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[nrpblousehub]

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[foreingersgod]

Tired . EE

pairing: emily engstler x reader

A/N: hey everyone, felt a lot better today so i thought i’d write a quick little fic before getting back to requests! enjoy <3

nothing beat being in your girlfriends arms at the end of a long day. when you were tired and irritated and just overall annoyed with the world, the only thing you wanted to do was to drag emily to bed. she was the one thing that made you feel relaxed at the end of the day, made all of your worries disappear.

no matter the time, no matter the day, you’d wait up for emily every single night. you found out very quickly that you couldn’t sleep without her. once you had moved in together and started sharing the same bed, you realized how increasingly difficult it became to sleep alone. it became your little tradition when she was away at practice or staying late after a game, that you’d wait up for her in bed until she got home.

tonight was no exception. emily had a particularly long practice today and you had just gotten off of work just a few hours ago. you had come home, keys and purse tossed carelessly into the ceramic bowl next to the door. unnecessarily uncomfortable high heels slid off your feet and into their designated spot on the mudroom rug. your feet ached and your back was sore and all you wanted to do was to get in bed and fall asleep, your girlfriends arms wrapped around you. but the dimly lit room and the thickness of silence that hung over your home told you that you’d have to wait.

you dragged yourself up the stairwell and into your bedroom. the sheets were still crisp, tucked neatly under the mattress, pillows propped perfectly upwards on either side. emily’s shoes and discarded jeans and hoodies laid scattered on the floor from when she was almost late this morning, you had been too tired to take care of them either. it felt almost sad, when you stepped onto the plush carpet, yet homey at the same time. the house always felt empty when she was missing. discarding your blouse and pants, underwear and bra following, you walked into the connecting bathroom for a much needed shower. partially to wash the grime and sweat from the day, but also to keep you distracted until emily arrived home.

the mattress was stiff underneath your body when you finally crawled into bed for the night. the shower had done little to soothe the ache in your body that longed for your girlfriend. A cool breeze snuck past the linen of your bedroom curtains, air seeping into the walls. the sudden sensation causing you to pull the thick duvet of your bed up over your shoulders, tucking your chin into the fabric. it was about 11:30 pm and you were still up, tossing and turning impatiently.

moments passed as you lay in the dark restlessly, eyelids drooping with the need to sleep, when suddenly you heard the lock of your front door. you heard the key, the twist of the lock, the hinges creaking as the door slowly opened downstairs. heavy footsteps followed, instantly alerting you that emily had finally made it home. you heard her set her stuff down, next yours like it always was, before hearing her pad up the stairs. her steps were slow and firm as she got closer to the bedroom.

finally, the door slowly opened to reveal her in all her glory, the hallway light illuminating her features. there was a layer of sweat that lingered on her forehead, her loose hairs sticking to them. her shoulders were slumped and her eyes were barley open similarly to yours. she looked absolutely beat yet somehow still irresistible as ever. you sat up in bed as you watched her clamber into the room, feet dragging behind her. you reached over next to you to switch on your lamp to get a better look of your girl.

“hey, baby” you yawned, sheets falling off your shoulders as you rested your back against the head board “you’re home!”

she finally looked at you, lips tugging into the cheesiest grin when she realized you were up. she was on her side of the bed now. you could see, through the low lights, her muscles flexing as she pulled her shirt over her head to change into something more comfortable.

“yea,” her voice dissipated as she headed into the bathroom, wanting to take out her hair and wash her face so she could come back to you “i didn’t expect to be so late, m’sorry. you didn’t have to wait up for me, i know you had a long shift today”

“i didn’t mind, plus you know i can’t sleep without you” you spoke through the wall, over the noise of the faucet running.

she said nothing in return, instead walking out, a lazy smirk plastered on her face “can’t sleep without me huh?”

finally, after what felt like years, she crawled into bed next to you. her body weight sunk into the sheets, perfectly balancing out yours on the opposite side.

“jus’ missed y’too much” you managed to mumble out, your body recognizing emily’s presence and preparing to shut down for the night.

without hesitation, emily’s arms pulled you back down into the bed, forcing your back to rest against the pillows once again. her body was lower than yours intentionally so she could sprawl across you. she drew your body closed to her own, arms still wrapped around you tightly. you could feel her sigh deeply as she rested her head upon your chest. the soft, freshly washed skin of her face pressed into the bareness of your collarbone. not satisfied with how close you already were to her, she was now nuzzling her nose into your neck, breathing harshly to take in your full scent. to emily, you smelt like heaven.

“i missed you too, baby” she said into your chest. one of her legs hiked up over yours, draping across your thigh “and m’so tired…so so tired”

“get some sleep, em” you ran your fingers through her hair gently “i love you so much”

“mmm, i love you too” you both let yours eyes close as you placed a sweet kiss to the top of her head.

soft breathes could be heard throughout the room, an occasional snore would slip from emily’s lips every now and then. it was peaceful and content here in the room you shared, and you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

[joshym]

Prettiest in the Morning

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Summary: Jake is worth being late to work for.

Word Count: 2.3k +

Warnings: smut, (18+ ONLY) sweet morning sex with Jake, unprotected p in v, a little cock warming, fluff fluff & more fluff. tooth-rotting sweetness.

a/n: this was born purely from this wonderful request. enjoy, my loves.

"Call out today, honey. They don't need you as bad as I do."

-☼-

The incessant screaming of your morning alarm penetrates your dream state as your eyes slowly begin to open. 

The sun's morning rays pay no mind to your blinds, peeking through them with a strength that makes it difficult for your eyes to adjust right away. 

Through a squint, you take a look at your clock to catch the time. 

6:45am

A drawn out sigh escapes your lips as you rub what’s left of your slumber from your eyes. 

You roll your tired body over to see your lovely Jake, his mouth parted sweetly and carrying the faintest of snores. He’s still fast asleep as he’s cozily wrapped in your fluffy duvet. You smile at his soft, sleepy features that beckon you to stay tangled up with him.

But, alas, you must leave him. You have to be at work by 8:00am, much to your disdain. 

You lean down to plant quiet kisses on your sleeping beauty. His eyelids, his nose, his lips– he stirs the slightest bit, a lethargic grin curling from the corners of his mouth. But his eyes stay shut, drawing him back into his deep rest.

You stretch your stiff limbs as you reluctantly pull yourself away from the warm covers. 

Why must your bed be the comfiest when it’s time to get out of it? A question for the ages, no doubt.

You try your best to be as quiet as possible so as to not wake him. Lifted on the very tips of your toes, you pad across the cold wooden floor to your closet. 

You shuffle through the threads set aside in a special section designated for your work clothes. You’re usually very meticulous in picking your daily work attire, but today, you just don’t have the interest for it. 

Your arms feel extra heavy as you reach them over your head to grab the first blouse and pair of slacks you see. Your oversized sleep shirt (one of Jakes, of course) rises up just enough that you feel the cold, morning air against the bare skin of your thong clad ass that sends a chill up your spine. Yet another cruel reminder of how badly you wish to be in the warm bed, with Jake's body heat radiating on you like your own personal space heater. 

You pull the garments from their hangers and tiptoe back to your room, stopping at your dresser as you set your clothes on the chair next to it. 

You pull your shirt off, hissing at the cold air that hits your nearly naked form. Goosebumps appear on every inch of your chilled skin; your nipples harden instantly from the brisk temperature of your room. Jake has an affinity for keeping the room cool. You don’t mind it as long as you're snuggled up next to him in your bed, but it’s rather unpleasant when you’re not soaking up his warm body. 

You can’t begin your day without moisturizing your skin. As cold as you are, you refuse to get dressed without lotioning up properly. 

You take the nearest bottle and begin lathering yourself up with the vanilla scented cream. You prop your leg up on the chair your clothes are waiting for you on, running the slick blam over your calf and all the way up to the top of your thigh. You put that leg down and as you begin to work on the next, you hear a deep breath coming from the direction of the bed behind you. 

You stall your movements, hoping you didn’t wake him.

But as you slowly turn your body around, you're met with his drowsy eyes fixed on you. His arms rest above his head and one bare leg sits atop the covers. Sprawled out beautifully and rather invitingly with a gorgeous smirk across his pink lips.

“Jake. I’m so sorry, baby. I tried not to wake you,” you softly mutter while you set the lotion bottle back on the dresser. “I hope you haven’t been awake long.” 

He turns on his side and props his head up with one arm, keeping his heavy eyes on you. “You shouldn’t be sorry, lovely. I’m getting the show of a lifetime.”

You giggle as you grab your slacks and begin putting them on. But as you step the first foot in, Jake quickly interrupts you. 

“No, no, don’t do that just yet. C’mere first.”

You can’t deny his pretty eyes, so you stop what you’re doing and walk over to him. He sits up to meet you, hands gently wrapping around your hips as you stand before him.

His face is so close; you feel each shallow breath against the exposed skin of your stomach, only intensifying the goosebumps already there from the cold. 

“You’re the prettiest in the morning, you know that?” His eyes are locked with yours as he leans in to connect his lips just above your belly button. “And you smell so good, my sweet vanilla cupcake.”

You want to melt into him, to render yourself completely under his heated touch against your cold body. 

You weave your fingers in his tangled locks while he continues to pepper the sweetest, laziest kisses against your tummy. 

But reality suddenly sets in. You look to the clock once more; 7:05am.

With traffic being the worst during the morning rush, you’ll have to leave in no less than twenty minutes if you want to be at work on time. Even then, that’s a stretch. 

“Baby, I have to get ready. I don’t want to be late,” you say through hitched breaths. 

He hums into your skin, the warm vibration sending a flash of arousal to your core as you're mentally cursing the fact that you have to put an end to this so you can finish getting ready.

But just as you begin to do so, he quickly pulls you closer to him as he falls back on the bed and drags you on top of him. 

You both get caught in a fit of giggles with the way he so perfectly calculated his movements so that your bodies would end up this way. 

“Jakey,” you say through a breathless laugh, “I have to get ready for work. I really don’t want to be late.”

He takes your face in his hands, pulling it close to his and deeply kissing your lips. You can’t help but deepen it even further. He knows your weaknesses, and kissing him is number one on your list. 

His velvety soft lips, the taste of his tongue, the way he nibbles ever so slightly on your lips— you find yourself craving his kisses more often than not. 

His fingertips gently glide over your shoulders, down your arched back, stopping at the rounded curve of your ass. He squeezes the flesh in his hands while you begin to grind yourself on his hardened cock beneath your now soaked core. 

He pulls his mouth away, leaving you chasing after him for more. 

His blown out irises meet yours, a sly smile splayed on his kiss-swollen mouth. 

“Just call out today, honey. They don’t need you as bad as I do.” 

Before you can oppose, he flips you both over so he’s now on top of you. 

“My sweet, beautiful girl. So pretty in the forenoon gleam,” he says, looking at you with eyes that say more words than his mouth ever could. A look that makes you feel as if you’re the only woman in his world. His fingers brush along the side of your cheek as you lean into his hand. “How could you ever make the grueling trek to work and depart from me?”

If you had it your way, you’d never leave him. Even for something as normal as going to your eight to five. 

No; if you could, you’d stay here. Just like this, for the rest of your conceivable days.

“I love you, my sexy poetic lover,” you tell him. “But if you want me to keep my job, I simply must make the grueling tre—“ 

He promptly cuts you off with another kiss, gentle and sugary. Taking his time to enjoy the taste of you, and you’re quite enjoying it yourself— so much so that the time feels mute. It’s stopped completely, as far as you’re concerned. 

He ruts his hips into your core, his hard cock rubbing against you, stealing your breath. 

His kiss becomes more fervent, more hungry. Like he’s utterly starved for you. 

You reciprocate right back. Your body craves his to be as connected with yours as humanly possible. 

He breaks away, hovering his lips just above yours. Close enough that they brush over yours ever so softly.

“Can I show you how much I love you?” he asks in a hushed whisper. He sounds desperate, like his need for you is as dire as if his entire life depended on it. 

You reach down between your bodies and tug his strained boxers down, then move your panties to the side, gasping at the crisp air of your room hitting your drenched center. 

“Please, baby,” you mutter, nearly breathless at your unbridled need for him. 

He smiles against your mouth while lining himself up with you, running his tip through your quivering folds. “That’s my pretty girl,” he says against your parted mouth. “Gonna take it slow and gentle, okay? Just wanna make you feel good, baby doll.”

He takes his time entering you, letting you feel every inch as he slowly glides all the way inside while you both sign in absolute relief. 

His hips move in long and drawn out strides, allowing his cock slowly pump in and out of you. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily, whispering sweet nothings in the shell of your ear. 

He fills you so wonderfully and completely. The slightest bit of a sting present, but only in the most elating and erotic way. 

“You’re so warm, baby doll,” he says, his lips ghosting over your tingling skin. “So perfect and tight. My beautiful sweetheart with the most pretty pussy.” 

You wrap your legs tight around his back, keeping him as close to you as you can while his pace picks up just enough that your blissful end is just on the horizon. 

“Jake, baby. You feel s- so good inside me. Right where you belong,” you mumble through staggered breaths. 

You reach your hands to his sturdy shoulders, digging your nails in his damp skin. He whimpers in your ear, a sound you’ve come to realize is your absolute favorite. 

“Yeah— this is where I belong, baby doll. Tucked away inside, just like this.” He stills himself inside you, his twitching cock causing you to flutter as he rests against your sweet spot. “I feel you, honey. Squeezing me like that, you’re so close. Can you give it to me?” 

He lifts his thumb up to your mouth, and you instantly open up for him. He places it inside and you swirl your tongue around the pad just a little before he pulls it back out. 

His wet thumb slides slowly down your body. He lifts himself up just a bit to reach for your throbbing clit, toying with it in gentle circles as he begins pumping in and out of you at an agonizing pace. 

“Right there, baby, right there,” you muster in high pitched whines. 

He leans in to meet your lips once more, and that is all it takes for your body to succumb. 

You’re crashing hard into your wave of pleasure, your cunt pulses and throbs around him. Your back arches completely off the bed, your breathing labored and deep. 

“There you go, baby doll,” His voice is low, his words raspy and faltered. “Gonna paint you nice and pretty, okay love?”

He pulls himself out, stroking his cock covered in your slick. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes roll in the back of his head. 

He finishes all over your tummy. His warm cum feels like a blanket against your skin. His moans become almost uncontrolled, those beautiful noises that are prettier than any ballad. 

He falls against you, his heaving chest colliding gently with yours. 

“I love you, my perfect girl,” he whispers into your neck. “Thank you for staying with me.”

“I love you, Jakey.” 

You brush your fingers through his hair, taming his disheveled length. You breathe him in deeply to savor this beautiful morning with him. You wish it could be like this always, that nothing could ever come between the two of you. Not even a job. 

Shit. 

Your job. You completely forgot. 

You snap your head over to look at the clock, scared to be met with reality. 

7:49am

“Oh fuck!” you yell. “I’m late for work!”

You kiss the crown of his head before he moves off of you. You jump up to get cleaned up, realizing that no matter how quick you move, you’ll never make it on time. 

“Hey baby,” Jake says. “You know it’s Saturday, right?”

You stop dead in your tracks. There’s no way you forgot what day it was. 

You take your phone off the nightstand and turn the screen on to check. 

Sure enough, it’s fucking Saturday. Your day off. 

“Jake! Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask as you shamefully drop your head in your hand.

He giggles sweetly, forcing a smile to soften your irritated features. “Well, because now I know you’d rather be here with me than at your silly old job.”

You toss your phone back on the nightstand and lay back down next to him, playfully smacking his biceps.

“That’s a risky game, Jacob.” 

He chuckles he rolls you over on top of him. “I love you, baby doll.”

taglist:

@jakeyt @objectsinspvce @stayinginthesun @sinarainbows @stardustcordzz @klarxtr @ohgodthefeeling-gvf  @iffypanic  @way-to-go-lad  @reesetrippingthelight  @jakesgrapejuice @sacredjake @notthedroidz @kiszkashousee @psychedelicsprinkles @jjwasneverhere @gvf-ficreads @stardustjake   @gretavanbear  @gvfmelbourne  @livkiszka@jaaakeeey @neptune2324 @jaketlove @myleftsock  @joshskittytickler @audgeppp @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @torniturntomyarrow @welllauragvf @writingcold @heckingfrick @itsafullmoon @audgeppp @jordie-gvf @gretavansara @gretasfallingsky @jazzyfigz @louiseecraigg @hippievanfleet @blacksoul-27 @sarafrusciante2 @heckingfrick  @citylight-delight @gretavansara

a/n: feel free to send me more requests! this was so fun. :')

if you'd like to be added to my taglists, let me know or fill out this form & i'll be sure to add you.🤍

as always, don't don't be afraid to let me know what you think! love you guys.

[hiraeth-sonder]

Kept Dove - Purgatorio

Yan!Sunday x Reader

Even if a bird with clipped wings can only fly so far, it is a freedom nonetheless

TW: pseudo-incest, suicidal behaviour, stalking, general manipulative and toxic behaviour

//Characters may be OOC, please go easy on my glass heart. Spoilers for the 2.0 story quest but also I may not remember things correctly so- Not at all accurate to future patches/lore. Excerpts from the Song of Songs.

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Through veiled curtains and under warm lights, you tug your socks up with a careful hand, your eyes tracking the movement through the large mirror across you. The soft sheer fabric ascends your leg, trailing up and up until it reaches exactly above your knee. Just the slightest askew, you check once more, turning your leg and watching how the edge on your inner leg dips down, sneaking your finger under the garter to readjust its height. When deemed satisfactory, you reach for your sock garters, clipping the metal fasteners onto the ends as the upper ends hang limply by the side of your leg. You do the same meticulous routine for your right leg, putting your legs together to ensure that they are perfectly even. 

Hung on a hanger was a blouse, with no evidence of wrinkles or lint. Gingerly, you slip it off and let the cool fabric caress your bare skin, once again peering into the mirror to straighten the ends only to carefully push every little fabric-covered button through equally miniscule openings. It hugs your form perfectly when finished, tailor made to adhere to your body like a second skin, with bishop sleeves to be held together with custom cufflinks. You do so, deft fingers piercing the fabric with the golden optics before clipping the ends of the shirt with the once hanging garters. 

Your skirt comes next, prudent and pure. You step into it and bend ever so slightly, bringing it up to your waist to fasten the button that would keep it closed. It is only now that you pad across soft carpet towards your lineup of shoes, from sensible flats to respectable high heels, of shined leather to patent, fit for any occasion. You hook the backs of a pair of heels with your fingers, making your way back to your vanity to slip them on. It is now that you turn your attention to the perfumes decorating the front of the gilded mirror, each of them gifts handpicked by your siblings, bottles easily distinguished by your sister’s fondness for winsome designs and your brother’s partiality for elegance. You uncap a lacquered white glass bottle, the airy and floral aroma that comes from the nozzle is one of their favourites.

There is a light knock at your door, a gentle rap of knuckles against hardwood. It is merely a courtesy, he has no real need to announce his presence when you have long known he would come. Your eyes do not even have to glance at the ticking clock, the knowledge of the minute hand’s exact position of twenty minutes to eight a matter you have grown familiar with over the years. 

“Come in.”

Familiar, practised steps barely sound through your room, a few strides until a silhouette appears behind you. Letting out a soft breath, your eyelids flutter close as you turn your head away from the mirror. “I’m afraid you have little to help with today.”

“I merely wanted to check on you,” Your brother’s voice is delicate, even in your mind there is a kindness to his lilting rise. 

A sigh escapes your lips. ‘Check on you’ can mean all matters of things, whether it truly does entail merely checking on you is a test only known to him. Your eyes open upon the slightest hint of movement, watching through the mirror as gloved hands pull your hair back, reaching for a tie to bundle it up into a half-bun. The action in itself is practised and skilled, moreso a reminder of how many times he has performed such on the women of his life, it sends an inexplicable grief aching in your heart. 

He lowers himself to your level, and as the warm lights cast an intimate gleam upon his features, you get the day’s first look of your brother. Golden eyes softened in gentle fondness, or perhaps some amalgamation of it, cool steel locks lay in perfect formation as his soft wings unfurl to reveal his stately countenance. There is a soft smile pulled across his lips, yet for some reason you must wonder why that tightness in your chest exists so. 

“Happy?” You manage to croak out, still fraught with his full attention on you. 

Sunday tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, clearly admiring his work as he hums, “Very much so, you look quite comely like this.”

You glance at yourself in the very mirror that has aided your preparation, the small wings at the back of your ears hang downward in some odd shame, the sharp tips of your halo glinting with a keen shine. The dark wings flutter lightly, and that recurring shame seems to bubble back to the top of your mind everytime you are reminded of their existence. A corvid among songbird and dove, a stain in their otherwise blemishless perfection. A pathetic excuse for a halovian, you had little sway, little influence, little image. Your very existence was a means to uphold their depiction. 

You were just the child taken pity upon, the mutt picked up from the side of the road to house and feed. Thus, you are an extension of them, whatever you do, however you look, it all went back to them. You sometimes wonder whether they know how much you pale in comparison to their light. 

All too quick to shove such a treacherous thought to the back of your head, it would be a cold day in hell before someone pries that thought from your brain. He casts you an inquisitive gaze, one you wave off with your ascent from the chair. Your steps, three steps slower, accompany his longer strides, padding out from soft carpet to thudding wood. 

Leaving the mansion is always some arduous task, and you suppose that there is no one to blame but your brother for all the fuss that needs to be sorted out. Twisting hallways, confounding rooms, even the little sandpit of the Golden Hour, it made it so that leaving required his notice, lest you end up arbitrarily lost. Of course, this also meant that you were severely limited in the times you got to leave the mansion, since he always had so much to attend to in the day. And it is not like you refuse to learn, but rather that you cannot learn its ways that you remain unaware. Furthermore, it is exactly because that he does so much that you find it hard to even bring up your grievances about such a matter, how could you? So even if you yearn to see the world far beyond what he has allowed you to see, you very often keep your mouth shut and play at content. 

As you emerge from those familiar depths, a wing raises itself to shield your eyes from the sudden influx of bright lights. Penacony, the city of dreams they call it, but to you, it has been nothing more than an incandescent lie. Why else would your sister leave?  

It is then you see her, with her flowing light blue hair and her familiar visage. Her attire remains the same as all the advertisements you see with her face plastered on them, her halo tilted to the right and the gems under her left eye in flawless position. Yet, in your heart, your most sincerest of affections borne from years of companionship, you know that it is not her. There is nothing that would infer this thought, the locum in front of you a perfect copy in all matters, but you cannot help but deny the image in front of you.

Turning to Sunday, a slip of your true thoughts revealed through the furrow of your brow, “Who is this?”

“A fool, nothing more,” He spares you a glance, but says nothing else. 

“Will she listen?”

It is only then you manage to meet his gaze, not a second more and not a second less, his voice is placid, revealing nothing even now, “You trust me, no?”

“Of course, but I just worry…” Your plea seems to go unheard, and you wonder whether you were even meant to come along if it meant you would only receive this kind of treatment. 

“Shall we depart?” He offers to the ‘Robin’ in front of you, dignified courtesy and trained care. You remain behind, watching on. His voice rings in your head, the only part of him you get, “Fret not, dear sister, all will be well.”

In your heart, something twinges with an acrid twist. Though this ‘Robin’ is clearly some cheat, he still treats her the same, still has that leak of affection. You have always known that he never took to you the same way she did, he could try to play at siblingly affection, could try to interact with you the same way he did her, but you knew that he never meant it. The daily check-ups, the gifts, the occasional contact, it all means nothing to him, and in the end, is that not what he does best? Lying with a sweet smile on his face, tempting you with a delusion all the while he wishes for nothing but your descent. The only one he could never perform such deeds to was his own sister.

Yet even in front of a fool, with the face of your sister, you could feel no hatred towards her. Because she has never done anything to warrant such, not when this dream of theirs is one you have done everything to uphold, not when she might have been the only light in your life. So even if what stands before you is a fake, even if you do not know what your brother has planned, you will keep your mouth and play at content. 

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

In the end, he had never even told you where the day’s itinerary would take you, so when you had found yourself in reality’s Reverie Hotel and met with an interesting situation, you had much to restrain from expressing. A group of four people you have never truly seen before and a man from the IPC, seemingly engaged in a difficult matter. They do not seem to notice your approaching footfalls, neither does Alley.

“Alley, just a moment,” Sunday speaks up, gentle yet assertive

“The Family cannot allow guests to enter a dream while bearing burdens.”

The crowd, now aware of your presence, shifts their attention. The grey-haired youth catches your attention, so clearly out of place yet seemingly intertwined, you can only ponder why. Still, it is not as if their gazes remain on you, rather it would be more accurate to say that they were never on you in the first place, positively enraptured by the natural radiance 

“Speak of the devil, look who's here! It's Sunday, the most handsome man in Penacony! Along with the singer renowned across the universe: Robin!” The blond, who you vaguely recognise as hailing from the IPC introduces the two of them with a flair, clearly playing up the flattery. 

‘Robin’ turns to face him, an amused smile playing at her lips as her eyes crinkle in mirth, “He said you were the most dashing person in Penacony, how interesting.”

An older man and a red-haired woman stand before you, their expressions shifting to alert, yet they are paid no mind. 

“I’ve kept you waiting, Mr. Aventurine. This way please, let us speak in private,” Your brother offers, a request that is taken with a courteous quirk of the blond’s lips. 

Your ‘sister’ instead takes charge of caring for the rest of the guests, “Astral Express guests, please come this way and rest your feet.”

It is by now that you have completely mentally checked out of the situation, your presence clearly not noticed nor ignored. Though you yearned to return and perhaps sleep the rest of the day away, your feet automatically flanked the guests of the Astral Express so as to guide them, your eyes following after the grey-haired youth who seemed to yearn to run after Aventurine. Oddly, they do not do so, obediently following after the pink-haired woman. 

You keep your posture perfect and your expression pleasant, not quite hearing but watching, eyes tracking lips so as to turn your perceived attention to whomever was speaking at present. Your ‘sister’ still enraptures, no matter the truth of her nature. Your ears pick up the vague mention of an apology, her hand held to her chest in polite regret. It is only when the redhead’s lips, a woman you believe is called Himeko, move in a manner that seems to be directed to you that you tune back in, a pleasant smile still painted as you meet her gaze.

“And who’s this? I don’t suppose we’ve met before, have we? Ms..?” She offers, playing at cordiality though it is clear she may be a little on guard.

Your lips move to answer far faster than your mind, practically instinctual. The response you get is kindly, one you are not sure is genuine but it makes your head rush. 

The older man, Welt, calls your name, a sound that feels like it should belong on his tongue. There is a familiarity to it, the kind you would hear from an older relative. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

The rest of them start with their pleasantries, and for some odd reason, your chest tightens with a yearning. You had watched them band together earlier, seen the way they interacted with one another and even through your haze, could all but feel the amity between them. These were people who were bound together by chance, people who have simply decided to become this family and not only played the roles, but might as well be actual family. 

“Thank you, it's a pleasure to meet all of you as well.”

‘Robin’ seems to fade into the background, a sight you are not used to, but this fool’s interest in you is not a matter you are too worried about. Rather, the new-found attention you found yourself under was now almost overwhelming, too much yet not entirely unwelcome. 

“If we’re not overstepping, may I ask how you’re affiliated with Mr. Sunday and Ms. Robin?” Himeko’s voice is sweet in your ears, a soothing sound.

“They’re my siblings, my older brother and younger sister to be exact.”

The pink-haired youth you believe is called March 13th, is almost all too excited at that answer, yet it dies to wonder, “That’s cool! But why haven’t we heard about you before?”

“Ah, I’m afraid I’m merely not as noteworthy as them….” Your play at humility is almost entirely accepted, a notion you are at least glad for. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice your brother’s approach, a signal to return back into the background. With a hand to your chest, you bid your exit, “If you’ll excuse me.”

It is another haze that clouds over you when your brother arrives to slot himself into the conversation, one that once again seems to block out the words spoken. 

“I apologise for taking up everyone's precious time, and we shan't keep you any longer. If you need anything else while in Penacony, The Family stands ready to serve,” He hums, genteel and ever flawless.

‘Robin’ follows suit, her hand to her chest as she continues the courtesy, “May your dreams be beautiful and pleasant.”

Your eyes fall upon the Astral Express, and though your heart knows what can only be imagined can never be brought to reality, you could not help but wish that you had never been brought in to your siblings. Perhaps in another life, perhaps in a dream far more beautiful and pleasant than this one. 

“May your dreams be beautiful and pleasant.”

You were tired, so very tired. If Penacony truly was the world of dreams, yours must be some sick joke for your life to turn out this way. Given this glimpse of what could have been, how could you even bear to keep living in this illusion?

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

 His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

The marble railing is cold against your bare feet, one wrong step and you’ll be sent careening off the side of the building, falling into a never-ending abyss. In the distance, playing on the record player, was the vague lilt of your sister’s voice. You could barely hear it through the wind, yet the very fact that she was there, truly or not, was more than enough. You have all but memorised her every song, humming along as though she was with you.

In a thin nightgown, you have long been free from the confines of your strict dress, hair let loose and face bare. Any matter that once adorned your form has been stripped, left exactly where they belonged in your room as your legs danced along to the melody. Chasse, a whisk and a natural turn, your arms wrapped around some imaginary partner, it all came to you without little thought, merely letting the music guide your form. You have never danced before, never thought yourself fit to, only read about the basics in a book a time forgotten, but you think you enjoy it. Perhaps in your next life you will be a dancer, no matter the fame, it would be something you could do without fear of tarnishing another’s image. 

Caught in your reverie, you are scarce to hear the knock on your door, the heave of heavy wood and the quick steps to the open balcony. Through the flowing curtains and under the starry night, your brother still looked nothing more than empyrean, regardless of the unnerved furrow of his brow and the dilation of his pupils. You do not stop from your actions, continuing to let your body move along the wind.

“What are you doing?” He manages to utter, not as gentle yet cautious. 

Humming, you return his question with another, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Your dearest brother, the man who allows himself only the most minute interaction with you, the man who would not even meet your eyes beyond the confines of your home, though his words sounded as though they came from a more composed man, the slight tremble to his voice told you more than enough. 

“Dear sister, you won’t die even if you take such drastic actions.”

“You’re right, but at the very least I’d be soporose, no?”

There is a pained edge to his voice, visage finally broken out of that placid facade, “I don’t enjoy these words you’re saying.”

“When have you ever?” You laugh, eyes crinkled in levity as a smile pulled across your lips. Bare feet halt from their untethered sway, leaning to meet your brother’s gaze. Your words crawl out from your throat, hoarse from use yet elated nonetheless, “I’m sure that if I were to even look into that head of yours, those few thoughts you dedicate to me would be nothing but pure odium.”

Perhaps you would have been less inclined to disparage your brother once upon a time, more desirous of his attention for once, yet it is now you could care less. His focus means nothing to you now, not when he could not even bother to do so when it mattered most. Even if he threw himself at your feet and begged you to come down, you find it hard to believe you would listen in this state. 

Sunday’s voice is soft, yet simultaneously it is the loudest you have ever heard it, “You seem so convinced that I do not care for you, have you ever read beyond what your eyes tell?”

“Would you let me?” The air in your lungs feels faint, turning your voice breathy as tears strangely dew at your lower lashes. 

Would he even let you witness such? Let himself become vulnerable and open his tempestuous mind for you to pick and pry? You do not even believe he has allowed any other to come so close. Yet perhaps this is what you need to quell that storm in your chest, the last nail in your coffin, your last reason confirmed. 

He nods. 

Through dark veils and cloudy bubbles, you see it. The truth of his neglect, the reality behind his constant avoidance, his performed favouritism, all of it some cruel and horrific attempt to distance himself from emotions deemed iniquitous. All those times the clock would read seven forty, all those times you believed him to arrive on some schedule, that damned bird had been in your room all the while. Tucked away in some corner too high for you to notice, it stood watch at all hours of the day, keenly broadcasting your most natural state to him as if it were nothing more than the daily news. 

What a monster love can be, its dark shadow following you everywhere, in your most private and public moments, you have never been alone. Longing to embrace, alabaster hands ghosting over skin and breath fanning across bare chest, desiring to possess, to keep that object of yearning within a gilded cage and to tuck the key away. Twisting yet ever rigid, covetous and desirous, it is no wonder that your very existence should always be tied to him. There is no you without Sunday, no crow without dove, for what is a pious man without his conflict of sin?

“I love you,” He pleads, finally raw and true, finally directed to you. His face twisted in pure desperation as he approaches you, with his arms outstretched as though to compel you from your perch, your brother practically begs, “So please, stay with me.”

Beneath your gaze, beneath you, he is but a wretched thing. You never thought him stupid, yet for him to think that this was enough to wipe the slate anew, you must have overestimated him. 

You bark out a harsh bite of laughter, void of mirth and filled with scorn, “Do you expect me to just forgive you just like that? A measly ‘I love you’ and years of indifference can just be forgotten?”

“Sunday, you’re nothing but the last etching on my grave.”

Your feet leave the cold marble, tipping off into the unknown abyss below as a breeze flies through your wings. 

Your sister’s face flashes before you as your eyes flutter shut, her soft smile the one thing keeping your head clear and your limbs limp. You hear her sing, even past the rushing wind. Your dear sister, the one person who had been keeping you looking forward to another day, her crooning voice that played from the record player in your room, it is now you hear her clearer than ever. 

A bird that has never flown can only fall when thrown down, wings unable to catch the wind and soar from its cage, yet it is because it has never flown that this feeling is still a kind of freedom. And as your skin pebbles from the chill and your hair flows along your descent, you have never felt any freer, even if it is only for a brief moment. 

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Through lace curtains and under warm light, a hand caresses your leg as it tugs white socks ever higher. Soft fabric clinging to your skin as he raises it to your thigh, far too intimate, far too familiar. He does the same for the other leg, knelt at your feet with his head bowed, the socks are nothing but perfectly aligned as per his preference. The garters hung around your waist, silken material his own hands placed upon you, he grasps the clips as he attaches it to the socks, ensuring he does not blemish your skin beneath. 

Your arm raises when he brings the blouse, silky and smooth. Sunday lets the cool fabric kiss your arms as he buttons each clasp, meticulously pushing them through each miniscule opening. Another piece he had ensured would fit you without fault, it followed the natural lines of your form without fail. He smooths the shoulders down and presses a kiss to the top of your head, moving to pin the sleeves with optic shaped cufflinks. Coaxing you from your seat, he has you step into your skirt, brought up to your waist and clasped neatly. Your shoes, perfectly shined heels tailor made for only you, are slipped on and buckled. Even the sweet florals of your perfume, another white lacquered glass bottle he gifted all those years ago, is applied by his hand. 

His dear sister, someone he has tried so hard to keep at an arm’s length, someone he has done nothing but debase in that torturous head of his, now stands before him, obedient and adoring. Far too tempting to keep away, his arms move to embrace you, resting at your waist.

Instinctively, your arms raise to wrap around his neck, weight leaning against his hands as he bows his head to press a kiss against your lips. You accept him languidly, your eyes fluttering close as he brings your bodies to but a fingertip’s distance. It almost seems meant to be, how they move against each other in a rhythm known only to the two of you. 

“I love you,” He murmurs against your lips, the words leaving him so naturally that if one were to tell him that he could finally utter these heavy words to you, that him of the past would have merely waved it off. “More than you could ever know.”

“.....love…”

“..you….”

Your wings flutter shyly around your two faces, as though to hide away from the rest of the world, even your halo trembles ever so slightly, an endearing act as you try your best to convey your affection to him. Still, that does not discourage you from attempting to cling onto him.

He smiles, pressing another, more chaste, kiss to your lips to tide you over. Recovery has been hard for you but he finds he quite enjoys having you so feeble for him. Barely able to even form full sentences through telepathy, it meant that he would be able to hear your sweet voice much more often. You were no songstress, but it is your humming that truly provides him with succour. Furthermore, having you so dependent, so keen for his help, it only serves to soften his heart. 

To reintroduce you to the rest of Penacony not as his sister, but as his dearest lover has been easy, and he can only thank his foresight for keeping your very existence so negligible. You would finally get what you have always yearned for, no matter what lies you told yourself, his full and utter adoration, demonstrable and undisguised. Lest you try to leave him once more. So he will keep you in this cage with him, care for you and love you so that beyond reasonable doubt, you shall have no desire to spread your wings once more.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.

[margotw10bis]

Crashing On Crush. JJK 2 [m]

crush!Jungkook x reader

Genre: smut; series; romance; angst

Words: 2.9k

Synopsis: What happens when your first encounter with your crush is Jungkook seeing your ass?

Warnings: sexual tension; alchool consumption; make out in public

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"You're close. Just hold on a little bit more"

You have dreamt about those words coming from Jungkook's mouth. However, you thought you would hear them in the bedroom, during a hot roll in the hay. Not in the hallway towards your apartment door with Jungkook carrying you because you're feeling weak.

Skillfully, he takes your keys in your bag and opens the door. He quickly takes off his shoes before helping you with your heels. You really, really wanted to bring him to your place tonight but not in this situation... Why is fate so unfair to you?

Jungkook helps you to walk to your bedroom and gently drops you on your bed. You close your eyes for several reasons. First, to try to feel better. Secondly, to not think about the fact that your crush is seeing you like that. Thirdly, to stop imaging how tonight could have been so much better than this, you and Jungkook in the bedroom.

"Do you want a glass of water or something?" Jungkook asks

You grumble, sluggishly shaking your hand to say no. Right now, you just want to be alone and die in peace from the humiliation. From start to finish, tonight was a catastrophe.

"Okay" Jungkook finally says after a few minutes of silence. "I give you my number, please call me if you're feeling bad, or if you need anything"

He grabs a little post-it pad and writes down his phone number before putting it on your nightstand. With a last worried glaze, he leaves.

———

Two weeks have passed since your first encounter with Jungkook. You kind of hoped this embarrassing night would have put an end to your stupid crush but it didn't. It is even worse now. You just keep waiting for an Instagram notification of a new post. And you keep thinking about his body pressed against yours at night, in your bed. And that leads to a harden arousal that can only go away with an orgasm you provide to yourself while you imagine his hand instead of yours on your wet pussy.

You never felt like that about a man. Of course, some of them like your ex-boyfriends excited you but never this much. You've never been so wet for someone, and Jungkook hasn't even touched you. At this point, you just hope you'll meet some guy who will take care of your horniness but you know you'll think about your crush all along.

The end of the school year and the fact that you have passed most of your exams now give you too much time to think - or more overthink - the situation.

Thankfully, starting today, your mind will be occupied: you finally begin your new job. This job in a famous art gallery in Seoul will be a great point on your resume and will definitely help you in a few weeks when you graduate with a master's degree in Cultural Business. To make a good first impression, you are wearing a brand new outfit: a light pink blouse and a white pencil skirt. You look professional and maybe a little sexy too, which boosts your confidence. And you really need it since you are stressed.

The building is very modern and it's clear that you are in an artistic place: the architecture is signed by a famous contemporary designer. The huge and minimalistic lobby is fancy and you feel quite impressed by it. But you don't have time to admire your new work place because a handsome, tall, blond haired man with glasses welcomes you.

"Hi! I'm Kim Namjoon, nice to meet you. I'm the assistant of the owner" His voice is deep and warm and you can't help blushing from his good-looking. His smile is so cute with his dimples.

"Hi, I'm Y/N. Thanks for hiring me. It's a great opportunity and I'm willing to prove you you made the right call"

"I have no doubt. Follow me, I'll introduce you to the team and I'll show you around so you can get familiar with the gallery"

And just like that, he walks you around everywhere: the two large exhibition halls, the staff lounge, the administration offices and the storage where some of the art pieces are safely kept for the next exhibitions. You are very impressed with the logistics. Of course, you had studied these things in college but it was theoretical. It's so different to experience it.

Then, you meet your new colleagues and you immediately feel good. Everyone seems so nice and is really careful about making you feel at ease. Yep, you'll be happy working here.

"Hi Giiirl! Let's celebrate your first day! Tonight, at 8? Danbam? 🥂" You smile reading Suzi's text message. She is your number 1 fan and she always makes your big - or little - accomplishments count. Thinking about how lucky you are to have her in your life, your heart is wrapped with love. Indeed, your first - and so good - day deserves to be toasted. And there is no better place than your and your best friend's HQ: Danbam bar in Itaewon.

At 8 sharp, you enter the bar. The nice and not too loud music immediately puts you in the mood. You don't take long to spot Suzi at your usual table. When she sees you, she smiles widely and hugs you.

"How is my favorite boss girl?"

"She is tired but so happy to see you" You answer with a laugh

You and Suzi don't waste time and order your drinks. She asks you questions about everything: the place, the people, the artists, ... She is so invested, just like she would be with her own career and you can't help but tell her, for the hundredth time, that she is the best-est best friend in the world.

"Well, keep that in mind then because I have a surprise for you"

You don't like her tone. She is plotting something and you know by experience that you won't like it. You know she means well but Suzi is a whimsical and unpredictable person so her 'surprises' can easily turn into chaos. This one is not an exception.

Your best friend looks over your shoulder and you turn around to discover - with anxiety - what she has planned. And oh-my-god. You choke on your spit when your eyes meet Jungkook and all his glory. He is not alone though: Taehyung is by his side but you barely notice him. The only thing you see is your crush. He looks so damn hot with his oversized black t-shirt that allows his tattoos to show and his black cargo pants. If handsomeness could kill, you'd be dead by now. His long hair is shiny and fluffy, you want to run your fingers in it.

You just have time to pull yourself back together before the two guys arrive at your table. You bow timidly and take a swig of your cocktail. You glare at Suzi, saying through your eyes how betrayed you feel. She responds with a half-apologetic half-teasing look.

"So, Y/N" Jungkook speaks after order his drink "Suzi told us you started a new job. How is it?"

"It's really nice" Your voice sounds so unsure, you clear your throat. "The place is very beautiful and everyone is very kind with me. I'm glad to work there"

"Congratulations then!" Jungkook exclaims, clinking your glass with his own that has just arrived.

———

You don't really know how it happened but with the alcohol blurring your mind, you didn't notice Suzi and Tae leaving, leading to a one-on-one with Jungkook. Suzi might be your best friend but right now you hate her. The silence between your crush and you is so embarrassing. You still don't know how to act with him. However, you know that your current mouth shut is no help.

"So, uhm, Jungkook" you start, unsteady. "Where do you work?"

Yes, just like you haven't stalked him on Instagram. You know exactly what's his work: graphic designer.

"I'm a freelance graphic designer" You notice how his doe eyes sparkle with passion. "I have some good partners now so I'm not as stressed as at the beginning. It's more settled now. Maybe I can show you some of my works on Instagram?"

Oh boy.

You gulp loudly. You've seen his work. A lot of times actually. But there is no way you'll confess that so a weak 'sure' escapes your lips. Your heart raises its pace when Jungkook moves his seat closer to you. Your shoulders almost touch each other's. He takes off his phone from his pocket and opens the well-known app. He scrolls through his profile, explaining the concept or telling you an anecdote about each project. However, you can't really focus on his words when you feel the heat of his body irradiating. And that's what explains your sudden heating for sure and definitely not the fact that you are imagining yourself riding his strong thighs while kissing his pretty lips passionately.

"Are you okay?"

Jungkook's concerned voice rips you off from your fantasy.

"I-I'm okay" You finish your drink to cool you down because, Lord, you're burning.

You look up at him and you are destabilized by his intense glance. He smacks his lips and the movement catches your eyes. You stare at his pulpy pretty mouth. It must be so soft. It must feel so good.

"Do you want to kiss me?" Jungkook asks

Your lips parted due to the surprise. Maybe he is trying to joke because he feels you tensed but he is not joking. He is goddamn serious. And even if you were a good liar - which you are not -, the blush of your cheeks would deny your words.

"I-No, I don't want it" Your voice is a whisper. Especially when Jungkook is getting closer.

His face is now only a few inches away, you can even feel his breath on your skin.

"But I think you do"

"I..."

You don't know what to say because yes, you fucking want to kiss him. The simple thought of it starts your arousal and you feel your panties slowly getting wet. Anyway, you don't have to think about it because the sexiest man you've ever met closes the distance between you and kisses you.

He kisses so fucking good. His lips are soft, warm but the cold little metal of his piercing is like a delicious prickle of extra pleasure. It's not a chaste kiss but it's not an outrageous French kiss. It's the perfect center between the two and it's really, really good. It's so good that you can't help a little moan. Jungkook smirks when he hears it: what a beautiful music to his ears. It makes him want to kiss you deeply, just to hear it again. Your instinct controls your hands that grab the back of his head, not really to pull him closer but to feel more of him than his lips on yours. You feel his smooth hair, it's delightful. Jungkook's hands don't stay static either: his left arm grabs your waist to pull you closer - if that is even possible - while his tattooed hand delicately caresses your cheek. This is the best kiss of your life.

Jungkook's kiss conveys his desire for you and it's so fucking hot. Knowing you attract him makes you wet. You press your thighs together to prevent the leaking from your pussy. A gasp of surprise escapes your lips, but is silenced by Jungkook's mouth, when you feel his arm going down to grab your ass. The fact that you are in public makes the scene so scandalous but also so arousing. A small part of you is filled with pride that this attractive man is kissing you.

The magical, dream-comes-true moment is shut down by your phone. You both grunt in disappointment when you pull apart. You check your phone with annoyance and internally curse at the person who dared to disturb this fucking good kiss.

However, the euphoria of Jungkook's pulp lips on yours is quickly put aside when you read the message:

"Hi Y/N. I'm sorry to bother you but we really need your help at the gallery. You remember when I told you that working in art business could be handful? Well, your first day will prove it to you: the artist who was supposed to exhibit next month withdrew. Can you come please? Namjoon".

Your heart beating with horniness is replaced by your heart beating with stress. You look up at Jungkook. His lips are shiny and red due to your harsh kiss and his long black hair is a mess, but you also notice the concern in his big eyes.

"I'm sorry, I have to go to work" You don't even recognize your hoarse voice, effect of the arousal in your body

"Right now?" Jungkook exclaims with a clear disappointment

"Yes I'm sorry. There are some problems, they need me..."

You are so frustrated but you also have no choice. You are not going just because it's your first day and you don't want to make a bad impression, but you are going because you do care about the gallery and you are not willing to let your kind colleagues dealing with it alone.

"I'll drive you" Jungkook offers

Your cheeks redden. "Cute" Jungkook thinks. Gosh, he loves so much seeing how you physically respond to his actions. This kiss was one of his best ones. Your little moans turned him on, especially because he knew some other guys have seen and heard the way you two kissed. He can't help but feel possessive towards you. When you stood up earlier to go to the restroom, he knew he wasn't the only one to look at your beautiful ass in this tight white skirt. All your outfit is hot, he wishes he could work with you just to fuck you dressed like that. You look like a good girl he wants to do naughty things to and the fact that some guys looked at you the exact same way makes him mad. He has never been the jealous type but now, his cockiness is fully satisfied: the other men think you are his.

"Thank you, Jungkook. Let's go then"

You stand up and are ready to leave but Jungkook grabs your wrist.

"Can, uhm, can you wait just a few minutes?" He stammers

"Is everything okay?" You ask him, worried

"Yeah, yeah. It's just that..." He is groping for words, not wanting to be too crude. "I can't stand up right now"

He indicates his crotch with his eyes. When your own look down at the so-called area, they widen: there is a clear bulge. You'd dare to say a huge bulge. You blush even more by the sight of it but you also feel the wetness between your legs. You try not to think about how big Jungkook must be and how much you would like to feel him inside you.

So you just sit back down and send a message to Namjoon to tell him you'll be there in few minutes. While waiting for Jungkook's cock to... set down, you try to have a normal conversation with him. You don't know if you're released or disappointed that your crush doesn't seem to care much about the hottest moment of your life. He just keeps talking like nothing happened. Is this normal for him? Does he kiss a lot of girls like that? Because you surely don't and you kind of thought it was special... You hide your sadness behind a smile and thankfully, Jungkook tells you that you are good to go.

You're not surprised with Jungkook's car. His black Mercedes AMG matches his style. But you do feel a little intimidated by the vehicle. It looks so expensive and sporty. You're afraid to scratch the door... The interior of the car is breathtaking: all leather with blue and purple led lights. You spend the whole ride examining all the details. By the way Jungkook is speaking about his car, his 'Mimi' like he calls it, you can see how proud he is about it. And he definitely can. He explains to you that it was his dream car and that he saved all the money that he could when he started to work to buy it. You listen to him, a tender smile on your face that Jungkook can't see because of the night.

He pulls over on the parking lot and you both get out of the car. He walks you to the entrance.

"Thank you so much for the ride Jungkook. If you haven't been there, I would have had to take the bus"

"You're welcome"

You see him hesitate, looking at his feet. You can't guess that, in his head, Jungkook is wondering if he should kiss you goodbye or if you'd find it too intimate. However, he doesn't have time to decide since he sees a tall blond guy coming to you.

"Y/N! You're here, thanks God!"

Jungkook frowns when he watches you smile softy at the guy. 'Who is he?' He wonders. There is no doubt that the feeling squeezing his heart is possessiveness, he has just felt it few minutes ago in the bar when he was kissing you.

"Well, good luck Y/N" he finally decides to say

"Thanks, see you soon!" You hide your disappointment with a smile and wave him good bye. You wished he'd kiss you or hug you.

"Is he your boyfriend?" Namjoon asks when Jungkook is back in his Mercedes

"Jungkook? No, not at all" You blush.

Trying to cover your red cheeks with your hands, you don't notice Namjoon's slight relief.

Your mind is filled with questions after the kiss. Jungkook is not your boyfriend, for sure, but you did make out with him. In public. Eventually, you're glad to spend most of the night working because you won't have to think about what this kiss fucking means. 

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[slightlymediocree]

Documenting one of my projects here!

Im taking an anthropology class called Magic, Witchcraft, and Religion, and our final proj is to present any topic relating to the class in any medium. My topic is Victorian/Edwardian mourning rituals and customs. I chose to recreate an Edwardian (c. 1905-ish) half mourning dress!!

So far, ive went through several rounds of designing and 0 mockups bc i dont have time for that. Im recreating everything using only methods that would have been available at the time. I currently own 2 antique sewing machines from 1911: one hand crank and one treadle. A lot of this project will likely be done by hand because i just enjoy it :)

I'm using a cotton lawn, which, according to Victorian mourning guides, would not have likely been used because the dyed might bleed onto the skin, but I live in a very hot area and will *absolutely not* be wearing wool or silk in 95F weather. The sash is (regrettably) poly taffeta because i dont have the money for silk. Im using snaps and a few vintage buttons for the closures.

Above are pics of some sketches, a blouse fitting, and the belt/sash ive draped. Ive seen similar sashes on lingerie/summer dresses and thought it might be fitting. Taffetta probably wouldve been used towards the end of half mourning according to etiquette books, but ive found extant examples that suggest otherwise. I also found that etiquette rules were a bit more relaxed in Edwardian times compared to Victorian.

I have the skirt and blouse placketts cut out and i need to attatch them. I might add some lace to the cuffs but idk yet. I kinda like the simple short cuffs but a lot of 1905-6 dresses ive seen have large ruffles at the sleeve. I dont really want to make ruffles but they do look cool. I also have a chemise, bustle pad, corset, and petticoat done but i felt weird posting a picture in (Edwardian) underwear, even if it covers much more than our modern underwear.

I will be updating this page and plan to present this project in video format on youtube, ill post a link here once I finish!

Date: 4/19/2024

[non-plutonian-druid]

had some fun otgw au design thoughts for a couple of the sparrows! fei is... basically unchanged. crow lady. spies on people with her crows. she is already so very halloween. sloane's gimmick is that she lives in an upside down house and probably has an evil stepmom or something like that. shes the type of character whose Whole Everything is a side adventure that takes up, say, the length of a ten minute tv episode, whereas fei is more of a character with recurring but brief appearances

[ID: Two drawings, one of Fei and one of Sloane, drawn in the style of Over The Garden Wall. Unlike the Umbrellas in this au, they are not children, although Sloane is probably still a teenager.

Fei holds several unruly crows on her outstretched arms like a Disney princess. Her eyes are blindfolded rather than concealed by sunglasses, and she wears a long black skirt under a short black jacket with very tall shoulder pads.

Sloane is upside down, seated in a similarly upside-down green armchair and reading a book. Her hair stretches downward, and is the only part of her that is reacting to gravity. Beside her is a candelabra which is upright. She wears a long yellow skirt under an orange blouse printed with blue flowers. End ID.]

[faceeeeee]

I remember you asked that you were willing to hear some constructive criticism/suggestions for Ragatha’s human design. Let’s take a look hmm….

Well I personally do like a lot of details you have with her already. The hair, the eye pad. You could give the pad a design that resembles a sewn button over it. The freckles are a cute touch as are the sewn patches over her jeans. I suppose you could make the blouse a little dressier. Perhaps instead of a scarf you can give her a bow? Either as a tie or have a couple of bows that goes down the front of her blouse. Nothing too fancy but something that lightly evokes the ragdoll aesthetic. I don’t know if this is the type of criticism you were hoping for but I hope some of these ideas help. I really love the designs and ideas you have with these characters so far!

I originally had given her a sleeveless shirt to show a bit of her muscles and to hammer in the fact that she works in the robotics department- but this version with this few edits would be more true to her original design. The only thing I didn't edit was the eye pad given that it already references her button eye so I'm leaving it as it is. I'll definitely keep this version in mind for future sketches n stuff. THANK YOU FOR THE CRITICISM!!!!!

[vee-crytraps]

Kiss Me More | Ch 3 | { Eau D'bedroom Dancing}

Chapter Summary: 🔞A curious Robin perches on your windowsill. AN: New to posting fics on Tumblr, feel free to read here or over on Ao3 under the username VenusCrytraps. Same bat time, same bat channel.

{Trigger warning/Themes Masterlist}

I'm in the sky when I'm on the floor The world's a mess and you're my only cure There's no time for me to act mature The only words I know are "more", "more" and "more"

Your phone was still on its charger, and it was definitely not ringing.

You had hoped that the absurdity of your lie and subsequent exit would mean that they would drop their crusade. It would have been par for the course for your family. Despite the fact that you should mostly be out the other side of it, they were used to your teenage drama. While they still certainly cared about you, there was no denying that your troubles, secrets and even lies were likely far from the baseline of what they would consider concerning.

The tension in your shoulders rolls off of you with the sleeves of your robe. The silk pools around your feet, your fingers twitching for the hem of your shirt before you pause. With an annoyed groan, you face your fluttering curtains and the chill breeze that carried them. Your window hadn’t been open a second ago. 

“Damian, I swear to god-“

“Not quite.” Your eldest brother interjects, vaulting over the windowsill. With catlike balance, he perches on it with a stabilizing crouch. He’s wearing that smile again, the one that manages to convey a confidence that he was allowed to invade your personal space in such an insane way, while also boyish and sheepish enough to convince you not to be mad about his assumed welcome.

The wind rustles his slightly damp hair. His eyes glint with the usual mischief, and something else you’d rather not place. He doesn’t move. Just crouches there with his wrists resting on the caps of his knees, a knowing smile on his face.

You may not have the training he does, but you don’t need refined Robin instincts to know that your big brother clearly knows something and was trying to see if you were going to play along.

“So, do you want to talk about it, or are you going to keep acting suspicious?” His attitude is playful and teasing, but there’s something more serious underneath. Something that makes your senses tingle and your stomach flip.

It’s so fucking unfair, to have to witness his athleticism up close. You can see the way his muscles move under his skin as he steps off of the windowsill and into your room, moving from his crouch to lean back against the ledge. He watched you the way he did when you two were younger, with a casualness that was usually reserved between two siblings of the same gender. Like he was expecting you to keep undressing.

If things normal, maybe you would. You would slip off your frilly rich girl pajamas and pad over to your dresser for a department store bra and opaque tights. You could ask him which perfectly pressed skirt went with which blouse, and might even kneel before you and help you slip on a designer shoe with a modest heel. As if he were your own prince charming. But that was before. Before your mouth started going dry at the sight of him applying chapstick. Before the sight of him without a shirt literally made your mouth water. Before the awful ache in your core that refused to go away in the presence of a man you’d known for the majority of your life.

You stand there, your hands hover at the hem of your shirt as you quite visibly weighed the pros and cons of winning this particular game of chicken. Forcing yourself to relax, you casually saunter over him. You refuse to drop your guard, no matter how much worse this could get. Don’t give anything else away. Just because he knows something doesn’t mean that he knows about Jason, and even if he does, he might not be aware of just how far you two went. It’s fine. And probably nothing.

“Don’t you just look like the cat that got the canary.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you lean forward with a look on your face that is all business. “So. What’ll it be?”

Dick is leaning forward enough for you to reach out gently pinch his cheek without much effort. His gaze softens as it meets yours. His eyes are not searching yours, it feels more akin to…gazing, in a way you don’t think you’re ready to unpack. “What’ll what be?” He asks, leaning into your touch.

“The price of your silence.” You hum, flattening your palm against his warm cheek. One of his hands wraps around your wrist to keep it there. His skin is so soft and clear. You’re as jealous as you are charmed.

Laughter bubbles up from the back of his throat, and you do your best to beat back the warmth that wraps around your heart. “How nouveau-riche of you, baby bird,” 

Leaning back up, he allows his fingers to slip, the pads of the warm digits brushing against the sensitive skin inside your wrist on his way to hold your hand. “This guy you’re hooking up with must’ve been pretty good, if you’re being this secretive about him.”

You try not to let the relief you feel manifest on your face. At this point, you’re so full of it, it might as well start coming out of your pores.

“You know what dad is like. We may not be blood related, but he still thinks of me as a little girl. If he finds out I’m hooking up at all, he’ll go on a rampage.”

Removing your hand from his, you run your nails along your scalp. You don’t think you can handle so much direct contact with Dick when he looked at you like this. You try to snuff the building tension by collapsing back onto your bed somewhat dramatically. You bounce.

“I don’t get why that matters to you,” Dick mused, pushing off of the ledge to stand a little taller, and he walks towards you, his toned arms bulging under the sleeves of his well fitting t-shirt as he crossed them. “You’re your own person. You don’t owe him an explanation about your sex life.”

While you’re focused on staring directly into the bulb of your bedroom chandelier, Dick approaches the edge of the bed. He leans forward, looming over you. As he blocks your light, you realize in horror that your attempt to burn out your own retinas is as unsuccessful as it is short lived. You can still make out his gorgeous features. You’re so fucking doomed. He looks at you pointedly and his lips curve into a sly smile. “Oh my God, are you in love?”

The fear that your over dramatic behavior might be communicating something way worse than the actual truth makes you bolt straight up in bed. “I’m not in love! I just…don’t think Bruce would exactly approve, you know?”

Rolling away, you continue your slow speed chase by sitting on the other side of the bed. You begin to unfurl your hair, desperate to focus on anything other than the scent of Dick’s body wash and the way the beads of water in his hair catch the light. “Come on, BB. You used to tell me everything. Who’s got you all twisted up into knots?”

His eyes soften as he watches you, the way your fingers twitched nervously as you unbraid your hair. You don’t give him an answer, and he sighs. The bed dips behind you with the weight of another person. Dick settles behind you and reaches out.

“You know, I could help you with that.” He offers.

His large, warm hands engulf yours and pull them from your tangled nest, and you allow yourself to relax as his fingers help unbraid your hair.

It’s a quiet moment, almost peaceful. You nearly forget why you were tense in the first place as he works at a leisurely speed behind you. It brings back memories of picture days, dance recitals and galas, when Dick would help take your meticulously styled hair down before bed. “You’re still really good at this,” You comment, lost in your head.

“I’m good at a lot of things,” Dick teases, and you cannot help but flush at the joke.

He plucks at your braid, dexterous hands gently teasing and working out the knots that have formed over time. His tone is warm and playful. 

“You know,” Your eyes widen when you feel him lean in from behind, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “We don’t always have to act so…” He pauses, either trying to find the words or savoring the anticipation that builds up within you as you wait for them. Knowing Dick, it’s probably the latter. “Sibling-y.”

He was notorious with flirting. Be it an investor, an interviewer, or you- it never mattered. He often did it to get smiles out of you when you were younger, bringing you trinkets and flowers. Not much has changed since then, as he had always been happy to play the role Bruce had assigned him to- your kind, attentive ‘older brother’. You were used to it. Or rather, you should be used to it. You didn’t know if it was something in the air, or your newfound proclivity for daydreaming of racy subjects- but there was something about this time that felt different. Charged. 

It wasn’t like the usual adorable dynamic you’d cultivated over the years. Even as your childhood crush on him matured. Even as you matured. You wonder what had changed between then and now, unsure if the swell of your breasts and rounding of your hips could truly be so influential. You stare forward, not noticing the way he gently inhaled the scent of your shampoo. 

“How should we act?” You ask, unable to let the silence grow any longer.

“Depends,” He hums, his tone turning from mischievous to almost gentle.

“…On what?” You ask quietly- and far too hopeful. You twiddle your thumbs as you await his answer, but it never comes.

“All done.” Dick says moments later, reluctantly drawing back his hands as he admired his work- your hair sufficiently unbraided and detangled.

The mood doesn’t shift, so you try to force it. Turning towards him, you conjure up a smile that you hope is bright and grateful. “Thanks.”

You don’t expect Dick to pull you into his lap, his hand cupping your jaw from behind. You pout as his fingers press into your cheeks, and he laughs at your expression. 

“Dick,” You whine, and his heart fucking skips.

“After all the work I’ve done, a simple ‘thanks’ is all I get?” It’s not right. He knows that it isn’t, but you’re not the same girl he used to weave flower crowns for. You’re different. Softer. Older. It drives him mad.

“Oh my god. Fine,” You manage to say, though it’s hard with him squeezing your face like this. Dick likes the way you roll your eyes, but he’d much rather see them roll back. 

You know what he wants. Or you think you do. Leaning your head back against his chest, you reach up to grab his face and press a kiss to his cheek. It’s hard to do this while sitting in his lap, with your back to his chest- and you somehow manage to catch the corner of his lips.

If you weren’t a total sicko, you might have just brushed off your terrible aim. But you’re you, and you’re young, and your body is telling your brain to do all sorts of things you might not agree with in hindsight. His hand falls from your face to rest gently on your collarbone, your skin warming under his palm. His free arm is wrapped around your waist, and it tightens imperceptibly. 

Dick leans down, his eyes darkening as he brushes his lips against yours once. Then twice.

Even upside down, in this awkward, god awful position- your eyes are so gorgeous. They seem to almost sparkle with the same hope, confusion and desire that twists inside of him. You haven’t learned to keep your emotions in check. He thinks it’s what he likes most about you. It’s so easy to trust in you, to guess what you’re thinking and how you’re feeling. There’s no manipulating or schooling your expression, because you’re not a hero, an assassin, or a ‘girl-in-the-chair’. You’re just you. Perfect, civilian, you.

He expects you to recoil at his attention, but you don’t. There’s this wistful look in your eyes, as if you were trying to figure out if you were dreaming. And he can’t help but wonder.

Did you dream about him?

Your eyes slip shut as you lean back against him, dropping your chin. His fingers gently play with the ribbon at the neckline of your frilly pajama top. The blue silk end of the thin bow wraps around his index finger, and the fabric slides with the slightest amount of pressure. One twitch of his hand and the bow is undone, the neckline of your shirt falling open to the first pearlescent button.

And you’re sitting there, in silence. Letting him toy with the thought of undressing you.

Dick leans down, this time opting to press his lips against the junction of your neck and shoulder. He savors the way you shudder. How your knuckles turn white as they curl in the material of your shorts.

“Was it a good date, at least?” He mumbles after a long while, breaking the gentle silence.

“Dick,” You sigh. Half pleased, half annoyed. He chuckles against the side of your neck as he continues a trail of experimental kisses. Where at first they seemed feather light, each one began to grow more tangible than the last. You don’t know when the three uppermost buttons of your top came undone, but you know it must have, if you can already feel his lips against your bare shoulder.

“Did he make you come?”

The silence following his bold question rang louder than before. 

“I saw you this morning. Bundling up your dirty sheets and trying to squirrel them away into the washer before Alfred got to them.” Dick explained, his lips moving against your shoulder. “Whoever he is. I know he fucked you.”

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him like this before. Vulgar. Possessive. Dark. “I’m gonna ask one more time, baby bird.” His voice dropped low as his touch settled over your clothed breast. “Did he make you come?”

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you could only nod, unable to join him in breaking the unspoken agreement that had been starting to form between the two of you.

“Hard?” Dick asks, his thumb gently brushing against one of your nipples. The attention makes it peak beneath your thin cotton night shirt.

“What does that even mean?” You ask, chuckling breathlessly at the absurdity of the question. Dick doesn’t join you in laughter as he tweaks your pebbled nipple between his forefinger and thumb.

“Did your toes curl? Did your eyes screw shut?” He nipped at your ear, shifting you in his lap. You don’t think that you’re sitting on his Escrima. “Did you chirp for him, baby bird?”

“I don’t chirp, Dick,” You mumble. The emphasis on his name is a cheap shot, but you’d do just about anything to bury the mixture of embarrassment and arousal that churns within you.

“Oh no?” You should have known better than to challenge him. He presses his nose into your hair as the hand secured around your waist descends over your stomach and downwards, into the waistband of your shorts.

You manage to slap a hand over your mouth, whining into your fingers as his own sample the wetness between your thighs. Even in this moment, you refuse to let him win. It brings a smile to his lips as he kisses your temple. 

“So stubborn,” he tuts. “And yet? So wet.” 

He sinks a finger into you, and he groans softly at the sensation. Another broken moan escapes you, but he doesn’t bother stopping to scold you as he begins to pump his soaked digit in and out of you.

“You can take another, can’t you?” Dick asks softly, now using the same gentle tone from when he was braiding your hair. He whispers praise into your ear as you nod again, and a second finger soon joins the first, sliding into your slippery cunt.

“So good for me, gorgeous.” You were an absolute sight to him, flushed and panting through your fingers as you tried to keep yourself quiet- perhaps holding onto some juvenile sense of plausible deniability, that this would be so much easier to process if you kept it inside. He just knows you’re aching for it. Why else would you be rocking yourself into the palm of his hand? 

Dick wished he could get a good look at you, but your mirror is positioned all wrong and is much too far away. He figures he’ll have to make do with the feeling of your greedy cunt sucking on his warm digits, and the soft wet sounds that fill the room as he fucks you with his fingers a little faster.

“God, you’re so worked up…” The heel of his palm brushes against your throbbing clit, and you chase the friction as much as he’ll let you. Every time you try to jerk towards his hand, he hooks his fingers into a spot that makes you cry out. You barely register the satisfied chuckle that leaves him at his discovery, but you manage to force your ass back against him in retaliation.

The groan that leaves him is one of pure suffering. He’s just dying to be inside you, but he can’t make himself cross that line just yet. 

The sounds you make are downright evil, but he savors them for the cold shower he’s going to have to take after this. He kisses along your flushed shoulders as you begin to shake in his arms, your hands clutching at his working forearm. “D…Dick. Dick, I…Don’t stop. Please. Please-“

“It’s alright, pretty bird. I have you.” He promises, bucking his fingers faster into you. Before long, you’re crying out his name, your lips quivering with the strength of the climax that rolls through you. 

“Fuck. There it is. Good girl.” Dick offers a string of lusty praises against your neck, not daring to remove his fingers until your twitching thighs (mostly) stop. Your eyes are screwed shut as you attempt to catch your breath. Dick draws his fingers to his mouth and sucks on them as if they were covered in honey.

They might as well have been.

“That was amazing, baby bird. I knew you’d sound good for me.” He coos at you some more, telling you how lovely you were for him. How soft and beautiful and tight. You’re just beginning to relax against him when your eyes snap open, another whine escaping you as he dips his fingers back into your soaked core.

“I could listen to you chirp all day.”

There's no fear when I'm in my room It's so clear and I know just what I want to do Eau d'bedroom dancing To you, I wanna say you're my thing...

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode nationale, no. 3, 22 janvier 1898, Paris. No. 17. — Groupe de toilettes. Bibliothèque nationale de France

Explication des gravures:

1. Modèle de la Maison Collet, 10, rue Taitbout.

Costume de visites, en drap chiné brique. Jupe plate, garnie dans le bas d'un entre-deux de soie noire, brodée sur transparent de drap crème.

Jaquette redingote en étoffe pareille, fermée de côté avec des boutons de corozo. Revers carrés et gilet en drap crème brodé de soie noire. Col à créneaux. Manches unies.

Visiting suit, in mottled brick cloth. Flat skirt, trimmed at the bottom with a black silk insertion, embroidered on a transparent cream cloth.

Frock coat in the same stuff, closed at the side with corozo buttons. Square lapels and waistcoat in cream cloth embroidered with black silk. Slotted collar. Plain sleeves.

Matériaux: 7 mètres drap.

—

2. Modèle de Mme Barroin, 394, rue St. Honoré.

Costume tailleur, en drap beige clair. Jupe plate devant et à fronces derrière, garnie çà et là de galons mohair noir, formant des nœuds Louis XVI.

Jaquette croisée, à revers carrés, garnie également de nœuds Louis XVI. Manches plates avec mêmes nœuds.

Tailored suit, in light beige cloth. Flat skirt in front and with gathers behind, trimmed here and there with black mohair braid, forming Louis XVI knots.

Double-breasted jacket, with square lapels, also trimmed with Louis XVI knots. Flat sleeves with same bows.

Matériaux: 7 mètres drap.

—

3. Modèle de Mme Lipmann, 2, rue de la Paix.

Robe d'intérieur en lainage gros bleu, avec revers fostonnés de la même teinte. Le feston se prolonge jusqu'en bas de la robe. Manches pagode avec épaulettes festonnées. Gilet de velours bleu marine à l'intérieur des revers. Ceinture de métal.

Indoor dress in heavy blue wool, with scalloped lapels in the same shade. The festoon extends to the bottom of the dress. Pagoda sleeves with scalloped shoulder pads. Navy blue velvet waistcoat inside the lapels. Metal belt.

Matériaux: 6 mètres lainage.

—

4. Mod¡ele de Mme Rhinn, 20, rue de Berlin.

Toilette de réception en popeline vert d'eau. Jupe toute plate garnie de petits velours noirs formant tablier. Corsage légèrement blousé, en popeline de la même teinte, garni de petits velours disposés en dessins. Enormes revers de satin vert d'eau avec petit volant plissé au bord et garnis de velours plus étroits. Basque à pattes carrées garnies de velours. Manches avec petits ballons retenus par deux petits velours et plates dans le bas. Gilet de crêpe de Chine rose froncé. Ceinture de velours noir.

Reception toilet in water green poplin. Very flat skirt lined with small black velvets forming an apron. Slightly bloused bodice, in poplin of the same shade, trimmed with small velvets arranged in designs. Huge water-green satin lapels with small pleated flounce at the edge and trimmed with narrower velvets. Basque with square legs trimmed in velvet. Sleeves with small balloons held by two small velvets and flat at the bottom. Gathered pink crepe de chine cardigan. Black velvet belt.

Matériaux: 15 mètres popeline.

—

5. Modèle de Mme Collet, 10, 6 rue Taitbout.

Redingote en drap marron, avec revers croisés garnis de 2 larges piqûres et de 4 boutons de nacre. Manches également piquées avec boutons sur le côté.

Frock coat in brown cloth, with crossed lapels trimmed with 2 wide stitching and 4 mother-of-pearl buttons. Sleeves also stitched with buttons on the side.

Matériaux: 8 mètres drap.

[tu-es-gegg]

makin wedding outfits;

i want them both to be very dance ready outfits, not like one of those evening dress situations you get the one the whole time.

cell's i based off of 1940s womens' dress (they were very practical and boxier with their shape, they sometimes had to be quick in their dresses so they can run to the marriage office in case suddenly the groom gets called to WAR) with an open dress blouse with a front laced corset over a pencil knee-length skirt, dark stockings and simple pumps (this one is from a very specific photo from the 1940s, the jacket though i believe was fluffier and had padded sleeves), with a matching long blazer off shoulder since it being on normal didn't give his chest area to breathe. the veil lacing is like weaving vines, twirling into each other, its a shorter veil pinned up with a gold rose hair pin.

roier's i wanted it to be like her jessica rabbit/mellissa outfit with the open slit somewhere. so his dress kinda is a layered assymetric dress that pins at the upper waist( i swear i have a skirt preference cause this is like mariana's maid design again), the top i wanted something off the shoulder so there's that sleeve thing i don't know what its called, the patterning at the hems i was inspired by me trying to find Mexican traditional attire and there's just a lot of florals, so i replaced the florals with SPIDERS, his veil is longer with spider web lacing.

some prelims underneath vvv

[nifflering]

Beware: Spoilers for life on mars series one and two

lom thoughts

Hi, welcome to random thoughts (aka. Ramblies – like a lot, so beware) I had while watching life on mars (series one and two) because I binged the whole series in two days – which is rare for me. So, thank you to *random streaming platform only found in my country of origin*, for having kicked the series of your platform so I can’t watch it now. Who also restricts the very finale – because apparently, I am 12 years old and that episode is too sensitive for me (isn’t the whole series +16)… and I can only watch it from 10pm to 6am…???? ☹ Also, sidenote, these are mostly the latter half of the first and the entirety of the second season and not in detail.

These are mainly just about the differences between 2006 and 1973 and why I think they’re neat.

That’s part one – clothes (only on Sam).

So, we don’t see a lot of 2006, mainly in the first and last episode when Sam returns.

He never wears anything else than this tight (and ugly) suit. (there’s a lot of padding in his shoulders – which gives him a more intimidating shape).

It seems to be swallowing him, or rather choking him.

In the past, we don’t see him picking out any outfits, he just wakes up in his new ensemble which has several variations, but mainly consists of a leather jacket, blouse, bellbottoms and fancy pointy shoes – which, in all the flashbacks give me total pilgrim vibes. If he pulled out one of those weird founder hats, I wouldn’t have batted an eye.

But my main focus in this outfit is his shirt (or blouse) In contrast to his suit ensemble, the collar is wide open – more inviting in a way, as it reveals much of his neck (and sometimes even his necklace).

Side note: I looked in the lom wiki – and it said that the necklace is a silver St. Christopher medal – the patron saint of travelling – and I think that’s amazing – and I want to study the costume designer’s brain.

We can think of this outfit as being a kind of uniform – in the present the suit is one– well, because you have to dress a certain way if you want to be treated seriously. If he pulled up in the present with his 1973 fit…., the horrors.

If he wore the 2007 outfit in the past, he certainly would be called uptight – and some other… not so nice words (courtesy of Gene). (Even though most other main characters also wear a suit and tie, but they are always looser around the neck, except for ray (he’s weird and he also isn’t a full police-man yet) and Annie (it’s her job, she has to perform this role – her clothes get much looser in the progression of the series) – he kind of stands out in that way.

Overall, it’s much looser, fitting and free-flowing. It reflects how much freedom Sam has now. In a way, this outfit is also specifically protected by the saint of travellers.

He even brings in some variation – occasionally, you get small peeks of jewellery. Something that he’d never wear in the present – because it’s probably not up to standard.

Speaking of variations.

Also, in the finale – if we look at his betrayal outfit.

It’s choking him again.

Generally it's also very closed off.

(I know it’s a disguise – but, c’mon).

That’s part one (ig)

Enjoy.

lom 1 lom 2

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

The Way Home AU

Lena knows better than to go traipsing around an overgrown property in her Louboutins and pencil skirt. She does. But there's something about this cottage, this land, that calls to her. Not too far from the cottage is a copse of trees, and in the midst of the hearty trunks she finds a lake.

A pond, really.

Its surface is surprisingly clear of scum and algae. Lena can see her reflection clear as day when she crouches down on the rocks bordering its edge and runs her fingers through the chill water. Her face ripples, it's serenity broken by the disturbance. She wonders if she's been her before, another lifetime ago. Is this a place her mother came to?

With a sigh, she rises and turns to leave. Whoever may have come here before, they haven't recently. All around her is untouched growth, save for the path she'd used to get there, and even that had been padded with roots and weeds.

In her reverie, Lena forgets her footing, and her footwear. As she pivots her heel slides off a slick rock and her ankle bends in a way it's certainly not meant too, and as she goes down Lena mourns her designer blouse soon to be ruined by the pond water rushing up to meet her.

The water closes over her head, but she isn't alarmed until she tries to sit up and finds herself completely submerged. She hadn't thought the pond to be so deep. She rights herself and tries to push off the lakebed, but there's nothing under her feet but more water.

Alarm jolts her system, and she kicks and kicks towards the surface, only for the rippling sunlight to remain stubbornly out of reach. Now the fear kicks in, raw and electric, zapping into frantic strokes through the water, her feet fluttering kicks despite the pain in her ankle, all but forgotten in her rising panic.

Just when her lungs start to burn, the sunlight above turns blinding and her head breaches the surface. She chokes, gulping huge lungfuls of air as she splashes ungracefully to remain above water. When she finally regains her bearings she pushes for the ponds edge, and almost immediately her feet bump and sink into loose silt.

She can stand. She wades the rest of the way onto dry land, still coughing, until all but throwing herself onto the mossy ground beyond the rocks.

"Mother fucker," she wheezes. With a groan, she wipes the water from her face and simply sits, resting as her heart rate returns to normal.

When she's regained at least some of her composure, she carefully pushes to her feet, nearly tumbling back into the lake when her ankle almost gives way beneath her.

"Fuck," she mutters.

The plot of land she's inherited is fairly isolated, far enough back from the nearest main road that it's fair to say she has no neighbors, no potential helpers to randomly pass through. She's on her own.

Slowly, she hobbles back through the trees, taking nearly three times as long to get out as it did to get in. But when she emerges from the trees, the pain takes a backseat to the distinct feeling that something is wrong. She can't exactly put her finger on what, until another study of the cottage and its driveway reveals that her car is nowhere in sight.

Warily, Lena limps forward towards the cottage. She'd left her phone there-- hopefully whoever swiped her car hadn't thought to ransack the house or the purse on the kitchen table.

Before she's gone three feet the back door of the cottage flings itself open and a figure comes spilling out, nearly tripping in their hasty approach. Lena freezes, but her fight or flight instinct pauses when she looks closer and finds the figure is a woman in a flowered sundress. She's also barefoot.

"Hello, miss? Are you okay?" the woman calls as she comes within earshot. She arrives huffing lightly, her fair features creased with concern. "What happened?"

Lena doesn't know what to make of this stranger on her property. She reverts to default mode: congeniality.

"Tumbled into the lake." The honest reply tumbles out of her before she can think better of it.

"Here, come inside and we'll take a look at that ankle, all right? Let me help--" The woman smoothly tucks herself under Lena's arm, propping her up. With her help, Lena is able to hop a little faster, and before long they're approaching the edge of the back garden.

A neat, tidy garden that Lena had seen weedy and neglected just hours before. Suddenly, discrepancies jump at her from every direction: the sun is at the wrong angle for the amount of time that's passed since her arrival; the paint on the shutters is no longer peeling; the clapboard siding is bright and clean.

When Lena draws to a stop, the woman under her arm looks at her in concern. "What's wrong? Are you all right?"

"Who are you?" Lena asks, her voice grating against a throat that's suddenly grown tight. "And what are you doing here?"

"Oh!" The woman's dark eyebrows lift in surprise, before softening into a welcoming smile. "I live here."

Lena waits, her stomach slowly dropping out from under her as she anticipates her rescuer's response.

"I'm Elizabeth Walsh."

[sadnessisavegetable]

My Takes on Depicting the “Human”formers (art included!!) part 2:

This time we’re going with the main Deception lineup of TFP and Orion Pax. Again, you may not agree with me, but this is how I see them. I apologize in advance if this crashes the mobile app, like this inevitably will on mine, but I have a lot of information to share. I hope you can vibe with this as I do because the Decepticons have some of my favorite designs.

The layout is 1) what is worn, 2) what they have on their figures at any given time, and 3) sleeping schedules that would determine how likely you are to see them in the common areas at any given time.

Orion Pax:

Wears things that are comfortable but a bit dressier. Loose button-ups or blouses, dark jeans or sweats, and I actually visualize him going barefoot a lot or wearing acrobat socks. Wears glasses for the aesthetic. (An alternate outfit could be him in a flapper dress with Cybertronian influences on the design and I could explain it, but I don’t want to.)

Tends to have a gun on him as well because it’s a habit from the early strains of the revolution before it exploded into a war, but also a book and notebook. Datapads everywhere. Very similar to Smokescreen in my version for that, as found in part one. Also keeps candies like skittles on him because he no longer needs any medications but still needs to feel like he has everything he needs.

Will Nap. He Will. Give him a spot to be and he’s Out. That is a threat or maybe a promise. But you will see him in the common areas when he can help it, even while napping.

Megatron:

Athletic wear, but can dress it up. You’re most likely to find him wearing a tank top and little workout shorts in the morning. He wears armored boots or slippers. But he also radiates the energy of someone who would go to a rodeo for the adrenaline. Very flamboyant colors in private settings, also expect to see his mining designation embroidered on the backs of his shirts subtly.

Handmade chewing cigars with the dark energon inside so he doesn’t suffer bad withdrawals but is still more coherent. Guns and knives and brass knuckles. Plenty of charges for an installed gun he has. Keeps batteries and chargers if he can, and a lighter. (Batteries for the lenses [Cybertronian glasses that are applied to the eye like contacts are] Orion uses and chargers for the screen that Soundwave wears, lighter for his drugs)

Sleeps when he can. It’s something he learned as the one who sees the absolute most action, so he needs the sleep to aim right and to even fight for longer. Very grumpy if he doesn’t sleep either. It’s unavoidable.

Starscream:

She(yes, she) wears a flight suit the majority of the time if she can, but postwar, it’s all sweaters and slim-fit jeans. Again, boots. A variety of them, but most are high-heeled. Her favorites are thigh-highs that look suspiciously like cosplay boots for a character out of Treasure Planet.

Flare gun, parachute, sweets, gum, energy shots, water, energon, a lighter, knife, gun, and a stress fidget. She’s practical, but would rather be over prepared than sorry later.

She sleeps intermittently throughout a 24-hour cycle because her battery works differently. If need be, she can get a recharge pad hooked up to her back, but she’s sure she would rather die.

Soundwave:

Wears a lot of dark colors, for sure. Tends to keep his face covered by any means possible. The more of him that is covered up, the happier he’ll be. It is rare to see any skin. Very formal, as long as his armor(not pictured, there are a few versions for my Soundwave design and both are big or awkward on the lineup page) fits over it nicely and he can move. But also will wear subtle references to games and music and pop culture.

Has snacks on him, and basic first aid stuff for both humans and Cybertronians. He’s basically a mother, y’all, come on. Also has a tablet that tucks into his armor nicely. He uses it for hacking.

Sleeps rarely. He’s a very anxious person under that calm demeanor and has issues falling asleep. When he is asleep without help, it’s very light sleep. Though he looks as though he died with his choices in sleeping - he’ll often just lay down on the floor, usually face-down.

Breakdown:

Practical clothes, though he does wear a necklace on him that Knockout made for him when they got married. Tends to gravitate towards jeans or cargo pants with work boots. Will wear funny shirts or souvenir shirts from his and Knockout’s travels.

If he has his way, he has a sledgehammer on him. He also keeps snacks on him and homemade energon sweets for Knockout in particular(Knockout faints easily, so it’s kind of important to calm him before that happens. Snackies it is.)

He sleeps when Knockout sleeps if he can help it. He likes the time to cuddle with his partner. He sleeps heavily though. Nearly snoring most nights.

Knockout:

The Fashionista. He knows his fashion so well and will dress up just to dress up. But it usually has a practical aspect to it because he’s very much a Car Guy. Red is his signature color still, but it’s more like accents so he isn’t too matchy-matchy with his car. Wears a lot of bling. :)

Tries his best to keep energon sweets on him as well, but often fails(stop fake pockets, y’all). He usually manages to have a taser though, if just a little one on his keys. And he has pictures of him and Breakdown(and their family if they managed to build one) on his person as well.

Doesn’t sleep much, but will pretend so that Breakdown does sleep. When he sleeps, it's usually hoarding all the blankets on the bed to keep warm and he is very wiggly until he hits a certain hour of his sleep...where it is evident he could have died...(poor Breakdown usually tries his best to check without waking him)

Dreadwing and Skyquake(twins who think alike):

Other than being glued at the hip almost if they manage, they are distinct with who they are. Dreadwing wears darker colors than his brother does, and often his skin is a bit more covered. Skyquake just is chilling as best as he can with light colors and bright colors, but also wears more jewelry and lower-cut or skimpier things. The jewelry has to do with Skyquake leaning into the fact that their caretakers put bells on him and Dreadwing when they became more stealthy.

On Dreadwing’s figure would be knives and a whip, as well as two sets of dog tags (one in his boot, one around his neck) with a locket fit on both sets of them with his brother’s picture inside. For Skyquake, he prefers guns and grenades(and handmade bombs :]). He also wears dog tags like Dreadwing, but on the one around his neck are also some beads he made from various Earth and Cybertronian materials.

These two sleep curled up together unintentionally. They’ll go to bed in separate rooms and still end up in the same bed. They sleep on a strict schedule though.

Shockwave:

This motherfucker is a roulette wheel for me. He likes feeling like he holds power, so formal Cybertronian wear. He likes practicality, so a big jacket with pockets and a hoodie. He likes feeling fancy, so sometimes even a gown or suit. This man is the most subtly flamboyant person I can point a finger at. I hate and love him. The thing haloing his head in pink is a bunch of loose plates that he managed to keep after his empurata, he had them turned into a form of armor or covering for his more vulnerable extremities if the need arises for them(tubing and wiring mostly, sometimes his eye)

Literally just. It’s giving Mary Poppins with her magic bag. Do not under any circumstances assume that he’s disarmed even when his blaster is physically taken off, that’s a good way to get dissected or vivisected. But above all else, he is a man of science and reason. He had notepads and pens in his pockets as well as sampling tools. Everything else is terrifyingly unknown to anyone that isn’t Shockwave himself and maybe Soundwave and Predaking.

He does sleep. We promise. But usually it’s easier to find him in forced shut-down because he overthought something or got overwhelmed. Most people on the ship think that he sleeps standing in front of the computer with his eye wide open, looking like he is working.

Predaking:

Another roulette wheel. But this time, I could reasonably say that he wears chain mail under his clothes. I think, other than that, he likes looser things he can move in, so Shockwave has free reign with some of it as long as it fits Predaking's requirements. Just a preference. Also. Throw shiny things on him, he is a dragon.

Hear me out: knickknacks. Little gacha prizes, foreign money, tiny little toys from surprise packs, rocks of all kinds, colorful glass bits, interesting bottle caps, and perhaps even gold things. But also functional shinies like the infamous Leaf Knife.

He snoozes. That’s what he does. He’s like a dog in that regard, he’ll lay down almost anywhere and “rest his eyes.” And always in the oddest positions.

Steve:

Okay, unlike regular Vehicons, Steve is very unique. He got his hands on his own individuality on accident, and likes playing with it. Sometimes he dresses nicer than his superiors just for fun, sometimes he blends perfectly with the humans, and sometimes he just “cosplays” other Decepticons for kicks(basically mimicking their style to see if they notice). His mask is the only one that has been customized to show hair.

He has souvenirs on him. He lost his memory and decided to make his new ones as epic as possible. He also keeps the regular gun that the others do, but it has been painted a bit to make it cuter.

He sleeps like the rest of the Vehicons do.

And standard Vehicons:

They have a uniform that looks like a mix of a Cybertronian one and whatever uniform and mask comes with their role. For those cleared to fly, they have a modified flight suit they wear over everything. For those who drive on the surface and go groundwork, they have a “human costume” for a uniform, consisting of a jacket, shirt, and jeans with their shoes of choice. For the miners, they wear coveralls with reflective strips that can glow if activated. Most will choose to wear something personalized under their uniform, and some also have subtle ink done.

On any given vehicon will be: energon rations, water, flares, a gun or two with ammo, their dog tags, money, keys, a phone, a tablet, and a recharge tablet. More can be added or modified in depending on position and personality, but this is the basic packing list for each one.

They sleep in shifts. The majority sleep during the night(including Steve), but a group sleeps during the day that guards operations on the ship during the night. They’re also incredibly tight-knit as a group, even when separated by job and rank, so sometimes they just fall into the closest bunk and cuddle or intentionally make cuddle piles.

[styleofdiamandis]

PHOTOSHOOT: TOKION FACTORY

Back in December 2010, Marina (and the Diamonds) was photographed by JUCO for Japanese culture magazine Tokion Factory!

All of the colorful looks were styled by JAK. Makeup by Amy Chance and hair by John Blanie.

The first set of photos see Marina donning a beautifully crafted intricate sequin mini dress with Christmas sweater-themed motifs from Ashish's Fall/Winter 2009 runway show.

The black feather and gold chain bracelet, she wears on her right wrist, is by Candace Ang.

For her second look, Marina wore a purple sheer chiffon blouse with ruffled details, and pleated and gathered mini skirt seen in OLIMA's Fall/Winter 2010 debut colleciton!

Los Angeles-based iconic milliner Gladys Tamez Millinery created Marina's green felt hair beret...

...while Jimmy Choo is the mastermind behind these sexy Magnum yellow python and mesh sandals.

Next up, Marina poses in a black satin dress which she crowned with a golden metal spike visor from Ella Zahlan's "Michael Jackson" collection!

The Greek-Welsh beauty also wore a golden fringe necklace by Iosselliani, similar pictured to the one above!

Marina stuns in a black velvet mini dress with glass crosses all over from iconic designer Jeremy Scott's Fall/Winter 2010 collection which she paired with a Gladys Tamez Millinery Fall/Winter 2010 feather fascinator.

For the penultimate look, Marina takes a stance in Brian Lichtenberg faux denim print bodysuit with padded shoulders. Brian's designs are also loved by other singers like Lady Gaga, Beyoncé and Katy Perry.

Her mustard-yellow high-waisted pants from emerging designer Katie Ermilio's 2009 debut collection!

I love mismatched earrings and Marina's definitely fit the bill here!

She paired a single long chain fringe earring by Iosselliani with a white spike drop earring by former jewerly brand Kites & Metal.

Marina completed her colorful look with these Ashish Spring/Summer 2010 metallic gold leather woven platform wedges!

For the final look, Marina is sporting a bodysuit version of this Falguni Shane Peacock Fall/Winter 2010 runway look which was worn with OLIMA Fall/Winter 2010 black wool pleated mini skirt.

Marina's fringe metal necklace with star-shaped crystals on top is yet another beauty signed by Iosselliani!

Lastly, she re-wore her Candace Ang feather bracelet and multiple rings by Han Cholo including his sterling silver snake ring with red stone in the center ($270.00).

[homemami]

5 tips on how to keep garments looking good Garment Care Hacks: Surprising Tricks for Long-Lasting Clothes

As fashion enthusiasts, we all understand the joy of owning beautiful garments that make us look and feel great. However, taking care of our clothes is just as important as choosing the right pieces. With the right care and maintenance, we can ensure that our beloved garments stay in top condition for years to come.

Here are 5 essential tips to help you keep your clothes looking fresh and fabulous:

1. Follow Care Instructions: Always adhere to the care labels on your garments. Different fabrics and garments require specific care methods, such as washing temperature, drying instructions, and ironing recommendations. Following these instructions can prevent damage and maintain the quality of your clothes.

2. Proper Storage: Store your garments properly to prevent wrinkles, stretching, and damage. Hang delicate items such as dresses and blouses on padded hangers to maintain their shape. Fold knitwear and sweaters to prevent stretching. Use garment bags for special or delicate pieces to protect them from dust and moths.

3. Regular Maintenance: Attend to stains promptly to prevent them from setting in. Use appropriate stain removal techniques for different types of stains and fabrics. Additionally, regularly lint-roll your garments to keep them looking fresh and free from lint and pet hair.

4. Rotate Clothing: Avoid excessive wear and tear by rotating your clothing regularly. This allows garments to rest and recover their shape between wears, extending their lifespan. Try not to wear the same items consecutively and give them time to air out before wearing them again.

5. Quality Washing Practices: Use gentle detergents and avoid overloading the washing machine to prevent damage to fabrics. Wash similar colors together to prevent color bleeding. When possible, opt for hand-washing or gentle cycles for delicate items. Additionally, consider air-drying clothes instead of using a dryer to prevent shrinkage and fabric damage.

By following these tips, you can help prolong the life of your garments and keep them looking good for longer. Taking a little extra care with your clothes can go a long way in maintaining their quality and ensuring that you get the most out of your wardrobe.

So, let's show our clothes some love and give them the care they deserve. Your future self will thank you for the extra effort when your favorite pieces still look amazing years down the line!

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