes:

1) These playlists are "living documents" and subject to further tweaks. Season 1 obviously isn't finished yet, and regardless, I still edit my "finished" playlists as I discover new songs, find ones that fit better, decide one doesn't actually work well, etc. I also do my best to make them generally enjoyable for most people, but I am but one person with one person's music taste, so take that as you will.

2) Since the plot for 'Murderbot' Season 1 overlaps with the plot for 'All Systems Red,' my TV playlist for Murderbot has most of the same songs as the beginning of my Murderbot Diaries playlist, "Murderbot Mood." (That one is linked in my pinned post if you want to check it out.) However, I've also added and changed a couple songs in both playlists, so there's something new even if you've listened before. Some of the songs are based on things that will probably happen by the end of Season 1 based on All Systems Red, so spoilerish alert?

3) Much of the Gurathin playlist is Twenty One Pilots songs. This is on purpose, and partly because "Jumpsuit" was the song that inspired the playlist. (It has a line in the middle that— well, I'll let you listen and find out *grins evilly*.) It's also partly because when I was getting my latest autoimmune flare under control, there were a few days when I was in too much pain to do anything besides lie in bed and listen to comfortable music, and I ended up listening to Twenty One Pilots' "Blurryface" album on repeat. During that time, I realized their music is punk as hell, I relate to it on a deep level, and a lot of it also sounded like Gurathin and/or Murderbot.

(We could also discuss the fact that I "discovered" most of their music fairly recently, because "Blurryface" came out while I was attending a hyperconservative religious college that severely restricted the music we could listen to (and restricted when women students and teachers were allowed to wear pants). But that's a whole other post about "things I laugh about now because looking back they were kinda fucked up.")

4) I've seen a few fun-looking Murderbot song recs and playlists come across my dashboard which I didn't have the energy to check out at the time (see above autoimmune flare and moving). I'm absolutely open to suggestions and recommendations for my playlists, as long as your feelings won't be hurt if I decide not to include them. I was given really good suggestions which I added to my Murderbot Mood playlist last time, and at least one song on there I discovered through another fan playlist. So feel free to comment on this post if you have any songs you'd like to suggest. You're also more than welcome to add any songs from my playlists to your playlists (this might be a given but I'll say it just to be sure).

Okay, I think that's it! Now for the playlists!

Murderbot Season 1 Mood:

Gurathin Mood:

[mojo-bro-tho]

Outfits I think about when I imagine the Veilguard in a Modern AU (but more specifically my Emmrook Modern AU lol) Part Two

Part one here

The Men edition (plus Taash)

Taash

Okay so… these aren’t the exact vision BUT they’re close enough. In a modern setting, I imagine Taash as a mechanic (instead of a dragon expert, they’re an engine expert, ya feel?) so they’ll normally dress in a way that is conducive to getting messy. However, I also imagine that they lounge in like HUGE basketball shorts and just at a first glance looks like the hottest butch you’ve ever seen. Very adjacent to a Hey Mamas but not really. Color pallet is mostly teals, some oranges. I also do imagine they would wear a classic jumpsuit with the arms tied off at the waist and wearing a tank top under it. It’s feels right.

Lucanis Dellamorte

Now… is this an EGREGIOUSLY HOT TAKE? I love all of Lucanis’s cunty lil outfits so much. They’re so fun and stylized. But depending on how you flavor The Crows in a modern setting (which is a loaded dealers choice right there) it definitely doesn’t make any sense for Lucanis to stand out with his impeccable style. The way I chose to interpret this is by having a focus on minimalism while keeping a more interesting silhouette. He’ll dress in all black for the practicality of it (hides blood stains) but he’s very picky. Everything has to fit EXACTLY right, I don’t think he likes clothes to be overly baggy and if you ask him for fashion advice BOY DOES HE DELIVER. Simple enough to blend in in a crowd at a passing glance but high enough quality that you know for a fact that he’s from Old Old Money. Also holsters. He wears em, for sure.

Davrin

Okay so, Davrin exists in two modes. Work Mode and Home Mode. And the only time he deviates from those two modes is when he’s working out. So he be LIVING in athletic wear but that’s not all that interesting. What is interesting is that depending on how you flavor the Wardens in a modern setting (again… loaded choice right there) they can basically be the army. I feel like he wears fatigues and such a lot out of habit (so instead of green, in Thedas it’s blue. Fuck logic of camouflage) but then you get Home Mode Davrin… and he’s a softie at his core. Likes soft textures. Wears a lot of layers. And that’s when he gets to be more colorful. Work Davrin wears blue, grey, and white. Home Davrin dips back into a full spectrum of color and texture and I love that about him. And then you catch him wearing those fucking running leggings or whatever and HELLO-

Emmrich Volkarin

The moment we’ve all been waiting for… HE!!!!! My man likes patterns, prefers earth tones usually with a timeless sort of flare. I like the idea of leaning into his old Hollywood design elements but also like… 70s academia? A bit? I like a flare of that in there with him. HOWEVER, I do think my mans knows how to dress dark if need be. Black and jewel tones are good in the right setting. (Gonna get some of that next chapter hehe) but yeah I have too many fucking outfits for him… it’s a problem. It’s chronic! He does still keep the jewelry though, he’s well adorned for sure.

[ialwaysknewyouwerepunk]

queer signalling: louis and harry living their beautiful queer lives, collected by me

since we must take note of our fellow queers when they signal that they are very much one of us, despite being closeted. since i've had a very very queer few years thanks to them, thanks to their signalling, thanks to them being brave.

(!! this list isn't exhaustive, and if i've forgotten your favorite, by all means let me know. there's always room for another edition. it's been a while since i made a compilation and felt there was a need of a new one on my blog. this one goes a few years back, since my last one dates from 2021 :'o. so yeah. here we go.)

harry in my policeman, playing a closeted queer man, based on the book that's long been one of his favorites. lauded by the director and co-stars for how well he portrayed this character, how well he understood.

harry wearing a green flower on his chest for the mp premiere, placing himself (once again) in the same line of history as oscar wilde.

louis's green flowers on his initial 28clothing jersey at the first afhf, which includes bonus roses and 28s all around

the entire late night talking mv bc!!!!!

louis's rainbow stage lights during sibwawc. he really did that. every single night.

the entire dazed magazine happening. “I’ve always tried to compartmentalise my personal life and my working life,” he explains. / “I have unlocked an ability to be myself completely, unapologetically,” he says with conviction." / “I think through my own sense of self and personal journey, I am realising that happiness isn’t this kind of end state.”

louis's gay exit songs: most notably 'ever fallen in love (with someone you shouldn't've)'

harry flirting with stanley tucci

louis and his gay ass tank tops !!! we must point it out !!!!!!

all along

harry kissing a pride flag during harry's house ono in nyc

rainbow flare during the btm mv

harry being gifted a mask of his own face at munich n2, which prompted him to say that he feels like he's wearing a mask sometimes

28 in a triangle for 28clothing!!!!!!!!

kit connor soft launching 28 clothing. a young actor starring in a queer coming-of-age series, who was forced to come out after being accused of queerbaiting. he was the first one, besides louis, to wear 28clothing

harry's grammy's speech "people like me" (which ppl sadly misunderstood), echoing what he's been saying on tour for years. this doesn't happen to people like him. if they only knew, right?

harry's freddie-inspired outfit for the grammy carpet (which also brought back his theme for clown/jester fits, like harryween 2021 n2. wonder why)

louis's merch graphic where a boy is trying to smash a glass ceiling

harry posing for david hockney, actual living legend, gay artist of the ages. "Styles seems to know how lucky he is, adding, with a tinge of disbelief: “I’m in awe of the man with enough one-liners for a lifetime.” As to what those one-liners might be? Styles and Hockney’s mutual silence on that question suggests that what happens in the studio, stays in the studio."

louis having suspicious visuals during back to you, the only visuals of that type on tour

harry's 2022 harryween outfit: dressed as danny (literally. he did that. he went grease on us.) but wearing sandy's jacket

louis at barricade aka held safely in the arms of strong security personnel

harry singing man, i feel like a woman and still the one with shania twain. while wearing a rainbow discoball jumpsuit (parallel with kacey musgraves wearing a rainbow dress to sing it with him years ago.)

louis's gay ass merch for the away from home festival

harry dressed in nina ricci by harris reed, an explicitly gender-fluid line. "At 18 I found myself living in london creating ruffle blouses, corsets, fabric flowers and flares from my kitchen floor (...). My creations at the time were met with nothing but criticism for being “too feminine” or “costume”, teachers said I should focus on “menswear” or “womenswear”. l remember it really wasn’t until I started dressing for myself and who I was that it all clicked. @harrystyles was my first ever client who embraced the fun, fluid and expressive clothing I was creating."

continuous bluegreening. to name a few: harry's werchter fit, all this time lights, satellite caps in two colors only, louis's smiley flickering bluegreen on tour in 2022, the james cordon shit, louis in uncasville. enjoy this post here

harry's snl shoot unseens: him as ariel

louis out in amsterdam at a gay bar

harry going to the women's only swimming pond (on a day it was open for men, but this is important to me okay)

harry's use of orchids in his visuals during 'she' during love on tour '23

the 'hairy mermaid' tour visuals

harry as a mermaid during the mfasr mv. as a supreme physical manifestation of harry as the mermaid he truly is inside. but in his true form he gets chopped up and consumed. literally

as it was mv and its parallels with the matrix, hints to harry as the woman with the red dress.

louis jumping up on barricade against the one spot where a pride flag was draped over it

oh yeah that exact same thing happened in 2022 too

harry forming a skirt with a pride flag in brasil after his pants ripped

that gay ass denim getup with the fur collar?? while wearing the fucking peace ring????

harry and phoebe breaking gender norms in the tpwk mv dance. no i'm not over it yet shut up

louis wearing a basquiat t-shirt, another famously queer artist joining the ranks

harry bought an actual genuine basquiat. flex

harry dressed in skirts for gucci

"happy pride! happy pride! 'tis the season! can you tell i'm relaxed?"

"isn't all of this sparkly bi music?"

satellite mv rainbow planet tshirt

louis's bigger than me promo where he's literally george michael like??? IM SORRY???????

harry kissing lewis capaldi at the brits

harry kissing nick kroll at the dwd premiere. lol

and... harry as friend of D O R O T H Y. sang over the rainbow. we all cried. especially me at this clip of harry glancing in relief at his band after over the rainbow.

[pheonixbuchanan]

Kind of want to combine my hyperfixations and redesign Stardew bachelorettes and bachelors in various eras of vintage fashion?

If I don’t end up drawing this, here’s my general vision so far just because (yes I am skipping the 30s and 40s because I don’t find them as visually interesting):

20s:

Penny. Her hair reminds me a lot of the pinned up faux bobs that flappers would wear and I think she would look AMAZING in a drop waist and cloche hat.

Krobus. His little trench coat get up gives me sort of 1920s Agatha Christie detective novel vibes.

50s:

Shane, because I think he would look dapper with a kind of Cary Grant and Marlon Brando hybrid inspired look? Like with sharp lines and but because he’s messy his sharp suit is ruffled after a long night.

Abigail. I know this isn’t the obvious choice, but due to my hatred™️ of Pierre and Caroline’s parenting style, Abigail’s story has always felt a bit like her breaking away from tradition, especially for gender wise. As such, I want to draw her in Beatnik style, with a black turtleneck, a beret, slacks, and huge dark glasses.

60s:

Harvey :). His fascination with planes means I absolutely have to draw him in the golden age of travel. I’m thinking a smart suit, kind of more early 1960s, inspired by the fashion in the original Bond films.

Haley. I would probably do a different part of 60s fashion to Harvey for her, more akin to the mid to late sixties Swinging London movement, as inspired by Twiggy and Mary Quant. Boxy mini dress, Gogo boots and a Bridget Bardot-esque bouffant.

70s:

Maru. The 70s were big for jumpsuits and women’s fashion got a lot more practical, which I think works well with her personality. I love Maru and I love flared jeans so 🫠 I also think I would give her big hair (I love her older game designs)

Leah. Leah’s hippie artist vibes work perfectly for the 70s flowery hippie fashion. Please put my girl in a loose fitting prairie dress or some bell sleeves. Her hair would also work with the long natural wavy look of that era.

80s:

Emily. I know her vibes are at a first glance 70s, but the style of her dress and her hair remind me SO MUCH of Winona Ryders wedding dress in beetlejuice? So the gothy fashion of the 80s with big spiky hair and mesh and craftiness remind me of Emily.

Elliot. Once again at a first glance 70s, but I will put this man in a late 70s/early 80s glam rock outfit if it kills me. With the massive hair and the sort of military inspired studded jacket and everything. Hear me out.

Alex: the 80s were probably the start of the jock character, and Alex to me reads like he could literally be a character in the breakfast club to be honest. He must be taken back to his roots.

90s:

Sam. In the 90s skater boy fashion was literally like… the thing, so this is obvious. Give him a baggy ahh flannel , a baggier ahh graphic tee and a baggiest ahh pair of jeans. And some fugly 90s man hair.

Sebastian. Not really a huge redesign, but I’m incapable of not drawing him as like a mall goth / early emo kid (yes I know they’re different but similar style roots).

[pictureinme]

i can i request kitten x bimbo!reader going shopping together? maybe even doing each others makeup? i’m so in love with her

thank u so much for such a cute request ;-; i focused on the shopping here, but makeup sesh is def in the works... >:)

bubblegum

patricia ‘kitten’ braden x f!bimbo!reader word count: ~1k tags: established relationship, suggestive themes, flirting, overdescribing of clothing as per usual

(ao3)

The clacking of heels on pavement, accompanied by continuous giggling, was like music to you and Kitten’s ears. You two walk side by side on the Downtown thoroughfare, ogling at whatever individual strikes your shared fancies.

“Did you see the way he looked at you, darling?” Kitten covers her mouth with a manicured hand, smiling. “He definitely liked what he saw.”

“Oh, you might be right! However,” you lean close to her ear, breath hot, “That fellow that just walked by us was thinking something just awful about you, Kitten dear.”

“Is that so?” She looks at you coyly, hips swaying just a little bit more exaggerated than usual, “I didn’t know you were a mind-reader! What am I thinking now, then?”

You pout your lips, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, “You’re thinking… about how badly you want to buy that Pucci scarf!”

Pointing towards the shop window beside you both, the two of you laugh.

“By God, you’re right, (Y/N)! We simply must go in, it’s fate, no?”

Nodding quickly, you walk in together, being met with stares from cashiers and shoppers alike. You’re dressed in a simple light pink jumpsuit, zipped down ever so slightly to reveal a hint of your chest, and your height is practically doubled by your deeper pink platforms. Kitten was dressed just as lovely as you, if not more understated comparatively: flared denim overalls, with a white peasant top underneath.

“Love, do you think they’ll notice if we nick anything?” Kitten whispers to you, her smirking obvious.

“You have really got to get used to having money, dear,” You strut through the store and pick up a houndstooth pencil skirt, “No more of that talk, now how does this look on me?”

She smiles widely, barely holding back a laugh, “Absolutely horrid, let me see that.”

After a quick back and forth about who rocked it better, the two of you eventually find your arms full of clothing to try on. Making your way to the dressing rooms, you both enter the same one, which didn’t come as a surprise. You both needed immediate opinions on the items you chose.

Kitten quickly undoes her overall clasps, and you bite your lip as you see her cute little knickers, “God, you never fail to amaze me, Kitty.”

“Call me ‘Kitty’ again, I’ll kick you,” she pulls on a plaid miniskirt, “And trust me, I know.”

You unzip your jumpsuit fully, revealing that you’re wearing not a thing underneath. Her eyes practically bulge out of her skull, but she quickly shakes the truly dirty thoughts from her head. Acting as if nothing is amiss, you turn around to pull on some rather tight leather pants, maneuvering your hips in a rather hypnotic way toward Kitten.

“Good Lord, (Y/N)...”

Smirking as you finally fit the buttons together, you spin around, “Something catch your eye, dear?”

“Maybe,” Kitten’s hands trace your curves, leaving goosebumps in her wake on your chest, “You’ll see when we get home.”

You perk up at her words, debating whether or not you should eat her out right then, “Little tease!”

“Says you!”

Kitten pulls away, her touch still lingering on your bare skin. You stick your tongue out and reach down to try on the Hermès sweater with a cutout in the chest that had been tantalizing you for weeks now. It was baggy, but coupled with the leather bootcuts, you felt unstoppable.

Turning around, you see Kitten smoothing down a Pucci dress, with billowing sleeves and patterned with green-blue swirls, typical of the brand. She looked like she stepped right off the runway, and your heart fluttered.

“We certainly shifted towards different styles, hm?” Kitten spins around in her dress, showing just how flowy the garment was. She looks you up and down, under the guise of reviewing your outfit, “That hugs your body just right, (Y/N). I adore it.”

“And I love our ever-changing aesthetics,” you watch her smile grow as she looks at herself in the mirror, “You look amazing, darling. If you don’t buy that, I will!”

Kitten pulls you towards her by your belt loops, biting her lip and staring down your shared reflection. “Look at us, (Y/N). Aren’t we so perfect together?”

“I have to agree, pretty kitty,” grabbing her ass rather harshly, you both laugh, “I think we have to be the hottest couple in this country.”

Nipping at your neck softly, she hums, “There’s no way around it, we have to buy all of these clothes, don’t we?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you kiss the top of her head, hand still on her behind, “We have to show everybody just how good we look together.”

Even as quickly as you two tried on every article you brought in, it still took an hour in the changing room. Multiple times, a clerk knocked rather sharply to inform you of the time, but they couldn’t exactly pull you out in such states of undress.

You both strut out, leaving no garments behind, and leaving surrounding customers stunned at how exactly you could afford such a plethora of items. Kitten seemed more nervous than you were, but money can do all the talking, so neither of you have to.

The cashier cleared her throat as you two placed your items on the counter, “You going to pay for all that then?”

Kitten steps behind you as you roll your eyes, “Duh. You think we’re like… destitute or something?”

Fancy words, accompanied by your attire, always gave them pause. You hand her your credit card, and she hesitantly puts it in the machine. Acting as if you were the most annoyed person on the planet, the transaction goes fairly fast, and without issue.

“Thank you for shopping with us, ladies.”

The two of you haul your various shopping bags out of the store, laughing all the while.

“How much even was all that, (Y/N)?” Kitten leans against the telephone pole, lighting a cigarette.

“I have no idea, and I don’t want to know until my statement comes in, or the company tears down our door!”

After taking a drag, she passes you the now-lit cigarette, “Now how exactly are we gonna haul this 10 blocks back to our flat?”

[sergiosimptellitto]

Stars are meant to burn

Chapter 13: Girl problems

You finish with the admissions pile at 2:43 a.m.

Bellastella tosses the last folder aside with a satisfied grunt, leans back in his chair like a general after battle. “I’ll have my secretary file the shortlist tomorrow,” he says, eyes already glassy with wine and triumph. “You were brutal. I’m proud.”

But you can’t respond.

Because something is… off.

The light above the desk hums too loudly. The lamp’s glow turns harsh, flickering at the edges of your vision. You blink. Once. Twice.

And then it starts — a migraine, sudden and pulsing, like a dull axe behind your right eye. Your mouth tastes like iron. The pain isn’t just sharp; it’s warped, radiating down your jaw, curling around your ear like a whisper you can’t unhear. Your vision doubles for a moment. Then triples.

You reach for your water glass and miss it entirely.

He notices. “You okay?”

You nod. A stupid, automatic nod. Your body’s betrayal trying to pass as grace.

But the pounding grows worse. It’s not just your head now. Your heart is thudding too hard, too fast — as if it’s trying to break out of your chest. You feel hot all over, then suddenly cold. Your right eye—it hurts—feels too big for its socket, as if it’s about to pop, cartoon-style, out of your skull.

The room tilts. Not like vertigo. Like grief.

“Sit down,” Bellastella says, voice sharper now. “Sit, now.”

You don’t remember standing. But you do what he says, slumping back into the chair like your spine just gave up.

He crouches in front of you, his hands not touching, just hovering near your knees. “Breathe,” he says. “Can you breathe?”

You try. In. Out. But your chest doesn’t move. It’s like someone’s kneeling on it, like the guilt has mass now, weight. You close your eyes, thinking that might help, but the darkness only makes the pressure worse. Images flood your mind — Giulia’s face, smirking in some sunlit café; your own hand reaching toward the trash bin; Professor Arnold’s voice calling you rare.

Your body is screaming and your soul is, too.

This isn’t a panic attack.

This is a betrayal reaction.

You betrayed yourself.

Bellastella’s voice cuts through the haze again: “You need to eat something. Your blood sugar’s tanking.”

You nod, just to make him stop talking.

But the truth is, you’re not hungry. You’re hollow.

Your bones feel borrowed. Your skin doesn’t fit.

You wonder, stupidly, if Giulia cried like this when she realized what she had to do. If she ever did.

Maybe she didn’t feel it. Maybe that’s the difference.

You always thought she was the monster. The manipulator. The one who made femininity a weapon and ambition a mask.

But now, sitting in this soft leather chair with your stomach twisting and your vision flaring and his expensive cologne choking your lungs, you’re not sure you’re any different.

You said nothing.

You let him do it.

You let him.

For the job. For the safety. For the win.

He brings you a spoonful of something sweet — honey, or syrup, or power.

You take it.

And you hate how it helps.

You stare at your closet like it’s an open wound.

He said “decent-ish.” You’re not sure what that even means in his world — you’ve seen his last assistant wear $800 cardigans to make photocopies.

The gala. Ugh.

These events are always a parade of desperation. Everyone from the admission pile will be there, fresh-faced and overly perfumed, hunting for eye contact with the high ranks. You almost pity Bellastella, having to swim through it. Almost.

You pull out a navy jumpsuit. It’s one of the few things you own that straddles the line between “effortless” and “acceptable.” No one expects you to be glamorous. You’re supposed to disappear. And frankly, that’s all you have energy for tonight.

You look down at your legs.

You grimace.

No time. No strength. Not tonight.

The jumpsuit will cover enough. You tie your hair back loosely, avoiding the sore spots on your scalp where the migraine throbbed hardest. A little mascara, not because you care, but because it makes people ask fewer questions. Some earrings. Lip balm. Done.

The lights of the apartment buzz gently. Everything smells vaguely like lavender now — probably that balm.

You move through the kitchen, gathering your things. The stack of papers sits ready, clipped and neat, a minor miracle considering the storm of the past few days.

You put them in a folder, then into your bag, then check for the fifth time that they're actually in there.

You look around once more. The chocolates are still there. So is the post-it.

You resist the urge to take the note with you.

Just a work night, you remind yourself. Drop off the papers. Smile. Leave.

You sling the bag over your shoulder and shut the door behind you — a little more gently than usual.

The city hums outside. You head to the gala.

And maybe, for just a second, you wonder if he’ll notice the earrings.

You wake up to the sound of a notification.

The migraine has loosened its grip. Your vision isn’t swimming anymore. Your head still aches, but less like a hammer, more like a dull hangover from something you didn’t choose to drink.

You check your phone. A message from Bellastella.

“Feeling human again? Need you to drop off a few signed papers tonight at the Hotel Eden. Nothing dramatic. Just hand-off and go home. Dress decent-ish. They’ll think you're staff.”

You stare at the screen. A pause. Then, almost involuntarily, you laughs. “Dress decent-ish.” As if he hasn’t seen me throw up into a laundry bin…

And held my hair as I did…

You get up slowly, legs a little wobbly, but stronger.

When you walk into the bathroom, you reach for the medicine cabinet out of habit — a half-joke, a muscle memory. It’s always been empty, maybe a couple aspirins. Your version of a sad metaphor.

Except now… it’s overflowing.

Ibuprofen, acetaminophen, migraine relief pills in three different brands. Electrolyte sachets. Eye drops. Cough drops. Antacids. Herbal calming tablets. Even a lavender sleep balm. There’s no way he picked these individually. He must’ve said: everything you have for a woman in her twenties who's imploding, probably allergic to her own ambition.

You step back. Open the fridge.

There’s food. Real food. Yogurt, fresh fruit, little packs of tuna, pre-cut vegetables, pre-cooked rice, hard-boiled eggs. A clinical, careful haul. But then there are also…

Chocolates. A lot of them. Imported ones. Fancy ones. Cheap ones. All kinds. A sort of chaos of comfort.

On one of the boxes, stuck like an afterthought, a post-it note in quick black pen:

“I assume your… girl problems may have caused this too.”

— T.

You hold the little note between your fingers, stunned. For a brief moment, you wonder if he got his catering team to make you a…week’s worth of meal prep.

You take out a tupperware and notice the slightly burnt and overcooked rice…

He made this himself…

None of it is expensive. But it’s precise. Excessive. And, somehow, kind.

Your eyes close for a second. You’re not used to being cared for with this kind of... invasive tenderness. He hadn’t asked. He just acted. You are both touched and a little embarrassed.

Then—

FLASHBACK.

You feel dizzy. Barely upright. He’s guiding you into a sleek building with no sign. Discreet. Rich people discreet. A man in a navy suit with perfect teeth and Mediterranean skin greets him.

“Toti,” the man beams, “what’s the emergency? Should I prep the usual—”

Then he sees you. His eyes drop to her abdomen — subtle, trained. The air thickens with assumptions.

“Oh,” the doctor says, slightly correcting his tone, “I see. Well. Of course. We’ll be discreet. Just tell me what… stage you’re at.”

Bellastella doesn’t flinch. He just rolls his eyes and mutters, “She’s got a migraine, Paolo, not a fetus. Get her a bed and turn off the lights. Jesus.”

You were too far gone to be embarrassed then. But now, in memory, the shame prickles. Of course he brought you to the place where he takes his mistresses. The usual.

But… he brought her. He sat through the fluorescent silence of the waiting room while she slept in the dark. He let the world assume whatever it wanted.

And now… all this.

You place the post-it on the kitchen counter, where the light hits it. Like evidence. Like proof.

Bellastella doesn’t love. But he chooses. And right now… he’s choosing you.

The hotel’s marble floor reflects the light in that too-shiny way. Your head pounds from the effort of being vertical, but the public bathroom is open, and for a minute, that’s enough.

You duck in, check your phone:

“I’m outside the restrooms.”

Bellastella. Of course he is. Early, of course. Waiting.

That’s when your nose starts bleeding.

Great.

You lean over the sink, trying to stem it with a wad of scratchy brown paper. The mirror makes you look like a tired nurse at the end of a war movie.

Voices echo in.

“Maybe this time getting what you want will be more difficult.”

Light, amused. Young.

“Yeah, but you know who I plan on seeing tonight? Salvatore Bellastella. Owner of Bellastella & Partners? They say he’s impossible to get close to…”

Laughter.

“He’ll be lucky if I let him see me tonight.”

You don’t turn. But something coils in your gut.

Then — a flash in the mirror. A beautiful dress. Pale skin, that sunless kind of porcelain, covered in freckles. The hair — thick, glossy auburn, a memory you never deleted.

Giulia.

Your stomach drops.

She hasn't seen you yet.

“Oh, but I’m getting so fat,” she sighs theatrically. She can’t weigh more than fifty-five kilos wet and holding bricks.

“What do you think, miss—?”

You turn, slowly.

“Hi Giulia.”

She blinks. A flicker of something — surprise? — crosses her features.

“Oh! I hadn’t seen you since college…” Her eyes flick to her friends. “Girls, remember her? I told you about her — the class smarty pants.”

“I still am,” you say simply.

She blinks again.

“What are you doing here?”

“Came to see Bellastella.”

Her mouth opens. Then closes.

She assumes that you are applying to the same spot as her, she has already taken opportunities away from you before, and from her looks you can sense that she plans on doing so once again.

“Oh, don’t we all?” She titters to her group. They don’t laugh. Not yet.

“Yeah, I think so,” you say. Smile.

She scans you, calculating.

“But… you look so much better than you did back in college! Look at me — I’m a pig.”

You see it. The net, cast wide, baited with faux-insecurity. The script wants you to say: No Giulia, you’re a twig! Don’t be silly!

Instead, you look her dead in the eye and say:

“Oh don’t say that! Plus-size girls are beautiful. You remember me in college? I still have the old plus-size clothes I used to wear when I was… your size.”

You let it land.

“Don’t be ashamed. Big girls for the win.”

A beat of silence. Her smile stiffens. The blood in your nose has stopped. The only thing bleeding now is her composure.

Giulia’s mouth curves up — too wide, too slow. Like a blade being unsheathed.

“You’re so witty,” she purrs, clasping her hands in mock-delight. “That’s why Professor Arnold was obsessed with you, remember? God, he used to rave about you. Said you’d end up in Brussels or Geneva, shaking hands with ministers, drafting policy, saving the world or something equally... dramatic.”

She tilts her head, eyes soft with faux-pity. “He’d be so heartbroken to see this. I mean, here you are… still doing that cute little job. What was it again? Tutoring? Private prep work for struggling undergrads, right?”

She says it like it’s a euphemism for escort work.

“I guess we all take different paths, don’t we? Some of us go up...” she glances down at her silk dress, perfectly fitted, perfectly strategic. “And some of us just… circle back.”

Her friends chuckle. Not loud — just enough to signal: We know what she’s doing. And we approve.

Giulia keeps smiling, like a woman admiring her own reflection.

“Anyway. I’m so glad you came tonight. It’s nice, isn’t it? Seeing old classmates. Kind of like a class reunion, if some of us hadn’t, you know… graduated.”

“Maybe you should’ve stayed in the program until the end of the semester if you wanted to see me graduate, Giulia.”

You add a flash of teeth, just enough to pretend it's a smile. “Gotta go. Bellastella’s waiting for me. Toodaloo.”

Your face burns. Your voice barely holds shape by the end of the sentence, strangled under the pressure in your throat. But you said it. You got it out. You didn’t cry in front of her.

That should count for something.

The bathroom tiles blur a little as you walk out, your bag heavy, your hands clammy. Your pulse thrums beneath your jaw. Everything rushes back at once—the pressure of first-year lectures, the weight of raised hands, the airless dread of being noticed too much and never in the right way. Every paper you wrote to prove your worth. Every time Giulia skimmed it in front of you, nodded blankly, and then presented your idea with a new tone and her own footnote.

You take a long gulp from your water bottle, willing the nausea back down. You don’t have the luxury of collapsing today. You’ve already done that. At least once this week. This is your resurrection. The walking dead version of you. Mascara smudged, knees bruised from memory, but upright.

And then you hear it.

That laugh.

That ridiculous, unfiltered, disgraceful laugh — half cough, half explosion — like someone just told a dirty joke in a courtroom and he couldn’t help himself. You hate that you know it so well. You hate that it makes you feel safe.

You lift your head and scan the crowd like a drowning swimmer spotting land.

There he is.

Salvatore Bellastella, standing near the grand chandelier, holding a flute of something he’s not drinking, shirt undone just enough to look expensive. Speaking with one of the Deans like he doesn't know the rest of the world is watching.

You take a deep breath, close your bottle, and start moving. You try not to rush. You walk quickly — purposefully — the way a woman walks toward someone who belongs to her. Because he does. For tonight. For this one moment, he belongs to you.

But then you see her.

That hair. That stupid, glorious auburn flood of curls. Giulia is already halfway across the ballroom, weaving through people with that purposeful grace she perfected at twenty. You recognize the way she tosses her hair just as she sees him — the angle of her chin, the half-second pause before she launches forward with his name.

“Bellastella!”

Your heart plummets. You’re late. You were too slow.

But you don’t stop.

“Salvatore!” you call, your voice cracking slightly but louder than hers.

He turns. She said it first. You feel it in your gut.

She wins again.

He glances at her first, because she’s directly in his line of sight. He sees the dress, the makeup, the sheen of effort. Her painted-on confidence. You brace yourself for that brief, horrible second — the one where he smiles politely and pretends not to know you. The moment every woman fears deep down. The public switch-off. The disowning.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, his eyes flick past her. He steps slightly to the side, gently—gently—like someone maneuvering around a beggar or a child.

“Scusi,” he says softly, almost kindly, and walks right past Giulia.

Straight to you.

“Amore!” His face lights up. “I was wondering if you’d arrive tonight.”

You don’t remember how to breathe.

He cups your cheek in a way that is too practiced to be new, too familiar to be false. The ballroom around you fades into a smear of suits and perfume. His hand is warm. Solid. Your name lives in his voice, casual and assured, like it’s never been a question. Like it’s never been Giulia.

“Did you bring the papers?” he asks, low. He doesn’t wait for your answer—he leans down, presses a kiss to your temple in front of everyone.

And it works.

Your shame, your panic, your tears — they don’t vanish. They burn. But now they burn like fuel. You feel taller. Seen. Chosen.

Giulia stares. Her mouth doesn’t quite move, but you can see the calculation start. The math she’s doing behind her eyes. How? Why? Her? You can almost hear her rehearsing how she’ll frame it to others later.

(I mean, he must be having a midlife crisis, she’s not even his type, maybe she blackmailed him...)

You hand him the envelope.

He doesn’t even look at it.

He tucks it into his jacket, turns to face the crowd — hand still on your back, like you belong on his arm. Like there was never another option.

You smile politely. Your knees shake under your jumpsuit.

But you don’t let it show.

Because maybe — just maybe — this time, you win.

Giulia swallows her pride, the effort visible in her throat. “Do—”

“Do you know each other?” Bellastella cuts in, all charm and sharp teeth, stealing the question right out of her mouth. His eyes flick from her to you, full of faux-innocent curiosity.

You nod once, cleanly. “An old classmate from college.”

The girl from my nightmares.

The one who made me feel fat in every classroom, who rolled her eyes every time I asked a question, who borrowed my notes and then pretended she’d written them. The one who once told me in front of a seminar group that my accent made me sound provincial. The reason I binge-ate through my second year and nearly lost my scholarship.

Bellastella’s hand presses gently into the small of your back in quiet reassurance. It’s subtle, but deliberate—he knows. He already knows everything.

“Oh, college!” he repeats brightly, digging in now. “So you graduated together, sí?” He drapes his arm around your waist like he owns you. The gesture is so confident, so casual, that a few people glance over just to confirm what they’re seeing.

You smile sweetly. “Not exactly.”

A flash of uncertainty crosses Giulia’s face. She opens her mouth, probably to revise the timeline, when security approaches—eyes on you.

“Excuse me, ma’am—”

“No, no,” Bellastella interrupts with his signature, half-distracted wave. “She came with me.”

“She did not enter together with you.”

“She went to fetch some papers I had left at our apartment.” His voice is calm, cool, vaguely irritated—as if they’ve just embarrassed themselves by not recognizing the obvious.

You glance back at Giulia, who’s gone stiff, her mouth parted slightly.

“Right,” you say, tapping the envelope in his breast pocket. “We keep files and things all over the place. He’s a disaster when it comes to document storage.”

You can see her trying to do the math. Our apartment? Papers? What?

“I didn’t know you’d go into law,” she blurts out. “You see, when we studied together, she was more into linguistics and—”

“Oh, we all start somewhere,” you purr, stepping slightly in front of Bellastella now, forcing her to look directly at you. “I mean, some of us finish too.”

There’s a beat.

“But did you graduate together?” Bellastella presses again, voice all smiles and poison.

Giulia’s lips twitch. “No… not really. You see, I did an internship abroad, and then—”

“She took a few gap semesters,” you say brightly. “Very personal growth of her.”

Giulia swallows again. “I just think people should take their time…”

“Of course. Some people need it. You were always so relaxed, Giulia. I remember your… what was it? That fourth attempt at Constitutional Theory?” You tilt your head, mock-thinking. “Or was it fifth?”

Bellastella coughs, poorly hiding a laugh.

Her smile flickers. “Well, you know how tough the workload was for all of us.”

You nod. “Totally. I mean, I worked full time and still managed to stay on track, but we all have our own journeys, right?” You tap her arm gently. “Some slower than others.”

You could swear the corners of his mouth twitch upward. He leans closer to you, hand slipping a little lower on your waist as he speaks almost in your ear—but loud enough for Giulia to hear.

“Amore, remind me to show you the invite list. There’s someone from Oxford who asked about you.”

“Oh, stop,” you say with mock modesty, letting your smile stretch just enough to show your teeth.

Giulia blinks.

“Well,” she mutters, “I should probably—”

“Yes, yes,” you say with false sympathy. “Go on dear.”

Giulia mumbles something that resembles a goodbye, but neither of you are really listening. Her heels clack away, faster than necessary. You feel it, that dangerous little satisfaction blooming in your chest—like the scrape of a match just before the flame.

You let out a breath. Your fingers are still slightly curled from tension.

Bellastella watches her leave with mild amusement, then turns back to you, eyes gleaming.

“This should teach you,” he says, half unde breath, trying to smooth your hair like nothing happened.

“Teach me?” You raise a brow, theatrically offended.

“That you have to come to me, first and foremost.” He grins. A wide, slow, knowing grin.

"I will consider it."

"No, don't consider it, from now on I am emergency contact number one, capito? Say the word, call me whenever you need me"

He leans in, dangerously close, now you feel his cologne, his breath warm in your ear "One word, and I am dropping everything to go wherever you are."

“Grazie, Toti.” you say, wishing that you could believe him.

“You’re welcome, piccola.” His voice drops to that husky purr he uses when he’s about to do something irresponsible. He leans in toward your face, devilish smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You match his expression, leaning forward, eyes twinkling—then press a quick, confident kiss to his cheek.

Except… he doesn’t pull back.

“I wanted to whisper something to your ear, ragazza.” His voice is silk over gravel. Dry amusement and pure provocation.

“Oh.” Your face heats. Stupid. Of course he—

“Now you have to make it even.” He turns his head, presenting the other cheek with princely smugness. “Come on. Fair is fair.”

You narrow your eyes. “What if I don’t feel like—”

Before you can finish, his arm snakes around your waist and yanks you closer, so fast and smooth that your breath hitches. His cologne is subtle and expensive and entirely him.

“Then you’ll be in my debt,” he murmurs, close enough that his lips brush your ear. “And I hate having a woman in debt to me. I’m far too generous. I always find a way to collect.”

Your hand instinctively braces on his chest, trying to create some space, but it’s barely a suggestion. He’s not moving.

“Bellastella,” you warn.

“Dottoressa,” he replies, soft and faux-submissive, as if you have the upper hand. As if you ever really did.

You roll your eyes, trying not to laugh, but you still lean in—reluctantly, teasingly—and kiss his other cheek with the most insincere, exaggerated little mwah you can manage.

“There,” you say flatly.

“There,” he echoes, clearly satisfied. “See? Wasn’t that difficult.”

You push off his chest, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he pivots the two of you slightly, hand still at your waist, and begins walking with you as if you’re meant to be by his side. As if you always were.

“You’re insufferable,” you mutter.

“And yet,” he muses, “you kissed me twice in public, piccola. People will talk.”

“Let them.”

“Oh, I plan to.”

You snort and roll your eyes again—but you don’t pull away. Not yet. Not for a few more steps. Not with his arm around you like armor and a battlefield behind you.

And definitely not with Giulia still within earshot.

You hand him the folder and begin walking him through the documents—highlighting the key points, your voice steady despite the swirling noise of the gala behind you.

“And this section here outlines the projected—ow!” You wince and pull your hand back instinctively.

“Cosa pasa?” he asks, instantly alert.

“Papercut.” You show him your thumb—an annoyingly small, shallow wound on the inside curve.

“Let me see.” Without waiting for permission, he takes your hand gently and pulls out his handkerchief—white, embroidered, probably silk. He wraps it carefully around your thumb to stop the bleeding. “Better?”

You shake your head, half teasing.

So he pulls your wrist a little closer and presses a soft, exaggerated kiss to the papercut.

You blink. “What could’ve possibly possessed you to do that?”

“Kissing where it hurts takes the pain away.” He says it with absolute certainty, like he’s citing a long-established medical principle.

“Oh yeah?” You cock your head. “Which of your girls taught you that technique?”

There’s a pause.

He looks down.

“Mammina,” he says, quiet, without theatrics.

You stare at him—but before you can say anything else, the pressure starts building behind your eyes again. That familiar, sharp throb. The beginnings of the headache, back with a vengeance. You close your eyes, trying to hide it.

He notices immediately.

Without saying anything, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your temple, like a hush.

Then he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a sleek hotel key card.

“Spend the night in the suite,” he says, slipping it into your palm.

“…Isn’t that your suite?” you ask, surprised.

“You need it more than I do,” he says, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

Then, with a glance toward the hotel’s main entrance, he adds—casually, with a lopsided smirk—“And if things go as planned…

Your eyes follow his, and you spot her: a statuesque woman in a backless gown gliding through the entrance. Perfect posture, perfect smile. Eyes already scanning the room.

"...I won’t be sleeping in there tonight.”

Of course.

You look down at the key card in your hand.

One suite. Two headaches. And a man who insists on kissing where it hurts.

Despite being the one that is hurting you the most.

You make it to the suite doing your best not to overthink things. It's just a room. Just a headache. Just tonight.

You draw the curtains closed and lie down, hoping sleep might dull the pain. But after fifteen minutes, it starts to build—a slow, pulsing pressure like hands squeezing your skull from the inside. A six out of ten, at least. You know your body well enough: this is the point where you have to act. Either take something now or risk it evolving into full-blown agony.

You sit up, blinking through tears. You rummage through your bag, trying to breathe through the pain. Your hands tremble. Lip balm. Notebook. Pens. Documents. No meds.

You freeze.

You remember putting the pills next to the documents. His documents. You must have slipped them into his briefcase by accident.

The realization hits you all at once.

Your body aches, your head throbs—and somewhere beneath all that pain, something else splits open:

You love that idiot.

You’ve loved him for a while now, and you didn’t even notice it happening. Or maybe you did. Maybe you just refused to name it.

You press your palms to your temples as if you could physically hold the feelings in.

Now you have two options: Call him and ask him to leave—whoever’s arms or legs he’s tangled in—to bring you your medication… Or lie in this room and let the pain take over.

It’s the same dilemma you’ve always had with him.

Either dare to confess your love and risk finding out he doesn’t love you back… Or live forever wondering if he could have.

Your mind tumbles back through the mess of memories:

The first time he kissed you—sweet, sudden, impulsive—only to leave minutes later for a date you pretended not to know about.

The time he stood up for you in front of that rich investor, throwing his weight around in a way that felt infuriating… and safe.

The lipstick stains on his collar. The charming messages from women with names in five languages. The late-night migraines soothed by his cool fingers. The way he kissed your temple like it meant something, even as he was buttoning his shirt to go meet someone else.

The way he stood beside you when memories of Giulia clawed at your throat. The way he didn’t flinch when she appeared in the flesh.

The way he always seemed to know when the headache would hit… and how to handle it.

And now, the pills—your lifeline—are with him.

And you’re here.

Alone.

That moment comes back: "Mammina," he had said. "Mommy."

You’d brushed it off then, but now it lands differently. Now it echoes.

He must have been so young when she left, so young to still call her that. So young that a part of him never stopped searching for her in every woman he met. So young that every time he leaves someone behind, maybe he's just playing out what she taught him: leave before you're left.

And yet… he never quite leaves you.

Not really.

But he doesn’t stay, either.

And now, with your head pounding and tears drying hot against your cheeks, you ask yourself the cruelest question of all:

Would he come if you called?

And if he did— Would it be because he loves you?

Or because he still doesn’t know how to lose another woman the way he lost the first?

The pain is unbearable now—sharp, hot, relentless. Your eyes sting from crying, from trying not to. You clench your jaw, staring at your phone, willing the pain to pass, willing yourself not to press call.

But you do.

You swallow your pride and tap his name.

It rings once—twice—then someone picks up. A woman. Her voice is cool, lilting, unmistakably Scandinavian.

“Bellastella? Are you there?”

Your throat tightens. You almost hang up.

And then you hear her again, this time off the receiver:

“Salvatore! It’s for you.”

You close your eyes. There it is. Of course. The confirmation you weren’t ready for.

“Who is it, gorgeous?” he asks in the background, his voice warm and amused.

She giggles. “It’s registered as… bella cervellona.”

Not your name.

Not really.

But that's how you're saved in all his platforms. Bella cervellona. Beautiful brains. Beautiful nerd. Beautiful pain in the ass.

You want to die. Or scream. Or both.

“Hey, Toti,” you murmur, your voice small, hoarse. “I think I left my medication in your briefcase and—”

“That’s for pain,” he says immediately, his voice now low, alert. “Are you hurting?”

“Yes. And I need it. Please, just—”

“I’m on my way.”

He hangs up.

Just like that.

No questions, no hesitation. Not even a goodbye.

He’s already gone.

Racing to you.

And somehow, in the middle of all that pain, you feel something else crack open—

Something warm.

Something terrifying.

Something like hope.

"One word, and I am dropping everything to go wherever you are."

[fanficshiddles]

Eternally Mine, Chapter 31

‘Oh dear god.’ Loki gasped as he opened the door to greet Spencer and Jessica.

Jessica was wearing a flared red jumpsuit, it was very sparkly. She also had glitter face paint on to match.

‘Is Claire ready yet?’ She asked excitedly as Loki let them in.

‘Almost, she’s upstairs getting ready… don’t tell me she’s got the same outfit? She wouldn’t let me see.’ Loki asked warily.

Jessica just laughed and said nothing as she went to greet Bat.

‘At least we’re not going with them.’ Spencer chuckled.

‘Thankfully!’ Loki agreed, he went to get them both a beer from the fridge.

He was just back through to the living room when they heard Claire coming down the stairs.

‘Youuuu can daaaance, youuuu can jiiiive. Haaaving the tiiime of your liiiiiiife!’ She sang loudly, and badly, as she came down and walked into the living room.

She was wearing the same style of jumpsuit as Jessica, it had a low v at the neck too. Though Claire’s was blue instead of red. She had blue glitter face paint as well.

Loki’s eyes almost popped out.

‘Well. It seems it’s impossible for you to look awful in any outfit.’ Loki hummed and stalked over to her for a kiss.

‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’ Claire laughed.

‘Have fun you two. But be safe.’ He said softly and kissed her again.

‘We will be, don’t worry. You two enjoy your night, too!’ She grinned up at him.

Loki and Spencer waved the girls off when their taxi arrived. Claire wasn’t surprised when Jessica pulled out a couple of cans of cocktails for them to drink before getting there. Even though it was only a short drive.

It was a little cold when they arrived, they were a bit early so had to join the queue, but they didn’t have to wait too long as doors were opening in ten minutes.

‘Should’ve taken a jacket.’ Claire said as she danced about on the spot to warm up.

‘Here, we need to down these before bag search anyway.’ Jessica said as she pulled out two mini vodka bottles.

‘Straight?’ Claire asked with a laugh.

‘Of course. It’ll warm you up.’ Jessica winked at her.

‘You’re such a bad influence.’ Claire laughed and downed the vodka, pulling a bit of a face as it slid down her throat.

‘You love it though.’ She grinned.

‘I do. Don’t think Loki does as much though.’

‘Ah he will just need to put up with it.’ Jessica laughed. ‘How are things going with you two anyway? All good?’

‘Really good. I never thought I’d find someone like Loki to spend my life with, he’s just amazing in every way. I know that soulmates are mainly a vampire thing, but even if he was a human I’d feel like we were soulmates. We just seem to fit together so well and we’ve slotted into living together like we’ve been together forever.’ Claire gushed with a blush.

‘Aww. It is so special when you find the one. You two were made to be together.’

‘What about you and Spencer? All going well?’ Claire asked.

‘Really well. Too well, I often wonder if something is going to happen to fuck us up. I’ve never been happier, I just feel it’s too good to be true sometimes.’ She said sheepishly.

‘Aw no, don’t think that way. You’re both great people and deserve the happiness together. Is it cause you’re not soulmates that’s worrying you? Loki told me that not every vampire ends up with their soulmate, they fall in love with others and build that soulmate relationship.’

‘Hm, I quite like thinking it in that way. I do worry sometimes about it yeah, what if my soulmate appears or his does, because we will have ones out there.’ Jessica said honestly.

‘I’m sure you’ll both figure it out if that were to ever happen. Some vampires go their entire thousands of years life without meeting their soulmate, right? Or yours might be dead, so you might not even need to worry about it.’ Claire shrugged.

Jessica laughed. ‘Is it bad that I hope they are dead? Would save a lot of issues.’

‘I’ll let it pass this time wishing death upon someone.’ Claire laughed.

‘Oh finally! Moving in!’ Claire said when the queue began to shuffle forward.

-

Up high on the building across the alley from the venue, where Jessica and Claire were queueing, there was a figure on the roof crouched down, watching them through binoculars.

He took his phone out and called someone.

‘Hey, it’s me. Yeah, they’re exactly where he said they’d be. Will I take the shot?’

‘No. Wait until after the show, that’s when to strike.’ The voice down the phone responded.

-

Loki and Spencer were a few beers in, they were in Loki’s living room with football on. Loki didn’t really follow the sport, but he enjoyed watching a game now and then. Spencer followed it and had his favourite team, but he wasn’t a mega fan, so was happy just having it on in the background while they chatted.

‘Where was that place that you and Claire went to for a few days? A cabin in the woods or something?’ Spencer asked Loki.

‘Oh, yeah. Up north near Bramble woods, lovely spot. Are you looking for holiday ideas?’ Loki asked.

‘Possibly. Jessica been going on about it, saying that Claire was talking about it in that group chat. Said it was good for some… hunting play. Toshi agreed.’ Spencer chuckled.

‘It certainly was.’ Loki grinned. ‘I’d recommend it for sure.’

‘I don’t think the hunting play would work that well for Jessica and I though.’ Spencer sighed.

‘Well, one of you could pretend. That’s kind of the idea of the whole role-playing stuff.’ Loki chuckled.

‘I guess we could try. It would be hard to try and ignore the vampire senses though. Sometimes I wish we’d been able to have some fun before I was turned.’

‘I guess there are perks to having a human partner for a while.’ Loki hummed.

‘Are you going to be turning Claire any time soon?’

‘Not soon, no. We have discussed it and she does want that, but not yet. We’re going to re-visit it in about four years or so.’ Loki shrugged.

‘Any other plans for the future? Kids? Marriage?’

‘Pfft. Would you want to take kids into the world right now? With the threat of the hunters, it’s bad enough trying to keep Claire safe.’ Loki chuckled.

‘True. Thankfully Jessica and I have decided against having kids, though our reasoning is because we deal with kids enough at work.’

‘That’s how Claire and I feel too.’ Loki laughed. ‘Some of them can be… challenging.’

‘You’re telling me. I had two fighting in class the other day just because they both fancied the same girl. The hormones at this age is just ridiculous.’ Spencer shook his head.

‘Yikes. Vampires or humans?’

‘Vampire versus a human. Which made it worse. The human knows about vampires so they were arguing back and forth, calling each other all the names under the sun, as you can imagine. Chris had to sort out some of the other students’ memories, it was a mess.’

‘What about the girl they were fighting over? Does she like any of them?’ Loki couldn’t resist asking.

‘Nope. She’s a human, but is already dating… a vampire, a female vampire.’ Spencer smirked.

Loki laughed. ‘Brilliant. She must have been so amused seeing two guys fighting over her, knowing neither of them had a chance.’

‘I did have to keep a straight face, which wasn’t easy.’ Spencer admitted.

Loki and Spencer had some more beers and ordered in pizza while they watched the game and chatted away. It had been a while since Loki had a guy’s night, he was surprised how much he enjoyed it. Plus, it was good to bond more with Spencer.

Though their guy’s night unfortunately didn’t last long.

Loki frowned when the doorbell rang, they weren’t expecting anyone. Plus, the girls weren’t due back for a while yet, as they had planned to go to an after party for ABBA fans at one of the clubs near the venue. So they weren’t expected back till well after midnight.

Loki made his way through to the front door and when he got closer, he caught a whiff of who it was. Toshi.

That was confirmed when he opened the door. ‘Hey, Toshi… Is everything ok?’

‘Uhh… can I come in?'

[ts3casconversioncatalog]

Update 2024/10/29

Cleaned up the store:promo tag, noted precisely which set/collab each item belongs to. Retired the notavailable one since it didn't really do much.

Conversions:

child-elder female: Flared Shorts.

EF: Flapper Dress, Jill's Jumpsuit.

TF and EF: Maxi Dress.

TAEF: Bikini Halter Top, Dancin' Shoes, Patio Day Dress, Silky Sarong, Sweater over Dress, V-Beads No Limit Top.

TM and EM: Hoodie with Undershirt.

TAEM: Gentleman First, Patio Capris.

Maternity morphs:

AF: Fit to be Tied, Hem Pants with Zippers, Matinee Blouse, Poet’s Muse Dress, Quilted Leather Jacket, Sweet & Sassy, Versatile Pearls.

AM: Casual Tied Sweater, Dressed Down Sports Coat, English Jacket.

TF and AF: Tulip Top.

Texture edits:

AM: Big Bully, Loose Print Muscle Shirt.

Other:

AF: separate top of Boyfriend Shirt.

AM: Standard Swimming Trunks as bottom.

CF: separate bottom of Dress over Jumper; taller heels edit of Mary Janes.

CU: separate top of Adventurer Outfit, Prep School Uniform for Boys and Girls; separate top and bottom of Teacher's Threads.

TAEF: mashup of High-end Stylist Outfit / Worlds Collide Outfit.