#Best quality formal shirt

[aungwen]

We produce life stylish fashionable formal and casual Men’s wear, different of ladies wear and attractive design wear in product. Its product types such as  long sleeve shirt, t-shirt, polo shirt, pant, formal pant, casual pant, denim pant, blazer, accessories of Rich Man BD brand etc.

[curatedattire]

Choosing the Perfect Fabric Unveiling the Best Material for Men's Dress Shirts

When it comes to dress shirts, there are a variety of materials and fabrics to choose from. The type of fabric you choose can make a big difference in the overall look and feel of the shirt. So, let's dive in and take a closer look at some of the most popular options.

Twill Twill is another great option for dress shirts. It has a diagonal weave pattern that adds depth and texture to the fabric. It's also a durable fabric that's resistant to wrinkles.

Oxford Oxford is a classic fabric that's often used for dress shirts. It has a basket weave pattern that gives it a unique texture. It's a versatile fabric that can be dressed up or down. 

Poplin Poplin is another popular fabric for dress shirts. It's a lightweight, tightly woven fabric that has a silky finish. It's perfect for warm weather.

Sea Island Sea Island cotton is a luxurious fabric that's made from extra-long staple cotton fibers. It's incredibly soft and silky to the touch. 

Linen Linen is a lightweight, breathable fabric that's perfect for warm-weather dress shirts. It has a natural texture that adds depth to any outfit.

Silk Silk is a luxurious fabric that has a soft, silky feel. It’s perfect for formal dress shirts, and it drapes beautifully on the body. 

Wool Wool is another great option for dress shirts. It’s a durable fabric that’s perfect for cooler weather. It has a natural texture that adds depth to any outfit.

The fabric you choose can make all the difference. When selecting a fabric, consider the occasion, the weather, and your personal style. Choose a fabric that makes you look and feel your best

[01zfan]

number 45 | o. sh

volleyball player!shotaro x manager!reader | 5.4k words

anons who requested this. i am SO SORRY it took me so long to get to this. i had to channel my past in volleyball for this and find the motivation for it so i hope the quality and the length makes up for the wait!

contains: semi-public, hand stuff only, mentions of clothing being tight (???)

shotaro would’ve never thought he’d end up playing volleyball. as a child he liked watching basketball the most, and when he he was in middle school he played soccer. but one summer at a sleep-away camp he picked up a volleyball for the very first time. shotaro received so many compliments about how he was a natural that he decided to tryout for the team on a whim. he knew it was insane to go into tryouts for a sport he never played, that it was less than likely he would be selected for the team. but it turned out everyone was right, he did have a natural talent. it wasn’t long before shotaro was accepted, becoming the libero on the junior varsity team.

shotaro also didn’t think he’d stay with it. just like soccer he found himself hitting ruts that caused him to lose momentum. he had to learn a completely new sport, he had to learn how to go for passes with his hands and dig for balls by diving his body to the floor instead of using his legs. the frustration of moving his body differently manifested into him not caring for the sport. it wasn’t long before he was not giving his all at practice, only nodding his head or shrugging his shoulders when the coach would ask him what was happening.

he even considered quitting when the coach wouldn’t bench him at the games. he knew he couldn’t stop himself from doing his best during games, especially with his team counting on him. he reluctantly ended up doing the best he could, and as a result his team did the best they could too. by his sophomore year shotaro was on the varsity team, and by the time he graduated he was captain.

when shotaro came to college it was a completely different atmosphere. he was against people stronger and taller than him, and he was up against people who didn’t have anything but love and passion for the sport. after the first day of tryouts shotaro stayed behind long after everyone left, practicing the drills he messed up. he was in his own little world, sweat dripping from his brow as he wondered if volleyball was worth it anymore.

“the gym is closed.”

shotaro turned away from the net to follow the voice. he remembers your face, but the amount of names he heard that day made him forget. all shotaro knew was that you were the assistant student manager. he saw your duffle slung over your shoulder as you wiped sweat from your brow with the bottom of your shirt. 

“you’ll only hurt yourself at this point. try sleeping on it, the drills will come to you naturally.” you turned around to walk out of the gym, and shotaro was getting ready to resume his drills. you turned around again, hand on the strap of your bag as you got his attention again. “you’re shotaro right?” you asked.

shotaro was shocked that you remembered his name. he was one face out of the crowd of athletes. he doesn’t even remember if he had the chance to formally introduce himself to anyone before they started explaining the process of tryouts.

“yeah.” shotaro said.

”cool.” shotaro saw you look down at your feet, his eyes caught on the brace that was bound to your ankle and the small scar down your knee. “you’re really good. i hope you make the team.” you said.

shotaro could only nod, giving you a simple wave as you left the gym. he thought nothing about his performance was noteworthy, much less worthy of praise. but you seemed to mean it, and as you walked away shotaro took your words of advice seriously. he packed up shortly after you left, and he had a long nights rest to recuperate from all the exercise. 

he found out you were right when the drills came to him like second nature the next day. he saw you watching him a few times, giving him nods of approval and a thumbs up each time he caught your eye. shotaro found himself looking to you each time he did a perfect serve, or was able to get a ball that seemed unsalvageable. he found himself overhearing the pointers you’d give to everyone else, even if they didn’t apply to him. each time you gave him advice shotaro listened intently, blaming the heat he felt across his face on the strenuous workouts. 

at the end of the week when he made the team, you were the first person he looked for. in such a short time shotaro decided that you were his good luck charm and that he needed to let you know. he was quick asking for your number, hiding it under the guise of needing to have the student manager’s contact information. you gave it to him with a smile on your face, putting your name and number in his phone.

“i’m going to the dining hall after this.” you handed shotaro back his phone and he texted you so you could have his number too. “if you wanna come with.” you offered.

shotaro took you up on the offer a little too quickly. he sat with you and the rest of the team, sharing stories about volleyball before coming to college. shotaro saw you nod and smile, understanding all the nuances of what it was to be a volleyball player, but never sharing stories of your own. he knew not to ask about it, he had come to that conclusion after finding about your vast knowledge of the sport and seeing the scar on your knee.

you and shotaro had made fallen into your own post-practice routine. he would wait for you in the main gym while you finished your clerical duties at the end of the night, and you two would walk together to the dining hall. sometimes you would end up catching the rest of the team, but more often than not it would be just the two of you sitting in the booth of an emptying dining hall. you two talked about life back home, what you were planning to study, and everything in between. 

the friendship blossomed quickly, but the dynamic changed the more you two spent time together. shotaro went from sitting across from you in the booth to sliding in next to you, so close that your shoulders touched. you two went from saying goodbye outside of the dining hall to shotaro walking you to your dormitory. eventually he was holding your duffle bag for you on the walk over, and one day he finally got the courage to reach for your hand. 

by the middle of the season, you two were in a relationship. everyone on the team seemed to know before you guys did, some even bet on how long it would take before you two got together. you two kept your relationship out of practice. you didn’t hesitate to advise shotaro and you refused to hold back critiques relayed to you by the coach. 

he respected you for your professionalism and passion for the sport, he truly did. he loved how you cared for the team and managed the responsibilities of the job while also easing everyone else’s stress. shotaro and his team never had to worry about the logistics of practice, they never had to worry about the little things if you were there. shotaro always found himself puffing out his chest proudly when his teammates would praise your hard work or mention that they never had a student manager like you. so shotaro didn’t know why he would feel a pang of jealousy seeing the girlfriends of his teammates in the stands wearing their jerseys. 

he knew it was unfair to impose anything on you. shotaro was able to get your support constantly outside the context of games, so he didn’t know why he felt that way. sometimes all shotaro could think about during games or practice was seeing his player numbers across your chest. he thinks he would be unstoppable on the court if he saw it only once—he’d keep a picture of you in his mind like soldiers did of their wives back home before going to war. but he would never ask you to do anything that would show such blatant favoritism, even if he was your boyfriend and everyone knew it. he could also never bring himself to admit the primitive aspect of it all, that he would feel some sense of satisfaction seeing his number on your body. so because of that, shotaro simply kept it to himself. 

he had planned to never tell you about it, but it was hard to avoid the conversation when it was staring at him right in the face. 

it was another long practice, ending with you walking around the main gym looking for shotaro. you called out his name and texted his phone to see where he was. you knew that no one else was in the gym at this time, you had even seen the custodians leave for the night after cleaning the floors. you followed the sounds of the showers, standing outside as you called out your boyfriends name again.

“i’m in here.” he called back.

“i’ll wait outside!” you yelled, hoping your voice would carry over the sound of running water.

as soon as you were done speaking, you heard the water shut off.

“come in. it’s just me.” shotaro said.

instantly you shook your head, looking up to the camera that was pointing right at the entrance of the showers.

“i can’t. not allowed.” you said simply.

shotaro came from around the corner of the tile wall, only wearing a towel around his waist. he had another towel in his hands, running through the wet strands of his hair.

“if anyone asks, say you heard me slip and fall.” shotaro beckons to you, and your feet started moving on their own accord. “come in.” he smiled. 

shotaro lead you through the winding tile walls of the showers until you made it to the main dressing room. you set your duffle down beside the bench, sitting on the polished wood as shotaro finished getting ready. you looked up in the large mirror embedded into the wall in front of you to stare at him. the pale blue tiles went all the way up to the white ceiling. you counted them up and down, each time leading you back to the reflection of shotaro’s body in the fogging glass.

he pretended to not notice your stare as he took his towel off to dry the rest of his body. when he looked in the mirrors reflection and saw you look away quickly, his laugh filled the room.

“it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” shotaro said.

you nodded your head sheepishly, still looking down at your feet. he wasn’t wrong, you had seen shotaro naked more times than you could count on your hands and feet. but it was different seeing him outside the privacy of your dorm rooms. you have never seen shotaro naked in a place that could easily be invaded. all it took was a straggler from practice or a custodian to catch you staring at your naked boyfriend. you only slightly settled down when you heard him pull up the pants to his tracksuit. when you looked back up to the mirror shotaro was putting on his shirt. 

he came behind you, looking at you in the mirror with a smile on his face. shotaro bent down and kissed the crown of your head. you tilted you head to look at him directly.

“how was practice for you?” you asked.

shotaro shrugged his shoulders, moving his hand to massage your neck. he continued looking in the mirror to stare at you, and when he got to a stubborn knot you let your head lull forward.

“it was good. i’m a little nervous for the game tomorrow.” shotaro answered.

you hummed sympathetically, pulling shotaro’s hands away. you guided him around the bench to stand in front of you. you were sincere as you spoke, holding his hands tightly.

“you’ll do great, i know you will.” you encouraged.

shotaro nodded his head, feeling the anxiety of the important match melt off of his shoulders. he already felt like he was on top of the world just by looking down at you. shotaro watched the serious look on your face change to a bright smile as you squeezed his hands again.

“i do have a surprise for you.” you excitedly waved his hands around. “it just came in today and i can’t wait.” you said.

shotaro couldn’t control his own smile. he thought about what you could possibly give him as he cocked his head to the side.

“and what is that?” he asked.

you guided his hands again until he was standing next to the bench opposite of you. you both moved to straddle the bench, and shotaro watched you look to your duffle bag before looking to him.

“close your eyes.” when shotaro’s eyes stayed on your duffle bag you stopped messing with the zipper. “taro i’m serious!” you laughed.

shotaro hesitated for a moment, but let his eyes close. he let his imagination run wild, trying to think what surprise was waiting for him in your duffle. he thought maybe it was his favorite snack, maybe it was a lucky pair of socks or a handwritten note. when shotaro thought he heard the sound of your clothes jostling he had to compose himself. he tried to beat the dirty thoughts away with a stick as he held onto the edges of the bench. he heard you curse under your breath a moment later. 

when everything was still in the room again, he stuck out a tongue to wet his lips.

“okay. open them.” you said hesitantly. 

shotaro wasn’t expecting to actually be surprised when he opened his eyes. his wildest imagination would’ve never been able to pluck the view he was blessed with down from his mind to place it right in front of him. he let out a sigh from the other side of the bench as he took all of you in. he got the perfect view from where he was. he was able to see the 45 of his jersey stretch across your chest and how the tight fabric rode up to reveal your stomach. shotaro couldn’t take his eyes off of you as you pulled at the end of the sleeves in efforts to make it fit right. 

“it’s a little snug.” your attempt to pull down the bottom of the shirt was futile. it rode back up immediately once you were done pinching the fabric. “i thought mens sizes were supposed to be bigger.” you said

shotaro still couldn’t take his eyes off of your chest as he shook his head. the primitive thoughts shotaro tried to keep at bay became barbaric as he watched the tight jersey material stick to you. when you crossed your arms to cover your chest shotaro’s hands went to your bicep, pushing them back to your sides.

“perfect fit.” shotaro spread his legs on either side of the bench further as he took his hands off your arms. “it’s a perfect fit. no reason to hide.” he said.

he watched you mesmerized as you continued to move in his jersey. your end of the bench felt like it was miles away the longer he looked at you on the other side. he reached out a hand to you, letting his palm drag across the polished wood as he pulled his hand back. shotaro was grateful you understood what he needed as you came forward, your hands gripping the edges of the bench. you brought your arms in to make your chest poke out more, trying to give him a show. his eyes ran over his numbers before he went to the shy smile on your face. shotaro mirrored your grin as he scooted forward closer to you. shotaro’s smile only got bigger as you two came closer and closer, by the time your face casted a shadow on his you could see his gleaming teeth. he only stopped smiling a moment before your lips touched his, biting them as he looked down to yours.

your kisses were light and soft, both of you tilting your heads to accommodate the other. one of shotaro’s hands came from behind him to go to your waist, and one of your hands let go of the bench to hold onto his face. you could feel the soft skin of shotaro’s cheek underneath your fingertips as you deepened the kiss. you held his head in place as you pushed your tongue past his lips. shotaro’s other hand went to your waist and he pulled you in closer, until you had to put your legs over his.

shotaro only brought you closer, and he moved towards you to cover the rest of the space. you could feel all of him press against you as one of his hands moved to your ass and the other moved to the small of your back. shotaro applied pressure, making your chest come closer to his as your hand that wasn’t on his face went to his shoulder. he was grabbing handfuls of you, kneading whatever part of your body he could get his hands on while your grip on his shoulder tightened. neither of you refused to pull away, only catching quick breaths in the seconds one of you would pull away to readjust. 

when you moaned into shotaro’s mouth he remembered where he was. he was supposed to be like you, taking his role on the team very seriously. he remembered that he shouldn’t be making out with you in a place where you two could so easily get caught. so he pulled away from you reluctantly, and moved a gentle hand to your shoulder to keep you from leaning forward again. your plump lips called to him, but he remained steady as he caught his breath.

“we could get caught.” shotaro said.

you only nodded your head, eyes wide as you tried catching your breath. shotaro nodded too, trying hard to not let his eyes wander back to his numbers across your chest. he still had a handful of your ass, and he could feel you arch your back in efforts to give him more. your hands that were still on shotaro’s face pulled him in, and he only resisted for a second before going back in. 

now it was you smiling against his lips, taking a deep breath in as you pulled on his bicep. shotaro’s hand went to your thigh as he lifted to get you completely on his lap. your hand on his face went to the nape of his neck before traveling up his scalp, reveling in the soft strands running through your fingers. when you pulled shotaro sighed, slipping his tongue further into your mouth.

you two were so caught up in the act of kissing that you forgot what always followed it. you were lost in how shotaro’s soft lips pressed into yours that you nearly gasped in his mouth feeling his dick pulse against you. he responded by only pulling you closer, and when your lips broke apart shotaro went to whatever part of your body he could reach. when you tilted your chin back he went to your jaw, traveling all the way down your neck until he got to what his jersey covered. shotaro pulled your hips down to his lap and he pushed into you when you pulled the hair at his scalp.

“you’re really hard right now.” you sighed.

“sorry.” shotaro said in between kisses. “you just look so perfect.”

“yeah?” you laughed, bringing your hands to shotaro’s face so he could look up at you. “i thought we could get caught?” you asked.

“i don’t remember saying that.” shotaro said.

you both let out quick chuckles and shotaro couldn’t stop thinking about how all of his restraint melted away feeling in your presence. it was a problem he was developing, even worse than his habit of not saying mine when going for a ball or cursing under his breath when a play wasn’t set up perfectly. he looked at the glint in your eyes and down to his number that was covered up by your two bodies pressing together. 

there are worse problems to have.

shotaro travels his hand up your thigh, watching the anticipation build behind your eyes as you preen into him. he messes with the fabric at the end of the shorts before pressing into you. you break eye contact to tilt your head back but shotaro’s eyes stay on you, how your neck bobs as you get the little relief. he feels himself becoming impatient at the sight, and he pulls your waist down with his other hand so you can feel all of him.

he repeats the action, just pressing into you and bringing your hips down to meet his each time you raise them. he can feel his dick pulsing in his pants, and shotaro almost sticks his own hand underneath his waistband to relieve the aching. but he doesn’t want to miss a single second of you getting teased as your eyebrows furrow from the almost pleasure.

“shotaro.” you sigh, looking up to the ceiling.

your own hand starts drifting down, taking the time to press into shotaro’s chest and stomach before you reach the pants of his tracksuit. you look down to shotaro when the thick band of fabric stays in your way, and he looks up at you with his eyes gleaming. his hand stops pressing into your heat to go up to your waistband. 

“mhm?” he hums.

neither of you say anything else as both of your hands move at the same time. you grab his dick and shotaro goes to your clit—not wasting any more time to tease. you both silently come to the conclusion you will have time for all the other stuff later, right now it was all about sated the desperation both of you felt until you were somewhere more private. 

shotaro knew he’d have to take his time with you in his dorm when he rubbed the first circle around your clit. instantly you were curling into him, muffling your tiny whimper into his shirt. shotaro knew he would be better composed later in the day, that he would be able to tease you or coo at the sounds you made into the fabric of his shirt instead of biting his lip to keep his own sounds at bay. he couldn’t help himself when you squeezed your hand around his dick just right, and when you had his name and number written all over you. 

the both of you were too reckless to start at a slow speed. when your hands went to eachother you both started fast, rushing through the motions as the last bit of your brains that were working told you that you had to be quick. so you quickly pumped shotaro’s dick until he was thrusting into your hand and he wasted no time teasing your clit until you were begging for his fingers. you both were messes for eachother in seconds, hands wedged between smushed bodies and shoved underneath clothes in shotaro’s team locker room. the novelty of it all would’ve made you both laugh if you weren’t so caught up in trying to feel everything.

shotaro felt the joking mood shift as you looked up to him. he could see the lights of the locker room reflect your glassy eyes, making it look like you had stars swimming in your irises. you were serious as you looked up to him, lips pouting as you spoke.

“you’re so good at volleyball.” you said, looking straight into shotaro.

his fingers on your clit faltered at the sudden praise, only finding their tempo again when you bucked your hips and let out a small desperate sound.

“what?” shotaro asked, trying to keep up with your hand that tightened around his dick.

“you’re so good at volleyball.” you repeated.

you repeated the words without faltering, tilting your head. you could see the confusion written on his face, flickering between that and how his lips parted when you squeezed a little tighter. you leaned back to rest on your hand that wasn’t on shotaro, giving both of you enough room to move your hands faster. the new angle let you pull down shotaro’s sweats enough to see the tip of his dick peaking out past your hand.

“i know i said you could do whatever you want.” you pumped his dick faster, feeling him pulse in your hand each time you went back down from his tip. “but i wanted to die when you told me you were thinking of quitting.”

shotaro quickly changed the angling of his hand in your pants, making his palm face the ceiling so he could finger you and stimulate your clit at the same time. you closed your eyes from the change and let a tiny fuck slip past your lips before opening them again. you clenched around his fingers when shotaro licked his lips.

“why?” he asked weakly.

“because you’re such a good leader, even if you aren’t captain yet” you started swiveling your hips into his hand, chasing that feeling building in the pit of your stomach. “they couldn’t do it without you.” you whined.

shotaro found himself chasing after something else, and a different feeling erupted across his body hearing your praise. he didn’t know what to do with himself hearing the rushed compliments fall from your lips as he watched you try and fuck yourself on his fingers. shotaro came to the embarrassing realization that he didn’t need you to touch him anymore, he could fall apart just from watching you and hearing you talk to him.

“they’re more than capable.” shotaro bent his fingers inside of you, eyes already focused on your chest to watch it jolt in the confines of his jersey as your whole body twitched. “feels good?” he asked.

shotaro watched you lull forward, eyes lazily focused on him as you nodded your head. he could see you actively trying to remember what you were saying, swallowing as you prepped your shaky voice.

“eunseok would’ve never been able to fix his jump serve if you didn’t help him.” shotaro tried putting in a third finger, but when he saw you wince he pulled back. “and sungchan kept touching that fucking net until you scolded him.” you said.

shotaro could tell you were getting close by the way your words were turning into babbles and your hand on his dick was becoming more and more rushed. he watched you screw your eyes shut and when you opened them he could see the tears in the corner of your eyes as you tried to focus on his. shotaro kept his eyes open wide, trying to remember the sight when he tries out for captain. 

your walls closed around shotaro’s digits repeatedly, and he continued pumping his fingers in and out even if it felt like you were trying to suck him in. 

“you think i’m a good volleyball player?” shotaro asked the question just to see you pitifully nod your head.

“you’re the best.” you arched your back, and the new angle helped shotaro go deeper inside of you. “you’re my favorite.” you whimpered.

shotaro’s eyes were wide as he took in every word. your voice dripped with sincerity as you rushed through sentences. shotaro used one of his hands to trace the curve of your body, ending at the bottom of his jersey. he pulled on the material, bringing the pinched fabric down your torso until it was completely straight. shotaro felt a newfound pride in himself that materialized in his chest, trickling down like molten lava to his stomach. immediately when he let go the tight fabric clung to you like a second skin, riding up the same way it did before. shotaro ran a quick hand through his hair as he felt the excitement prickling across his body.

“i’m gonna cum.” shotaro said.

his voice was beginning to waiver, floating between grunts and prolonged sighs. you nodded your head again, pushing up from your other hand to focus. you squeezed shotaro’s tip, using his precum as lubricant for your ministrations. he jerked his hips up quickly, bunching his pants at his mid thigh to free the rest of his dick. you moaned at the sight, using your legs that were still on shotaro’s to bring your body closer to his.

shotaro wrapped his hand around your back, giving you stability and enough space to work your hands the same way. when he saw you bring the end of his jersey down shotaro couldn’t hold out any longer. he pressed his fingers into your side and he closed his eyes as relief washed over his body. you kept working your hand when shotaro stilled underneath you, and he heard more mumbled praises fell from your lips as his his dick twitched in your hand. he left out one final curse, leaning forward until his head rested on your shoulder.

when shotaro opened his eyes he saw his cum glide down your hand and his abs. he saw some of it on your stomach, dribbling down your body to seep into the fabric of your sweatpants. you looked down too, looking back up to shotaro with a hunger that made him almost ready to go again. 

before you could close the distance between your lips shotaro leaned forward, working still feeling the buzzing across his body as his lips ghosted over yours.

“i couldn’t have done it without you.” shotaro said it quietly, afraid that if he got any louder he would only moan. he took his fingers from your clenching heat to focus on your clit. “you’re my motivation to be in this stupid sport and the only reason i stayed.”

shotaro felt your legs shake over his and your hand moved from his dick to dig your nails into his stomach. shotaro flexed for you, hardening the muscle underneath his skin. he could feel the cum on your hand smear onto his stomach, warm and sticky as your grip on him changed.

“you close?” shotaro asked, readjusting his hand around your back.

“so close.” you whimpered. “just keep going.”

“okay baby.” shotaro’s hand across the small of your back pulled at you, making you lean forward into his chest. “moan into my shirt if you need to.” he whispered.

you nodded while pushing your hips forward trying to work with shotaro’s fingers. your entire body went tense, gripping shotaro’s shirt so hard the fabric wrinkled. your moans became whiny and you could feel shotaro nodding his head.

“i got you.” he whispered into your ear.

your full body shook around shotaro, and he continued to nod and keep the same speed. he could feel the same relief coming off you in waves, and shotaro let a finger run down your folds to gather your cum. he used that as extra lubrication on your clit, speeding up until you let out a shuddering breath. he didn’t stop until you started shaking your head against his chest and your hand on his abs clasped around his wrist. he still tried circling his hand, smiling as how you had to push yourself off his lap before you got overstimulated.

“baby.” shotaro breathed.

“mhm?” you hummed. 

you still leaned into his chest, and shotaro watched your back raise and lower as you tried catching your breath. he saw the small trace of tear tracks underneath your hooded eyes.

“did you mean all the stuff you said?” he asked.

you put your hands to his face as you nodded your head. shotaro leaned into your palms, and the need to be touched by you took over his mind again. 

“of course i did.” you bring shotaro forward to kiss his forehead. when you pulled back he saw the facetious smile on your face. “i would love to tell you more about it, actually.” you teased.

you and shotaro were tripping over eachother as you gathered your belongings. you readjusted your sweatpants and threw shotaro’s hoodie over his jersey. shotaro slung both of your duffles over his shoulder quickly. you moved in a haste, not looking back at the bench to see if you left a mess. shotaro didn’t turn around till he made it to the exit, peaking at you one last time with a joking smile on his face.

“just make sure the jersey stays on.” he laughed.

[anonymousewrites]

Nature of the Human Soul (Book 1) Chapter One

Platonic! Hazbin Hotel x Teen! Reader

Father Figure! Alastor x Teen! Reader

Chapter One: Welcome to the Hotel

Summary: (Y/N) falls to Hell and has to figure out how to live their afterlife.

            (Y/N)’s eyes opened. The sun was gone. A red sky loomed over them. The rosebush they had died in had disappeared, replaced by cold cement.

            (Y/N) sat up and looked around themself. All they could see were buildings, a city made of red brick and strange billboards for drugs and sex and other things that (Y/N) was pretty damn sure didn’t exist back where they’d been alive.

            It didn’t take a genius to know where they were: Hell.

            (Y/N) had died and fallen to hell. Very well. Standing, they straightened their shoulders. They’d killed people. They’d very much earned a place in Hell, even if (Y/N) felt that they’d done it to protect themself.

            That being said, (Y/N) couldn’t just stand there. They had died at seventeen and were new in Hell. They weren’t sure what Hell was like, but it did put (Y/N) in a position to get hurt in some way.

            (Y/N) walked out of the alley and looked around themself. They were in front of a store selling TVs that were playing some sort of news channel. Before (Y/N)’s attention went to the show, their eyes landed on their reflection in the glass.

            They no longer looked human. Their skin had greyed from their formal tone. Green tinged their hands. Instead of hair, roses of their past hair color mixed with red covered their head like intricate curls. In place of the bloody clothes they had died in, they wore a red shirt with black overalls stitched with scarlet roses.

            (Y/N) disliked the irony—they died in a rosebush, and now their entire appearance was reminiscent of the briars.

            They looked away from their appearance and to the TV show playing. A girl with blond hair and white skin was…singing? (Y/N) cocked their head and watched as she sang about a “Happy Hotel” to hopefully redeem sinners to get them into Heaven.

            Now, (Y/N) wasn’t convinced that people could be redeemed—if they could, then (Y/N) wouldn’t be in the Hell. They wouldn’t have needed to kill to try to save themself. Still, the bubbly blonde seemed like a safer bet than wandering around Hell on their own, so (Y/N) looked at the address and squared their shoulders.

            They could do this. They survived their life. They would survive their death.

l

            (Y/N) stood in front of the two main doors and looked up at the towering hotel. It looked like it was going to fall apart at any moment, but (Y/N) wasn’t going to give up the possibility to having a safe(?) place to stay just by being judgmental.

            They knocked on the door, and instantly, it was flung open.

            “Hello?” said the excitable, cheery voice from the TV show.

            “Uh, hi,” said (Y/N). “Is this the Happy Hotel?”

            “It is!” The blond grinned happily. “Are you looking to stay here?”

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N), nodding.

            “Oh my god! Welcome! I’m Charlie, and I run this hotel to redeem sinners!” said Charlie. She pulled (Y/N) inside. “That’s Vaggie, my girlfriend and the best helper ever—” she gestured to a grey-skinned woman with white hair over one eye with an “X” “And that’s Angel, our only other guest.” A tall man with spiderlike qualities waved with one of four arms. “What’s your name?”

            “I’m (Y/N),” said the teenager, glancing at them a bit nervously.

            “Don’t tell me you’re comin’ to stay here willingly,” said Angel.

            “I don’t want to take my chances out there,” said (Y/N), gesturing back to Hell.

            Vaggie frowned. “Are you…new to Hell?”

            (Y/N) nodded. “I arrived earlier today.”

            Charlie’s eyes widened. “Oh, wow, and you already came to be redeemed?”

            (Y/N) shrugged.

            Charlie deflated. “Oh…”

            “It’s nothing personal. But I killed a couple people. I don’t really know if that can be redeemed,” said (Y/N).

            “You killed people? How old are you?” said Vaggie, furrowing her brow.

            “Seventeen,” said (Y/N).

            “Holy shit. Impressive, kid,” said Angel.

            “Oookay,” said Charlie, laughing nervously. “But you’re here now! Do you want to be redeemed?”

            (Y/N) considered. “Do I have to feel sorry for what I did?”

            “No way,” said Angel.

            “Well, it kind of goes along with the whole redemption thing,” said Charlie.

            (Y/N) frowned.

            “We’ll work on it,” said Charlie, smiling weakly. “At least we have a new guest!”

            “That’s your biggest success today, toots!” said Angel.

            “Thanks for the reminder, Angel,” snapped Vaggie.

            Another knock sounded at the door. Charlie perked up.

            “Another person!” she cheered, running to the door. She opened it.

            “Hell—”

            She shut the door. She processed who she’d seen. She opened it again.

            “—O.”

            Charlie shut the door. “Hey, Vaggie.”

            “What?” said Vaggie.

            “The Radio Demon is at the door,” said Charlie.

            “The what now?” said (Y/N), frowning.

            “What?!” cried Vaggie.

            “Who?” asked Angel.

            “What should I do?” asked Charlie nervously.

            “Well, don’t let him in,” said Vaggie.

            Charlie made the incredibly astute decision to open the door again. (Y/N) peeked around the corner and saw a tall, deerlike man standing in old-timey clothes with a giant grin.

            “May I speak now?” said the “Radio Demon.”

            “You may,” said Charlie, attempting to sound regal.

            “Alastor!” greeted the Radio Demon, putting out his hand to shake Charlie’s. “A pleasure to be meeting you, sweetheart, quite a pleasure.” He brushed past her inside. “Excuse my sudden visit, but I saw your fiasco on the picture show, and I just couldn’t resist! What a performance! Why I haven’t been that entertained since the Stock Market Crash of 1929.” He laughed. “So many orphans.”

            Vaggie jumped in front of him before he could go any farther and pointed a spear at him. “Hold it right there!” She cursed in Spanish and glared. “I know your game, and I’m not gonna let you hurt anyone here you pompous, cheesy, talk-show shitlord!”

            Alastor laughed and pushed her spear down. “Dear, if I wanted to hurt anyone here…” His grin froze, and his eyes turned to red dials. An ominous glow surrounded him. “I would have done so already.”

            Everyone stared at him.

            Alastor shook his head and smiled. “No, I’m here because I want to help!”

            “Say what now?” said Charlie.

            (Y/N) had to agree that sounded very doubtful after that display.

            “Help!” repeated Alastor. He chuckled and tapped his cane-microphone. “Hello? Is this thing on? Testing, testing.”

            “Well, I heard you loud and clear!” said the microphone.

            “Uhm, you want to…help?” said Charlie, attempting a smile. “With…?”

            Alastor disappeared into shadows and popped up next to Vaggie and Charlie, putting an arm around both of them. “This ridiculous thing you’re trying to do! This hotel! I want to help you run it!”

            “Uhhhhh why?” asked Charlie.

            “Why does anyone do anything?” said Alastor brightly. “Sheer, absolute boredom! I’ve lacked inspiration for decades. My work became mundane, lacking…focus…anguish! I’ve come to crave a new form of entertainment!”

            “Does…getting into a fistfight with a reporter count as entertainment?” said Charlie.

            I’d say it does, thought (Y/N).

            Alastor laughed. “It’s the purest kind, my dear. Reality! True passion! After all, the world is a stage, and the stage is a world of entertainment.”

            “So…does this mean that you think it’s possible to rehabilitate a demon?” said Charlie hopefully.

            Alastor laughed. “Of course not. That’s wacky nonsense! Redemption? Oh, the nonexistent humanity! No, no, no, no, I don’t think there’s anything left that could save such lonesome sinners.” He looked at Vaggie, Angel, and (Y/N). “The chance given was the life they lived before. The punishment is this! There is no undoing what is done.”

            “So then, why do you want to help me if you don’t believe in my cause?” asked Charlie.

            Alastor grinned. “Consider it an investment in ongoing entertainment for myself! I want to watch the scum of the Earth struggle to climb up the hill of betterment only to repeatedly fail and tumble down to the fiery pit of failure.”

            Charlie stared. “Riiiight.”

            “Yes, indeedy. I see big things coming your way, and who better to help you than I!” Alastor continued talking to Charlie as they went out of sight.

            “Who was that?” asked (Y/N).

            “Yeah, what’s the deal with Smiles?” asked Angel.

            “You, I get, but seriously, you’ve never heard of him?” said Vaggie, looking at (Y/N) and then Angel. “The Radio Demon? One of the most powerful beings Hell has ever seen?”

            “Not big on politics,” said Angel, shrugging.

            “Ugh.” Vaggie sighed and finally gave them their explanation. “Decades ago, Alastor manifested in Hell. Seemingly overnight, he began to topple Overlords that had been dominant for centuries. That kind of raw power had never been harnessed by a mortal soul before. Then, he broadcast his carnage all throughout Hell, just so everyone could witness his ability. Sinners started calling him the Radio Demon, as lazy as that is. Many have speculated: what unimaginable force enabled him to rival our world’s most ancient, indestructible evils? But one thing’s for sure…he’s an unpredictable source of danger, a wicked spirit of mystery and violent monster of chaos, the likes of which we can’t risk getting involved with unless we want to end up erased!”

            “Ya done?” said Angel. He laughed. “He just looks like a Strawberry Pimp.”

            “I wish I had that sort of power,” said (Y/N), staring wide-eyed at Alastor. Then no one would try to hurt them.

            “I don’t trust him,” hissed Vaggie.

            “Well, to be fair, do you trust any man?” said Angel with a smirk. “Any men? Men?”

            Vaggie glared before getting up to talk to her girlfriend. “Charlie, listen to me. You can’t believe this creep. He isn’t just a happy face. He’s a dealmaker. He’s pure evil. He can’t be redeemed. And he’s most likely looking for a way to destroy everything we’re trying to do.”

            “I…We don’t know that,” said Charlie. “Look, I know he’s bad, and he probably doesn’t wanna change, but the whole point of this is to give people a chance, to have faith that things will be better. How can I turn someone away? I can’t. It goes against everything I’m trying to do, everything I believe in. Just…trust me. I can take care of myself.”

            “Charlie, whatever you do, do not make a deal with him,” said Vaggie.

            (Y/N) made a mental note of that.

            “I’ve picked up one thing from my dad! ‘You don’t take shit from other demons,’ ” said Charlie.

            “Who’s her dad?” asked (Y/N).

            “Lucifer, King of Hell,” said Angel matter-of-factly.

            “Oh, wow,” said (Y/N), blinking.

            “Okay, so, Al…” Charlie smiled awkwardly and approached Alastor. “You’re sketchy as fuck, and you clearly see what I’m doing here as a joke. But I don’t. I think everyone deserves a chance to prove they can be better, so I’m taking your offer to help. On the condition that there be no…trickster…voodoo strings attached.”

            Alastor swung his cane around. “So, it’s a deal, then?” He extended a hand, and a sickly green glow emanated from it.

            “Nope!” Charlie, smartly, pushed it back, and the light stopped. “No shaking! No deals. I…As Princess of Hell and heir to the throne, I, uh, hereby order you that you help with this hotel for as long as you desire. Sound fair?”

            Alastor considered. “Fair enough!”

            Charlie let out a breath of relief. “Cool beans.”

            Alastor looked around the hotel and grinned at Vaggie. “Smile, my dear! You know you’re never fully dressed without one!” He looked at Charlie. “So where is your hotel staff?”

            “Uh, well…” Charlie coughed and looked at Vaggie.

            “Ohohoho, you’re going to need more than that,” said Alastor. He went to the two guests, smiling first at Angel. “And what can you do, my effeminate fellow?”

            “I can suck your dick!” Angel grinned.

            Alastor’s grin froze, and the sound of a broken microphone screeched across the air for a second. He recovered instantly. “Ha! No!”

            “Your loss,” said Angel.

            “And you, little sprout? What can you do?” said Alastor.

            “No idea, I’m new,” said (Y/N). But I want to do whatever you can do.

            “Well, this just won’t do!” said Alastor. “I suppose I can cash in a few favors to liven things up.” He snapped his fingers, and the fireplace flared to life to reveal a small body within. Alastor picked them up, and a single eye opened before the soot shook off a small woman with a 50s poodle skirt and bug-qualities. “This little darling is Niffty!”

            “Hi, I’m Niffty!” she said brightly. “It’s nice to meet you! It’s been a while since I’ve made new friends! Why are you all women? Are there any men here?! I’m sorry, that’s rude! Man, this place is filthy! It really needs a lady’s touch, which is weird because you’re all ladies, no offense. Oh my gosh, this is awful!” She immediately skittered around the room and pulled down cobwebs. “No, no, no!”

            “Ha! Read ‘em and weep boys!” A new voice appeared, and Alastor grinned as everyone looked over to see half a bar planted into the side of the foyer. “The hell? The fuck is this?” The cat-owl demon growled as he saw Alastor. “You.”

            “Ah, Husker, my good friend, glad you could make it!” said Alastor.

            “Don’t you Husker me, you son of a bitch,” snapped Husker. “I was about to win the whole damn pot!”

            “Good to see you, too,” said Alastor.

            “The hell do you want with me this time?” said Husker.

            “My friend, I’m doing some charity work, so I took it upon myself to volunteer your services,” chirped Alastor. “I hope that’s okay.”

            “Are you shitting me?!” demanded Husker.

            “Hm? No, I don’t think so!” said Alastor.

            “You thought it would be some kind of big fucking riot just to pull me out of nowhere? You think I’m some kind of fucking clown?!” spat Husker.

            “Maybe!” said Alastor.

            “I ain’t doing no charity job,” said Husker.

            “Well, I figured you’d be the perfect piece to man the front desk of this fine establishment!” Alastor gestured to the bar counter as the “front desk.” “With your charming smile and welcoming energy, this job was made for you!” He strolled over to the bar. “Don’t worry my friend, I can make it more welcoming!” He waved his hand. “If you wish.” A bottle of booze appeared.

            “What, you think you can buy me with a wink and some cheap booze?!” said Husker. He looked at Alastor. “Well, you can!” He took a long drink.

            “Hey, hey, heyheyhey,” said Vaggie. “No, no bar! No alcohol! This is supposed to be a place that discourages sin! Not some kind of meth, brothel, mancave!”

            “Shut up!” Angel tackled her. “Shut up! We are keeping this!” Three of his four hands pointed to Husker. He slid up to the bar. “Hey!”

            “Go fuck yourself,” said Husker.

            “Only if you watch me,” flirted Angel.

            “I never got a chance to try alcohol,” said (Y/N), considering the bar.

            “Absolutely not,” said Vaggie, and (Y/N)’s roses wilted.

            “Oh my gosh!” Charlie ran up to Husker. “Welcome to the Happy Hotel! You’re going to love it here!”

            “I lost the ability to love years ago,” said Husker.

            “So, what do you think?” said Alastor, grinning.

            “This is amazing!” said Charlie.

            “It’s…okay,” said Vaggie.

            “I like it!” said (Y/N). “Most fun I saw even during my life!”

            “This is going to be very entertaining!” said Alastor, drawing them and Charlie into a hug. Then, music began, and a top hat appeared on his head.

(Alastor) “You have a dream, You wish to tell!”

            Alastor began to sing, and Charlie and (Y/N)’s outfits became 1920s-themed.

(Alastor) “And it’s just laughable!” “But hey kid, what the hell?”

            He tossed Charlie up and began to dance alongside her.

(Alastor) “’Cause you’re one of a kind, A charming demon belle, Now let’s give these burning fools, A place to dwell!”

            He snapped his fingers, and everyone else got their themed outfits. Shadow demons popped up and began playing swing music. (Y/N) began tapping their feet and spun alongside the demons, even if the others weren’t dancing along. They had never gotten this sort of fun or energy when they were alive, so why not enjoy themself now?

(Alastor) “Inside of every demon is a lost cause! But we’ll dress them up for now with just a smile!” (Shadows) “Wicked smile!” (Alastor) “And we’ll chlorinate this cesspool, With some old redemption flair, And show these simpletons, Some proper class and style!” (Shadows) “Class and style!”

            Alastor spun Charlie around, and she grinned excitedly despite his rude lyrics.

(Alastor) “Oh, here below the ground, I’m sure your plan is sound, They’ll spend a little time at the Hazbin Ho—”

            Boom!

            His singing was cut off as the wall behind him exploded, and the debris slammed into Niffty, sending her flying.

            Everyone’s outfits returned, and they all peeked outside. A giant flying machine of black and yellow was floating above them, and a window in it opened to reveal a snake demon.

            “Well, well, well!” he said. “Look who it is harboring the striped freak! We meet yet again, Alastor!”

            “Do I know you?” asked Alastor, grinning.

            The snake’s smile dropped, but (Y/N) and Angel snickered.

            “Oh, yes you do!” declared the snake, retreating to drive his machine. “And this time, I have the element of surprise!” A giant gun moved into position and ignited. “Ahaha! I’m so evil!”

            Alastor snapped his fingers, and a giant portal of shadows appeared beneath the machine. They grabbed the gun and tossed it out of existence before piercing the ship itself. Shadows took over the entire ship while Alastor grinned and runes appeared around him. He closed his fist, and the shadows condensed. They smashed the ship, and he was left with an evil grin and a red glow.

            Everyone’s eyes went to Alastor, slightly scared.

            Alastor snapped back to his usual self. “Well, I’m starved! Who wants some jambalaya? My mother once showed me the most wonderful recipe for jambalaya. In fact, it nearly killed her! Hahaha! You could say the kick was right out of hell! Ohoho, I’m on a roll! Yes, sir, this is the start of some real changes down here! The game is set!”

            (Y/N) watched him go. Oh, yeah, they wanted that type of power.

Taglist:

@kyalov

@pandaquick

@boredwithlifeatthispoint

@jaytheaceenby

@paastaboi

@bettybabys

@gxdoesstuff

@grippleback-galaxy

@just-here-reading

@dmitrytherat

@a-small-tyrant

@marxo5

[dystopiadev]

I have done my best to avoid any and all fanart of these two so I could come up with my own designs without influence of the hivemind. Its not anything high quality they're just some doodles. With Alice's design I figured there was no way in hell she'd show up to work in anything actually formal. With her randomly coming up with conspiracy theories on the spot a joke conspiracy shirt would be fitting. The earrings are a reference to a line from the first episode aswell. Gwen on the other hand I obviously had to dress formal, perfect almost neat hair and formally dressed; though not traditional workplace uniform. For whatever reason I just felt like going corporate goth with her, I thought it fit so..

[csuitebitches]

Guide to Building a Classic Wardrobe

I was asked a long time ago by an anon for a guide to build a wardrobe. This style caters to someone mature, slightly conservative, NOT fashionnova-esque, something that will last a long time in all fashion seasons, provided you look after your items well. I live in a relatively hot climate and the coldest temperature I’ve experienced when living in a place is like 10 degree Celsius, so I will admit that I am not very well versed with living in cold climates for a prolonged period of time (I don’t think a 2 week trip to Switzerland in the summer counts as “cold”).

I have purposely built with keeping neutrals in mind. I’ve learned that its best to first build a neutral coloured wardrobe in mind, then start adding colour to it. You might find this wardrobe boring, but if you work in a corporate environment/ somewhere where you can’t showcase too much colour or creativity/ if you come from a relatively conservative/ high profile-but-not-entertainment /modest culture, you’ll find this useful.

ALWAYS keep an eye on the material of the item you are buying. If you have to buy a sweater and you live in a cold climate, buy cashmere. Yes, it will be expensive, but it will keep you warm and last longer. If you live in a hot climate, invest in tops and dresses made out of pure cotton. Material plays a huge role in the climate you live in.

I do not endorse fast fashion or over-consumerism but I understand that it is affordable. I would therefore recommend you to buy things carefully and with consideration, not just for the sake of the environment but for your wallet. It’s better to buy 1 quality item than 10 horribly made, short-lasting items.

Never mix more than 3 colours in your outfit at a time. That’s something my father taught me, and I recommend you stick to it, especially if you’re new to building a serious wardrobe.

Lastly, do not be enthralled by what influencers buy or wear. I can guarantee you that the clothes they wear on Instagram aren’t even theirs half the time. Don’t fall into the trap of micro trends.

(Pictures for this post have been sourced from Pinterest).

Underwear

Nude bra + thong/ undie

Black bra + thong/ undie

White bra + thong/ undie

Strapless bra (black)

Strapless bra (nude)

2 sexy bra sets (optional, I have these in red, pink, blue)

Nipple pads

Tops

White silk cami

Black silk cami

White plain tee

Black plain tee

White tank

Black tank

Beige tank (or whatever suits your complexion - brown/ nude)

White shirt

Black shirt (satin/ silk)

Blue shirt

Pants

Navy blue trousers

Wine/ red high waisted trousers

White trousers

Beige trousers

Black trousers

Straight leg jeans (blue)

Another pair of jeans (not ripped, blue)

White jeans, straight leg/ mom cut

Skirts

White

Black

Red

Beige (a checked print, like Burberry)

2 maxi skirts

1 pencil skirt in black (work appropriate)

Shorts

Denim (not distressed)

Tailored white shorts

Tailored blue shorts

Tailored black shorts

Formal attire

1 maxi dress - red/ black/ a neutral colour

White/ black vest and trouser set

Everyday dresses

Knit dress in black/ cream/ brown (long)

2 summer dresses, short

White peasant dress

Outer wear

Leather jacket in black/ brown

1 cardigan in black/ white

A shawl/ silk scarf

Denim jacket

Long trench coat in camel/ brown/ beige

Blazer in white/ navy blue/ black

Sweater in black/ white/ red

Shoes

Black/ white/ brown leather boots

White/ silver heels

Black heels

Gold heels

Mules in black

Home slippers

Running shoes

White sneakers

Accessories

1 brown/ black leather bag

1 tote bag

1 clutch for parties

Hair clips

Tights/ leggings - sheer and opaque in black

Socks

Jewellery

Diamond studs

Everyday pendant

2-3 simple bracelets/ bangles in silver/ gold

Signet rings in gold

Chunky hoops

Devices

Hair straightener

Hairdryer/ Blow brush (i prefer the blow dry brush)

30 mm curling wand (for long, big curls)

[hillbillyoracle]

Androgynous/Masc Leaning Capsule Wardrobe Ideas

In honor of International Nonbinary People’s Day, I offer you the clothing advice I wish I had like 15 years ago. I prefer a small well curated wardrobe but it is so tough to pull that off as a nonbinary genderfluid person. I spent years struggling to make my capsule wardrobe work for me. Every example I saw was either with feminine clothes or with the world blandest men’s clothing. 

For reference, I’m AFAB and live in Kentucky - very hot and muggy in summers, can get quite cold (-20 F) in winter but it’s usually mild with highs are in the 30F-40F range most days. This is the advice I’d give my younger self if I could. 

Focus on 10-15 Core Items

While I am fluid, I consistently spend most of my time “inbetween” these days. Having a neutral to masc learning main wardrobe with some feminine items to mix in wound up working best for me. So here’s the masc leaning base wardrobe I recommend. 

~3 x Button Ups - I went with short sleeve Hawaiian shirts for myself because I love bold patterns. You can find a lot of Hawaiian shirt these days that don’t have stereotypical “island” patterns on them while still being pretty light and breathable in summer. If your style leans more classic, consider oxford cloth button ups. You might need more button ups if you work in a business casual setting. 

~3 x Tees - I like graphic tees, specifically hand screen printed ones so that’s what I go with. But if your style is more classic then consider investing in some good quality solid color tees. 

~3 x Casual Tops - for me this is a tank top, turtleneck, and a Henley. But you might consider a collarless button ups, plain long sleeve shirts, and ringer style long sleeve shirts. 

~3 Pants - for me, I have black and stone washed denim since those are my favorites. I look for tapered fits over skinny or boot leg where I can. I have one pair that’s a jogger style I quite like. You might look for chinos or khakis if you have a more formal dress code at work but they’ll still work with graphic tees and other tops if you style them right. 

~3 x Layers - for me this is a cardigan, a flannel, and a hoodie. You might consider v neck or crew neck sweaters, cable knit sweaters, and fair isle sweaters as well. 

Feminine Clothing Module

What’s nice about this approach is that you can then create a feminine clothing module that plays nicely with your main wardrobe. 

For me this looks like

1-2 Dresses - I have a maxi tee dress and a long sleeved linen dress since that works more for everyday wear for me. 

1-2 Skirts - I don’t have any presently but the next big feminine swing I have I’ll be ordering a nice linen skirt in my favorite color. 

1-2 Casual Tops - I don’t have any presently after my last big wardrobe edit but business casual shell tops, camisoles, and cowl neck tops work well here. 

1-2 Layers - I have a linen blazer in a women’s cut and a long striped duster. You might consider a kimono style shrug/wraps, sweaters in a more feminine cut, and women’s cardigans

You don’t need a lot here because so much of the main wardrobe can be mixed with a feminine element or two and it becomes much more feminine - especially if you’re AFAB but even if you’re AMAB. It doesn’t take a lot a feminine clothing to make an over all outfit look more feminine and subtle touches work just as well as more overt styles ime.

Sizing

Sizing is tricky as hell. I’m plus size (size 18-20 in women’s pants) and especially trying to find masculine stuff with the right fit is a pain. I really recommend going in to try things on if you’re able but if not get comfortable with the idea you will likely need to send things back. Yes you can take measurements but those measurements are still listed with different proportions in mind. 

For men’s clothes I lean toward a slightly oversized fit - as most men I’m around do. For women’s clothes, I lean toward a slightly tight fit - as most women I’m around do. Look at the people around you and see which fits they lean toward and opt for that where you’re able to for yourself. 

Shoes, Outwear, Special Occasions

Shoes - I tend to opt to go neutral in my shoes and outerwear. Not in color or pattern mind you but gender. For shoes, I currently have 3 pairs - a pair of crocs (with spikes), running shoes/sneakers (old Champion brand slip ons), and a pair of Doc Martens. These are good options if you’re AMAB too because the sizing is unisex or available in similar styles for men and women. Other good options are Vans, Chucks, any hippie sandal brand you can think of. “Nicer” shoes are great but often pretty gendered. I lean toward getting “nicer shoes” that are opposite my assigned gender when I do grab them. 

Outerwear - I also tend to opt for gender neutral options for outerwear too. Since it doesn’t get terribly cold here, I stick to a micropuff jacket from North Face and layer a black denim jacket over it when it gets cold. When I wear it with masc stuff, blends in. When I wear it with feminine stuff, it adds a slight edge I like. Pea coats are decent options as well. If you live some place real cold, a lot of the long winter coats are basically the same between genders, just different fits. 

Special Occasions - I would recommend not worrying about special occasions until or unless they come up. I have the same two “special occasion” dresses that I’ve been using for years because they come up so rarely and I can’t bare to spend too much money on something I’ll wear maybe once or twice a year. Formal wear is highly gendered and if you learn androgynous it’s a tough needle to thread. For those events with hosts you know, it’s worth reaching out to them to see what they think makes an outfit “formal” - could be nicer cuts or materials, could be rigid gender norms - can’t know until you ask. 

For most special occasions, I do not know the host, so I default very structured looks in accordance with my assigned gender. Still feels a bit edgy but no ones gonna have the guts to say it’s wrong. For AMAB folks you might do the inverse, more flowy looks and colors while still adhering to your assigned gender. All depends on the level of familiarity you have with the hosts and the flack you’re willing to catch. 

Outfits

Some masc leaning outfit ideas: 

button up, hoodie, pants, boots

graphic tee, flannel or cardigan, pants, sneakers

turtleneck, pants, boat shoes

button up, tie, cardigan, pants, chelsea boots

Some fem leaning outfit ideas: 

button up, cardigan, skirt, sneakers

shell top, wrap, pants, sandals

graphic tee, skirt, sneakers

dress, sandals

Conclusion

Hope this was helpful to someone out there! 

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Loving your new yandere set 2! I’m back again to ask a question for all the men (yandere set 1)

What would be each yanderes’ ideal outfit/clothing style they’d want to dress up their darling in? (Basically if the yandere had full control and decision making over their darling’s wardrobe from now on)

For example…casual outfit, fancy formal, the yandere man’s own clothing, etc. Or is there a specific piece/accessory that’d make them go wild like high heels, oversized shirt, sundress, etc.?

Also, will you do the same asks I’ve sent in before with the yandere set 2 once they’re completed? (Ranking as fathers, how they’d behave if their child/ren were yanderes, dream date…any other I missed that I sent in?)

Thanks as always, you’re the best! And I hope school is still going ok for you!

Yandere! Men and their Choice of Outfit for You

Heyya! Well, about the choice to make the second set of Yanderes with the same question. Not gonna lie, it sounds exhausting 😭 maybe if I felt like it, I will do it!

YAN! ARTIST

Arlen wants to matchy-match with you, so he definitely would pick soft light academia looks. Cardigans, sweaters, a-line skirts, pants, with boots, loafers or kitten heels. Then a small, statement pin of a palette on you and him!

He will go crazy though if you wore his paint apron with nothing underneath. Let's just say you won't walk straight for some days if you did that. He'll paint you with his colors if you do that, that's for sure *wink

YAN! DRAGON

Lavish outfits just for you, his royal partner. Silk, satin, cotton of the highest quality, velvet, with golds and jewels to decorate your sacred royal body. And, he'll pluck a scale from his body and give it to a smith to create jewel out of it just for you. Vincent will personally put it on your neck. Then suddenly, the other jewels seems so insignificant...

Yet, he goes crazy whenever you will only wear a robe on your body. God, just seeing you teasingly show off skin to your dragon husband is enough to warrant his want to breed you. And that's like... Everyday.

YAN! THEATER ACTOR

Ignatius would want to match cosplays with you of roles and plays he was in. May it be from Waitress, Heathers, Ride the Cyclone, Dear Evan Hansen, Wicked... This man will conjure casual cosplays with you. Of course, not the costume and outfit itself, but like a casual iteration of it if warranted.

But, his most favorite is seeing you in outfits that he wore and that his character dons. Not the leading lady/man, but that character itself. Let's say, if you wore the JD costume that he wore too, he'll perform Dead Girl Walking all night with you.

YAN! BUTLER

Well, with Zero... In the earlier stages, he would be adamant of choosing outfits that you won't wear. So he'll still clothe you in noble clothes.

But once Zero has developed his own tastes, he'll want to see you in a maid outfit. Yes, even if you're masculine presenting. Something that's remotely lower than his personal butler status. He will have a field day watching you fluster and order you around for a change. And it will end up in a weird power dynamic that both of you will end up wanting for more.

YAN! SUGAR DADDY

Rowan loves seeing you in all of these high end clothes. No, not branded clothes that you can easily see from malls. No, definitely not that. But clothes from runways? Clothes that are exclusive from Fashion Week that has only a handful of copies? Outfits from fashion designers with fees so high it makes a person weep? Yeah. Those. It displays his raw money and prestige. And seeing them on your body is like owning you completely <3

Nothing beats it though if you incorporate his clothes with yours. Like you made his shirt as your dress with a belt on the waist to wear on dates or outings? Let's say that the both of you aren't gonna go to the outing after all.

YAN! JOCK

He will still clothe you on your normal clothes. He liked it that way. He doesn't remotely care about dressing you in clothes he likes, but buying clothes of your taste but with a higher quality is something he will like immensely.

But, if you wear Damon's letterman jacket though... He'll get so pumped and suddenly, with you cheering on the bleachers with his jacket on, he's scoring points left and right. And when he inevitably wins, he'll have his celebratory win with doing his ways with you. Interpret that as how you like lol

YAN! ASSASSIN

You, in formal clothes, but with harnesses? How does that work? You don't know. But he makes it work really well. He loves seeing you in these corporate attires but with touches of his own tastes on your body. And, harnesses are restricting. Like he's restraining you, owning you, making a statement that you're his.

Although, he has twisted tastes though. If he just came from a mission a bloody mess? Let's say goodbye to the clothes you're wearing that day, and that you're gonna spend the rest of the day washing off blood from your body. Yeah, he's into that.

YAN! EX-BOYFRIEND

Lee would love to wear you in casual coquette clothes. He thinks it would look cute on you. And he's right! It fits so much with how amazing on you. And then, he would make you wear other styles too! Academia, cottage, even cyber. He will make it up to you by showering you with gifts of clothes that he knew will look good on you no matter the style.

He will go crazy if you did tropical stuff though. Tropical gyaru, beach core, sailor outfits... He's a sweating mess when he's watching you in that swimming outfit and it's not even hot out (The beach traumatized him and he's coping it in a somehow healthy way).

YAN! COWBOY

Is it obvious? Cowboy clothes all the way! Flared jeans, patterns, flannels, boots, he will have a field day deciding on a buckle for your belt. He loves seeing you in clothes from his daily life. It made it feel like you're integrating yourself for him (despite the clothes being his choice and not yours lol)

And this one is also obvious. His cowboy hat on you will never fail to make him excited in one way or another. If you wear it by yourself whenever you're doing the deed? Get ready. His stamina just increased tenfold and you will be needing a horse to transport you everywhere.

YAN! EMO

Ashton will dress you in Jirai Kei clothes! HOW THE FUCK DOES HE KNOW THAT? As a child of the internet, he of course discovered different types of alt fashion. He got too immersed and found Jirai Kei, and he absolutely loved it. So, expect frills, dark cutesy clothes with a hint of vulnerability due to it's origin, it's the perfect matching fashion with him despite not really being emo.

He's aware of Jirai Kei's dark history and implication though, and if he knows you're not comfortable with those, then, he'll completely dress you in emo clothes. There is a reason though why he went with Jirai first and not emo. Whenever you wore emo, he gets so aroused, especially it's the opposite of your original fashion choice. He loves tainting you with blacks and darkness, with the vulnerability and intimacy he enjoys so much.

YAN! WEREWOLF

Greens, blues, browns... Anything nature themed would do good for him. So, cottage core is the go to for this guy. He loves seeing you in these cute dresses that has floral hints that blended seamlessly with the nature of the place you both live in. Like you belonged, like you were his.

But, seeing you wear stuff you knitted from his wolf fur is what would set him off. Even if it's just a scarf or gloves, he WILL groan from the want he's feeling. Breeding you won't be enough, he wants you to smell like him completely.

YAN! EX-HUSBAND

Inigo, just like Rowan, would not want generic branded clothes on your body. But, unlike him, he will have a tailor to make formal, casual, evening, sleeping, active wear clothes just for you. Only one in the world. Even if the tailor or designer isn't well known, but if that designer is really skilled and do clothes that will fit you, then he's sold.

But, if he sees you in his shirt and nothing more than maybe your undergarments? Such a vulnerable choice of clothes is guaranteed to make him want to have more children from you ;)

YAN! HOSPITAL CHAIRPERSON

Xavier is a simple man. He would love to see you in flowy clothes. I mean, somehow, something on you should make you look free and not locked up in his mansion due to his anxiety and paranoia, right? So, light, airy clothes would ebb the guilt he's feeling inside from locking you up.

You wearing his white coat though would make him throw the guilt out of the window though. He'll go haywire, since his coat would probably have bacteria, virus, or anything that can harm your health on it! So, he'll punish you greatly by "sanitizing" you. Not medically accurate? Meh. He's too far gone to think straight from the pleasure.

YAN! VILLAIN

Eros on the other hand from the other nobility yanderes, he would love to see you wear simple clothes. Sure, he will gift you regal clothes fit for nobility, but nothing beats seeing you shed from your noble life and just relax in his arms in simple garments just like back in earth for him, and just like back in your childhood for you.

Although, seeing you in modern earth clothes for him is guaranteed to satisfy him. Not casual clothes, but in evening gown clothes with high slits, straps, backless, clothes that will kill a conservative lady in Saphiri. It makes him feel like he's in earth, and how he wishes to whisk you away in this life back home.

YAN! POLITICIAN

Maximus would give you clothes that is reminiscent of the 50's. Skirts and dresses below the knees, pearls, something not revealing yet so classy and elegant. It's okay if it's figure hugging, but he will pick something that is not short and with no windows to show off your skin. It's only for his eyes, and nobody else's.

He will go crazy seeing you in modern clothes though. It is a secret, and it's up to you if you decided to tease and test him and wear short, cocktail dresses with a backless design and tube tops. He'll "punish" you for it, burying himself deep in you as he whispers who you belong to.

YAN! MAFIA BOSS

Hades would dress you in something not reminiscent of his work. So light academia, cottage core, coquette, kawaii, anything that doesn't taint you with his job. Although, that "not tainting" bizz is just on your clothing though. Other than that, like your lifestyle will inevitably be tainted. Whether he likes it or not.

If you did decide to wear clothes that fits the "mafia" aesthetic (whatever that means), he'll get inexplicably aroused. Seeing you in this strong and authoritative style is making him want to put you in your place.

[goblinpuppy35]

Paw Prints in Fresh Soil

Part 1 - (Next Chapter)

Professor Remus x Male Reader

Summary: While teaching at Hogwarts Professor Lupin tries his best to conceal his strong crush for the green fingered grounds keeper Y/N but soon a strong friendship blooms into something more.

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

It was a cool morning at the start of autumn, leaves were already starting to collect in the courtyard at Hogwarts and Remus was grateful for his thick cloak above his suit as he strolled down the stone corridors with the company of Harry and his friends. The amount of praise he was getting from his students in regards to the quality of his Defence against the Dark Arts classes was rather overwhelming for Remus, he felt deep joy in his heart knowing he was making a positive impact in these children's education. Harry's friend Hermione was asking him one question after another and the Proffesor was doing his best to keep up with this incredibly intelligent young witch however once he caught the site of the staff room door he did feel a small rush of relief. His social energy was starting to wither.

He opened the door swiftly, starting to bid the children goodbye and began to stride forward but luckily haulted upon his heels as to not knock into the much smaller figure on the other side of the door way. The younger gentleman's eyes had widened with the abrupt door opening and had clearly given him a scare. He raised his hand to his chest, palm pressing onto a very nice brown waistcoat. He was as formally dressed as a fellow teacher but had rolled his shirt sleveas beyond his elbows and had on thick worker gloves. Simailry his trousers were rolled up and instead of dress shoes he wore worker boots covered in mud. It was very common for Remus to frighten others when he loomed in door ways, he had just stared to form an apology between his lips when, "Sorry, hello. yes .. sorry" came out of the smaller man's mouth in a rush, despite his shock the panic on his face had faded and he smiled although made no direct eye contact with Remus. He smiled in the vague direction of Remus' chest and then proceeded to shift pass the Proffesor and walk down the hallway.

"Proffesor.. Proffesor are you alright?" asked Hermione who observed their teachers eyes following the figure walk down the hall with great focus. "Who is that?" Proffesor Lupin asked aloud without even thinking. "That's the new grounds keeper .. I don't know his name tho", Ron scoffed quietly at Hermione's answer "why do you know everything?". The bickering between the two students faded out of Remus' ear shot as he was still glued to watching the man walk away. "I'll see you later children" and without hesitation Remus ran after the man leaving his students behind and bewildered.

Eventually Remus made his way into the courtyard at the back of the school which stretched towards the grounds before dropping off towards to Womping Willow. With all the children returning to their classes it didn't take Remus long to pick out the gentleman, he was lifting pre chopped wood into a large rusty wheelbarrow. Remus was shocked by his own boldness as he approached the hunched figure. "Um.. hi .. hello, look I'm sorry if I scared you there. That was completely my fault. I'm Proffesor Lupin, Defence against the dark art teacher, I don't think we've met" Remus was holding out his hand as the man lifted his head up toward him. The crouching man smiles warmly before lifting himself up, chucking the last amount of wood into the wheelbarrel and taking Remus' hand in a light handshake. "It's fine really, I get easily spooked unfortunately, I'm Y/N"

Both man partook in an awkward handshake which made them both chuckle softly, recognising the social inept in one another. "Are you the new grounds keepers?" Remus asks, trying to hold back the excitement in his voice traveling from the thought of making a freind closer to his age. "Grounds keeper, gardening, occasionally herbology assistant, whatever Hagrid or other teachers need from me really, I do" Y/N said with another nervous chuckle rubbing the back of his neck with his gloves hand. Y/N's little laugh pleased Remus greatly, it automatically caused the corner of his lip to lift up. "It's parcular that I've never seen you before considering your a member staff" Remus mused playfully but then hesitated as he saw this comment draw out a uncomfortable expression on Y/Ns face, he looked off across the hills ahead of them. "Yeah .. I try to keep to myself when I can .. a lot of the teachers here are a little standoffish to me" and with that Y/N leaned down and lifted up the large wheelbarrow in preparation to move it. "I know the feeling" Remus couldn't helped but sigh though he was very aware why the other teachers were uncertain of him. Why they all refused to do the night patrols with him. It baffled Remus what could possibly be so off putting about the seemingly charming young man in front of him.

"Well, it was a pleasure to properly meet you Proffesor Lupin" Y/N began as he started to walk away "and um if you require any .. defense against the art dark related needs you know where to find me ... not that I imagine you would" again Y/N soft nervous laugh swirled around Remus' head as he meekly waved goodbye towards Y/N and let the man make his way down the grassy path.

Remus watched the man for a moment, rocking back and forth on his heels from the cold. Small clouds of warm breath bellowed out under his moustache and yet a little part of him felt warm inside. Comforted even by this brief encounter. Remus hoped he would be able to see this new potential friend again soon.

[johannestevans]

apologies if you've addressed it already, but where *do* you buy your shirts from? the local charity/thrift stores seem to have a lot of fast fashion these days, but i might not be looking in the right places.

So, my ruffled front pirate blouse with the ruffled sleeves is from Violent Delights, and so are the black brocade trousers I wore out tonight and a few other things - Violent Delights is absolutely on the pricier side, but for me it's well worth it for the construction and design of their clothes, many of which emphasise the waist, have good layering and warmth to them (which many of this sort of "costume" clothes don't consider), and also have a huge range of sizes, going from XS and sometimes XXS right up to XXXL.

When not wearing that blouse, the most common pirate-adjacent shirts I wear are actually plain old Ghillie shirts, which are intended for formal highland dress - you want it to be of good, breathable 100% cotton, and then you can either lace it with string or ribbon or leather strings.

And other than that, I actually have quite a few Western shirts (collared shirts with pop-buttons and cuffs, with and without detailing on the shoulders and waists) that work really well in combination with my gothier and more vintage wardrobe.

In general, I recommend that if you want good quality piratical gear and similar and you're not in a good area for finding that sort of stuff by thrifting, your next best option is genuinely specialty costume shops - not the ones that sell you a packet with a basic sexy French maid's outfit, but the ones that cater to LARPers, specialty performers, sex workers, etc; and similarly, non-high street stores that cater to alternative lifestyles and fashions, especially ones that are likelier to favour a high level of architectural and constructive appreciation for their clothing and/or are subcultures more likely to involve themselves in the construction of their clothes, i.e. Steampunk, certain Goth strands, Lolita.

And as well as the above, this is much more of a niche, but we used to have a fella when I worked at a rare book shop who dressed exclusively in cast-off costume pieces from theatres in London - whenever the opera or ballet or I think some of the Shakespearean companies sold off or auctioned off excess from their wardrobes, he'd buy that stuff and have it tailored to fit him. So like, he would just be wandering on a casual Thursday in a velvet Phantom cape, and that fucked.

So if you do live near to a city and you're likely to see this sort of costume auction or sell-off of excess, especially toward the end of a show's run and/or the end of a season at the ballet or opera, that's certainly an idea as well.

It's so hard to avoid a lot of cheap fast fashion things, and especially like, what my dad always ends up sending me is extremely poorly made of poor materials pirate costume shirts that are literally for someone's like, last minute Jack Sparrow costume, and they're literally bought and sold with the assumption that they'll be bought and worn for one night only, at the very most once every one or two years. It sucks, especially when it even invades charity and secondhand shopping as well, or when vintage stores end up stocking loads of 90s and 00s stuff that's not actually much better constructed then shite today.

So yeah, when in doubt, look for the specialty people - bop your head into a local tailor or seamstress' shop and be like, hey, do you know anyone who does x or y?

Even looking in your area for certain subcultures, especially different LARPers, ren faire or medieval performers, metal band enthusiasts, leather dykes and daddies, steampunk and formal goth enthusiasts, costumers and especially historical costumers, lolita enthusiasts, et cetera - these are all communities that even if they don't have specifically what you're looking for when it's a specialty or specific garment, will almost always know the right person to ask or refer you to, or at least have a vague direction to point you to.

[ghostofskywalker]

Congrats on your amazing accomplishment! I'd like to submit a request for your event. I was thinking of a fic for a female reader and either Wolffe or Cody. My idea was that the reader works with either the 212th or 104th and has feelings for her Commander. Unbeknownst to the reader, her Commander has feelings for her as well. For whatever reason (winning the war, undercover mission, or whatever you're feeling), the battalion has to attend a black-tie formal event, and everyone (especially your Commander) is blown away at seeing you in a gorgeous floor length dress and all dolled up. That evening, the pining is unreal, and feelings are finally revealed🥰🥰🥰 Congrats again, and thank you for sharing your amazing work!!!❤️😁👍

thank you so much!! here is the fic, i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it :)

words: 1,808

summary: there's only one thing that makes an event like this worth going to, and wolffe doesn't realize what that is until he sees you walk by in a bright red dress.

clone troopers masterlist || join my 3k celebration!!

Hard to Breathe

If Wolffe got to choose a way to celebrate the bravery and honor of his troops, he definitely would not have picked a gala like this. They had recently returned from a mission that apparently caught the attention of the Senate and the Chancellor, and now the entire company was wearing their officer’s dress uniforms and awkwardly shuffling through a ballroom while people tried to make small talk to them about the horrors of the front lines. 

“Do we really have to go to this thing?” he had asked the general the day before, the scowl on his face only growing when the Kel Dor nodded. 

“The Republic would like to acknowledge the bravery of this battalion. We may wish their support came in a different manner, but it is important that we put our best foot forward tomorrow evening.” 

Wolffe could read between the lines. He knew that meant he was required to attend, no matter how much he didn’t want to. It also meant that they were doing this partially to keep the Senate on their good side, and that even the General saw the uselessness in this kind of celebration.

And so far, Wolffe was feeling incredibly bored. The food and drinks were high quality, but that was the only good thing about this whole event. Or at least, it was until he saw you walk through the doors. 

He didn’t usually forget how to breathe. Wolffe was a seasoned commander who had served on the front lines of the war from the moment he left Kamino, and he had been on more life threatening missions than he could shake a stick at. He also had a reputation for being calm and collected, no matter what the galaxy threw at them, even when they were faced with certain death. 

But of the sudden, as he stared at you in a bright red dress, he felt like the entire world stopped. His brain had to metaphorically slap him back into function, because he had genuinely forgotten how to breathe. 

He was a goner, he knew that now. 

There was only so many times he could deny his feelings for the battalion’s civilian secretary when being questioned by Sinker and Boost, and now, there was really no way around it. You hadn’t noticed him yet, and he was perfectly fine with that, because he would prefer if he got himself under control before he interacted with you for the first time tonight. 

If it took him a while to remember how to breathe, it took even longer for him to tear his eyes away from you in that dress. Floor length and bright red, the bodice was fitted but the skirt flared out at your waist, making it seem like you were floating over the floor as you took steps across the room to get a drink. 

He had never seen you like this before. War wasn’t exactly the most conducive environment to this kind of dress code, and usually you wore sensible pants and a simple shirt, a symbol of your place on the front lines and your employment by the Republic. You had gone to battle with them before, and even wielded a blaster (something Wolffe was still not happy about). In his mind, you deserved to exist in a world where nothing bad ever happened to you, where you could live your days doing whatever you wanted, and where you could wear dresses like this one every evening for the rest of your life. 

“Not so keen to leave now, huh?” Wolffe knew that voice, and he turned around to give Sinker a disapproving look. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh really? So you’re not still scraping your jaw up off the floor because you watched her walk by in that dress?” 

Wolffe huffed. Sinker was right, but he didn’t want to admit it. “Shut up.” 

“You can lie to yourself however much you want, but you can’t deny the fact that your body language tells a different story. Maker, why do neither of you seem to realize that the other is just as disgustingly in love as you are?” 

Wolffe desperately wanted to believe the words of his brother, but he tried not to show it. “You may be right about me,” he said lowly. “But you’re certainly wrong about her, so why don’t you just give it rest before she hears about this and requests a transfer to get away from me.” 

To Sinker’s credit, he didn’t push the topic, but he did give Wolffe a look that clearly displayed his disapproval in how the conversation was going. 

The real moment when Wolffe wanted to strangle his brother began when Sinker called your name and waved you over to them. 

Kriff, you were even prettier up close. 

“How are you enjoying the gala?” Sinker asked. 

You shrugged. “It’s okay, but I think I’d rather have celebrated in more low-key way. Taken the cost of this ridiculous event and given it to you all in gift cards to 79’s, let everyone spend their nights in whatever way they wanted. Or given you an extra week of leave, something more meaningful than this.” 

Wolffe nodded. “I agree,” he said. 

Sinker rolled his eyes. “You both are no fun, perfect for each other. Why don’t you go dance a little, and then maybe you’ll change your mind about all this.” 

Immediately, Wolffe knew what Sinker was doing. He and Boost had also been less-than-excited to have to attend this event tonight, so now he was just lying through his teeth. 

But before Wolffe could apologize for his brother and assure you that you were under no obligation to dance with him, you spoke. “I suppose we could,” you said, extending your hand to Wolffe. “May I have this dance, commander?” 

Not trusting himself to speak, Wolffe just nodded as he followed you to the center of the room. The song was slow, one very clearly played for lovers, and couples swayed together all around them. 

Wolffe’s hands rested on your waist, and he could feel the soft material of your dress. He desperately wanted to run his hands across your back, feeling the way your skin shivered under his calloused fingertips. 

He didn’t really know how to dance as well as some of the other Senators and their partners (it wasn’t really something they covered in basic training on Kamino), but he put all his focus in trying not to step on your toes, and so far, he was successful in his endeavors. 

“I’m sorry you had to waste leave time attending this event,” you said sincerely, looking up at him with a kind expression on your face. 

Wolffe chucked. He would never admit it, but seeing you in that dress and being able to dance with you right now had made this entire experience worth all the trouble. He would do battle a million times over if it meant he would be thanked by you in a dress like that. “It’s okay,” he said. “I suppose it’s better than letting our actions go without acknowledgment.” 

“But still, I wish-” 

“Mesh’la,” he said, the pet name escaping his lips before he could think twice about pulling it back. “I’m serious, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Alright,” you responded. “I’ll let it go.” 

The song ended, and Wolffe let go of your waist, instead reaching down to take your hand. “Do you want to take a break from all this?” he said, leaning down to whisper the words in your ear. “I need some time away from all the stares and smalltalk.” 

You nodded, leading him out the doors of the venue and into a small garden area. Secluded and quiet, Wolffe immediately felt more at ease now than he had for most of the night. 

A comfortable silence settled over the two of you, and Wolffe couldn’t help the way he stared at your dress, the lantern lights in the area dancing across the fabric with every shift of your body. 

Eventually, you spoke. “What does that word mean?”

Puzzled, he looked at you. “What word?” He had an inkling you were asking about what he had called you in the ballroom, but he wasn’t going to admit to anything before knowing if that was indeed what you wanted to know. 

“The one you called me before, mesh’la?” you asked. “I didn’t recognize it.” 

“It means beautiful,” he admitted, voice much more quiet than it had been all night. He was baring his heart to you, and now you would either accept or spurn his affections. 

“You think I’m beautiful?” 

To him, that was the dumbest question he’s ever heard, because of course the answer was yes. But he was no stranger to a spotty self esteem, so he just nodded. “I always have, but tonight only made me more sure. I forgot how to breathe for a while when I saw you walk through the door.” He squeezed your hand. “And I tried so hard not to make things weird when we were dancing, because I don’t want you to transfer.” 

Now it was your turn to be puzzled. “Why would I transfer?” 

“Because you don’t return my feelings,” he said, a twinge of sadness in his voice. “I know-” 

But you cut him off before he could finish. “Who said I don’t return your feelings?” 

“What?” There was probably a better way he could have voiced that thought, but oh well. 

“Wolffe, I’ve had a crush on you from the moment we met. If anything, I thought you were too good for me.” 

“You could never be too good for me, cyar’ika.” Rather than go back and forth for any longer, Wolffe leaned closer to you, and soon your faces were only inches apart. “Can I please kiss you?” 

“Yes,” you breathed, and when his lips landed on yours, Wolffe learned the real meaning of “forgetting how to breathe.” 

He had kissed people before, but no one else could hold a candle to the way your lips felt as they moved against his. His hands found your waist and you pulled away for a split second, eliciting an honest-to-maker whine from the commander. You very clearly got the message, and the two of you remained in that garden, bodies pressed together and lips locked in passionate exploration, separating only to breathe when absolutely necessary. 

There were only thoughts in Wolffe’s mind at this point, and they were: 1) how much he wanted to keep kissing you until he literally had to be dragged away from here, and 2) how much he hoped none of his brothers decided to come looking for the two of you, because he wanted to keep you to himself for just a little while longer. 

- the end -

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[zytes]

Question from someone just starting with creating and then posting art to Tumblr, do you think I should be watermarking my pieces?

I’ve always disliked watermarks as they naturally tend to dissuade people from interacting with art in a natural manner; it depends very heavily on the size and placement of the mark, obviously. BUT, often times an artist will overzealously obscure their work with identification and it has a somewhat repulsive effect on the average viewer - a wall has been erected between the viewer and the art, in a sense. Watermarks, to me, exist to prevent very specific situations from unfolding with your work - almost all of those reasons seem to be financially motivated, like preventing strangers from printing your art out at home or reposting without attribution. Situations that could affect your ability to profit off of your work.

Admittedly, much of my perception about this issue was inspired by an article included in the book “Context” by Cory Doctorow, wherein he writes about how he’s benefitted from “thinking like a dandelion”, which is an idea that was inspired by conversation the author had with Neil Gaiman — I’ll try and summarize the parts of the point that are more relevant to visual arts; since portions of the allegory refer more specifically to certain qualities of written media.

He begins with, “Mammals worry about what happens to each and every one of their offspring, but dandelions only care that every crack in every sidewalk has dandelions growing out of it. The former is a good strategy for situations in which reproduction is expensive, but the latter works best when reproduction is practically free — as on the Internet.”

So how do you “think like a dandelion” then?

“Your work needs to be easily copied, to anywhere whence it might find its way into the right hands. That means that the nimble text-file, HTML file, and PDF (the preferred triumvirate of formats) should be distributed without formality — no logins, no e-mail address collections, and with a license that allows your fans to reproduce the work on their own in order to share it with more potential fans. Remember, copying is a cost-center — insisting that all copies must be downloaded from your site and only your site is insisting that you — and only you — will bear the cost of making those copies. Sure, having a single, central repository for your works makes it easier to count copies and figure out where they’re going, but remember: dandelions don’t keep track of their seeds. Once you get past the vanity of knowing exactly how many copies have been made, and find the zen of knowing that the copying will take care of itself, you’ll attain dandelionesque contentment.”

The rest of the allegory more specifically applies to written work, but I’ll link it here for the sake of posterity. Essentially: every wall or pre-requisite that you establish before allowing a fresh set of eyes to fall upon your work actually may deter people from engaging with the work and sharing it with others. Signatures, subtle watermarks that are “baked” into the work, or maybe like.. a well-placed QR code that links people back to you — all of those would be my suggestion for someone who wants to leave a lasting, linking thread between a given work and it’s artist. If the right person sees your art and connects with it, there SHOULD be a way for them to follow that thread back to you and discover more; but if you over-prioritize demonstrating ownership over your work, you’re likely to drive those coveted genuine connections away.

On the other hand, if your primary goal is to sell prints or other products, brazenly watermarking your work will protect your bottom line from the kind of low-level art-scraping that drives all those shady redbubble shops and etsy stores that sell stolen works on cheap t-shirts and hankies. For me, art is a primarily social interest in which I prioritize the sharing of culture and ideas. I don’t want financial factors to take precedence and alter how/why I created something; it feels like I’d have to take much of myself out of my art in order to make it palatable for consumer spaces.

You should determine your priorities and then strive to make art that fulfills those priorities without compromise. I think you’ll find that self-satisfaction manifests readily at different points in the midst of that process.

[cadet-aviator]

Quality time

And we went, I think it was the same weekend or the weekend after, but pretty soon. Dad must have made some quick changes in his schedule, to free himself up. 

We had compromised: no cadet uniform, but ‘just’ my school uniform, shirt and tie, grey pants, normal shoes. It was quite relaxed, actually.

There are some photographs where clearly I have unbuttoned my top button and loosened my tie – very uncharacteristic of me. 

I think now that I did that to please my Dad, mostly, to show that I was not a robot, but perhaps I did unwind a bit.

It was fun. Lovely food, some culture, just me and Dad on a market, in a restaurant, chatting. I had missed the Christmas holidays, remember, when I was at Camp, and I had been working away ever since.

But when we talked some more, later at night, in our nice hotel room, I still felt lost.

It felt wrong to escape the Saturday morning school cadet drill, and it felt wrong to not fulfil my punishment duties at the barracks, in the afternoon. I felt like a deserter. 

I couldn’t tell my Dad that I really wanted to talk to the Admiral some more and ask him why he felt I was ‘officer material’, or why he thought I would be best placed as a household aide, and what that would mean. I certainly couldn’t tell my Dad how I felt about kneeling for the Admiral and putting my head on the floor in front of him, and how good it felt when he kept me waiting like that for a few minutes, before telling me to get up.

I remember that on the third or fourth day I ran out of clean white shirts. My Dad told me ‘to just let the hotel staff take care of that’. Which made sense, but when the lady came to pick up the laundry I made sure to tell her exactly how I wanted them washed and ironed. I even went down to the laundry room with her. I didn’t tell my Dad that, neither.

On the last night we went to a more expensive restaurant, overlooking the beach, and my Dad (bless him) put on a shirt and tie for me – ‘just proper dress code for that place, son, nothing disciplinary, I’m not joining your bloody cadets’ – and I really appreciated it. It made talking easier. 

I told him I was not a nerd or autistic or something, I just felt so safe and at home when things were organised like that, ‘you know, with rules’ and he said he understood.

I told him that I had sometimes hoped that he would wear formal clothes at home all the time, ‘so we’d have a really formal home, with structure but just normal, happy, clean…’ He smiled at that, and I guess he understood that too – over all these conversations in Thailand hung the shadow of my mother, who was away in Europe, battling her demons. 

He said: ‘It’s fine, son, you can wear what you want and do what you want.’

And I said: ‘I have to do the camp, Dad. I know it was hard last time but I want to go again. Please let me do the camp.’

‘Very well, son.’

‘Thanks Dad’.

‘There’s a chance I will have to spend a month or so on the coast, and another few weeks back home in Europe, for this deal. Would you like me to talk to the Admiral’s office about a place for you there?’

‘Yes. Yes Dad. I’m sorry Dad, but yes.’

And I cried a bit, again. Dad hugged me. It was all fine. 

It was also a goodbye.

We had to wait a while, at the airport. Dad got out his phone and did some work.

I went to have a haircut. Not just any haircut. A proper haircut, a cadet haircut.

I loved my Dad and I was grateful for the trip, but I was going to be a better boy. I was going to wear uniform forever, I was going to stay pure, I was going to obey, obey, obey, and I was going to serve.

(All images are AI-generated)

[fallenasleepyetagain]

Date - Fresh/Nightmare

Prompt: Meet Cute/Blind Date

Prompt from: @yearoftheotpevent

Media: UTMV/Undertale AUs

Genres: Human AU, blind date, first date, romance (I guess haha), rivals (?) to lovers, ooooo Fresh is from Nightmare’s past ooooo, use of 90s slang because lord knows I’m not going to write Fresh without it

Pairing(s): Fresh/Nightmare

CW/TW - Mentions of Fresh infecting people, mentions of theft

Other Notes: I’m not the most proud of this one tbh😔 this month was rough for writing. I would’ve loved to write their date but I did not have the time. maybe another day…

Word Count: 1837 Words

“Can I start you for tonight, sir?”

“I am waiting for someone, but a lambrusco would be excellent.”

“I will get that for you sir.”

“Thank you.” Nightmare nodded, watching the waiter walk off.

Blind dates were stupid. Absolutely stupid. Nightmare set the menu down and rubbed his forehead, looking out at the window. He had to be about ninety stories up, he could still see the sun, despite it trying to set on the horizon. The restaurant's ambiance was nice. It was formal, quiet, and the live music was a great touch. A small orchestra was playing a variety of classical music, and Nightmare quite liked it. It wasn’t the fanciest restaurant he’s ever been to, but he didn’t expect much from his boys. He also didn’t expect himself to agree to a blind date set up by said boys, and yet here he was.

Did he seem sad and pathetic? Is that why they set him up on a date with a stranger? Nightmare didn’t feel sad and pathetic, he was the King of Negativity after all, there was no one better than he. Which is why this blind date idea felt so stupid to him. He could get any man he wanted, and yet his boys decide to set him up with a stranger? How stupid.

…Yet he agreed to it, didn’t he? He supposed that the worst thing that could happen is that it’s some weirdo, and he just chucks them out the window and treats himself to dinner. The best thing that could happen was that no one showed up and he got to eat by himself. The quiet of the restaurant was nice compared to what often happened during meal times. There was always a lot of shouting and lack of manners at Nightmare’s dinner table.

The waiter returned with his wine, opening the bottle and pouring a glass for him. He didn’t allow the waiter to set it back down, as he took it from their hands directly. He thanked them before turning back to the window. He twirled the wine around in the glass for a moment before taking a sip.

Oh, how he absolutely adored red wine. One could call him a wine connoisseur, and he would wear that title with pride. Perhaps it made him seem a bit arrogant, but he didn’t care. He was arrogant, might as well pair it with a fine wine.

Another swish of the glass before he took a sip, slowly feeling the alcoholic juice slip down his throat. His teal eyes shut as he did so, allowing himself the satisfaction of taking in no other sensation than the taste of the wine. Lambrusco was really a hidden gem in the wine world. This particular wine was of great quality. Nightmare could tell. Cheap lambrusco was often very sweet, and this was aged and dry to perfection. He took another sip, his lips curling back into a smile. There was nothing like a good wine on a calm evening. It was perfect. Even if his date decided to show up right at that moment, he wouldn’t even care.

“Yo, Nightmare, brah! I think you’re my date for tonight!”

Nightmare could hear the glass of his soul cracking in his mind. His eyes opened into a confused scowl as he looked to his left. Standing in front of him was that abhorrent, nineties parasite. Standing at a horrific six feet (or two hundred centimeters) was Fresh, and the bastard didn’t even try to dress up! Nightmare was horrified. Fresh was in his everyday wear, which was already beginning to hurt his eyes. He was wearing that stupidly obnoxious blue, purple, and white sweatshirt of his, and the pink shirt underneath and the massive 90s collar. His pants were also a variety of neon colors, and frankly, if it pissed Nightmare off. Pick a color scheme and stick with it goddamnit! Even Cross, the most idiotic man he’s ever met, could understand that!

Fresh cocked his head to the side, a smile on his face. He was wearing his rectangular sunglasses (Nightmare wasn’t convinced that they were actual sunglasses, considering their properties) that currently said “YOLO” in bright yellow and blue lettering. Nightmare knew what the glasses were concealing. This particular host of Fresh’s was tall, a little lanky, and had dark skin. The host had their hair styled into box braids, with neon colored hair extensions weaved into it. No doubt it was Fresh’s doing. Nightmare couldn’t put his finger on it, but he could see the way they had been woven together had Fresh’s name written all over it.

“This cannot possibly be right. What are you doing here?” Nightmare asked, his face pulled back into a scowl. He only got more visibly angry when Fresh sat himself down on the chair across from Nightmare. Fresh grinned at him, leaning back in the seat and man-spreading as he did so. Nightmare didn’t even want to know what the other guests thought of this horrid exchange.

“It most certainly is correct my dude!” Fresh clicked his teeth and gave Nightmare finger guns which made him cringe. “Ya know, when I got the invite from your boys, I was a bit nervous y’know? I thought they were gonna kill me whenever I arrived here, haha!”

Wine glasses were usually supposed to be filled to around halfway, perhaps even less, depending on the type of wine and the consumer. However, Nightmare filled his glass nearly all of the way as Fresh spoke. He nearly downed the entire glass in one sip. He’d need a little alcohol to deal with this nonsense.

“How long have you been here? Sorry for not getting here sooner! Nearly got lost a couple times!”

“It would have been a major shame if you did.” Nightmare stated, sarcasm dripping from his lips as he took another sip of his wine.

“Hella broski!” Fresh, however, did not pick up on his sarcastic tone. Unless he did, and was just messing with Nightmare? God, Nightmare could never tell with this guy! He just could not read Fresh, and it pissed him off.

There was an awkward silence that Nightmare didn’t even attempt to fill. He gently sipped his alcohol as he watched Fresh, noticing that he barely twitches, his stupid smile still on his face. Nightmare didn’t want to look at him nonstop, but there was this awful feeling in his chest, that if he looked away Fresh would disappear or get closer to him. Fresh always had this uncanniness about him. Similar to a robot, or a statue.

In a way, Nightmare was right for feeling that way. Fresh was just puppeting a flesh suit, and all of his mannerisms showed that clearly. It was like he was pretending, acting as if he was human. He was doing an incredibly poor job.

With one final rub to his temple, Nightmare held up his hand to get the attention of a waiter. He was not going to deal with this. He would pay for his wine (as any respectable person would do, he may be an evil king but he wasn’t a monster!), leave, and then discipline whoever thought that playing with his love life was a joke.

“Ah ah! Wait a minute will you brah?!” Fresh reached across the table, grabbing Nightmare by his hand and yanking it down. “C’mon! At least give me a chance?”

“Why?” Nightmare hissed, yanking his hand away. “I know what you are. You can’t possibly feel any actual attraction to me.”

“Woah, bold assumptions there!” Fresh leaned over, putting a hand against his chin. “I mean, you’re the king, broski! Who wouldn’t be attracted to ya?”

Nightmare rubbed his forehead, debating just getting out of there.

“Ah, but anyways, I’ve been wantin’ to talk to you for a while now! You’re just so…” Fresh’s expression changes into something more sinister, and Nightmare can feel the aura of the room changing as it did so. “Interestin’, y’know?” Always have been. Ever since you were purple.”

Ah, right. Nightmare had nearly forgotten his small encounter with Fresh. It had to have been around two hundred or so years ago since their first meeting. It wasn’t anything revolutionary, but it had planted the seed in Nightmare’s mind that there was something else out there. After all, a small, bright purple, four-tentacled creature with a black and yellow eye-mouth isn’t something you say everyday. Especially if your everyday consisted of living in the same forest that never changed. Nightmare dared Dream to eat it- er, Fresh, but he refused. And for better or for worse that decision somehow led Nightmare to be sitting at a dinner table with the man. If only Dream had more balls and eaten him when they were kids. Perhaps this could’ve been avoided.

“So lemme treat ya!”

“With what money? Last time I checked, you lived in a void with your furbies.” Nightmare scoffed, a sly smirk forming on his face as Fresh’s expression fell.

“Yowch!” Fresh held his hands up, a surprised look on his face. “I’m a lil’ hurt by your words, brah! I’ve got money! How’d you think I got all mah trinkets?”

“I figured you just took them.”

Out of all the things, Fresh looked most offended at that. “Whaaa??? Nightmare, brah, that hurts even more! Stealin’ and breakin’ the law is so uncool yo! I would never! I get my money completely legit-ly!”

“Yeah? How?”

“Well, I use the money from my hosts of course! I take their body right? Then I get access to whatever they have! Real simple.”

“That…is stealing, Fresh.”

“Nuh uh.”

Putting a hand to his temple once more, Nightmare gave Fresh a look of incredible incredulity. “Really. It’s not stealing?”

“Nah! Doesn’t count.” He laughed, and Nightmare could hear the cruelty in his voice. “Anyways!”

Fresh leaned over the table and grabbed Nightmare by his hand. The grasp was gentle, as if he knew that Nightmare wouldn’t yank it away. Nightmare couldn’t deny it, there was something alluring about Fresh. It wasn’t the way he dressed, obviously, but his past, how he operated, made Nightmare want to tear into him and see how he ticked.

“Nightmare, brah, please.” Nightmare was surprised to feel that despite the silver piercing in the host’s bottom lip, Fresh’s lips felt soft as they connected with the back of his hand. When was the last time someone had, sincerely, kissed the back of his hand? Was it Cross? It had to have been, when Cross pledged his allegiance to Nightmare those long seven months ago. His lips twitched as he wanted to smile, but remained stoic. “Lemme treat you tonight. It might be fun.”

Nightmare could see the sinister smile in Fresh’s face from a mile away. More often than not, his own grins held that sort of minacious quality to them.

“Maybe I’ll surprise ya in ways you couldn’t even imagine.”

Oh, how could Nightmare decline such an offer?

[capsensislagamoprh]

CHA 3

“When you said I could come along, I didn’t know I would be carrying your gear and moving lights,” Victor groused.

“How else was I supposed to get you in,” Christophe grinned. “It’s not like anyone can just wander on and off the set.”

“Outdoor setting is a location, not a set,” Victor mumbled, trying to be right about something. His morning had been pretty basic. Rise. Skin care, hair care. Two hours - one for each. Beauty is upkeep! Dressing, forty five minutes. One must accessorize properly! His look doesn't just create itself! Then breakfast of a decadent croissant from the most delightful bakery by the apartment, washed down with a vanilla latte`. Christoph washed his pastry down with rooibos, sturing in a touch of honey to sweeten it up. They then got into the Miata and drove. Today’s shoot was for children’s clothes, taking advantage of the whimsical nature of Paris’ many highlights. Wrot iron, the Eiffel Tower, Lurve, streets made of old stone, and niche locations. All within a few blocks of each other whenever possible. 

It was an interesting side of the fashion world. Most were concerned with avant garde, couture, or stage costumes for high end productions. Victor wanted to see his designs out there, making people feel beautiful, special, even on the worst days. He wanted someone to reach into their wardrobe, pull out that one special piece and know the feel of it on their body would get them through the roughest day because they knew they were not only comfortable, but fashionable. There was just something about how the touch of cashmere or the pull of silk could change the way one thinks. But first he had to pay his dues.

Christophe had some of the best assistants twitching lighting, fixing props, lining up markers. Paris itself seemed to adjust to him. Crowds dissipated, birds flew at artful angels, and the sun kissed just the right part of every model. Victor was amazed by the way he managed to walk casually through any scene, clicking his camera until the city noises were overwritten by the sound of another moment being captured in time. They looked over the shots between changes of clothes and models, keeping the children busy so as to avoid boredom and antsy guardians.

The street-wear line was fun, playful, full of youthful vigor. When they changed over to the more elegant, formal designs, the models did too. Dark haired girls with luminous eyes, boys with elegant cuts mocking adult slide backs, slick at the sides and tapered to look upscale. Accessories changed to watches that were less Swatch and more metallic. Some seemed to be casually dressed as tinny ideals, while others were fantastical. Few stood out, being nervous or a little too full of themselves.

Christophe watched the world through his lens, waiting to strike. Victor saw a few potential stars starting to shine, caught in the flair of his lens, but only one seemed to carry that shimmering quality that would take them from childhood through the cruelty of puberty and into adulthood with all their beauty intact. A fairy-like boy, very young and very serious. When asked to turn, he turned. When asked to be whimsical, he stood tall, arms stretched to the sky before doing a jeté with ease. He leaned against a lamp post, the billowing sleeves of his cooler colored shirt, polka dotted with puffs of thread a sheer overlay for the thin undershirt pressed into his thin frame, white shorts cut in an arch at the thigh, white tights tucked into ballet flats. His golden hair picked up the echoes of sunset as he looked towards the Tower. Victor could almost see the fairy wings that were not there. Christophe must have seen it too. He took more pictures of the boy in his many outfits than the others. He just pulled them off better, seeming to look at home in anything they threw at him. The casual play line clothes earlier were tried on him. As he darted about the darkening streets, arms thrown behind him in a playful run, eyes to the sky, his smile just a little melancholic, Victor felt what Christophe saw. Ethereal took a lot of work, but when you came across it naturally, you worked with it until it could do no more.

The boy wore what was asked, changed as many times as needed. He went through hair style after hair style, make-up touches, and did not complain when he received little to no break for four hours of grueling activity. But those smiles. Those melancholic smiles. No filter in the world could make that smile true.

As they were wrapping up for the day, Christoph looked over the stills, picking and choosing with rapid efficiency. As he stretched his aching back, he turned to see how the clean up was going. The boy was crouched down, hand low, a street cat slowly approaching. Quickly he snapped some candids. These would be great for his school portfolio. He didn’t even need a release, as anything he took while working was free game, and since the boy was still wearing the hair and make up style from the last shoot, he figured that counted.

Soon, the boy was picked up. Christophe turned back to the dailies, while Victor stared for a moment. “I could get used to living here,” he sighed as the man in the ass hugging jeans took the boy's hand, leading him to a silver Lexus. Popping his head up, Christophe smiled.

“Ah, Paris! De tels trésors abondent dans la ville de l'amour.”

“I don’t know about l’amour, but definitely… how to say, strast'?” Victor tapped his temple a few times. “Passion!”

“There’s passion and there’s lasciveté. What you have, mon ami, is a need to release.”

Victor raised a brow, his lips twitching into a smile. “You can’t blame me for looking.”

“Can’t I?” Christophe purred.

“Heartless tease.”

_______

CHA 4

They sat together looking over stills, images caressed by just the right amount of light and ones born of miserable reflections captured in lens flares and ill timed background elements. “You could adjust them,” Victor offered quietly.

Christophe looked scandalized. “I will do no such thing. When making some elements it is fine, the amount of adjustment these images will need? Non. When creating art it is never a good idea to bring dishonesty to your piece. The human can tell, even if they don’t know what the lie is.”

Leaning against the wall in the antechamber between his bedroom and the bath, he sighed. “It’s not that hard, right? You have the skill, da?”

“I have the skill, but correcting these is … It’s like seeing a blurry, pixelated Monet and asking a toddler to make it better. You can’t replicate that look of melancholy, the way the sun caught his hair, the way the clothes seemed to float around him. I’m telling you, Vita, that kid is magic. There’s something about him.” Christophe threw himself backwards in his chair, sending both it and him sliding back a few feet. “Something special, and I almost captured it.”

“Comrad, you have so many other images of him. Look, in this one he’s even smiling.”

“It’s plastic, Vita. Can’t you see it? Here.” Christophe pulled himself back towards the computer. “Look at how there is no light in his eyes. Too many teeth, shoulders are tense.”

“You see all that?” Victor looked again, trying to find the signs the photographer noted. To him the child looked happy, well dressed and fed, other children surrounding him just as pleasant and cheerful. He saw children playing a game with chalked out squares and a rock. It seemed like the kind of thing all advertisers ached for. An air of youthful relevance combined with age old money. It practically commanded people to buy what was shown without being too obvious about it. At least not until the company plastered their brand on the page with a massive scrawl across the pleasant scene.

“I do. I see a lot of things through the lens. A lot of very secret things.”

“Voyeur.”

Christophe smiled. “Have you considered using those exceptional skills at flattery on that man with the tight ass?”

Victor blinked, his blue eyes vacant as he tried to recall who Christophe was talking about. When he remembered his cheeks turned pink, his eyes sparkling. “If he shows up again, I just might.”

“Flirt.”

Victor gasped. “You? Call me a flirt?” He grinned. “Flatterer.”

A deep chuckle mingled with the light, airy sounds of laughter as they felt tension leave them with the faint breath of gentle comradery. Finally, Christophe turned from the computer, having saved the files, ready to take them in the next day for approval and printing. “So,” he smiled, deep burr fairly purring the word, “What plans do you have for the evening?”

“Dinner, I suppose. I should work on that desk, and I need to get some more boxes unpacked…” Victor sighed. “I need to put together my start of semester portfolio.”

“Victor! You should already have that completed,” Christophe chided.

“I did, but then I moved, and I didn’t want things ruined, so I …” A vague gesture to the many tubes and flat pack boxes with reinforced edges stacked in various piles gave depth to the weight of the problem. “Now I have to find everything again.”

“Oh, min vän. You start sorting this,” Christophe stood, wiggling his fingers at the daunting task, “and I’ll order something. We can make a night of it.”

Victor’s shoulders dropped as his knees bent back. “Must we?”

“Min kärlek, vi måste. There is no time like last week. Today will have to do.” Slipping through the door to the bathroom, disappearing through another, the tall blond was off, leaving Victor to stare down the many packages wanting his attention.

By the time Christophe returned with lobster bisque, fresh salad, and the crispiest chunks of crackling bread Victor had the privilege to break diet for, he was more than ready for the wine that accompanied it. He’d found several of his more necessary sketches wrinkled by box shift during the move. A few of his fabrics were naked, ripped, or had holes that made it very clear what postal thought of the extra money he’d paid to have them expressed and marked ‘KHRUPKIY’. All those rubbles down the proverbial drain.

“Oh, Victor. These photos. Did you mean for them to be so…” Christophe tried not to wrinkle his nose, he really did. Victor looked over sharply.

“Oh! Oh no! Net! Net, no, no, net, no!” Victor slipped between English and Russian in his frustration. The whole album was sticky, as if someone had spilt a sugar drink, carelessly pushing the package along without a care. His hands found his hairline, tugging great tufts of silver pale locks.  His whole fashion line from his previous collections was represented in those photos. Photos he would need for his classes, for reference, for the memories. “Christophe! Chris, comrade! Can they be saved?”

The Swedish man winced as he tried to unstick a few pages. Looking at the box of supplies they’d found earlier, Christophe rummaged until he found the pressure blade he’d spied earlier. Carefully he cut the picture free of its sheath, only for it to make a puckering, Velcro sound that caused every fiber of his being to shiver in distaste. Catching the pale cheeked face of his friend, his blue eyes so wide with the edge of desperation and hope, Christophe braced himself. Turning the photo to the light, the damage was clear. Colors peeled off, micro tears deformed some of the image. It was coated in what smelled like cola, which was clearly eating into the integrity of the paper. Victor’s throat dropped to his thighs, hands slack at his side. “What am I going to do?”

These photos were useless now. He’d not been able to get the originals, only prints. The photographer he’d worked with had refused to give up his claim, wanting exorbitant amounts of money Victor simply didn’t have. Someone’s carelessness cost him over a fourth of his portfolio.

“Do you still have the clothes?” Christophe asked, looking at the many unpacked boxes.

“I … yes, most of them. Some were sold to pay for my travel.”

“Bien. Here is what we’re going to do…”

cha 1&2

[angelasscribbles]

Victim of Love Chapter 13: Torn

Series: Victim of Love

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Drake x Riley, Liam x Riley

Word Count: 1,243

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: Language, drinking

Song Inspiration for series: Victim of Love by The Eagles

Victim of love We're not so far apart

My other stuff: Master List.

Riley paced nervously back and forth across the marble flooring of the great room at Balymore. She had returned to her Valtorian estate two weeks ago. The request for a meeting with the king had arrived at her door the next morning. It had taken her a week to respond. Not because she didn’t want to see him. But precisely because she did.

She had no idea what he wanted, what he was going to say. She had been gone for four months. Four months of complete radio silence.

She had told him to focus on Hana and the baby and she had meant it. Liam was nothing if not conscientious. Bound by duty and honor, of course he would do exactly what needed to be done, regardless of the personal cost to himself. Or to her for that matter.

It was something she both loved and hated about him. She wanted someone who would fight for her. She understood why he couldn’t. That didn’t make it any easier. Although, perhaps all the things he had done to keep her in his life was him fighting for her in the only way he could.

Four months with Drake had engendered feelings for him in her heart but had done nothing to diminish the ones she already had for Liam.

Her majordomo opened the door, “The king is here, Your Grace.”

Several guards preceded him into the room and did a sweep of the area.

Her heart stopped when she saw him. He was stiff, it was slight, no one but her would notice, but it betrayed his nervousness.

“Nice to have you back in Cordonia, Your Grace,” Liam greeted her formally, “I trust you had an enjoyable trip.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I did.”

The moment the guards and servants were out of the room, he closed the distance between them, “I’ve missed you so much!”

She let herself be swept into his arms, she didn’t resist his kiss, in fact, she returned it. She melted into his embrace, she inhaled the musky scent of him- familiar, intoxicating, heady, comforting…and laced with memories of pain.

She pushed out of his embrace and moved away from him.

“Riley, please! I want to fix things between us. I’m sorry for….everything-“

“It’s fine, Liam. We don’t need to rehash our entire relationship again. I was there. I know what happened and I understand why.”

“You understand why, but things are still strained between us…”

They stood in an awkward silence for several moments before Liam asked, almost in a whisper, “How was Texas?”

She turned her head away as she answered, “Fine.”

There was an edge in his voice as he followed up, “And Drake?”

Her eyes darted to him then away quickly, “Drake is good.”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t proposed already.”

“He has.”

Riley stood at the bank of the Nueces River, her deep auburn curls cascading out from under the cowboy hat and down her back. “Why are we here again?”

“Because you love to watch the sunset over the river.” There was a quality in his voice that pulled her attention from the orange and red hues painting the sky over the West Texas landscape. She turned slowly toward him to find him fumbling with what looked suspiciously like a ring.

She sucked in a breath of shock, “Drake!”

“Riley….these last few months have been the best days of my life and that’s because of you. I don’t think it’s any secret that my heart doesn’t belong to me anymore….it belongs to you….” He dropped down to one knee as he held the ring out and up to her. His hands were trembling so hard that he lost his grip on it and dropped it in the dirt.

“Shit!” His hands scrabbled through the mud as he tried to quell his shaking hands and steady his breathing. His fingers closed around the cool metal of the band. He wiped the dirt away with the bottom of his shirt, but before he could offer it to her again, she was on her knees with him.

Riley lowered herself to the ground in front of him, her hand instinctively going to his face, “When we met, I was broken, shattered into a million pieces... You put me back together again, you made me whole.... through sheer strength of will I believe…and I…I love you too, but-“

“But?”

“But I think there are a lot of things I need to figure out in my life before I’m ready to take such a step.”

Bitterness coated the king’s words, “So, you’re engaged now? You’re going to marry him?”

“I haven’t given him an answer. He wants to stay in Texas, but I’m not ready to leave Valtoria. I love it here; I feel an obligation to the people of my duchy. They need me and it turns out, I’m good at governing.”

“In none of that did you say that you don’t love him.”

Her head jerked sharply upward, “That’s because I do.”

Liam’s shoulders dropped forward in defeat as anguish swirled through him.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Riley, I-“

“Now you know what it’s felt like for me, watching you with Hana all this time.”

His voice rose as he pulled himself up to his full height, “I don’t love her!”

Riley arched an eyebrow at him.

He deflated again, “Okay, I do love her, in a way, but it’s not like what I feel for you! It’s not the same!”

She relented a little, “I do know that. But I’m not sure where that leaves us.”

“Are you…considering leaving Valtoria? Cordonia?” The unspoken question hung in the air….me?

She brushed a strand of errant hair out of her face with a sigh, “I love you, Liam. I will always love you, but I love him too and he's offering me everything that you promised then took away. He can give me a whole relationship, not just part of one.”

“Riley, I know what we have isn’t what we wanted, but it is real!”

The anguish in his voice was breaking her.

There was a knock on the door and the majordomo opened it, “Sorry for the interruption but you have another visitor.”

“I…what? Who?”

The visitor stepped into the room and her heart jumped into her throat, “Drake! What are you doing here?”

“Not letting you walk out of my life, that’s what! I’ve been thinking about everything you said, and I have some ideas…” He trailed off as he noticed they weren’t alone, “Liam! Sorry, I…”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. Congratulations on your impending engagement I guess,” Liam thrust his hand out, “Just…take care of her, all right?”

“Of course!” Drake’s brows furrowed as he took in Liam’s stoic expression. His gaze darted to Riley, standing stiffly, eyes averted, “Um…what’s going on? Why do you both look like this is a funeral?”

“I’m happy for you, Drake. You deserve happiness and so does she. But surely you can understand my…disappointment in losing my relationship with her. My marriage is political, my hand was forced. None of how things worked out was my choice. I love her! Not being able to marry her and make her my queen is the worst and most devastating sacrifice the crown has ever asked of me.”

Drake looked back and forth between his best friend and the woman he loved in perplexity. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”