#Exclusive Blouse Patterns

[samyakk-fashion]

Effortless Elegance: The Ready Blouse Sarees by Samyakk

Introduction:

In the vivid tapestry of Indian fashion, the saree and its accompanying designer blouse have stood the test of time as symbols of grace, beauty, and tradition. However, for many modern women, draping a saree can be a demanding task that takes time, experience, and expertise. Try the ready blouse saree, a modern take on a classic garment that offers simple elegance without the hassle of traditional draping. With Samyakk leading the way in this sartorial revolution, let’s go deeper into the realm of ready blouse sarees, stitched blouse sarees, and pre-stitched sarees to see why they’re worth embracing.

Benefits of a Ready Blouse Saree:

The primary allure of ready blouse sarees lies in their sheer convenience. In today’s fast-paced world, where time is a precious commodity, these sarees offer a welcome respite from the intricacies of traditional draping. With no need for pleats, pins, or tucks, slipping into a readymade blouse saree, saree with stitched blouse, or ready-to-wear saree is as simple as slipping into a dress — yet it retains the same timeless elegance and sophistication.

Furthermore, designer blouse sarees suit a wide range of preferences and body shapes. Whether you’re small or plus-sized (a heavy body), the ready blouse saree always provides a lovely fit. With a variety of blouse styles to select from, including crop tops, peplum blouses, and off-shoulder designs, you can easily tailor your look to your individual style and comfort level. If you’re looking to buy online readymade blouse sarees or discover the current trending blouse saree combo, Samyakk’s inventory is guaranteed to impress with its variety and quality.

Styling Tips for Ready Blouse Sarees:

The real magic happens when you grasp the art of styling, even if wearing a ready-to-wear blouse-attached saree is really easy. Your Saree outfit can be transformed from ordinary to remarkable with the help of accessories. To accentuate the subtle beauty of your saree for a midday event, choose elegant jewellery and a chic clutch. On the other hand, don’t be afraid to stand out at nighttime parties with statement pieces like striking necklaces or elaborate cuffs.

Experimenting with draping styles can also breathe new life into your ready blouse saree for women, stitched pallu saree. Embrace the versatility of the garment by trying different pallu drapes — whether it’s the classic front pallu, the stylish Gujarati drape, or the contemporary butterfly drape, each variation lends its own unique charm to your ensemble. Stay ahead of the fashion curve by exploring the latest designs ready blouse sarees.

Furthermore, to create a really customised look, don’t undervalue the power of mixing and matching blouse types. A backless blouse offers a hint of charm, while a high-neck blouse radiates refinement. Experiment with materials, patterns, and accents to give your ensemble more depth and complexity. Whether you’re searching for a blouse pleated saree or a saree with a pre-stitched pallu, Samyakk has an incredible selection of alternatives to fit every style and event. Choose from pre-draped sarees with blouses, saree designs with blouses, or stitched sarees with matching blouse designs to explore their inventory and let your creativity run wild.

Samyakk’s Ready Blouse Saree Collection:

As a pioneer in the world of ethnic fashion, Samyakk has earned a reputation for its exquisite craftsmanship, impeccable quality, and unparalleled attention to detail. Their ready blouse saree collection, saree with readyblouse piece, is a testament to their commitment to innovation and excellence.

Indulge in the epitome of convenience and style with Samyakk’s collection of blouse stitched sarees online and pre-stitched sarees with blouse online. From opulent silks to lightweight chiffons, our diverse range of fabrics is curated to suit every occasion and season. Each saree is meticulously crafted with intricate embellishments, handcrafted embroideries, and exquisite detailing, ensuring that every piece is a true work of art.

Samyakk stands out for their commitment to client satisfaction. They go over and beyond with their personalised customisation services, 24/7 dedicated customer support, to make sure your saree fits your personality and highlights your distinct beauty and character. Every discriminating fashionista can find something from Samyakk’s collection, whether they’re searching for a Saree with a pre-attached blouse or a stitched pallu saree with a ready-made blouse. Discover the ideal stitched saree and blouse combination for your closet by perusing their collection right now.

Why People like Ready Blouse Saree?

In the realm of Indian fashion, the Ready Blouse Saree stands as a testament to the harmonious fusion of tradition and convenience. With its pre-stitched perfection, it encapsulates the essence of grace and ease, making it a beloved choice among fashion enthusiasts. Let’s delve into the reasons why people are drawn to the charm of Ready Blouse Sarees.

1. Convenience Redefined: Gone are the days of tedious blouse stitching sessions. The advent of Ready Blouse Sarees has revolutionized the way we approach traditional attire. No more hassles of matching fabrics, finding the right tailor, or waiting for alterations. With a pre-stitched blouse, dressing up for any occasion becomes a breeze.

2. Time-Saving Elegance: In today’s fast-paced world, time is of the essence. The Ready Blouse Saree emerges as a savior for those who seek style without sacrificing precious time. Whether it’s a last-minute party invite or a festive celebration, this ensemble ensures you look impeccably dressed in minutes.

3. Versatile Appeal: From party wear to festive ensembles, Ready Blouse Sarees cater to a myriad of occasions with effortless versatility. Whether you opt for a designer variant or a fancy rendition, the options are limitless. Embrace the freedom to explore different styles and silhouettes without the constraints of traditional blouse stitching.

4. Flawless Fit Guaranteed: One of the biggest advantages of pre-stitched blouses is the assurance of a perfect fit. Crafted with precision and attention to detail, these blouses are tailored to accentuate your curves and enhance your silhouette. Say goodbye to ill-fitting blouses and embrace the comfort of a bespoke fit.

5. Trendsetting Designs: The world of Ready Blouse Sarees is brimming with innovative designs and contemporary aesthetics. Whether you prefer a stitched pallu saree with a pre-stitched blouse or a blouse-saree combo, there’s something to suit every taste and preference. Stay ahead of the fashion curve with the latest trends in Indian Saree Fashion.

6. Seamless Online Shopping: Thanks to the rise of e-commerce platforms, procuring your favorite Ready Blouse Saree is just a click away. Explore a plethora of options, from stitched pallu sarees with ready blouses to festive sarees with blouses, all from the comfort of your home. Embrace the convenience of online shopping and elevate your wardrobe with timeless classics.

In conclusion, the allure of Ready Blouse Sarees lies in its ability to seamlessly blend tradition with modernity, convenience with elegance. Whether you’re attending a wedding, a festival, or a social gathering, this ensemble ensures you make a stunning statement effortlessly. Explore the exquisite collection of Ready Blouse Sarees and embrace the epitome of style and sophistication.

Discover the ideal fusion of fashion, cosiness, and practicality with our exquisite selection of Ready Blouse Saree.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

1. What is a ready blouse saree, and how does it differ from traditional sarees? A: A ready blouse saree, also known as a pre-stitched saree with blouse, eliminates the need for intricate draping. Unlike traditional sarees that require meticulous pleating and pinning, ready blouse sarees come with pre-attached blouses, offering convenience and ease of wear similar to slipping into a dress.

2. What are the benefits of choosing a ready blouse saree from Samyakk? A: Samyakk’s ready blouse sarees combine convenience with style and sophistication. With a diverse range of fabrics and meticulously crafted designs, each piece exudes elegance and timeless charm. Moreover, Samyakk offers personalized customization services to ensure a perfect fit, catering to individual preferences and body types.

3. How do I style a ready blouse saree for different occasions? A: Styling a ready blouse saree is effortless and versatile. For daytime events, opt for delicate jewelry and subtle accessories to complement the understated elegance of the saree. For evening affairs, accessorize with statement pieces to make a lasting impression. Experiment with different pallu drapes and blouse styles to create a personalized look that reflects your unique style and personality.

4. Can I mix and match blouse styles with Samyakk’s ready blouse sarees? A: Absolutely! Samyakk offers a wide variety of blouse styles, including crop tops, peplum blouses, and off-shoulder designs, allowing you to customize your ensemble to suit your preferences. Mix and match fabrics, textures, and embellishments to add depth and dimension to your outfit, creating a truly personalized look.

5. What sets Samyakk’s ready blouse saree collection apart from others? A: Samyakk is renowned for its exquisite craftsmanship, impeccable quality, and attention to detail. Each saree in their collection is meticulously crafted with intricate embellishments, handcrafted embroideries, and exquisite detailing, ensuring that every piece is a true work of art. Moreover, Samyakk offers personalized customization services to ensure a perfect fit and customer satisfaction.

6. How can I explore and purchase Samyakk’s ready blouse saree collection? A: You can explore Samyakk’s ready blouse saree collection online through their website. Browse through their diverse range of fabrics, designs, and customization options to find the perfect saree for your wardrobe. With convenient online shopping and dedicated customer support, Samyakk makes it easy to elevate your style with their exquisite collection of ready blouse sarees.

7. Does Samyakk offer international shipping for their ready blouse sarees? A: Yes, Samyakk provides international worldwide shipping for their ready blouse sarees and other products.

Conclusion:

Ready blouse sarees, which offer a flawless fusion of elegance and ease, are the embodiment of the ideal union of tradition and contemporary. With Samyakk’s inventory, you can get a saree with a ready-made blouse or one that is already draped and has the blouse stitched. It’s more alluring than ever to embrace this modern take on a timeless classic because of their unmatched craftsmanship and dedication to perfection. Discover their selection of pre-stitched blouse patterns for sarees, blouse saree outfit, and stitched pallu sarees with designer ready-to-wear sarees. With Samyakk’s ready blouse saree collection, you can conquer new heights in the realm of effortless elegance and enhance your ethnic Saree wardrobe. Wish you a Happy Shopping…

Related Products: Ready Blouse Sarees || Pure Designer Embroidery Saree || Fancy Sarees || Drape Saree || Organza Designer Saree || Party Wear Saree

[angsty-art-ist]

part 2 of the NPMD Monster High AU! seriously thank you guys for all the love on part 1, it means a lot that you like my silly hyperfixation crossover :]

a little lore note: in this AU, monsters can use magic to blend in with humans during the day, sort of like in the g3 cartoon. Hatchetfield is kind of split into the normie side and smaller monster side. the monster part of town is magically warded to make humans want to leave quickly, and monsters don’t tend to cross over into the human areas (with the exception of adults with normie jobs, like Mayor Lauter and most of the adult HF cast). Hatchetfield High is a “exclusive private school” in the monster part of town, and the normie teens, like Grace and Max, go to Sycamore.

why are Grace and Max humans if this is a monster AU, you ask? don’t worry, i have plans for them :)

Steph:

she’s a vampire because… well because she’s rich. you’ve heard of old money? these Lauters are ancient money

i had a hard time with her outfit because my main references were Draculaura and Elissabat, who are both very dressy, but i wanted to stay true to Steph’s casual grungy style… and then i remembered The Lost Boys were THEE original grunge vampires, so i mashed David and Paul’s jackets together and gave her a Santa Carla tee as a shout-out

the chains and plaid pattern tie back to Pete’s design, like the plaid of her flannel and his bow tie in the show <3

her father isn’t technically actually a king, but runs Hatchetfield’s monster community like he is one. a close encounter with a band of monster hunters the better part of a century ago forced the monsters into hiding under his command, and Steph’s mother ended up staked. Solomon hasn’t been the same since…

Max:

his design is simpler than the others, but that’s for a reason :) the mansters usually have more boring outfits than the ghouls, so it’s not that out of place for Monster High, right? i plan to make a few more ‘doll lines’ for this au- i’m thinking Dawn of the Dance next ;)

his jacket is based on the G1 varsity jackets that Heath Burns and Slo Mo had in their first waves, but with Max’s iconic blue. i got rid of the Hatchetfield ‘H’ since he goes to Sycamore with the other normies in this AU. go Timberwolves, i guess?

his striped shirt is based on Freddy Krueger’s iconic sweater, because Max in the musical seems to take a lot of cues from Freddy; coming back from the dead to get revenge on his killers, vulgar one-liners, gruesome kills, and even a parody of the Freddy rhyme painted on the set background. one, two, Jäger’s coming for you…

side note but i had a really hard time getting Will’s likeness in this pseudo-MH style. i think he ended up a bit too Bruce Campbell-y. maybe it’s the chin.

Grace:

sorry, Grace, i’m changing your name a bit. if you need a refresher on the G1 MH lore; Van Hellscream is the Monster High expy of Van Helsing. his niece Lilith appears in the Ghouls Rule movie, but i’m stretching out the timeline a bit so let’s say Lilith is Grace’s aunt or something. Chasity is her maiden name, which the family goes by because “Hellscream doesn’t sound very Christian”

these days, the Van Hellscream’s monster-hunting legacy is more of a family legend than history, and her parents don’t even believe that monsters exist… but Grace knows that something unholy is going on at that “private school”. she may not have Great-Uncle Abraham’s arsenal, but she has the power of God and years of repressed rage on her side

design wise she changed the least from her canon outfit. she’s covered in monster-killing weapons- crosses, stakes, silver bullets, and the flowers on her blouse and jeans are alliums, aka garlic flowers- which, fun fact, were originally thought to be what repelled vampires, rather than garlic bulbs!

her blouse is based on Nancy’s nightdress in Nightmare on Elm Street to match with Max’s Freddy stripes

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

IV ║ Notch

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Part III: Edgestitch | Behind the Seams: Part IV | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E, but not that explicit

Summary: While Ellie works her first shift at the Outfitters, Joel drops by yours to return the blouse you left behind at the baby shower. Turns out, there's plenty around the house to keep him occupied until the teenager clocks off.

Warnings: Sexual tension, body insecurity, some language, inaccurate descriptions of gardening, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, undervest supremacy, flirting, dry humping, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!domestic!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 8.9k

Notes: Once I started writing this chapter in earnest, it came together a bit more quickly than I expected! It's extremely self-indulgent, with plenty of white undervest and belly action because you guys deserve all of that goodness for being the most patient, loving readers a writer could hope for 🥹 Thank you, I love you all! ❤️

Notch – diamond shaped marks that stick out beyond the edge of the pattern to line up all the pieces when sewing the garment. They come in pairs to be matched up.

Joel is sleeping - which is not something that could be said until a couple of months ago.

After the outbreak, sleep as a concept ceased to exist. What took its place is literal ‘shuteye’, either engineered by pills knocked back with moonshine, or a preventative shutdown by his body to avoid total failure, having pushed his physical form to the living limit.

It’s the kind of sleep that is destitute and provides no relief. It keeps the cogs turning just enough that he doesn’t expire, standing in his boots - which, on most days, are not the only things held together by duct tape.

But after the hospital, even that turned out to be too much to ask for. Some nights, the itch for chemical-induced relief got so bad that Joel entertained the thought of asking Tommy for illicit pills, ready to crawl on all fours to his brother’s house two streets down because he was shaking so hard he couldn’t lock his knees. But he didn’t trust him not to tell Maria, and with Ellie in the picture, he wasn’t about to tempt fate.

So instead, he asked Maria to assign him to night patrols. She hmmm’d at his request like she knew something he didn’t, but she humoured him, letting him take the graveyard shift for a couple of weeks straight. She didn’t have to tell him that she could see the way he tripped over his own feet and hear the slur in his voice. She’s too sharp not to notice.

But she didn’t say anything.

What she did do though, was not so subtly wean him off the late-night patrols. It started with a couple of random, last-minute changes, and then the next thing he knew, he was working morning shifts exclusively. When he tried covertly swapping stints with another guy, he showed up at the guard tower at midnight to find his sister-in-law standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her pregnant belly. 

As he trudged home begrudgingly with his head down and her stern reprimand in his ears, he couldn’t help a chuckle. Gotta hand it to her. 

Banished back to his bed, Joel went back to staring owlishly at the ceiling, watching the moonlight slide across the plaster until he knew all the cracks in it with his eyes closed (metaphorically). He’d listen to Ellie snoring away two doors down and marvel at the fact that she somehow still slept like the dead, even after… all that.

And then, one night, it happened for him too.

Admittedly, he ate a bit too much at Tommy and Maria’s - on top of running the town like a well-oiled machine, she makes a mean chicken fried steak - and Ellie had not so subtly plonked a second helping on his plate without asking. He was lying in bed, steeling himself for another long night, when his eyes drooped. The motion was so alien that it jolted him wide awake, but he couldn’t shake the weight that clung to the seams of his lashes. The next time he opened his eyes, it was morning.

Turns out you can teach an old dog new tricks. 

It’s nowhere near consistent, and more often than not he wakes up in a cold sweat in the small hours, but in between, he’s sleeping. For once, he’s feeling rested. And it’s a nice fucking break from the relentless exhaustion that he’s convinced is fused into his bones.

He always wakes up earlier than Ellie though. She never stomps down the stairs until he’s already had breakfast, and hers has gone cold.

So on the Saturday morning following the baby shower, with his face plastered into the mattress, body curled around a pillow - old habits die hard - Joel nearly falls out of bed at the banging on his door.

‘Joel! Get the fuck up!’

For one disconcerting moment between sleep and wake, he’s in his bedroom back in Texas. He half expects to look up to see the posters on the wall and the perpetually overflowing laundry basket at the foot of his bed.

Blinking through the urge to close his eyes, the colours fade and he stares blearily at the digital clock on his bedside table. 

7:30.

What the fuck? More often than not he has to drag the teenager out of bed by the ankles, kicking and swearing, at 7:50 to get to school at 8:00.

His knees groan as he staggers onto his feet, grabbing yesterday’s jeans from the floor and pulling them on. He finds a passably clean shirt about five deep on a chair, which he shrugs on over his white undervest. With a grunt, he yanks open the door and heads downstairs on bare feet, frowning at unfamiliar sounds coming from the kitchen.

Joel pauses in the doorway, hands on hips. ‘What do you think you’re doin’?’

Deeming his question unworthy of a response, Ellie tosses him a roll of her eyes over her shoulder and resolutely ignores him.

Shuffling closer, he asks, ‘Are you - cookin’?’

Brandishing the spatula at him, she snarls, ‘What does it look like I’m doing?’

He goads her with a smirk. ‘To be honest, it looks like you threw up in the pan.’

Ellie elbows him hard in the stomach. ‘Fuck you, man!’

He grins. There’s nothing like winding her up first thing in the morning. Grabbing the pan, he bins the ruined eggs, scraping off the burnt bits stuck to the bottom. ‘Crack some more eggs, I’ll make ‘em.’

Ten minutes later, in their usual seats at the kitchen table, they tuck into scrambled eggs and buttered toast.

‘Slow down,’ warns Joel as Ellie wolfs down hers. ‘You’re gonna choke.’

‘You hurry up! Can’t be late for my first day,’ she garbles through a mouthful of food.

‘Why can’t you be like this about school?’ he grumbles, then he winces as his teeth catch something crunchy. Picking it out, he gives her a pointed look. ‘Eggshell.’

‘Calcium,’ she shoots back without even looking up, too busy shoving the rest of her breakfast into her mouth, stuffing her cheeks like a chipmunk.

That one word stops Joel in his tracks and hurls him twenty years back in time.

But then Ellie is jumping up and practically throwing her empty plate into the sink, sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor as she dashes out of the kitchen. ‘C’mon, old man!’

Joel smiles, the memory warm like sun on his face. 

He shakes his head, slowly finishing his breakfast - like he wishes he did that day.

They turn out to be fifteen minutes early. 

To his chagrin, Ellie admits freely that she lied about the time so they wouldn’t be late. He’s a punctual guy, thank you very much. He certainly doesn’t need to be schooled by the little brat. 

Joel sits on the stairs, while Ellie has her face squished up against the door, unabashedly leaving smudges on the glass panels as she keeps up an uninterrupted running commentary on every last piece of clothing she can see.

He tunes her out easily, shifting in his seat so that his right ear is to the door. In his hands is the blouse that you left behind at Tommy and Maria’s at the baby shower. He’s been meaning to return it to you, but the week got away from him, and there’s no time like the present.

Considering the state of his knees, he impresses himself with the speed at which he stands at the sound of footsteps on the otherwise quiet main street. Squaring his shoulders, he discreetly pulls on his shirt, suddenly seeing wrinkles everywhere in the fabric, and runs his fingers through his hair, wishing he’d taken another look in the mirror before he left the house -

But it’s Lucy who appears at the bottom of the stairs with her unfailingly sunny smile.

‘Hi, you must be Ellie,’ she chirps.

She eyes Lucy cautiously, lips pinched to one side. ‘Where’s Pin?’

Joel growls. ‘Manners.’

Ellie puts her hands up in surrender. ‘Sorry. I meant - nice to meet you, where’s Pin?’

Lucy beams good-naturedly and fiddles with the lock. ‘She’s off today, and it’s all my fault because I made her work three weekends in a row. You’ll be helping me in the front anyway, so I’ll show you the ropes.’ Stepping aside and swinging the door open, she prompts, ‘In you go now, hon.’

Ellie doesn’t even look back at him, rushing into the shop like a thoroughbred fresh out of the starting gates.

Pocketing the keys, Lucy smiles. ‘Hi Joel.’

‘Hey,’ he nods back. ‘Sorry about Ellie.’

‘Don’t be, I was exactly like her when I was younger. Still am sometimes,’ she jokes. Then with a sly side eye, she remarks, ‘And honestly, you look more disappointed that I showed up than she does.’

He splutters, ‘Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.’ 

She smirks knowingly, gesturing at the blouse clutched tightly in his left fist. ‘I can pass that to Pin for ya.’

Joel hesitates for just a second, and Lucy bursts into laughter, elbowing him teasingly. ‘The way your face fell! I’m joking, Miller. Relax.’

He shakes his head. ‘It’s fine, guess I’ll give it to her next time she’s ‘round.’

Just then, from the depths of the shop, Ellie gasps dramatically and yells at the top of her lungs, ‘I want thissssssss one!’ 

Meeting Lucy’s eyes, Joel asks, ‘Sure you gonna be ok left alone with her?’

She shrugs. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

He flashes her a thumbs up. ‘I’ll pick her up at three then.’

He’s about to walk away from the Outfitters when Lucy’s voice stops him. ‘Hey, Joel!’

Looking up at the wraparound porch, he raises an eyebrow in a silent question.

‘She lives in the yellow cottage on the same street as the shoe shop. Keep going north, you can’t miss it,’ she says with a two-finger salute and a parting line that he’s heard before. ‘Say hi to Pin for me!’

You’ve always had a soft spot for the turn of the season, when late spring blooms graciously give way to summer buds. The grass smells greener, and the air is pregnant with pollen and nectar. It’s not overly warm yet, but you can feel the intensity in the sunlight, muted only by the early hour. Good thing you’re starting early.

It’s unseasonably warm for June, and the vegetable patch on the far end of your garden has suddenly burst into life. The cauliflower has finally come through after two failed crops in a row, and both the tomato vines and pepper plants are thriving. Closer to the ground, the onion and garlic shoots are patiently waiting to be pulled, and asparagus shoots spear through the earth in tidy lines one after another.

Pulling on a hat and gloves, you get to work.

You’re halfway through the second row of onions when there’s a faint knock on the front door. Even though you’ve only been in the sun for a little while, the coolness inside the house feels like a balm to your skin as you pad inside, peeling off your gloves before reaching for the door. 

Swinging it open, you’re stumped by the sight of Joel Miller on your doorstep.

You haven’t seen him since the party, where you’d agreed on a start date and time for Ellie’s first shift, and -

Since the kiss. 

You’ve felt his absence keenly. You’ve caught yourself loitering on street corners, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, knowing you’ll be able to spot him just by the way his shoulders swing with his long strides. You’ve kept an ear out for the southern lilt that has chased goosebumps across your skin, or any mention of his name, but all in vain.

Jackson has a habit of growing in size, usually in direct proportion to one’s desperation.

Now that he’s somehow here, you’re aware you’re gaping at him, so broad that his shoulders are blocking out the daylight. Too many years out of practice to count, you have no idea what the protocol is when you next see the man who literally made your knees buckle with just his lips and nothing else.

‘Mornin’, he finally says with a small smile. 

You stammer. ‘H-hello. What, um, I mean, how -’

‘I dropped off Ellie at the shop and Lucy told me where you live,’ he explains, shaking out the blouse in his hands. ‘Thought I’d come ‘round and return this.’

Your palm twitches with the urge to smack yourself on the forehead. Of course that’s why he’s here. 

Taking the top from him, you smile back gratefully. ‘Thank you. And of course, it’s Ellie’s first day. I’m sorry I can’t be there, but I’ve been subbing for Lucy on the weekends for a month straight and I needed a break.’

He waves away your apology. ‘Count yourself lucky. She was just ‘bout bouncin’ off the walls.’

‘Bless her heart,’ you chuckle, breaking off when his eyes flicker over you, as if he’s just registered your very minimalist ensemble of a white cotton tank top and denim cut-offs. Your skin prickles under his scrutiny, flattery winning out against self-consciousness at the deliberate drag of his gaze over you, a thoughtful weight behind it. 

That is until something catches his attention, and you flinch when he peers under the brim of your hat. ‘What -’

Before you can even articulate your question, he’s taken one step towards you, his work boots heavy on your creaky wooden porch. His voice is low but rough around the edges, just the way you like it. 

‘You got some dirt -’ he swipes his index finger firmly on the end of your nose. ‘Right here.’

Your jaw hangs open, then clamps shut, in quick succession, the shell of your ears burning hot at his fleeting touch. Throat suddenly dry, you barely manage to squeak, ‘Thanks.’ 

One day, you will at least try and keep your cool around this man. But alas, it is not this day.

Rearranging himself, Joel leans on the doorframe with his arms crossed and remarks conversationally, ‘You look outdoorsy this mornin’.’

Flashing the soil-stained gloves at him, you try to keep your voice steady. ‘I’m just doing some gardening out back. The vegetable patch needs harvesting.’

He purses his lips at that. ‘Didn’t peg you as the gardenin’ type.’

You don’t know where the bravado comes from, but you swat him on the arm with the gloves and quip, ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me.’

‘You got me there,’ he huffs a laugh and gestures towards the back of the house. ‘Anythin’ I can do to help?’

The refusal is on the tip of your tongue. You don’t say yes to a whole lot nowadays, other than when Lucy makes you. But then you hear yourself ask, a challenge in your voice that you didn’t know you had. ‘I don’t know. Are you any good with your hands, Joel Miller?’

At the boldness in your words, which you don’t take back, Joel’s eyebrows reach for his hairline. Biting your lip but standing your ground, you watch him grind his jaw as he considers his response. 

‘Why don’t you try me, sweetheart?’

‘Like this?’

‘Wait - slow down.’

A shuffle of hands. ‘How about now?’

‘That’s it. Yes, that’s good. Keep going.’

A raspy grunt. ‘I think I’m almost there.’

‘Yeah, that’s right, don’t stop -’

‘Alright, you ready?’

‘Come on, Joel -’

With one last flick, the knife slices clean through the base of the stalk, and Joel plucks the cauliflower head out of its leafy cradle with a triumphant grin.

‘How’s that for good hands, huh?’ he crows. 

‘I’ll get back to you in the fall when we see if the cauliflower grows back,’ you tease. 

He huffs, squinting up at you through the sun. ‘You’re hard to please, sweetheart.’

You preen at the playful turn of the conversation. If you were a little braver, you’d give him a mischievous wink - but for now, you gesture at the patch. ‘Can you handle the rest? I’ll get started on the peppers.’

He nods. ‘Leave ‘em with me.’

The pepper plants are having a great season, standing at four feet tall and heaving with fruits. You’ve left them alone on the vine for the last three weeks to sweeten, and they have dutifully ripened into a beautiful red. Settling onto your knees, you methodologically comb through the peppers from top to bottom, cutting off each one by the stalks.

It’s a big harvest, half of which you plan on giving away to your neighbours in exchange for their berries and lemons. Some you will cook. Lucy is due to come over for dinner, and she loves your stuffed pepper recipe. The rest you’ll have to find time to roast, skin, deseed and preserve in oil, which will last the rest of the year -

A shadow falls over you, stilling your hands and drawing your eyes upwards.

The sight is familiar - feet planted shoulder-wide by your knees, chin tucked in as he stares down at you, your nose level with the front of the jeans that you picked out for him - you’ve seen it all before, except for one small detail.

Joel is sweating. A lot.

His thin plaid shirt - you’re not sure if you’ve seen him in anything else yet - is sticking to him like a second skin, clinging to the solid outline of his biceps as he holds onto the basket full of cauliflower heads. The sunlight glances off the perspiration dotting his hairline, and the wispy grays that normally curl away from his face have wilted in the humidity. 

There’s a flush under his skin as he swipes at his forehead with his shirt sleeve, and your gaze follows a bead of sweat dripping down the prominent vein on the side of his neck, and into the deep V of his shirt - wait, is that the outline of an undervest that you can just make out underneath -

‘Should I take the cauliflower in?’

‘Um -’ you stammer to a halt, eyes still plastered to the front of his chest, just like his shirt.

He clearly mistakes your gawking for something else, flashing you an apologetic smile at his state. ‘Sorry, I work up a sweat real easy.’

Oh, come on. Now all you’re thinking about is how else he works up a sweat -

Seized by the sudden need to get out of the heat in more than one sense of the word, you rip the basket from his grasp and turn on your heels to sprint into the house with a choked, ‘I’ll be right back!’

You nearly trip over your own feet running into the kitchen, your heart thumping so loudly in its ribcage it feels like the whole house is shaking to the beat. 

And all that man has done is sweat in front of you.

‘Pull yourself together, Pin,’ you mutter to yourself as you tip the cauliflower heads onto the kitchen table. Grabbing a jug from the cupboard, you put it in the sink and turn on the faucet. Watching the trickle of water, you make yourself take three deep breaths. 

Joel’s kind enough to do you a favour, you could at least have the courtesy to not perv on him while he helps you out.

Nodding determinedly to yourself, you pluck two glasses from the drying rack, putting them inside the empty basket that you hook on your elbow, and march back outside -

Only to almost swallow your tongue and drop the full jug of water right at your feet.

Joel’s sweat-soaked shirt is now hanging on your washing line like a white flag, having surrendered to the heat. And just like that, the very image that has been inconveniently seared into the back of your eyes since the party is suddenly before you in all its glory, in the morning sun, out in the open air.

The white undervest stretches over the breadth of him, and if he didn’t look so good in it, you would’ve laughed at the comical way the flimsy straps are clinging onto his shoulders for dear life. Then he bends over to inspect the tomato vines, the bottom of his vest riding up with the movement, teasing a flash of skin above the waistline of the jeans pulled tight over his behind. One big hand reaches out, the outline of his arm flexing as he does, and he palms the bottom of one tomato, testing if it’s ripe for the picking. 

Except in your head, it’s something else he’s cupping with such rapturous attention. 

He doesn’t notice you until he stands up with a low grunt of effort. Pointing an apologetic finger at his shirt, he says, ‘I hope you don’t mind, I’m sweatin’ right through it like nobody’s business.’

You make a noise in your throat that you pass off as an answer, and with shaky hands, pour him a full glass of water which you shove in his direction.

‘Appreciate it, sweetheart.’ He salutes you and takes a long drag, tipping his head back. You watch, transfixed, as the sunlight bounces off the lines of sweat criss-crossing down the strong column of his neck, and the hard bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

Suddenly, you’re parched. But you don’t trust yourself to stay upright, let alone pour yourself a drink.

‘It’s hot today,’ Joel breaks the loaded silence, though it’s possible that it’s unilaterally so on your side.

‘Uh-huh,’ you croak, still holding onto the water jug like a shield.

He peers at you with a touch of mischief. ‘You ain’t gonna swoon or anythin’ are you?’

Probably. And definitely not for the reason he has in mind. 

You attempt a weak smile that may have come off as a grimace. ‘I’ll try not to.’

Reassured, he nods towards the garlic patch. ‘C’mon. Let’s get our hands dirty, sweetheart.’

By the time the vegetable patch has been thoroughly picked and the baskets crammed full, the sun is high in the sky, the morning clouds burned off with the heat.

Joel isn’t the only one who’s sweating through his clothes - your light cotton top is now clinging uncomfortably to your skin, sweat dripping down your sternum and dampening the cups of your bra. You heave a sigh of relief when he helps you move the haul to a shaded corner near the porch where you have an outdoor sink and wheel hose installed.

Emptying the root vegetables into the sink, Joel steps back and casts a critical eye over the rain gutters that line the eaves of your house. Fingers spread over one jutting hip, he leans his weight on his right leg, the stance creating all kinds of angles that are completely unnecessary in this kind of heat.

He points at the leaves and branches that are clearly sticking out from the channels, but you’re only really interested in studying his large hands. The bumps and veins on the back of them, the watch with the broken face on his left wrist, the dirt coating his thick fingers, pushed under tidily trimmed nails. The logical thought that follows is how he would leave dark streaks on your white top when he pulls you in by the waist - 

‘Looks like the gutters need cleanin’,’ Joel declares. 

Well, the gutter your head is currently dunked in can certainly do with a good scrub.

‘Rainy season doesn’t start for another few months, they can wait.’

He uh-uh's sternly. ‘I’ve heard that before. Do you have a ladder?’

‘You really don’t have to -’ you protest, but he won’t hear it.

‘It’s no big deal, I’m sweaty anyway,’ he replies. ‘Besides, you’ll be doing me a favour keepin’ me occupied. I don’t pick Ellie up till three.’

You bite your lip. ‘But I feel bad working you so hard.’

Without skipping a beat, he winks. ‘Don’t worry your pretty head, sweetheart - I like workin’ for it.’

Jesus Christ. This man needs to be locked up and the key thrown to a colony of clickers.

The inner contractor in Joel comes out to play as he climbs deftly up the extension ladder propped up against the eaves, gloves on and a tarp bag tied to the top rung for collecting the debris. Discreetly, you shuffle around the freestanding sink so that you have a clear view of him as you turn on the water and start washing the dirt off the onions.

He’s starting close by, just a couple of feet away from you, patiently scooping out the dead leaves and twigs by the handful. Up on the ladder with his side to you, you’re eye level with the swell of his belly, which stretches the seams of the vest, and the underside of it peeks out every time he reaches up for the gutters. Your cheeks warm with the memory of how the soft folds felt against you, so warm and solid that you ache to reach out, push the flimsy vest up and nuzzle the tender skin with your nose -

It takes you a couple of minutes to realise that you’re not even pretending to be washing the onions anymore, the hose running in your idle grasp as you stare, head cocked to one side.

You don’t hear him when he turns to you. ‘Can pass me the hose?’

You stare dumbly back at him. ‘Huh?’

‘The hose, Pin,’ he repeats, a playful condescension in his smirk, like he knows exactly what you’ve been looking at. ‘That onion looks sparkly clean.’

You’re not sure what happened. One second you’re holding onto the hose with the intention of turning off the water before passing it to Joel, but your brain skips that crucial first step, and the next thing you know, you’re pointing it straight at him, spraying him in water from face to chest.

As he splutters, you shove the hose into the sink and screech, mortified. ‘Oh my god! I’m so sorry!’

You watch in horror as the water trickles from his hair, down his stubbled chin and onto his chest - okay, that’s a lie. It’s definitely not horror that’s twisting in your tummy and then much, much lower between your thighs.

And if you thought this man looked good sweaty, well - you’ve seen nothing yet.

He might as well put you out of your misery and take off his undervest right about now. It’s completely see-through, pebbled nipples and the firm ridges of his pecs showing through the wet fabric, rounded out by the endearing soft pouch of his belly. 

He wears the early summer tan so well, and for the first time since the outbreak, you think about the swim club in your old neighbourhood. Watching the water drip off his skin, it’s not a stretch to imagine this man pulling himself out of the pool after a quick dip to cool down, before stretching out on a sunlounger to dry in the sun - all in slow motion, set to the track of a corny sax riff.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say on reflex, but the apology rings hollow with the way your gaze lingers over his chest, and he notices.

He chuckles, carding one hand through his wet hair to slick it back, standing taller under your eyes. ‘As I said - never a dull moment with you, sweetheart.’ 

Joel takes his time, clearing out all the blockages and hosing the gutters clean so that you don’t have to worry about them for another six months. He dumps the leaves and sticks in the compost post, rinses the soiled gloves and his hands clean, before taking his shirt off the washing line and heading into the blessed shade.

He finds you in the kitchen, back to the door, putting away clean plates and cutlery from the drying rack, porcelain knocking together and metal clanging.

This is the most he’s seen of you, in a tank top and shorts, bathed in light spilling in from the large windows that open out into the backyard. He sees touches of your workshop right here in the kitchen - dried herbs and seasoning in mismatched but tidy boxes on the shelves, knives organised by size on a magnetic knife block, plates and bowls arranged in neat stacks behind glass cabinets.

Not wanting to alarm you, he deliberately scrapes his shoe on the tiled floor to make his presence known.

Whipping around - and just a touch startled - you smile with a quiet hey, and Joel’s not sure if he’ll ever get over how the sweet shyness still clings to the curve of your lips despite the fact that he’s kissed you right there.

He stays by the door for now and says, ‘I put the ladder back, and the gutters are all done, but I spotted some shingles missing on the roof while I was up there. I’ll come back to fix ‘em some other time.’

‘Thank you so much Joel, but really, don’t worry about the roof. You’ve done enough.’

‘You basically got Ellie outta my hair every Saturday for the next few months, so I’ll have plenty of time to kill,’ he half-jokes.

A comfortable lull sets in, and he looks up at the ticking clock, surprised that it’s almost noon. Shifting his feet, he opens his mouth and is about to excuse himself when you blurt out, ‘I’m sorry I soaked you.’

The jury's out on who's more taken aback by your phrasing. Exasperated, you groan, ‘I did not mean to say that.’

Joel’s kept a respectful distance since he arrived at the house, the pliant weight of you in his arms and your taste on his tongue kept firmly at bay in the back of his mind, not wanting to bring up anything that would make you uncomfortable in the light of day. But now, he pushes himself off the threshold of the door and crosses the cosy kitchen, pleased that you stay put when he plants himself in front of you, toe to toe.

Brushing a finger under your chin so that you’re staring up at him, he deliberately pitches his voice low and gruff, the double entendre almost crude in its delivery. ‘Just so we’re clear, you can soak me any time, sweetheart, in any way you want.’

Your lips part and your gaze darkens, and he feels his body instinctively react, invisible threads reeling him bodily into you. When you speak, your voice quivers, his name at once a single-worded reprimand and a needy whine that takes him right back to his brother’s spare bedroom. ‘Joel -’

‘Yes, Pin?’ he baits you playfully, just like he did that night, taking one last step so that you’re crowded against the countertop, bookending you with his palms planted on the wooden surface.

Finally shedding that last bit of shyness holding you back, you retort with no real bite, ‘You’re such a tease, Miller.’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it,’ he quips easily, his attention on your mouth. He hears your shaky intake of air, the whole moment suspended on tenterhooks as you skirt each other on the brink -

Just then, a breeze drifts in from the open window above the sink, providing instant relief from the humidity that hangs heavy in the air. All of a sudden, he’s acutely aware of the fact that he’s sweaty all over, so much so that he might actually smell. 

Self-conscious, he clears his throat and murmurs ‘I should probably go, I need a shower and a change of clothes -’

‘You can shower here,’ you interrupt, stumbling over your words in your haste. ‘I have a spare shirt somewhere.’

You don’t need to ask him twice. 

He smiles. ‘Sounds good, sweetheart.’

Your ensuite bathroom, like what he has seen of your house, is clean and organised. There’s a neat stockpile of soap bars in the cupboard, and he spots the familiar bottles of regulation shampoo and toothpaste that the town mass produces.

The water is plenty hot as he efficiently lathers himself top to bottom and front to back, but the pressure is a bit weak for his liking and can be easily fixed. Something else to add to the list.

The towel you left on the rack is soft and smells like the sun. Patting himself dry and rubbing it through his hair, he wipes away the condensation off the mirror above the sink. He peers at his reflection, ruminating that it’s time for a shave, and pushes back his wet hair so the strands don’t get in his eyes.

Out of his clothes, only his jeans are passably dry, so he forgoes his boxers and pulls them on, carefully doing up the zipper. Using his shirt as a sling, he bundles up all the dirty clothes and opens the bathroom door.

He catches you coming into the bedroom as he steps out, and your jaw drops at the sight of him in just his jeans before you slap your palms dramatically over your eyes, the tshirt you’re holding onto covering your whole face and muffling your voice. ‘I’m so sorry! I should’ve knocked!’

Joel chuckles at your reaction. ‘Sweetheart, it's your house. And I’m not exactly naked.’

Lowering your hands sheepishly, you still clutch the tshirt to your chest like a security blanket, admitting, ‘Sorry, I just - I just realised I’ve never had a man in here before.’

Something wraps itself around his stomach and pulls, and it takes him a beat to put a name to it because it’s been so long. It’s possessiveness that rushes through his veins and goes straight to his head, and he has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep his voice from wavering. He demands, ‘Never?’

‘Never.’

He lets the word wash over him, appeasing the beast in him for now. With a slow nod, he takes three measured steps towards you, stopping just an arm’s length away. Gently coaxing you to let go of the purple tshirt, he snorts at the huge Lakers logo blazoned across the front. 

He quips, ‘I’m more of a Longhorns fan myself, actually.’

The tension cracks, and you grin back, ‘Well, not anymore.’

After your confession, it’s probably redundant, but he wants to hear you say it. Flashing the tshirt at you, he asks, ‘Old boyfriend’s?’

It’s the most personal question that’s been exchanged between you so far by a mile, and it’s probably none of his business, but you can’t explain why your pulse spikes at the way his normally warm gaze hardens with something unfamiliar.

‘No,’ you answer. ‘I keep some of the stock here when there’s not enough room at the shop, that’s all.’

Joel rasps, ‘Good.’

With that one syllable, his shoulders visibly relax, suddenly drawing your attention to his topless form, which you’ve been too mortified to actually look at. It’s a lot to take in, and even though you’ve seen most of him already, there is one conspicuous part that you haven’t yet -

But before your eyes can trail that low, Joel turns. ‘Thanks, I appreciate it. I’ll just -’

You’re slow to catch onto why he trails off in the middle of the sentence, still far too distracted by his general state of undress to notice until he’s already made his way to the top of your neatly made bed. And then you see it…

The flannel peeking out from underneath the duvet.

Oh. Fuck.

With an almost flippant flick of his wrist, Joel peels back the corner of the bedspread. Wordlessly, he stares down at the red plaid shirt he lent you at the baby shower, tucked snugly in your bed, buried half under your pillow. 

He stares at it for so long that you interrupt the silence for once.

‘I’ve been meaning to return it,’ you squeak, hands flailing awkwardly, desperately wanting something to hold onto. ‘I just - forgot.’

Joel half-turns to you, arching an eyebrow. ‘You’ve been keepin’ it in your bed?’

Backed into a corner - and you’re not proud of it - you lie. Outrageously. ‘I don’t know how it got in there.'

He picks up the shirt by the collar. It’s wrinkled all over and obviously worn in. He smirks, ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

You’re this close to swivelling around and making a break for it, but as soon as your axis of balance tilts backwards, Joel grabs you by the wrist and pulls you in, hauling you firmly into his bare chest.

‘You’ve been wearin’ it to sleep, haven’t you?’ he asks in a tone that brooks no argument. 

Your fingers curl into his chest, his skin blazing warm under your palms. There’s no point fibbing anymore, and you admit, ‘Yes.’

His voice is hoarse when he asks, ‘You wear anythin’ underneath it, sweetheart?’

You hold your breath for one long moment, the tension in the room swelling so quickly that your ears pop. Eventually, under his patient yet heated stare, you shake your head, lips sealed.

His pupils dilate and his nostrils flare, and you feel his grip on your hips tighten.

‘No bra?’ he prompts.

‘No bra,’ you parrot back.

His jaw clenches so tightly that you’re surprised he manages to articulate his next question. ‘No panties?’

‘No panties -’

You barely get the word out before Joel is kissing you, pushing the syllables right back into your mouth until you swallow them with a whimper.

And then he’s pulling back, growling against yours, ‘And what do you do naked in my shirt, hmm?’

You stutter, ‘I - I think about you -’

An undignified squeal escapes you when he suddenly spins you around, your back hitting the bed, denying you the chance to catch your breath. The ceiling fan turns directly above you, but it does nothing to quell the heat between your bodies as Joel clambers over you on his hands and knees, sliding his mouth over yours again in a hard kiss.

You always thought your bed was a decent size, but now, with the bulk of this man hovering over you, you’re not so sure anymore. His ridiculously wide shoulders fill your entire field of vision, and even though he’s holding himself up with his forearms by your ears, you can almost feel the full weight of him through sheer anticipation of his touch. 

His heated words brush by your ear, making you shudder. ‘Tell me what you think about, sweetheart.’

‘Your arms, your shoulders -’ you hesitate, dropping your voice shyly. ‘Your belly.’

Joel looks taken aback. ‘My belly?’

You duck your head almost guiltily. ‘Yes.’

His brows draw together in an endearingly confused frown. ‘Why?’

‘That time in the workshop, when we met, you were sucking it in so hard you could hardly breathe - but you don’t anymore.’

The dots connect, and his lips part in an oh. ‘I didn’t even realise.’

‘I know. That’s why it’s sexy,’ you point out.

He looks at you incredulously, as if you’ve lost your mind. ‘My belly is sexy?’

You grin. ‘Yes, and your confidence. You walk differently now, you know.’

He makes a noise at the back of his throat, a self-satisfied smirk tilting his lips upwards. ‘You been watchin’ me?’

‘Maybe,’ you tease.

You exhale long and heavy through your nose when he sucks delicately on your bottom lip, opening you up so that he can dip inside, stealing a taste of your tongue with his. 

‘Been thinkin’ about you all week, sweetheart,’ he whispers, trailing fire across your cheek and the hollow behind your ear. 

‘I haven’t seen you around at all,’ you whine, tipping your head back as he nudges the tip of his proud nose down your throat.

‘I know, it took three fuckin’ days to clean up after the party,’ he complains, his disgruntled tone prompting a giggle from you. ‘Never again.’

‘I’m not so sure about that. There will be plenty of birthday parties to look forward to, Uncle Joel -’

An open-mouthed kiss on the side of your neck catches you off guard, the unfamiliar texture of the wet suction and scrape of his teeth jolts you clean off the mattress, sending you body slamming into his ribcage.

Joel hums, pleased at your reaction. ‘So sensitive. I’ve barely touched you yet, sweetheart.’

It’s immediate, the shame that burns under your skin at his remark despite knowing he doesn’t mean anything by it, and Joel frowns at the way you stiffen under him. Regret colours his words as he cups your cheek. ‘Pin, I’m sorry, that came out wrong -’

‘No, that’s the thing. You’re not wrong,’ you interrupt with a shake of your head. There’s no point denying it - you’re a grown woman, and there’s something fundamentally embarrassing about losing touch with that part of yourself over the years. ‘I - it’s been so long, I don’t even know my own body anymore.’

His eyes dip downwards and slowly, over the curve of your breasts and the arch of your back. With an encouraging smile, he argues, ‘I’m not sure about that. Looks like your body’s reactin’ perfectly to me.’

Your lips twitch despite yourself. ‘You’re just saying that to get into my pants.’

He takes the unexpected turn in the conversation in stride and runs with it. ‘Trust me, sweetheart, if I were tryin’, I’d already be in them.’

‘You’re such an ass, Joel Miller.’

His roguish grin has you squirming and fisting the sheets underneath you. ‘I dunno. Somethin’ tells me you like it.’

Wrapping one palm on the back of his neck, you drag him into you again, relishing in the weight of him as he pins you to the bed with the broad frame of his shoulders. He moans into your mouth, claiming it with deep strokes of his tongue, while his calloused palms sneak under the hem of your shirt and pull you into him by the small of your back.

Even as your hips buck, begging for friction, Joel holds back, propping himself up on his knees to keep a tenuous grip on his self-control. Pulling back from your lips with a wet pop, he assures you through heavy breaths, ‘We can stop any time, sweetheart. Just say the word.’

Your response comes fast and sure, but he can read the hesitance between the lines, ‘I - I don’t want to stop.’

He presses a patient kiss to your lips, but backs away before you can deepen it. ‘How about this - we’ll flip you over so that you’re on top, and you decide what you want to do. Is that ok?’

You pause to consider his proposal, sliding your tongue over your bottom lip - he’s this close to kissing you right there and then. You ask shyly, ‘And it’s ok if we - you know, just make out?’

He smiles. ‘I can do with some good old-fashioned neckin’.’

‘Ok then -’

You yelp when Joel turns you over without warning, the sudden movement making your head spin. Sitting up against the headboard, he drags you in his lap and asks, ‘Alright?’

You nod with a nervous smile. It’s intimidating, being so close to him that there’s nowhere else to look but into his thoughtful eyes that are watching you for any signs of discomfort. Catching your breath, you settle into the moment and realise that you’re straddling him, hands clinging onto his shoulders, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. His belly is warm and soft where he’s pressed up against you, but lower, nudging insistently between your legs -

Joel is hard.

The revelation robs you of air, want and need rushing like blood to your head, and you stiffen, not knowing what to do.

Joel catches on - you’re beginning to think that nothing ever escapes him - and he reminds you, ‘Just kissin’, ok, sweetheart?’

Snapping out of your freeze frame, you nod, ‘Yes. Ok.’

Giving you somewhere to start, he prompts, ‘Where do you want my hands?’

Tugging on his wrists, you watch his jaw go slack when you place his palms squarely on your ass, where your denim shorts hardly cover the top of your thighs. He lets out a lewd moan at the way your soft curves fill his hands, fingers squeezing and kneading greedily, and you push your hips back into his contact. 

‘Not so shy after all, hmm?’ he rasps.

You preen at his praise, and riding the wave of boldness, you tip forward and press your lips to Joel’s before you could overthink it. Over the roar of blood in your ears, you hear him suck in a shaky breath, and you feel the deep groan in his throat taper into a whimper when you swipe your tongue into his mouth.

You’re completely unprepared for the power the sound unleashes in you.

Somewhere in your consciousness, a door is cracked open, and memory crackles at the edges of your mind. Each shuddered breath shared, every slide of skin on skin, brings to the surface what you thought you’d forgotten. 

Your fingers burrow into the still wet locks at his nape, earning a loud moan from Joel when you pull on the grays that have distracted you on more than one occasion. He nips his way sloppily down your neck, trailing spit and beard burn as he goes, while your palms skate over his chest and down, down, down until your fingernails drag over the pliant folds of his tummy, hanging over the waistband of his jeans.

‘Sweetheart,’ he groans brokenly at the contact, forehead knocking into yours.

Spreading your fingers over soft flesh, you choke on an inhale when he bodily rocks into your palms. Your thumb catches the hollow of his belly button, fingers tenderly squeezing the creases and dimples of his belly. His eyes crack open under tightly knitted eyebrows, vulnerability etched in every line on his face.

Something shifts - something that neither of you can take back. And suddenly, it’s not just kissing anymore.

Caught somewhere between writhing instinctively under his touch and a deliberate pursuit of friction, your hips find a rhythm that has the seat of your panties quickly twisting and dampening as you grind on the erection straining against the zipper of his jeans.

Blunt nails bite into your thighs as Joel growls, ‘Shit, sweetheart. That’s it.’

You want to bury your face in his neck, feeling too wanton in the way you’re panting in needy whimpers, but he preempts that on no uncertain terms. ‘I want to see everythin’. Look at me.’

You do just that - you can’t deny this man even if you tried - watching him watch you with his pupils blown wide and wild, wetting his bottom lip the same time his eyes drop to your tits, as if he can see right through the thin fabric. He doesn’t touch you anywhere else though, his hands staying where you put them. You can feel his grip dig harder and harder into the swell of your ass, but he doesn’t try to change your rhythm, giving you free rein to ride him any way you need.

When your peripheral vision starts to go, you know it’s not a coincidence that your thoroughly soaked panties shift and strain against your clit, pinching it just so that you cry out, hips faltering.

Joel bares his teeth, and you feel his hips rut upwards into you, his restraint slipping. ‘There you go. You’re close, aren’t you?’

You can only nod, frantically grinding into him now, your whole mind narrowing until the only thought that remains is chasing that high that you can almost taste. Everything swells, electricity fills the air, his name a sacred chant on your tongue as you claw at his back, teetering precariously on the brink of something that promises to devastate you.

‘Joel, Joel, Joel -’

He catches you when you break - you fling yourself at him, knocking into him so hard that the back of his head hits the wall, but he doesn’t even flinch. Tucked safely into the crook of his neck, you whine and wail as you thrash in his hold, and his nostrils flare at your scent. He can smell you, he can smell the slick leaking from your pussy, humid and heady in the air between you, making his mouth water as he aches to taste you - all of you. 

One day.

Right now, the hinge of his jaw almost cracks as you milk the last remnants of your orgasm with a needy swivel of your hips, rubbing against his cock at an angle that makes his vision swim, and he knows he’s too far gone. His control slips like shifting sands, and a primal instinct takes over as he bucks roughly into you, fingertips leaving imprints in your skin that you will feel for days after.

‘Oh fuck, sweetheart, wait, I’m - shit, I’m gonna -’

When it hits him, it’s fucking relentless - he cums and cums until his voice goes hoarse with your name, until it feels like his abdomen would cave in and collapse, spurting and spilling until it feels like he’s turned inside out. It goes everywhere, thick, milky strands filling the gaps in his jeans and sliding down his legs in a sticky mess, and he slumps bonelessly into the headboard, panting against your lips as he catches his breath.

Sweetly, gently, he tilts his chin up just enough to kiss you, his nose nudging your cheek intimately when he pulls away, his lungs too deprived of air to keep going. He winces when you shift above him, knowing that you can feel the wet spot pooling under your bare thighs.

Joel breaks the sluggish silence first, cracking a grin. ‘So much for just makin’ out.’

You clumsily climb off his lap and crash land sideways onto the mattress. ‘Is that a complaint, Joel Miller?’

He drapes a heavy arm over you and pulls back you flush into him. ‘Well, these jeans are fuckin’ ruined. I want a refund.’

‘I’m afraid we don’t accept cum-stained returns. Store policy.’

He pffts. ‘Damnit. Should’ve read the fine print.’

You grin. ‘Well, at least there's something deeply poetic about cumming in the jeans that I picked out for you.’

‘Touché, sweetheart,’ he grunts and presses a kiss to your forehead. Glancing down at the unmistakable wet patch on the denim, he asks hopefully, ‘Any chance you got some pants I can borrow?’

Ellie bounces her leg irritably, hunched over on the stairs exactly where Joel was sitting this morning. Where the fuck is he? He’s twenty minutes late, and he had the nerve to get all huffy when she lied about the start time today. Unbelievable.

Moodily looking left and right, there’s still no sign of him. She’s about to give up and wait for him at home when something conspicuously purple comes to a stop in front of her. 

Her jaw hits the floor.

‘Oh. My. God.’

She’s never been high before, but she’s pretty sure this is the stuff hallucinations are made of.

This being Joel Miller in a purple tshirt with a tacky logo she doesn’t recognise printed on the front and khaki cargo shorts that cut off at the knees, holding a basket of vegetables that she’s pretty sure he doesn’t eat.

With a roll of his eyes, he snaps, ‘Shut your mouth, you’re trappin’ flies.’

Pasting on the most obnoxious grin she can muster, Ellie croons, ‘Man, don’t you look pretty.’

Turning on his heel, Joel starts walking without looking back. ‘Shut up.’

Jogging to keep up, she cackles, ‘Hey, did you fall into a wormhole and went shopping at a farmer’s market in 1999?’

‘Shut up.’

‘You really should wear shorts more often, y’know, show off those knees. And purple really is your colour, Barney!’

Joel frowns, shooting her a sidelong glare. ‘How the hell do you know who Barney is?’

Ellie shrugs. ‘What do you think they teach us at school?’

He’s the one who starts it. The quake in his shoulders would have been imperceptible to anyone else, but nowadays, there’s not much that he can hide from her. As usual, she giggles first, which trails into a squeal when Joel gives her a shove on the back, sending her stumbling over her shoes.

‘Fuck you, man!’ she snickers and basically rugby tackles him, but he barely budges, lips pulling back into a toothy grin. 

Across the street, unbeknownst to the pair, Tommy smiles to himself as he watches his big brother laugh, really laugh - the kind that has him doubling over and gasping for air through watery eyes. For the first time since the world ended, he looks up at the sky with a reassuring nod, and he knows deep down - Joel will be just fine.

Notes: You guys continue to blow me away with your support - I cannot be more grateful for all the reblogs, asks and interaction with my silly Behind the Seams posts and random updates. Thank you so so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I can't wait to hear what you think ❤️

I will be having a think over the next few weeks about where Seams will go from here. This chapter wraps up the first mini story arc, and I'll be dedicating August to wrapping up my Palomino series, so it will give me some time and distance to mull over what's next for Joel and Pin. I'm also a few followers away from a big milestone, so I might have something fun planned! 🥰

[marzipanandminutiae]

Hi, this is a bit of a shot in the dark on my end, but I have a fashion inquiry (and I apologize if I sound ridiculous at all; I’m a bit at my wit’s end).

Is there a good way to research forms of casual Victorian garb? I feel like I’m going a bad route by inserting the word ‘Victorian’ into any search because it results in rather fancy things (or modern twists on such that are purchasable). Would it be wiser to site dates in search? Is this going to fruitless?

Sorry for taking up any time if this is out of wheelhouse. But if you do answer, I really appreciate it.

I'll do my best! Focusing on womenswear, because...well, that's what I know best. But if anyone wants to chime in about the gentlemen, please do so!

So, casual Victorian doesn't always read as Casual to us nowadays. Standards of casual clothing- that is, clothing one wears for everyday life when nothing special is going on -were rather higher than we have today.

This is an illustration of matchstick-makers in London's East End c. 1871, done by one Herbert Johnson. The women have their sleeves rolled up and aprons on, but when they leave the factory (rolling their sleeves down, adding hats to go outside- which most of them would have done; it was part of looking Respectable) they might be indistinguishable to us from any other women of the same era wearing not particularly bustle-y skirts. Some of them probably have on the commonplace Matching Skirt And Bodice dress format of the era; others have on blouses made from the same patterns as those worn by middle- and upper-class women.

Also note that they have on ribbons, chokers, earrings...they're just like us. They like wearing things that make them feel Put Together, even though they're doing one of the lowest-valued, most dangerous jobs open to women at the time. Because people have always been people, regardless of time or social class.

And for middle-class women and up, Casual might be even harder to distinguish from "fancy" to us today.

This is a mid-late 1880s day dress with a skirt length suitable for lots of walking, from Augusta Auctions. Could not tell you the social status of the woman who owned it, genuinely. Probably not the absolute poorest of the poor, but beyond that...this is a dress you could potentially wear to run errands. Even to go to work, if your job wasn't especially physical. Because. I don't know. It's a Day Dress. You wear it for day things. It's not especially formal, because then it would be made of a more delicate material and probably have a longer skirt (unless it was a Serious Dancing ball gown). Possibly also a lower neckline and puffed sleeves, if it was exclusively for the most formal events.

The idea that a dress was "fancy" just because it had ornamentation wasn't really in their cultural vocabulary.

Here is a group of women playing croquet in what looks like the early-mid 1870s. They're just hanging out! Having a good time! They're probably middle or upper class, but that's what they wear to chill outside with friends- to play a lowkey sport, even.

So yeah, it can be hard to map Victorian everyday clothing onto our "jeans and t-shirt" understanding of what makes an outfit casual. They had skirts and blouses for most relevant decades, but even those outfits often end up looking formal to us nowadays because of what I call Ballgownification- the idea that, since we only wear clothes that look even vaguely like what they had for extremely dressy occasions, we assume everything we see of their clothing was dressy.

(Someone please ask for my rant about Ballgownification)

Searching for "day dress," "walking dress," "blouse," "blouse waist," and "shirtwaist" (the last for the late 19th-early 20th century when that term became commonplace) might help. Best of luck!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Off the Page 2

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: skinny!Steve

Part of the Bookstore AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You take a page out of Maria’s book and sleep on the train. The night at the hotel wasn’t long enough. By the time you ate, you were too tired to enjoy the fancy tub and your alarm woke you well before you were ready. As your stop comes, you’re still groggy and barely ready for your evening meet and greet. 

Isn’t this the dream? Running yourself ragged as a bestselling author? Seeing all the fans who love the words that you wrote? Who see themselves in the characters you created? So much a dream that you feel as if you’re falling asleep again. 

Wake up! You splash water over your face in the bookstore bathroom. It’s not glamourous. You have the small space to refresh before you face the masses. You hoped for a smaller crowd given the time of day and the lesser known location. How wrong you are; you can hear the buzz of fans through the walls. 

“Hey,” Maria enters without knocking. She’s like that. You and your agent have gotten rather cozy in those last weeks. A bit too much at times. “Almost ready?” 

“Yeah, sorry, I... is this blouse okay?” You ask as you touch the satin, patterned with violets, “I don’t even know why I bought this?” 

“It looks fine,” she assures, “you’re not a writer if you’re not at least a little eccentric, right?” 

“Oh, and what about book agents?” You challenge, “are they all so stylish?’ 

“Of course. We’re the face that sells the tour. All you have to do is smile and sacrifice your hand to carpal tunnel syndrome,” she teases, “just you wait until the interview. That's the heavy lifting.” 

“Interview?” You check yourself one last time in the mirror. 

“Didn’t I mention? The local station wants a sit down before we’re off tomorrow,” she explains, “I said yes. It’s a decent check and good business. Any publicity is good publicity. Publisher signed off on it too so... can’t back out.” 

“Oh, and you were going to tell me when?” 

“Right now,” she shrugs, “come on, your adoring fans are waiting for their elf queen.” 

“Oof, don’t,” you cringe, “you make it sound so lame.” 

“If it was lame, you wouldn’t be here,” she asserts. 

“Suppose you’re right,” you pack your things up into your bag and shove it in the corner. “Alright, I’m ready.” 

You follow her into the hall and through to the main area of the bookstore. It’s been closed early for the event, a meet and greet exclusive to those who claimed the limited one hundred tickets for sale. Each ticket includes the cost of a free signed edition and bookmark. Funny to think you’d once been on the other side of one of these things. The eager beaver reader aspiring to be the star author. 

As you come into sigh of the audience, they cheer. You’re still not used to that either. You wave and smile out at them. The moderator, an employee of the bookshop chain, calls for their attention over the microphone and introduces you. There’s another softer round of applause. 

You take your seat on the stool and let out a breath. You start with the reading. You try not to do the same chapter, instead cycling through your favourites. Some you even know by rote now. 

Then comes the Q and A session. You know all the answers. You find it’s always the same questions. Besides, you created this world, these characters, if there isn’t anything written, then you get to decide. 

A group a giggly women finish asking their questions about the ‘rumoured’ sequel to which you give your PR friendly deflection. After them, you wait for the next person to appear. There’s some scuffling at the microphone as they lower it. You wait patiently and smile at the slender blond man. He’s vaguely familiar. 

“Hi, um, my question is, whether Emeris is truly the promised knight or if he was just in the right place at the right time?” 

You nod as you listen, your thoughts whirring. It’s not an entirely out-there question. It isn’t what he’s asking that gives you pause. You swear you’ve seen him before. 

“Well, we can’t know for sure. I like to think of the promised knight as not a specific person fated from birth but rather a possibility for all. The promised knight is the one who can step up in that time of need and do what it is needed,” you explain. “I hope that makes sense.” 

The man doesn’t speak right away, himself stalling before he can respond, “yes, I guess it does. Thank you.” 

He lingers at the microphone for a moment as he watches you. He clutches a worn copy to his chest tightly. That’s familiar too. 

Strange. You're sure there’s lots of people who double dip. You have to admit you did it once yourself. Sometimes you just need that thrill.  

The blond man steps back and lets the next person ahead of him but he doesn’t go far. He stays close to the queue of people and you feel him staring you down. Everyone is watching you but his gaze just feels so much more intense. You do your best to focus on the person at the microphone. 

Several others ask their questions or just give their praise. The man remains. You can’t shake the sense of him. He’s like a shadow. You don’t know why you’re so aware of him. 

Finally, you finish up and it’s time to announce the special prize. It’s a raffle set up by ticket number. The package isn’t anything special; a collector’s edition, a mug, and some pens that look like quills. The moderator brings up a box filled with slips and you reach inside. You read out the number and the crowd mutters. 

“Me,” a deep voice rings out, a hand popping up from lower down. The blond man steps forward and waves his ticket, “it’s mine.” 

Strange coincidence. You keep your smile plastered on. You don’t need another Maria lecture about your tired moping. You’re handed the prize basket and you carry it down to meet the man. 

“Congratulations,” you say as he meets you at the lip of the low platform. 

“Thank you,” he beams up brightly, “it’s nice to see you again.” 

You try not to show your surprise, “yeah, uh... you too.” You don’t know what else to say. You don’t remember exactly where you saw him and definitely not a name; you hear too many of those to keep track. 

“Really?” He breathes. 

“Er, enjoy your prize. Thank you so much for coming.” 

“Of course. Always. Anytime,” he avows shakily. “’To you, my queen, I bid my blood and breath.’” 

You hesitate. That’s from the book. Emeris proclaims it to the elvish protagonist on her quest to reclaim her stolen homeland. It’s flattering yet slightly unsettling to have it recited to you. 

“Have a good night,” you say gently and turn to walk back across the platform. You’re tired, you need to get out of here. 

[fowltempered]

More thoughts about Orion because I’m insatiable. Some of these are silly:

After the initial awkward guilt, Butler grows to be fond of Orion much in the way that you would be toward a little brother that looks up to you. Orion actually listens to Butler’s lessons and advice, and Butler appreciates it. It makes him feel heard and valued, which is the very least that man deserves.

Orion is just generally more outwardly appreciative of others than Artemis. It’s not that Artemis doesn’t care, just that he has trouble expressing it thanks to how he was raised. Artemis tends to show his love and appreciation through acts of service whereas Orion shows it through words and affirmations.

While the both of them have fairly noticeable accent, Orion’s is a bit more pronounced. His voice is also a lot gentler in tone than Artemis’ is. Orion also almost exclusively refers to their parents as ‘Ma’ and ‘Pa’ instead of ‘Mother’ and ‘Father’ as Artemis does.

Artemis and Orion both envy each other. Artemis envies Orion’s honesty and the freedom he has to be himself, and worries that people are going to like him more because he’s “kinder” (They’re both kind, they just show it differently) while Orion envies the connections that Artemis has with others and the respect people give him, and worries that people will never accept him because he’s not “the real Artemis.” (He is just as accepted as Artemis)

Myles and Beckett can instantly tell who is fronting on their brother’s end. Myles based on behavioral analysis and Beckett based on “vibes.” Fowl Sr. and Angeline are right about half the time. Butler can also tell the two apart fairly easily because he knows Artemis so well, having practically raised him.

When she visits, Juliet likes to show Orion her new wrestling moves. He has never won a match against her and never will, but at least he is trying.

Outside of speaking patterns and body language, one of the biggest tells as to who is out is clothing choices. While Artemis sticks to suits and business casual, Orion is more expressive, wearing a variety of top styles (though he favors ruffled blouses because they make him looks ~romantic~. Artemis is slowly coming around to it.)

Orion is just as capable a novel author as Artemis, perhaps even more so, and the two have a running competition to see who can get more sales. (Orion has his own nom de plume, ‘Rosa Sarred’) Currently Orion is winning.

[lya-dustin]

The Florist

day 3 for the TROP fluff week hosted by @rivendellwatch with the prompt: sharing a small umbrella/modern au

Gil-galad x OC(Erinti Lothíriel)

“I’ll add another zero if you take full creative control of the décor of the event.” He is usually much better at this, but he is pressed for time.

As exclusive as Kementári is, going to a flower shop to haggle over flowers is not something Gil-galad enjoys doing.

This is Elrond’s job, that is why he made him his PA. But Elrond was out doing Valar knows what with Durin for the weekend leaving the President of Lindon Inc. to go to the damn flower shop and go over the flowers for the gala he’s being forced to host.

“You told me you wanted a gold fall theme, and I have twenty of those, now choose one.” She dismissed his offer and continued to how him everything she had under the color gold and the theme fall. At some point she had come to his side and gotten close enough for him to see the lacy bra under the plunging neckline of her floral blouse as she leaned down to show him her portfolio. “Don’t tell me you also expect me to find you a date for this thing too.”

Then there was his need for a date for the event because he cannot stand another minute of being asked what a man like him is doing single at his age.

“I was hoping to ask you for some drinks first.” Perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone.

The shop owner was a stunning woman with luscious red hair, nice proportions and not budging one bit on the matter of choosing for him. Single, he’s heard.

“Not happening, Your Grace.” The red-haired beauty moved away and rejected him far too easily. This hardly happened, even before he became the top dog at his family’s company Gil-galad never got a no from those he set his eye on. “But I know an Escort company who can get the job done.”

“Fine, this one.” He points to one that looks familiar, and refused the business card she had taken from behind her desk. At least this was over, and he would never be coming back here again.

And because the Valar have not tired of trying him this fucking day, it’s raining cats and dogs, and he’s got no umbrella. The shop has only one umbrella on the umbrella holder at the door, a small clear one with a fake lace pattern that is quickly snapped up by the woman he has no intentions of even speaking to again.

“There’s a café down the street if you want to wait for your cab there.” She offers him the umbrella to his surprise.

“Only if you lead the way.” The businessman was sure she didn’t like him, and yet they leave her place trying to make sure both get covered under the small umbrella. Had she not been a stranger he would have put his arm around her and kept her as close to him as he wanted, but they are ---for now anyways--- so he keeps it respectful.

“I thought you didn’t like me.” Gil-galad admits as she inched closer to him until their hands brushed together as they walked down the street. Perhaps his assessment was wrong, and he just pissed her off like he does with most people.

“Maybe I would’ve said yes to those drinks if you didn’t waste my afternoon because you think it’s beneath you to pick out a fucking theme for your party.” Erinti Lothíriel read him for filth and the man would be lying if he said he didn’t like it.

“For the record, I don’t think it’s beneath me, I just pay good money for my PA to get this shit done before he leaves on a weeklong holiday.” He tries to give a better second impression and it seems to be working when his companion doesn’t push the matter further. “Sorry if I gave that impression, normally I am on my best behavior around beautiful women like yourself.”

“I suppose I should tell you that you chose the same exact theme from last year’s party before the papers do.” She teases as he put his arm around her shoulder to keep her fully under the umbrella.

“Then I suppose we can head back to your office and pick another after the rain lets up.” He is not surprised by the flirting, he had missed it after it disappeared in the first twenty minutes of their appointment.

Needless to say, this next appointment went far better than the first.

“So, would you like to come with me to the party? Got a fully stocked bar at my place where we can celebrate a job well done after.” Gil-galad asks as Erinti fixed up his tie. From now on, he’ll be picking out the décor for every occasion as long as each visit to the florist ends the same way.

“Only if you tell me what color you’ll be wearing.” She pulled him down by his tie and kissed him to seal the deal.

Gil-galad supposes whatever she wears will look best on his bedroom floor.

Erinti’s faceclaim is turkish actress, Meryem Uzerli

Kementári is one of the names Yavanna has, Lothíriel is the name Gil-galad gives Erinti in their og fic meaning Maiden crowned with flowers

[vogue-vibes-fashion]

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[practically-an-x-man]

Ask time!! I promise one day I'll ask you something normal like favorite colours, but today isn't that day.

Your characters are conscripted into a fashion show. The catch: they each have to make their own outfits exclusively out of the contents of a very large thrift store that they're currently trapped in. They have 24 hours before they're released to present their creation. What do they do?

Huh, that's a unique one lol. Let's see what I've got:

Rae: Honestly... I can't quite figure her out. She really wouldn't agree to be in a fashion show to begin with, so I can really only imagine her finding a decent blouse or dress shirt and calling it a day. The only reason she'd be at the show is as an interpreter, not as a performer.

Robin: Let's be real, she could make anything look good. All she has to do is find a dress that fits her, and she's golden.

Madison: Finds a dress she likes well enough and cuts holes in it to accommodate her fins. That's about it... she's not really fashion-oriented

Jasper: Picks up a dress shirt, a vest, and a pair of slacks and manages to put together a half-decent thrifted suit.

Ophelia: Doesn't bother looking at the clothing - she just needs fabric. She ends up finding a set of almost-new bedsheets in the home section and turns those into a simple but flowy dress.

Kestrel: Finds the nicest-looking dress or suit in the place and just shapeshifts to fit it. Maybe tailors it a little if it's close enough, since they'd rather stay in their usual form, but they're fine just shifting to make it fit if they have to.

Quinn: Finds a donated Prom dress and rips the shit out of it. If on the off-chance someone's donated paint somewhere in another section of the store, she'll go to town there too. Then they snag a leather jacket and call it a day.

Katherine: Browses the sections to find patterns or fabrics she likes, regardless of what kind of garment they've been made into, and does a lot of cutting and stitching to make something new

Eris: Literally does not care. He will show up in the exact same outfit he walked in wearing.

Nikoletta: Finds a solid-colored dress that fits her, and uses her shadow-touch to add interesting patterns/filigree

[chronicparagon]

Do you have a visual example of what Harmony's regalia would look like?

[ Hey, there! Thank you so, so much for your ask! I'm excited to show you and tell you a bit about regalia in southeastern nations and tribes like the Chickasaw, which is one of the tribes Harmony is affiliated with.

I have some ideas on whether to go with the ribbon dress or ribbon skirt.

Regalia for woman in the southeast like the Chickasaw and Choctaw is composed of the ribbon dress, finger woven belts, and the beaded collar. There are also other options you can include like beaded medallions, gorgets, earrings, rings, bracelets, and even hair ornaments like beaded barrettes and combs. It really depends on what the person wants to include in their regalia that is important to them.

I'll start with the dresses, the collar, and then the ribbon skirts.

Traditionally, unmarried women wore ribbon dresses in bright colors and patterns while married women wore muted colors. However, time has changed and the possibilities of colors and patterns are endless. This led to a variety of beautiful creations that express the person who wears these dresses regardless of marital status.

The photos above are some examples of the more traditional design. Today, some choose to have three-quarter sleeves or even sleeveless and not have the high neckline or change the number of ruffles. Some ribbon dresses don't have ruffles as per the wearer's request.

Although Harmony is not a fan of high necklines, she would be okay with wearing the dress in a more traditional design. The dress below has sheer sleeves and although it looks much like a wedding dress, it is one that would be closer to what she could wear. She loves the night sky so her regalia would be based on that with colors including royal blue and navy.

As for colors, she would prefer things like black, purple, and silver.

The beaded collar became part of our regalia in the 90's, so it is a newer addition that became a big symbol in our culture. Although these collars can be intimidating, making them are actually quite simple once you establish the pattern.

Harmony's would have black, purple, silver lined/silver, and royal blue.

I will point out that the collars can differ by tribe. The Choctaw use only round seed beads while the Chickasaw make their's with round seed beads and bugle beads. For Harmony, her collar will be of the Chickasaw variation.

Regading the dress, there is an alternative, which is the ribbon skirt. The ribbon skirt is not exclusive to the Southeast and many Native American people would wear these skirts with a blouse of their choice, a shawl, or even a t-shirt.

These can be as diverse as the dresses if not more than the former.

The one below is more relvant to Harmony and what she may wear with a ribbon skirt.

She may wear her's with a black tank top with a jacket that has a ribbon panel on the back. She loves the night sky but also has a soft spot for flowers, so she may have it with the jacket below.

So the ribbon skirt would be based on the colors of the jacket and the ribbons being the same color as the flowers. However, the image of the skirt and jacket with the moons is another possibility with a matching beaded collar and beaded earrings (which I will have on the next post as a few favorite things post).

The collar may be harder to see since it would be under the jacket, but the jacket would be open.

I can go on and on on regalia and I don't mind bringing up Harmony's possible regalia designs, but this is already quite a bit. Please let me know if you have any questions! I'll do my best to answer them! thank you again for the ask.]

[nauticonfashionstore9]

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[nazrana-chikan]

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Chikankari, a centuries-old embroidery technique, is known for its delicacy, finesse, and artistic patterns. Unlike machine-made designs, hand-embroidered Chikankari offers uniqueness in every thread. A Chikankari lehenga is more than just an outfit—it’s a work of art. Ideal for brides who want something different from the heavy zardozi or sequin-laden lehengas, a chikankari bridal lehenga offers understated opulence with royal elegance.

When you choose to buy the online chikankari lehenga, chikankari bridal lehenga - Nazrana Chikan, you're investing in more than just beauty. You’re wearing a narrative that blends tradition with contemporary grace.

Discover the Nazrana Chikan Difference

Nazrana Chikan is not just a label—it’s a movement to revive and sustain authentic Lucknowi craftsmanship. Every lehenga at Nazrana Chikan is hand-embroidered by master artisans, ensuring the highest level of quality, authenticity, and detail.

From luxurious georgette and soft mulmul to rich muslin and organza, the fabric range complements the intricate handwork, offering both comfort and class. Whether you're a modern bride seeking minimal elegance or someone who dreams of a traditional royal look, Nazrana Chikan has something that speaks to your style.

When you buy the online chikankari lehenga, chikankari bridal lehenga - Nazrana Chikan, you get the assurance of authenticity, the legacy of tradition, and the comfort of shopping from your home with a secure, user-friendly experience.

Styles to Fall in Love With

Nazrana Chikan offers a wide range of chikankari lehengas to suit every occasion:

Bridal Chikankari Lehengas: Perfect for your big day, featuring hand-embroidered motifs, fine detailing, and regal silhouettes. Pair with a matching dupatta and blouse for a head-turning look.

Pastel and White Lehengas: Soft, elegant, and ideal for day weddings or pre-wedding events like mehendi and engagement ceremonies.

Festive Chikankari Lehengas: Bright hues and lighter embroidery perfect for celebrations, parties, and traditional gatherings.

Whatever your vision, when you buy the online chikankari lehenga, chikankari bridal lehenga - Nazrana Chikan, you’ll find a curated selection that celebrates every woman’s individuality and style.

Seamless Online Shopping Experience

Nazrana Chikan makes it effortless to bring traditional elegance to your wardrobe. Their official website offers detailed images, sizing guides, and personal shopping assistance, ensuring a smooth and satisfying online shopping experience. You can explore an exclusive catalog, read real customer reviews, and place your order with secure payment options and doorstep delivery.

Final Thoughts

If you value heritage, craftsmanship, and timeless beauty, don’t settle for anything less than the best. Buy the online chikankari lehenga, chikankari bridal lehenga - Nazrana Chikan and embrace the regal elegance of authentic Lucknowi fashion. Whether it’s for your wedding day or a special celebration, let every thread tell your story of grace, tradition, and sophistication.

[valayaa]

Raw Silk Sarees: The Unmatched Elegance of Tradition and Texture – Valayaa Boutique

When it comes to combining timeless charm with contemporary flair, Raw Silk Sarees stand out as a beloved choice among women of all ages. At Valayaa, we take immense pride in curating and offering some of the most exquisite Raw Silk Sarees that are a celebration of Indian heritage and artisanal craftsmanship. In this blog, we’ll dive deep into the essence of Raw Silk Sarees, their cultural significance, styling tips, and why Valayaa is your perfect destination to shop for them.

The Allure of Raw Silk

Raw silk, often referred to as "wild silk," is known for its unique texture and slightly coarse finish that lends an earthy, regal touch to the fabric. Unlike refined silk, raw silk retains its natural look, making Raw Silk Sarees a preferred choice for those who appreciate authenticity and understated elegance. The slight irregularities in the weave make each piece one-of-a-kind and add character to your attire.

Cultural Legacy of Raw Silk Sarees

India has a rich tradition of silk weaving, and raw silk is an integral part of that legacy. Whether it’s weddings, religious ceremonies, or festive celebrations, Raw Silk Sarees have always found their place in the wardrobes of Indian women. They symbolize elegance, status, and a deep connection to tradition. At Valayaa, our Raw Silk Sarees are designed keeping in mind this cultural essence while offering modern touches to suit today’s fashion-forward women.

Why Choose Raw Silk Sarees from Valayaa?

At Valayaa, we are committed to bringing you only the finest Raw Silk Sarees crafted by skilled artisans from across the country. Here’s what sets our collection apart:

Premium Quality Fabric: Our raw silk is sourced directly from traditional weaving hubs, ensuring you receive authentic, high-quality material.

Exclusive Designs: From classic motifs to contemporary patterns, our Raw Silk Sarees come in a variety of styles that appeal to every aesthetic.

Affordable Luxury: We believe elegance should be accessible. That’s why Valayaa offers Raw Silk Sarees at price points that balance quality and value.

Styling Your Raw Silk Saree

One of the most exciting aspects of owning Raw Silk Sarees is the versatility they offer in styling. Here are some chic ways to style them:

For Weddings: Pair a vibrant raw silk saree with traditional gold jewelry and a heavy blouse for a grand look.

For Work Events: Choose a subtle-colored raw silk saree with a plain blouse and minimal jewelry for a sophisticated appearance.

For Festivals: Opt for contrast blouses and statement accessories to make your saree stand out.

At Valayaa, we also offer custom blouse stitching and styling advice to help you create the perfect ensemble.

Caring for Your Raw Silk Saree

Maintaining Raw Silk Sarees is crucial to ensure their longevity. Here are some tips to keep your sarees in pristine condition:

Dry Clean Only: Raw silk is a delicate fabric that requires professional cleaning.

Store Properly: Always fold and store your saree in a muslin cloth to allow the fabric to breathe.

Avoid Sprays: Keep perfumes and deodorants away from the fabric to prevent staining.

Celebrity Influence and Raw Silk Trends

Many celebrities and fashion influencers have embraced Raw Silk Sarees for red carpet events and weddings. Their appearance in designer raw silk has boosted the popularity of the fabric among younger generations. At Valayaa, we stay ahead of the trend by updating our collection to reflect the latest styles, colors, and weaves popular among trendsetters.

Raw Silk Sarees as Gifting Options

Looking for a thoughtful and elegant gift? Raw Silk Sarees make wonderful presents for birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, or festive occasions. At Valayaa, we offer gift packaging options and curated recommendations to help you choose the perfect saree for your loved ones.

Valayaa: More Than Just a Boutique

Valayaa is not just a boutique; it is a space that celebrates tradition, craftsmanship, and modern sensibility. Our dedicated team ensures every customer finds a saree that feels personal and special. Whether you visit our store or shop online, you’ll find a collection of Raw Silk Sarees that resonates with grace and authenticity.

Conclusion

If you’re looking to invest in timeless elegance, Raw Silk Sarees are a must-have in your wardrobe. Their rich texture, graceful drape, and cultural heritage make them the perfect blend of tradition and style. And with Valayaa’s unmatched collection, quality assurance, and styling support, your search for the perfect Raw Silk Sarees ends here.

Visit Valayaa Boutique today and discover the charm and elegance of raw silk like never before.

[eehoodie]

Stylish Chrome Hearts Jeans You’ll Love Wearing

Chrome Hearts denims are more than just pants—they're a fashion statement. These denims combination luxury, comfort, and unique designs that make them stand out. Whether you adore ambitious info or simple beauty, there’s a pair for everybody. The logo is famous for its extremely good materials and appealing styles. If you need to improve your cloth cabinet, Chrome Hearts jeans are a wonderful preference. Let’s discover some of the first-class patterns you’ll love sporting every day.

Luxurious Comfort and Fit

One of the satisfactory matters about Chrome Hearts Jeans is their snug match. They are crafted from premium denim that feels gentle but long lasting. The cloth stretches simply enough to give you freedom of motion. Whether you opt for thin, directly, or relaxed fits, they've options for all body sorts. The stitching and seams are sturdy, ensuring they final for years. You can wear them all day without feeling confined. These jeans are best for each casual outings and stylish activities.

Unique and Bold Designs

Chrome Hearts is understood for its edgy and artistic designs. Their jeans often characteristic formidable pics, patches, and embroidery. Some styles have signature crosses or gothic lettering for a rebellious appearance. The logo isn’t afraid to experiment with exclusive washes and distressing techniques. Each pair tells a story thru its elaborate info. If you like style that makes a assertion, those denims are for you. They upload a touch of character to any outfit effortlessly.

High-Quality Craftsmanship

Every pair of Chrome Hearts jeans is made with notable craftsmanship. The brand pays near interest to each sew and element. The hardware, like zippers and buttons, is sturdy and stylish. Even the smallest elaborations are carefully placed for a perfect end. This stage of first-rate ensures the denims live in tremendous condition for a long time. Investing in a couple method you’re getting proper cost in your cash. They are designed to be each elegant and long-lasting.

Versatile for Any Occasion

One terrific element approximately Chrome Hearts jeans is their versatility. You can get dressed them up with a blazer for an evening out. Or keep it informal with a simple t-blouse and footwear. The stylish designs work nicely for concert events, parties, or maybe regular errands. No matter the way you fashion them, they constantly appearance state-of-the-art. They without problems transition from day to night time while not having a alternate. These denims are a must-have for anybody who loves bendy style.

Popular Styles to Try

Some of the most cherished Chrome Hearts jeans include the ripped black thin jeans. Another favored is the traditional blue denim with signature cross patches. Distressed patterns with frayed edges supply a cool, lived-in look. There also are constrained-edition designs with exceptional paintings. Each style has its very own appeal and appeal. Trying exclusive pairs helps you to find the appropriate fit on your wardrobe. You’ll love how every one adds something unique for your outfits.

How to Style Chrome Hearts Jeans

Pairing those denims with the right portions can raise your look. For a rocker vibe, group them with a leather-based jacket and boots. A simple white tee and footwear maintain the point of interest on the denims. Layering with a hoodie or oversized blouse provides a relaxed touch. Accessories like belts and chains supplement the edgy designs. Experiment with exceptional tops and footwear to create clean clothing. The opportunities are infinite when styling those statement jeans.

Where to Buy Them

Chrome Hearts jeans are to be had at excessive-give up boutiques and their authentic shops. You can also locate them on relied on on-line fashion systems. Always take a look at for authenticity to keep away from counterfeit products. Prices may be high, however the pleasant justifies the price. Look out for seasonal income or 2d-hand alternatives in accurate circumstance. Owning a couple is a amazing way to feature luxurious in your dresser. Start exploring and discover the best pair that speaks in your style.

Endnote

Chrome Hearts denims are a remarkable preference for every person who loves fashionable and sturdy denim. Their precise designs, comfort, and pleasant make them well worth the funding. Whether you prefer formidable or subtle looks, there’s a couple for you. They can be dressed up or down for any occasion. If you need jeans that stand out, Chrome Hearts should be your pass-to logo. Try them out and notice how they transform your cloth wardrobe effects. You’ll love wearing them each single day.

[marzipanandminutiae]

You don’t like 1920s, 1940s AND 1950s fashion? Damn what did the mid-century do to you lol. K but seriously why not the 50s? The skirts had volume and were long-ish (at least in high fashion) and blouses were well structured and fitted and often had embroidery or embellishments.

Obviously I don't hate ALL of it; no era is a monolith. But there are a few things these eras have in common that I hate:

The rise of synthetic fabrics, AKA Using Plastic To Make Clothing. We're now at a place in terms of clothing where its actively harder and more expensive to wear natural fibers than to wear clothing made entirely of a substance that leaches into our water, holds odors, makes us sweat more, doesn't generally last as long or admit as much repair over time as most natural textiles, and just Kind of Sucks all around except for a few very specific purposes. Synthetics weren't invented in the 1920s, and natural fibers were common in all of these eras than they are today, but it was definitely increasing amounts of "BUY THESE NEW EXCITING PROGRESSIVE MODERN FABRICS!!!" throughout the early and mid-20th century. Which pisses me off in principle.

Less practical garments unless you lived a very specific lifestyle- namely, access to washing machines and a willingness to launder clothing after just one wear. Modern clothing is just not great unless you have access to very frequent washing (see above re: holding odors more than many natural fibers) and barrier garments to keep sweat away from them and stretch the time between washes aren't a thing anymore for most people. In the eras mentioned, everyone was getting so excited about machine laundry capabilities- and who wouldn't? washing machines ARE a huge boon! no denying that! -that they shifted away from modes of dress designed to minimize the necessity of laundering outer clothes. Except now, with concerns about the aforementioned microplastic leaching from washing machines draining into municipal sewers and less mendable clothing- washing is a huge strain on garments, and wears them out faster if you do it too often -we need to be getting back to the system of having fewer but higher quality garments and washing them less often. Except we can't. Because some idiot in the 1920s said "whoopee nobody will ever need linen combinations or chemises that actually serve a purpose anymore!" and the subsequent decades continued it.

The silhouettes generally do not spark joy for me. 1920s actively makes me fly into a rage and scream into pillows, with the exception of robes de style MAYBE. 1940s...well, let's say there was a reason the New Look was so popular, and that's "no more boxy utility wartime clothes." I will give 1940s the hair prize here, though, because I like it better than any other decade 1920s-50s. I actually DO like the New Look! ...but not its combination with the bullet bra; yikes. This is highly subjective.

Some of the textiles, patterns, colors, and common embellishments used are just not my thing. I don't go in for Bold And Graphic And Geometric anything, usually. With a very very small number of exceptions. Polka dots and florals are also not my thing (unless the florals are on a dark background). Plastic jewelry? Hard pass. ~Fun~ motifs like fruit (except pomegranates which have Goth Appeal), the poodles on a poodle skirt, household objects, transportation, etc? No thank you; reads too Kindergarten Teacher for me. Again, not universal or exclusive to those eras- witness the 1880s chicken-print dress I saw an illustration of once -but more prevalent, to my eyes.

Hair. 1920s bobs make most people's heads look blocks. I love a good bob, but those are not Good in my opinion. 1920s Up Hair is usually meant to mimic a bob. 1930s was only a little bit better. 1940s, as I've said, was skirting the line for me and marginally acceptable. 1950s took us right back to a solid Nope with either short poodle cuts or pageboys as the main options for adult women. An occasional chignon maybe, but nothing else that appeals to me personally. just not great all around.

All of these eras were holier-than-thou about the Victorians and their fashion, which I love, so I'm petty about it. Yes please tell me more about how your plastic bullet bras or potato sack dresses are inherently superior to Grandma's elegant and comfortable long wool skirts with the perfect center back pleating. Oh, the 1860s were the ugliest fashion period ever in your opinion? Fascinating. I am setting your car on fire.

I actually DO like the New Look...which is heavily inspired by mid-19th century fashion, so that's not really any big surprise. Still has the issues with synthetic materials and the end of practical undergarments, though. Also, why stop at mid-calf for everyday skirts? Instep Or Bust You Cowards.

[shlipashastrastudio]

Katan Banarasi in Budigere Cross: A Legacy of Elegance at Ayaati

If you are in Budigere Cross, Bengaluru, and looking for a saree that exudes classic charm and royal sophistication, Ayaati proudly presents its exclusive collection of Katan Banarasi sarees. These timeless weaves are a perfect embodiment of tradition, craftsmanship, and unmatched luxury.

Katan Banarasi sarees are celebrated for their fine silk fabric, lustrous finish, and rich handwoven designs. Originating from the sacred city of Varanasi, Katan silk is crafted by twisting pure silk threads together to create a strong yet soft fabric. The result is a saree that is durable, lightweight, and exceptionally graceful, making it a prized possession for any saree connoisseur.

At Ayaati, we bring this heritage craft closer to you with a curated selection of Katan Banarasi sarees that showcase intricate zari work, delicate motifs, and elaborate borders. Each saree is a piece of art, woven meticulously by master craftsmen using techniques that have been passed down through generations. From timeless floral jaals to elegant paisleys and regal Mughal-inspired patterns, our collection offers designs that are perfect for weddings, festive celebrations, and grand occasions.

Located conveniently near Budigere Cross, Ayaati offers a luxurious and personalized shopping experience where you can explore the finest Katan Banarasi sarees. Whether you prefer rich jewel tones, soft pastels, or classic gold and red combinations, our collection is designed to suit diverse tastes and style preferences.

Every Katan Banarasi saree at Ayaati is a testament to our commitment to authenticity, quality, and the preservation of India’s rich textile heritage. By choosing a Katan Banarasi from Ayaati, you not only wear a beautiful garment but also support the artisans who keep this age-old tradition alive.

Our expert team at Ayaati is always ready to assist you in selecting the perfect saree and offering styling advice to enhance your look. From traditional blouses with zari embroidery to modern cuts that add a contemporary twist, we help you create a complete ensemble that reflects your personality and elegance.

Visit Ayaati in Budigere Cross today and experience the regal charm of Katan Banarasi sarees — where every drape tells a story of royal tradition, exquisite craftsmanship, and timeless beauty.