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#large vintage denim
susoriginals · 2 months
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Vintage Chambray Dress Lace Up Front Tie V Neck Blue Jean Denim Jumper Extra Large Only $10
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hog-choker · 9 months
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i’m almost positive it’s impossible to find someone who dresses well and who you also wanna fuck. like i feel like all those cute well dressed couples you see on insta have to be manufactured. like made in a lab. and it’s like you always see cool well dressed people with actual style and shit and then their partner is just a polar opposite goblin style wearing old navy denim and on clouds running shoes like WTF where can you just find someone who also dresses well or at least knows what vintage is like curated shit not shit you found at a thrift bin like it doesn’t even have to be the same style just STYLE IN GENERAL like i hate it and while in his second phase, he will sometimes raise his sword up high to his side, appearing to empower himself. Dozens of large flaming skulls will then come raining down from the sky, with the bulk of them homing in on you. At this point use the Great-Serpent Hunt skill in order to stagger him and interrupt the casting, as it takes a good 3-4 seconds before going off. These skulls explode after a short delay upon reaching their target or impacting with the ground. Time your dodges or sprints properly to avoid damage. This phase persists for a long time and Rykard will continue with his regular moveset as the skulls rain down. If not killed after a while, he will end this phase by raising his sword up high with both hands, channeling the flames in the sky into the blade, culminating in a giant overhead cleave.
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carolmunson · 9 months
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orange colored sky (older!modern!eddie)
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older!modern!eddie - setlist inspired by the fact that i fall in love with someone new every time i got to trader joe's and @loveshotzz new older!steve series. manip by my fave @eddiemunsons-missingnipple tw: nothing really, very much a meet cute at a grocery store. eddie is in his early 40s, reader is late-late 20s/early 30s. lemme know if you guys want this to be a whole thing.
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the automatic doors rush cool air into your face, a sweet reprieve from the sticky heat of this summer. a much muggier july than you remember having as a kid. but then again, you don't remember that much about being a kid these days. trader joe's is a little busier than usual, which makes sense with the holiday weekend coming up -- but you hate when it's busy. there's already too many sounds -- some summer 90s playlist and the squeaks of the carts, people in their hawaiian shirts milling around with boxes and box cutters. you just want some snap peas for god sakes. 
you grab a basket and adjust your canvas bags on your shoulder, tossing your headphones in them for later. you feel 'running errands ugly' but everyone seeing you in the bike shorts you threw on this morning doesn't think that view is ugly at all. your music drowned it out on the train ride over here. you're already sort of annoyed. people just don't know how to do anything anymore -- why are we just standing in front of produce. get what you need and go! you think hastily. but you wait for people to stop gawking at the produce and make their selection before you grab the romaine, snap peas, and shredded brussel sprouts you need. when you turn you almost walk entirely into someone's cart, eyes flitting up briefly and muttering a 'sorry, s'cuse me'.
can everyone just get off my fucking ass? you huff to yourself internally. you maneurver over to fruits, a few stands in a row -- citrus, apples, berries. all separated by category in large cargo looking boxes. you snag a big box of cherries, the three pound one, knowing you'll go through the small ones too fast. you frown over the lack of watermelon, continuing along while someone turns the corner into your aisle. you look up for a moment, just to scan your surroundings, to see who it is.
 you've never seen him before, but you've never seen anyone here before. it's not like there's regulars at the grocery store in a city like this. his hands hang over the handle to his cart by the wrists, knuckles tattooed in shapes you can't make out. you follow the leather banded watch up to a full sleeve of ink, only obscured by the start of a cuffed t-shirt sleeve, a crisp white that blinds against the black of the elvira pin up tattoo on his tricep. horror icons blending into each other seamlessly. you can see more black and color peeking out from the collar of his shirt --vintage judas priest, mint condition, tucked comfortably under a well perserved denim vest covered in patches of bands you've never heard of. you're surprised by the black chino shorts on his bottom half, not expecting someone who was clearly still stuck in their grunge phase to wear those over cut off jeans. the busted up reebok's on his feet make up for it though -- pairing nicely with the tattoos on his calves and thighs, not quite sleeves, but enough to make a statement. 
you grab a box of strawberries and pop them into your basket, surveying the mangos on the top shelf at your eye level while he maneuvers behind you. you think he's cute but you don't take too much stock in it -- it's so like you to have a 'train boyfriend' or 'trader joe's boyfriend' for a brief moment in time. someone cute that you spot outside and never speak to. it's one of those days.
he has brown eyes and thick lashes, hair dark wrapped in a bun on the top of his head with streaks of silver poking through, bangs in his face. some curls stick to the heated skin by his neck and jaw. not that you're looking. the scruff on his face is littered with salt and pepper -- maybe that part of him aging more than the rest. he grabs a heap of bananas to his nearly empty cart. he also has a big box of cherries in there. he wears a cologne with spice and suede in the notes, it's familiar, a little smoky. maybe an old boyfriend used to wear it. you shrug it off, grabbing a mango or two and popping it in a produce bag before hocking it in. more veggies for a greek salad. an onion. some pre-packaged turkey slices. 
you turn into the first frozen food section, weaving through more people who just stand there and you grit your teeth. you snag some frozen broccoli, the coolness bringing you a moment of calm so that you don't lose your mind inside the store. more like traitor joe's. you grab a few more things, a veggie medley for a tofu scramble, some scallion pancakes that you’ll use as meal replacement because no matter how many times you think you’ll food prep you never do. you see him at the end of the aisle, rifling through bags of frozen shrimp to find one he likes. you notice he has a ring on but it’s on his pointer finger, two more rings on the hand that holds his cart by his hip – a silver chain dangles from what you assume is his wallet in his back pocket. his keys jingle from a carabiner by his front belt loop. slut, you think to yourself. you grab a bag of small frozen salmon filets, not paying much mind to your grocery store boyfriend of the week when you turn the corner to the next frozen food aisle. he’s there not soon after you, grabbing frozen fruit medleys and a few bars of chocolate on the non-frozen shelving above. you aren’t sure if he sees you, but you see him. you can smell the suede and spice of his cologne as his moves past you to the other end. bread is on the back wall of the store, you want to get sourdough but you know you’ll just eat it plain and not make sandwiches so you opt for the tuscan loaf instead. you snag a bag of mini bagels, forgoing the small baguettes this time. you can’t afford the good burrata this week for any special girl dinner you come up with, so it’s best to not have it around if you can’t pair it with anything pretty. further down the back wall you get to snacks and don’t ignore the bag of yogurt covered pretzels – a basket must. seaweed snacks for salmon rice bowls. plantain chips. Your basket feels a little heavy but at least this errand is almost over. you turn down the pasta, beans, and rice aisle and there he is turning down the other end. you both catch each other this time, because this time feels like it’s not a coincidence. you both break eye contact as quickly as you make it, both of you looking down and smiling to yourselves. you feel the heat on your cheeks but you don’t see his blush, both of you too preoccupied with whatever you have to pick up to pay attention to the other. you smell the suede and smoke even after you lose him to the next couple of aisles. 
pre-packaged tortellini, lox, shredded cheese. chicken thighs. a six pack of some pretty sounding beer you’ve never tried. your basket overflows but it’s fine. the errand is over, at least here, before you need to run into target which for some reason is far less overstimulating. he’s a few people ahead of you on the opposite line, still leaning over the edge of his cart with his hands hanging, one thumbing a text to someone before he stands up fully to push the cart ahead. he looks over his shoulder and your eyes briefly meet for a moment – heat on your cheeks – before he moves ahead to turn down the long row of cashiers to pay. you don’t see him when it’s your turn and by the time you’re done paying you’ve already forgotten about him, lost in a flirty conversation with the guy ringing you up. target only has half of what you need and that’s fine because nothing else will fit in the big canvas bags you brought with you for your groceries and it’s at least an eight minute walk back to the train. you groan when you get back out into the heat, the boiler room of the subway cooking you as you make it down to the platform. a pleasant sigh passes your lips when you see it’s at least only a four minute wait until your train makes it to you – only a few more minutes of suffering before you’re on your way back to your air conditioned studio apartment. you look across the platform where some old lady’s push cart rattles as it makes it down the stairs on the other side. her little body walking ahead, a voice saying ‘i got it, ma’am don’t worry,’ echos down into the chamber of the subway.
there he is. a canvas bag on each arm filled to the brim and the push cart lifted in front of him. while you can’t see from this distance, you have a feeling you’d like how his arms looked at full capacity like this. the cart’s metallic jingle continues when he places it on the concrete ground, pushing it over to the woman who now sits pleasantly on the bench. you watch their conversation while they say quiet ‘thank yous’ and ‘your welcomes’ to each other and he checks his phone while he finds a spot to stand, waiting for his train on the opposite side.
you check your phone just the same and look up again as he puts his phone in the pocket of his vest. his attention catches on you from across the way.
he gives you a small wave and smiles. he has a nice smile, infectious.
“hi.”
you wave back with two fingers, a small salute, “hey.”
“i’m eddie,” he starts as the red glow of the light on your train starts to pull in. 
the chug, chug, chug starting to drown him out. he raises his voice with a boyish grin, you hear him just before the train obscures him from view – whooshing past you as it pulls into the station. “i normally go to trader’s on wednesdays!”
you get on the train when the doors open, seeing him still on the platform, searching for you in the windows. you put your hand up again in an awkward wave and he grins when he finds you. ‘stand clear of the closing doors, please!’ he puts a hand back up with two fingers, mouthing out a message. ‘wednesdays around two.’
you give him the okay symbol with your fingers and nod at him, chuckling at the ridiculousness of the situation, he chuckles too. his smile is pretty, lips are full. his two fingers point to his eyes and then at you – ‘see you then’. 
the train pulls away before you get a chance to reply. 
next
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humanpurposes · 5 months
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It Will Come Back
Chapter 1, You Know Better
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Two sides of a family fight for their own claims to the Targaryen inheritance. Amongst the endless infighting, forced pleasantries and PR scandals, Jaya Velaryon finds herself face to face with a demon of her past, namely Aemond Targaryen. Love and hate are not emotions easily unlearned.
Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist
Aemond Targaryen x Jaya Velaryon (OFC)
Warnings: 18+, dark elements, targcest (uncle x niece relationship) toxic family dynamics, drinking, recreational drug use, manipulation (I guess?)
Words: 5800
A/n: Please make sure you read the warnings. If any of this stuff makes you uncomfortable feel free to give it a miss 🫶 Also serves as my (very very late) entry for Week 1 of the literary prompts for @hotd-bigbang
“He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” -Wuthering Heights
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6 years earlier...
Jaya leaned on her shoulder against the wall by the side door, waiting as inconspicuously as she could despite the fact she was dressed in a black crop top, skirt and pumps. Clearly, she had no intention of spending the evening at home.
She shifted her weight on her feet, pulled at the hem of her crop top and checked the pocket of her black denim jacket; pocket mirror, lipgloss, eyeliner, and the vintage lighter Aemond had slipped into her hands a few months ago. Every time she tried to give it back he wouldn’t take it. She smiled to herself as she traced her thumb over the engraving of a three headed dragon in the silver plating. He said he had found it in his father’s study years ago, but Viserys had enough of them to not notice that one had gone missing, apparently.
She froze when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs and through the hallway. They were too light to be Laenor’s, too quick to be Rhaenyra’s, too cautious to be Luke or Joff.
Jace appeared through the archway, a red blazer thrown over his shoulder, his shirt untucked and unbuttoned at the top to show off two chains, one gold, one silver. His perfectly white sneakers hardly made a sound against the hardwood floors. He tutted when he saw her.
“What?” she said, tightening her grip on the lighter in her pocket.
“Nothing,” he mumbled. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Jaya had a few memories of their apartments at the Red Keep. She considered the humbly named Queen’s Lodge to be the only home she had ever known. The house sat on a large estate in the corner of Queen’s Park, not too far from the centre of King’s Landing, but removed from the noise and chaos of the city. The front looked out over immaculately kept gardens while the back of the house was for leisure, the patio, the pool and the tennis court beyond that. The side door Jaya and Jace found themselves passing through every Friday night led out to a small orchard of apple trees.
Summer was fast approaching but the night air was far from warm. Once Jace had locked the door from the inside latch and pocketed the spare key, Jaya led him down the barely visible path, down to a denser grove of older, taller trees, to the iron fence that bordered the entire estate. Jace hoisted her up and over the fence before clambering after her.
Where the daylight saw countless people passing through the park, the Velaryon twins walked through darkness and silence along the boardwalk, down to the gates that were locked every day at sunset. 
Well, almost silence. Jace walked a few paces behind his sister, huffing and sighing pointedly.
“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Jaya said over her shoulder, a fact she reminded him of every week.
“I’m not going to let you go alone,” Jace said.
She tried to appreciate the intention, but having him dragging his feet behind her, constantly complaining when he could just stay home was frankly getting exhausting.
“I won’t be alone,” she said, checking the last few texts on her phone.
The first read, Here.
Which was soon followed by, Hurry up. It’s fucking cold :)
Jaya giggled to herself and looked ahead. The gate was coming into view now, and so were the two girls waiting by it. 
They were both dressed in black, Sabby in a mini dress trimmed with lace, Alyssane in flared jeans, a Vivienne Westwood top and a pearl necklace. 
“Did you not think to bring a jacket, Sabs?” Jaya grinned as Jace helped her over the gate.
“It’s strategic,” Alysanne said, “she’ll complain she’s cold and some cool, sexy economics student will offer her his jacket.”
“Politics,” Sabby said, reaching to help Jaya as she slipped down. “Gods, you must be the first person to ever say ‘cool’, ‘sexy’ and ‘economics student’ in the same sentence.”
From the park it was only a short walk to the bus stop, and a matter of minutes until they reached Conquest Street. Jaya loved it, the energy buzzing in the streets as they passed the pubs and bars, music pulsing from every direction, people laughing and shouting to make themselves heard. 
From there she knew the way to Maegor’s Square without thinking. A few people lingered around the garden at the centre of the square and some leaned over the balconies in their aparments, smoking cigarettes and sipping expensive booze from mismatched glasses.
Then they came to the townhouse on the corner, with the emerald green door and the gold knocker in the shape of a dragon’s head. A bit on the nose, but their family were hardly known for their subtlety.
“I can’t believe you got us an invite to one of Aegon’s parties,” Alysanne hissed excitedly into her ear.
It was nothing really, Aegon wasn’t picky about the company he kept, and if anything, he liked picking up waifs and strays.
Jaya smiled as she checked her makeup in her pocket mirror. “Well, I am his favourite niece,” she said, smudging out the eyeliner in the corners of her eyes.
“You’re his only niece,” Jace grumbled.
“Exactly, no room for competition,” Jaya said, before applying another swipe of red lipgloss over her lips. “How do I look?” she asked the three of them.
Alysanne and Sabby immediately responded with praise that just seemed to float through her.
Jace tilted his head. For a moment Jaya thought she saw pity in her brother’s eyes.
“Beautiful,” he said, “you’re always beautiful.”
Jaya tutted. She didn’t mean her, she meant the makeup.
She tapped the knocker four times before being greeted by a haze of smoke, the smell of liquor and a slow psychedelic rock song playing from another room. The door had been opened by Arryk Cargyll, one of Aegon’s uni friends. He had a glass of clear liquid and ice in his hand and a cigarette hanging in the corner of his mouth. He hugged Jaya tightly and she beamed back, making a point to ask about his upcoming internship at Lannister Legal. He seemed impressed that she had remembered.
“Third year law,” she said to Alysanne and Sabby. “And he has a twin brother, Erryk. Politics,” she added with a wink. The girls giggled.
Jace settled for a quick handshake and a nod.
“Friends from school?” Arryk asked as he greeted the girls.
“Yeah, we’re all at Peremore’s,” Alysanne said, slotting herself beside him with a well-practised smile. They had another few weeks of classes before their final exams, but they all had their university applications confirmed. 
Arryk led them through the bodies lingering in the hallway, into the kitchen and Alysanne began the usual routine of telling him what she studied– Politics, Psychology and Literature– and her plans to do Law at Vale. Sabby looked a little sour.
Jaya made herself at home, leaning against the black marble countertop, grinning to herself as Arryk suggested opening a bottle of champagne. He poured out four glasses, keeping one for himself, handing one each to Sabby and Alysanne. He went to give the fourth to Jaya then looked to Jace with a look of embarrassment.
“It’s fine,” Jace said shortly, “I’ll get myself a beer–”
“Jacey boy!” a theatrical voice called as the double glass door to the garden swung open. Aegon Targaryen swept into the room with a cold breeze, slapping his hand down on his nephew’s shoulder.
Jaya briefly glanced around the room, searching for another head of silver hair. Her heart sank a little when she didn’t find it.
The angles of Aegon’s face made him look severe, especially when he smiled, but it was countered by his wide violet eyes with a softer, sadder look. He looked at Jaya, with a firm hand on Jace’s shoulder, and smiled. She smiled back.
“Made it at last,” Aegon said as Jace shrugged him off. “I thought you two were getting here early.”
“No I told you,” Jaya said, nodding to her friends, “I brought guests.”
Aegon could turn charm on like a switch. His voice suddenly took on a richer tone as he introduced himself to the girls, shaking their hands and pressing light kisses to their knuckles.
Jace plucked a green bottle from the fridge and began to drink, scowling at everyone between sips.
“Could you at least look like you’re having fun?” Jaya muttered into his ear as he settled beside her against the counter.
“What’s fun about this?” he replied.
She supposed she knew what he meant. These parties weren’t always as exciting as she wanted them to be, watching other people get wasted, sitting through not-entirely-sober lectures from Aegon’s friends, which really just felt like they were getting off to the sound of their own voices. It could be quite intimidating sometimes, but this was just how adults had fun.
She had this vision that one day something would just click. All the boring parts of parties would seem fun, the drinks wouldn’t taste as strong, the mindless small talk with people she didn’t know would make sense, the music wouldn’t feel so loud. 
For now she had her own reason for coming to Maegor’s Square every Friday night.
Her heart hummed when she heard footsteps coming from the hallway. A few voices muttered vague greetings which were met by a distant “hmm.” 
“Why haven’t you got a drink yet, Jaya?” Aegon asked and she realised she had yet to take the champagne from Arryk.
Suddenly the footsteps stopped and a thrill slipped down her spine. Someone was looming behind her. She could feel his breath on her neck and the heat radiating from his body.
“She’ll have some of this,” a low but soft voice said, holding out a glass of red wine in front of her. She recognised his hand, the veins and the tendons prominent underneath pale skin. The silver signet ring on his little finger, engraved with a three headed dragon. The scent of his perfume, woody and green, lingering with the smell of tobacco.
Jaya took the glass with her fingertips, trying to hide her delight as she turned over her shoulder to face him. Aemond gazed down at her with a gentle look in his blue eyes and the corners of his mouth curled into a small smile.
“What is it?” she asked, bringing it to her lips.
“It’s Dornish,” he said, “you’ll like it.”
She wasn’t sure if she liked it, so much as she could swallow it without wincing, but Aemond always seemed so happy when she liked the things he gave her. His eyes were fixed on her face as she took three small sips, and wiped away the red imprint of her lipgloss on the rim. It was sour and it left a slight burn on her tongue. She muttered an apology about the lipgloss but he didn’t seem to mind, drinking from the other side of the glass when he took it back. 
She kept her back to the others as Aegon, Arryk and the girls all became better acquainted. She stayed as close to Aemond as she dared, her chest a few inches from his, her neck craning to look up at him even with her heels.
“I missed you while you were away,” she said, fighting the urge to fiddle with the fabric of her skirt or the polished surface of her red painted nails.
Aemond’s mother liked to whisk her children away every year for a few weeks around spring break, usually to join the rest of the Hightower family at Honeywine Hall, an old manor house in the mountains. It sounded perfect, hiking, horse trails, swimming in reservoirs and trips into Oldtown. She lived as vicariously as she could through Aemond’s nightly phone calls and the souvenirs he had sent her, the postcards, the photographs and even a book he had found in a second-hand shop in Oldtown, a special edition of Wuthering Heights with gold lettering on a patterned cover.
She and Aemond exchanged any details they might have missed from their phone calls. She liked watching him talk, the way his lips moved, the bashful way he would avert his eyes from hers when he felt himself going off on a tangent. Equally she liked the way he watched her when it was her turn to speak, the brightness of his eyes, his almost smug expression and the smile lines in his cheeks.
“Oh!” she gasped, feeling her eyes going wide, “and I read Wuthering Heights.” Of course she had. She had devoured it within days of receiving the parcel from him.
Aemond smiled and her heart ignited. Most of the books she read came at his recommendation.
“What did you think?” he asked, trailing the tip of his index finger up and down his glass.
“I mean, you know how I feel about classics, and I suppose it was rather difficult to get into at first, but it was…” she gestured vaguely with her hand while she tried to think, before she settled on “haunting.”
“Haunting,” he echoed. “In a good way or a bad way?”
“In a beautiful way.”
His eyes were on hers, his lips settled into a look of calm content, perhaps even pride. She hoped it was pride. 
“It was so vivid. I loved the longing and the hopelessness,” she said.
Aemond laughed quietly at that, taking another sip of wine and drawing the tip of his tongue over his lips. “I knew you’d like it, you love the doom and gloom.”
If she did, it was because he had taught her to. They liked all the same things, classic fiction, horror movies, cold weather, black coffee, quiet moments during loud parties when their eyes would meet in understanding, or recognition that they were two people whose souls were the same.
She had to bite down her fury with her tongue between her teeth when someone else came along to steal Aemond’s attention. Rickard Thorne, she thought the guy’s name was, one of Aemond’s coursemates. 
Jaya’s tactic for parties was to keep moving. She took Sabby by the hand and nodded at Jace, suggesting they move into the lounge. Alysanne had firmly been lost to Arryk; somehow she had turned a conversation about paralegal internships into flirting and Jaya was rather impressed.
She felt like she was good at this by now, starting conversations with the young and beautiful of the city’s elite, most of whom were students at the university– and spending a lot of these parties by Aemond’s side, she had picked up enough to converse with even the most pretentious of politics students. But it was her birthright to belong in a place like this. She didn’t have the silver hair or the violet eyes, but everyone knew who she was before she could tell them. She could see it in their eyes as she introduced herself. You’re Rhaenyra Targaryen’s daughter.
Each venture into the kitchen came with a stop by the assortment of bottles on the counter, but she mostly stuck with the arbour red. When she couldn’t find any more bottles of that, she and Sabby found a sickly sweet rosé that was easier to drink.
She checked the time at midnight, feeling a pleasant haze fall over her. She could hardly stop giggling at everything, at Sabby’s struggle to pour a drink and ending up with more wine on the counter than in her glass, at the couples in the hallway trying to suffocate each other with their mouths and bodies. She wandered through the house without knowing where she wanted to go, and squinted at the head of brown curls buried into the neck of Loras Tyrell. Shit. Well at least Jace was having some fun now.
She ended up in the dining room at the front of the house. This seemed to be where most of the fun was happening. There was a black leather sofa by the door, where Alysanne was sitting between Arryk and Aegon. They were sharing a bottle of vodka between them and whispering into each other’s ears between swigs.
In the centre of the room was a vintage mahogany table. A small group gathered around it, spectating an apparently gripping game of chess. Sitting over the white pieces was one of the Tully brothers, and over the black pieces was Aemond.
He had the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, leaning with his elbows on the table and swirling a glass of whisky as he considered his next move. A mischievous smirk graced his lips as he glanced up at his opponent, and raised his hand to move a piece. Their audience gasped and muttered amongst themselves in awe.
Aemond’s eyes met hers across the room. His hair had fallen slightly, the edges forming a curtain over his forehead. He smiled into his drink. This was his version of a few too many, challenging people to chess games and breaking out the expensive liquor.
She suddenly felt proud, then embarrassed, and turned back to the sofa.
Aegon was placing a pill on Alysanne’s tongue while Arryk handed her the vodka to wash it down. She winced but managed to swallow it.
Aegon caught Jaya’s eye. “Want one?” he asked, looking at her with his chin tilted down and his overgrown hair falling around his eyes. It looked less charming than Aemond’s, more messy than effortless.
The grin on his face made her feel uneasy. She had always been an observer of these habits, never a participant. She meant to ask what it was he had given Alysanne and the question was on the tip of her tongue—
“Zaldrīzītsos,”
Her head snapped back to Aemond without hesitation. He was turned away from the table a little, a dark, almost furious expression on his face. She wondered why, surely she hadn’t done anything wrong? He beckoned her over with a single finger but she was already walking towards him.
When she was close enough, Aemond wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. She burned where their skin met, especially when his hand came to hold her side, fingertips pressing into her flesh.
“Now,” he muttered into her ear and she shuddered at the sensation of his breath over her neck. “I want your help with something. Tell me you see what I’m seeing.”
She dragged her attention to the board and the pieces upon it. It almost felt like a test, but she had no intentions of disappointing him.
It wasn’t entirely obvious at first, they seemed to be pretty evenly matched, but then she saw it. A discrepancy in Tully’s game. She played through a few moves in her head, just like Aemond had taught her. 
She turned her head back to Aemond with the beginnings of a smile. With his knowing look she knew she had it figured out.
She looked across the board at the Tully boy. “Checkmate in three,” she said.
His eyes widened and looked down frantically. “You’re bluffing,” he said, “you’re having me on, there’s no fucking way–”
“Do the honours for me, would you?” Aemond’s voice whispered in her ear, giving her waist a slight squeeze.
She couldn’t help but grin as she went to move one of Aemond’s pieces.
And suddenly Tully saw it too. “Shit,” he said. “Shit. Shit. Shit!” He tried desperately to counter with his Queen.
Jaya made the second move triumphantly, pitifully met by Tully’s attempt to save the game, but it was already won.
When she reached for the final move, Aemond’s hand wrapped around hers. “I started the game, only fair that I finish it, yes?”
She could hardly find the breath to reply. “Yes,” she uttered, letting Aemond guide her hand into her lap before he moved the final piece.
“Checkmate,” he said coolly, flicking over Tully’s King with his finger.
He would have won either way, but Jaya was happy to have even just a small share in his victory. But then with the game over, she supposed she didn’t have a reason to stay so close to him.
Aemond brought his face before hers, until the tips of their noses barely touched. “Good girl for spotting that,” he murmured.
His praise hit her like electricity. For a moment she thought she was going to lose her balance, bracing herself with a palm on his thigh as he brought both hands to her waist. She was steady. She was stable. 
“How much have you had?” Aemond asked with a smirk.
“Gods, uncle, why do you have to sound so self-righteous?” she huffed, bringing her hands to the silky material of his shirt. She watched her hands glide over his chest, delicately and effortlessly. The top few buttons were undone, baring his neck. She thought about running her finger along it, down to the hollow spot in his collar bone. Or she could trail it along his jaw, over the sight hint of stubble she could see. Then she could let her thumb linger on his lip– Gods she loved his lips and the smile lines around his mouth.
A soft but startling noise brought both of their attention to the sofa. Sabby was here now too, but she was talking to Alysanne– no she was leaning over her, or was she trying to pull her up? Arryk and Aegon were on their feet, in some sort of argument.
Jaya frowned, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. “What are they–”
Aemond pushed her onto her feet by her waist. Now that she wasn’t sitting down she felt dizzy but she clung onto a chair to keep her balance.
Aemond was kneeling beside Alysanne and pulling her hair from her face while she was sprawled out on the sofa. Sabby was shouting at Aegon and Arryk.
Jaya felt more sober with each step she took towards them. She was hit with a boozy, sour smell and realised that the front of Alysanne’s top was drenched with what looked like water, but was trailing from her mouth. She was crying, and when Jaya got close enough, she saw her hands were trembling.
“Get the fuck away from her!” Jace’s voice bellowed from the doorway. He rushed forward and Aemond was by Jaya’s side before Jace could shove him away.
Jaya was frozen, even as Aemond curled his arm around her shoulder.
“She’ll be fine,” Aegon was saying, “she's just had a bad reaction, she can sleep it off.”
Sabby had Alysanne sitting up now. Her sobs were getting less frantic now, but it was hard to see her so clearly distressed.
Jace scowled at Aegon. “What did you give her?”
Jaya felt Aemond’s arm tensing tighter around her.
Aegon smiled. “Don’t worry, kid, wouldn’t dream of giving her anything too strong.”
She saw the way Jace’s jaw tensed at Aegon’s choice of words.
“Seven fucking hells,” Aemond muttered under his breath.
Her brother was on a knife’s edge, his fists clenching by his sides. Aegon seemed unphased at his silent threats.
Jaya pulled herself away from Aemond and went to Alysanne.
“How do you feel?” Sabby kept asking her.
“My head hurts,” Alysanne grumbled, cradling her forehead in her palms.
“Can you stand up?” Jaya suggested.
Alysanne lurched to her feet without warning, stumbling forward but Jaya and Sabby were there to catch her.
“There…” Alysanne groaned, but she was still struggling to find her footing. “I did it.”
“She needs to go home,” Sabby said, bringing Alysanne’s arm around her shoulders.
With one final seething glare to Aegon, then Arryk, then Aemond, Jace turned his anger to Jaya. “Why the fuck did you let that happen?” he hissed.
Her stomach dropped and she could only stare at him with wide eyes and furrowed brows. “What?” she uttered.
“Alysanne is your friend,” he seethed. “You should know better.”
He was right though. She had been the one to suggest Alysanne and Sabby come along. She had let Alysanne get close to Arryk and Aegon. She’d seen Aegon put a pill on her tongue and she hadn’t even questioned it.
Her eyes were starting to sting, like she wanted to cry but she couldn’t quite remember how. She just wished Jace would stop looking at her like that, his glare laced with venom and scolding, like she was a child, like he knew better. Jace always thought he knew better.
Aemond stepped forward to help Sabby carry Alysanne. “I’ll call you a car—”
“No,” Jace snapped, standing in his way. “You lot have done enough already.” He brought one arm around Alysanne and pulled out his phone with his other hand. He muttered something to Sabby and the three of them began to muddle their way to the hallway.
“Oh you’re leaving?” Aegon called after them with a dramatic frown and his hand clutched to his chest.
Jaya could only find herself able to watch and breathe in the stench of her friend’s vomit. The other faces in the room were hungry and curious. They all had their heads close together, whispering and gasping but not loud enough that she could make out anything tangible.
Aemond leaned into her and she instinctively met his gaze. “Are you going too?”
She realised Jace was stopped in the doorway, glaring at her expectantly. 
Then Sabby’s voice called from the front door. Their car was here. They needed to leave now. Alysanne had to get home.
“Jaya can spend the night here, Jace,” Aemond said before she could think of something to say. “I’ll drop her off in the morning.”
Jace’s face fell as he looked at his sister one final time. Jaya gave him a small nod and then he was gone. 
The house was surprisingly quiet once the front door slammed shut.
And of course there was only one person who was going to break the silence.
Aegon began laughing. It wasn’t a sound she liked. It was loud and obnoxious and cold. But the attention was on him at least and before long it was almost as if nothing had happened. Arryk grabbed some paper towels, Aegon was doing lines off the dining table, and Jaya was still standing in the middle of the room, letting the noise of chatter and the bass of a slow song float through her.
Aemond’s hand on her shoulder anchored her back into the room.
“I think you should go to sleep,” he said.
“But it’s early,” she groaned as he guided her towards the kitchen.
She hooked her arms around his elbow as he reached for a glass and filled it with water. 
“It’s nearly one,” he said, handing her the glass. “Come on, we’ll get up early and get you something to eat before you go home. Sound good?”
She nodded as she tried to drink and ended up banging her teeth on the glass. Aemond chuckled softly, it was more like a hum in his throat. She had an awful feeling that he was laughing at her mistake.
He draped her jacket over his spare arm and led her through the hallway, up the winding staircase to the top floor. The house had three in total and because it was only the two of them living there, Aegon and Aemond had their own floors with a bedroom, an ensuite and a study— not that Aegon’s study was ever used for its intended purpose.
She loved Aemond’s bedroom with its dark wood floors, forest green walls, rows of bookshelves and the old record player in the corner. She went into the ensuite to wash the makeup from her face and the wine stains in the corners of her mouth, brushed her teeth with a spare toothbrush and changed into the t-shirt Aemond had pulled from his drawer. 
When she came back into the room Aemond was only in his jeans, his shirt thrown over a chair, leaning by the open window and fiddling with a filter and a packet of tobacco. She was determined not to look at his chest, the lines of his abs, or the trail of silver hair running below the waistband of his jeans.
“Light?” he muttered when he noticed her.
Jaya nodded and took the lighter from the pocket of her jacket. She tried to walk as straight as she could over to where Aemond was. He placed the cigarette between his teeth and leaned into her.
It took her a few tries to spark the light. She huffed at her own incompetence and dug her teeth into her lower lip, but her third attempt proved to be a charm. The flame bathed Aemond’s face with warmth and flickers of shadows over the angles of his face.
She watched, hypnotised by the way his chest rose as he inhaled the smoke, and the way his lips pouted as he turned his head and expelled it towards the window. Even then she could smell the smoke and feel traces of it burning in her nose and throat.
His eyes moved back to her. He smirked at her apparent fascination.
He offered her the cigarette and she frowned. He’d never done that before.
Her hands felt light and a little numb, but she reached for it, holding it between her fingers like he always did. But then she realised she had no idea what she should do next. 
“Take a drag,” Aemond said softly. “But not too much, you'll make yourself sick.”
She brought it to her lips and started to pull the smoke into her mouth. Her eyes moved to his when she had reached the end of his instruction.
“Hold it.” The gentle commanding of his voice put her on edge.
She decided the taste and the sensation of the smoke wasn’t pleasant, but she didn’t dislike it.
“Breathe in…” Aemond said, his chest moving with hers as she inhaled the smoke, “... and out.”
As she exhaled she blew the smoke over Aemond’s face. “Fuck!” she giggled, trying to wave it away, “sorry, I just didn’t think–”
“It’s alright,” Aemond said with a smile as he took the cigarette back from her and brought it to his lips again. “How do you feel?”
She let her head fall towards her shoulder. She felt light and heavy. Happy and sad. Lots of things and nothing specific.
After another exhale of smoke out the window, Aemond took a step into her and leaned down to press a light kiss to her forehead.
Jaya’s chest felt tight. Her heart raced but she stopped herself from reacting. 
She couldn’t remember when Aemond started to make her feel nervous. When they were kids they were inseparable, even though she was closer in age to Daeron and their parents were convinced she and Helaena should be like sisters. She followed him everywhere, asked him questions constantly and insisted they hold hands wherever they went. She adored him. She still did now.
She muttered a quiet “night,” and dragged herself towards the bed, wrapping herself in the heavy duvet and curling into the pillows.
She couldn’t sleep yet. The noise of the party hummed through the house, but what caught her attention was the sound of Aemond’s breath moving between his lips. She could still picture his face perfectly, the pout of his lips and his jaw.
She couldn’t help it. She opened her eyes. He was leaning against the windowsill, tapping the ash into a small tray before taking another few drags. She watched him until he stubbed the embers out and moved his hands down to the buttons on his jeans.
A thrill rippled down her front, down to her abdomen.
Stop it.
She quickly turned onto her other side, pulling the duvet up to her chin. She still didn’t let herself fall asleep. She waited with bated breath.
She followed the gentle thud of his jeans being tossed onto the chair and the sound of his footsteps. He let out a throaty sigh as the mattress dipped behind her.
And then she felt him, the warmth of his body against her back, his arm around her waist, pulling her into him, his breath fluttering against her loose hair.
“I’m sorry if you didn’t have a good night,” he muttered. She felt the hum of his voice between her shoulders.
“No,” she whispered, “it was fine.”
It wasn’t fine. She still wanted to cry. 
Aemond’s hand started to trace circles over her stomach through the t-shirt. This kind of proximity had become a habit between them even after they had outgrown childish affection, lingering touches and delicate kisses. She loved it. He wasn’t this close with anyone else.
But she couldn't stop thinking about Alysanne, the grin on Aegon's mouth as he fed her the pill, or the look of anger on Jace's face when he left.
“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you,” she said.
Aemond froze, his hand paused, splayed across her stomach. It left her with a tight, restless feeling in her belly.
Then he embraced her, tightening his grip, almost squeezing her against him and burying his face into her neck. “Never,” he muttered, his breath hot against her skin. “You could never make me feel like that.”
For a moment his lips pressed against her neck. Aemond pulled away slightly, seemingly having done it by accident. Jaya was still, clinging onto his arm and holding her breath.
Until Aemond leaned in again to place a soft but purposeful kiss to her neck. It felt like she was being smothered, the weight of his body pressing into her side, his arm keeping her tightly against him, while her breath came through her nose and mouth with little huffs. 
He began to trail his kisses up her neck, along her jaw, to her cheek, until she realised what he wanted. She angled her head back, enough for him to press his lips against hers.
He kissed her slowly, letting his lips drag lazily over hers as his hand crept beneath her t-shirt.
She gave a short whine when she felt his palm against her bare skin.
“Shh,” he cooed against her mouth, letting his tongue slip between her lips. He tasted sweet and bitter, like wine and whisky and smoke. He was still gentle though, and Jaya eased herself further into him. 
She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but she must have fallen asleep at some point, no matter how she wished they could have stayed in a blissful mess of warmth, lips, tongue and teeth.
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Tags (comment to be added to either)
General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria
Series taglist: @aemondsbabygirl @persephonerinyes @sirenangelroyal @qyburnsghost @adragonprinceswhore @boundlessfantasy @bouncehousedemons
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Text
Tips for making actually cheap punk clothes from someone that has spent a maximum of $11 on any specific project over 3 years:
Bottle caps make AMAZING pins. There's countless ways to make bottlecap pins, but I mainly do it by 1) filling the cap with hot glue and 2) gluing a safety pin to the back. It's up to the individual. But the point is: Save bottlecaps.
DRINK CANS ARE AMAZING FOR MAKING SPIKES! Any aluminum can works - Monster cans, beer cans, etc. - all you have to do is cut off the tops and bottoms; make it a flat sheet; cut the metal into small semicircles; and roll it into cones. They stay in place easily with hot glue, and when you put them onto anything, they look just as good as store-bought.
Save Can Tabs. They can be put onto jackets, made into chains, earrings, necklaces, or anything else you want.
Literally anything can be made punk. Jeans, cargo pants, denim jackets, t-shirts, shoes, hoodies - the sky's the limit. Don't let these tiktok punks tell you that only their $80 Social Distortion pants and $120 denim jackets can be punk. Any clothes you pull out of a dumpster can be punkified.
Old T-shirts that no longer fit and have a design on them can be cut out and made into backpieces. Band shirts are particularly great for this, so if you thrift a Motorhead shirt that's too small, you can cut out the design and sew it onto a jacket and bam - you've got an exclusive piece of merch.
This one's more of an opinion, but: If you're patching up a jacket, sew the patches onto the outside of the jacket. If you're patching up pants, create holes where you want the design, and sew the patches from the inside of the pants.
Do research. If a "thrift store" calls itself a cheap alternative store, but has $50 jeans, it's not a thrift store. It's a vintage reseller, and the clothes are almost always WAY overpriced.
Shoplift carefully. Go somewhere you don't usually go - a large chain like Walmart or Target or Staples, not a local business - and take small things. Don't go somewhere that you're a regular at, or shoplift multiple times in a short period of times, or do too much at once. You will develop a track record and have more of a chance of being caught. However, the workers don't get paid less for you stealing, and the big suits in corporate won't notice or care about a missing pack of dental floss.
Experiment! Have fun with it! I've been Frankenstein-ing my jacket for years and counting - I've taken off the sleeves, added new sleeves, painted on it, put patches on it, added pins, anything you can think of. Be loud, be ugly, be weird, be happy.
If you have a painted patch or spot on pants/a jacket/whatever and it's old, but you want to take it off now, or if you just made a mistake, acetone can get pretty much any amount and age of paint out of any fabric. By acetone, I mean most nail polish removers or rubbing alcohols.
Now, I hate buying things for making punk clothes, but there are a few things that, in my opinion, are investments that last FOREVER. This includes: Hot glue guns; nail polish remover (for the last tip, mainly); paint pens and containers of paint (fabric or not); sharpies; dental floss or just normal thread; fabric scissors; and SAFETY PINS. None of them are very expensive, but they'll come in handy for years.
ESPECIALLY SHARPIES. That's the one thing I won't debate is a perfect investment. You can get a set of 12 colors or 12 black ones for like $9, and you can use them for EVERYTHING. The color also won't bleed when washed, as opposed to most pens and markers.
SAFETY PINS ARE A FASHION STATEMENT IN AND OF ITSELF. They're super useful in making clothes and jewelry, they're cheap and easy to find, and just nice to line the hems of your pants with.
When you make a square patch, fold in the edges slightly so that the edges don't fray. This makes it slightly harder to sew on, but it keeps the patch in good condition for longer - unless the idea is to look tattered. Then don't.
Don't be afraid to add something random and weird to your clothing because "oh people are gonna see it and know I like this weird niche thing" - that's the whole point! It's an expression of who YOU are, not what people want you to be. If people - especially other punks - judge you for it, fuck them. Unless...
No swastikas, no iron crosses, no symbols of oppression, no TERF shit. I'd say that's the only rule of punk - to say "oppression is punk" is going against everything punk stands for. Of course, if you do it anyways, you should at least know you deserve the beating you get at a basement show attended by underpaid and rage-filled faggots.
Of course, these are just mine, and there's plenty more that I do not know. If you've got your own way of doing things that goes against mine, that's awesome. But if you need to start somewhere as a kid punk, I hope this helped.
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slowburningechoes · 1 year
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could you write a blurb where spence picks up reader from her work cuz she has the evening shift, so she locks up the workplace and goes to his car in the empty car park - and spence has a new car and she gets in and is like ‘don’t you know how you’re supposed to celebrate a new car??’ and he’s all confused and so she leans over and clicks the button to push his chair back and he’s still confused, until she straddles himself on him and thennn smut🤭
uhm yessss ofc i can, little longer than a blurb oops - I need to work on that cw: 18+ content (nsfw/minors dni), car sex, threat of exhibition, squirting (female ejaculation), unprotected sex, breeding, piv sex word count: 1.5k
meet me in the lot (don't get caught)
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You were so thankful that your boyfriend was home and could pick you up from your late shift. The freezing gusts of wind were too much for your usual walk to the subway station a few blocks down. You had attempted it this morning and even with the sun up, your nose became frozen and red and by the time you'd reached the office you were shivering. You'd sent a text to Spencer, hoping his flight from the latest case had landed early enough for him to come to your rescue. Thankfully, it had and as soon as the clock hit 11:00 pm and your shift was over, he sent you a text.
Spencie: Your chariot awaits, m'lady.
You chuckle to yourself and roll your eyes at his language choice before responding.
You: I'll be down in a moment, sire.
You gathered your belongings and bundled up before racing down the stairs and out into the large empty parking lot. There, in the middle of the lot, was a car you didn't recognize. Usually, Spencer's light color vintage Volvo Amazon P130 was waiting for you, but this car was obviously more modern and a BMW coupe of some kind. You squint to see if its Spencer seated in the driver's side. As you move closer, the window rolls down and out pops Spencer's head full of wavy curls.
"Don't worry - it's me," he beams a goofy grin and waves you forward.
You begin to walk quicker towards the car and open the passenger side before swinging inside and plopping down onto the warmed leather seats.
"What is this? What happened to the Volvo?" you inquire, admiring the detailed interior.
"Oh, I've still got it, but figured I needed a modern upgrade - it is over 50 years old you know," Spencer stated matter-of-factly, rubbing his hands down the steering wheel.
You smile at him, "Well, I like it. Heated seats, too - fancy."
A laugh escapes him before he says, "I figured I'd have it ready for you, I knew you'd be freezing."
"Well, you know," you begin, "there's a warmer way that we can celebrate this new car."
"How so?" Spencer inquires, raising his eyebrow.
You leaned over closer to him, pressing your lips softly against his neck. "The way we celebrate anything else..."
"Wine?" he staes.
You chuckle and slap his chest lightly, "We can do that when we get home, pretty boy... now, what else do we do?"
Spencer ponders for a moment before responding, "Oh, ohhh... you're always full of devious ideas, aren't you?"
You can't help but smirk at him before working your way over the center console to straddle him. Thankfully, he caught on and moved the seat further backwards to make room for both of your bodies. Spencer wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled your body to press against his, bringing you in for a deep passionate kiss. Your clothed core rubbed against his strained denim erection, causing you to moan into each others mouths. As you continue to grind against him, you notice the seat begin to lean back, causing your body to be flat on top of his. Spencer's hands came to cup both of your ass cheeks and rub you deeper against him. The pressure against your clit was almost to much to bear and it made you want him so much more. You reached down between you and began fiddling with his pants button, undoing it unskillfully and attempting to shimmy them down his legs.
"Needy, hm?" Spencer teased, assisting you in removing his pants before working your top off.
"So are you," you responded, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling softly.
"Trying to ruin my new leather seats?" he inquired as you stroked the bulge still contained by his boxer briefs. Before you could respond, he placed a firm spank on your ass, eliciting a loud moan from you. "Or are you trying to get caught?"
You look down at him with a devilish look, "Both."
"Fuck - you're so bad," Spencer groaned, running his hand up your skirt and looping his fingers on your panty line to pull them down.
He glides two of his fingers along your folds before dipping them into your wet center, making you moan again. The pad of his thumb rubs figure-eights against your clit, making your wetness pool even greater.
You needed him desperately but you couldn't form the words to direct him, so you took matters into your own hands and worked his throbbing cock from his underwear until it smacked against his stomach. You whimpered at the sight, grabbing his wrist to stop the motion and lining his tip up with your entrance. Before he could register what was happening, you sank down on him, throwing your head back and sobbing at the pleasurable sensation of him stretching you out.
"You always make me feel so good, Spence," you mutter breathlessly, bracing your hands against his chest.
"God," Spencer huffed out, "your pussy was made for me, angel."
That comment sent all your blood rushing to your core and you began to move up and down on him deeper than before, his dick filling you up all the way to your cervix. Your walls quivered around him and feral noises reverberated from your throat. His echoed yours, but deeper and more guttural. Spencer dug the fingers of one hand into your thigh and scraped the other set of fingernails down your back.
"Y-you're perfect," he whimpered. "You're all mine. I-I love you, y/n."
"Oh fuck - I-I love you, too, baby, mmm," you respond, your body melting into his.
Your clit hit against his navel with every bounce, giving your bundle of nerves just enough stimulation to make your entire pussy go numb with pleasure. Every time you lowered yourself onto him, he hit deeper inside of you until he tapped your g-spot over and over again. The pressure grew inside of you so intensely you felt like you were bound to explode. You grasped on to the shoulder area of the seat and allowed him to hit your spot a few more times before you completely came undone, his name rolling from your lips freely and with loud volume as you continued to ride him. It was the most mind-blowing orgasm you had ever experienced. You suddenly felt your thighs and Spencer's navel become soaked and stinky, causing you to stop your rhythm momentarily.
"Holy shit," Spencer whined, looking between your face and the mess you had made. "You - you just squirted all over me, angel."
You return the look of shock and are speechless for a moment, "I-I did what? That's never happened before."
"I know, but - it was fucking amazing. I loved it," he groaned, thrusting into you once again, regaining the previous rhythm. Spencer was needier than before, gripping onto you with pleasing anguish. You had been with him long enough to know that he was close to coming, his muscles becoming strained and his face beginning to contort into one of focus and release.
"Cum for me, Spence baby," you beg, your body loose from your previously achieved ecstasy.
"I'm going to cum inside of you," he clarified with a determined tone. "So so deep inside of you, angel."
The hairs on your body stand up at that tone in his voice and the insinuation of his future action. You knew no greater than sensation than him emptying himself into you.
"P-please please," you implore, tightening your walls around him as he began to twitch inside of you.
"Anything for you, angel," he groaned, finally releasing himself and spilling his seed inside of you. "Anything... anything for you..." he continued to babble as he came.
You both rested for a moment, his eyes shut peacefully as his body relaxed. Eventually, you felt it was time to pull off of him, bringing the seat back to its normal lift level.
"That was amazing," he said heatedly, smirking up at you. "Even though you made a mess all over my new seats."
"Mmm, I didn't mean to. It'll clean up easy, baby," you reassure.
"Oh, it was so worth it to see you that way and have your cum all over my thighs - fuck," Spencer grumbled.
You lean down, kissing him deeply and lifting his chin with your fingers. "How about we continue this at home, hm? With that bottle of wine..." you press a peck on his lips. "And maybe another round?"
A groan rumbles in his throat and Spencer grips onto your ass firmly once again, "Fuck yes. I'll worry about deep cleaning this later."
You both gathered yourself and put your clothes back on quickly. Spencer helped you move back to your seat and pulled your seatbelt over your chest, snapping into the buckle before doing his own. Before you knew it, he was stepping on the gas and pulling out of the parking lot at a high rate of speed. Both of you were eager to get home and get right back to celebrating.
requests are open!
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miwa-soumen · 3 months
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Koisenu Futari Production Journal ⑩ (translation)
part 1 of 3
this is kind of long (and it's only part one!) so I'm putting it under the cut. if you catch any errors, let me know!
Hello, I am Sayaka Takahashi, the costume director of Koisenu Futari.
In a drama, the costuming of a character plays the fundamental role of adding realism to a characterization. In addition to that, however, I think costuming expresses a “background” that can’t be conveyed by the dialogue or storyline alone, and gives viewers the chance to dig deeper into the characters.
I especially tried to keep this in mind while styling the characters for this show.
Like many, I first heard of the existence of aromantic and asexual people while working on this show. Although there were many new surprises in this regard, reading through the script and understanding the characters better helped me to understand that they were all very fascinating. I soon began working on expanding upon the impressions I got through the costumes.
Approachable and somewhat delicate, despite their strong sense of individuality—in order to convey this impression, I used a variety of colors in the composition of each character’s outfits. The costumes needed to be heavily emphasized in order to come across as colorful in a show with lots of location shooting, but I tried to add color freely without getting boxed in by that.
I will specifically explain the costuming processes of Sakuko, Takahashi, and Kazu.
⚫Sakuko’s Costumes
When styling Sakuko, I tried to ensure that she immediately came off as a bright and likeable character.
At first, I developed a soft, fluffy look using pastels and muted colors, and incorporated recognizable trends such as frills, see-through fabrics, and puffed sleeves in order to create the image of a girl who has fun with both her work and her fashion.
I also expressed her sociable nature using the colors of her jackets and the balance of her backpack. However, after her encounter with Takahashi, she begins to realize that she had been subconsciously changing herself to suit the needs of the people around her.
When Sakuko goes from realization to acceptance, we see her world become more vivid and colorful. This is when her clothes and accessories begin to gradually change. We decided that she had liked rather large earrings even before her realization, and used those alongside her backpack to emphasize her individuality.
While the outfit she wears to visit Takahashi’s home for the first time is a normal commuting outfit, the balance of color used to express her joy and excitement at finally being able to relate to someone, as well as the vigor with which she innocently barges into the house, makes it one of her main looks.
And in episode 3, the coat Sakuko comes across during the shopping scenes in episode 3 becomes a vital part of her awakening to a newfound sense. For this scene, we looked for something very impactful and something that, above all else, suited Sakuko the best. Ms. Kishii looks very good in vivid colors, especially red, so we unanimously decided on this bright red coat during the costume fittings. This coat becomes the start of Sakuko’s discovery of a new part of herself as she begins to try out clothes and accessories she had never chosen to wear previously.
Starting from episode 6, there is a clear change in Sakuko’s appearance, where Takahashi’s grandmother’s influence can be seen. Her style begins to broaden as she begins to embrace vintage clothing and accessories, such as brooches, and begins incorporating more masculine elements. Specifically, we introduced elements that we had been avoiding up through episode 5, such as second-hand clothing, denim, primary colors, black, and large earrings.
I hope we were able to convey the relief and freedom Sakuko feels as she chooses to wear the things that she likes without having to care about what others think of her.
thanks to @dollopheadsandclotpoles and many others for their kind words of encouragement - I hope you enjoy!
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vanwritesfan-fiction · 9 months
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Pre-Show Ritual (18+)
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“Do I have something on my face?”
You ran a hand across your mouth, glancing down to your palm to confirm before looking up at Jack. He was sitting no more than 10 feet across from you in the greenroom, backstage at The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon, in an armchair that matched the one you were sitting in.
You had tagged along with Jack and his team for a quick trip to NYC, Jack set to perform his new single “What’s Poppin” in his first TV performance. There is no way you were going to miss this, and it had always been a secret bucket list item for you to see a taping of Jimmy Fallon and get a chance to meet him.
The greenroom had cleared out about five minutes earlier when Neelam and Urban walked over to the side stage to see the other guest interviews, leaving you and Jack alone. Jack had been weirdly quiet the whole day, giving out one-word answers to your excited questions about his upcoming performance. You looked at him, taking in his form. He had chosen a white bomber jacket with “Louisville” in large, embroidered letters across the front, always taking the opportunity to rep his hometown, khaki pants with random patches on his thigh and knees and his favorite New Balance sneakers. Jack was superstitious, always choosing the same gray New Balance sneakers for his performances. While they felt a little “middle aged dad with three kids from the ‘burbs” to you, he had managed to make them seem cool and classic. The last thing you noticed was the gaudy BB Simon belt he had on, embellished with Swarovski crystals, a prop for his song where he mentioned the brand, a nod to early 2000s rap culture. 
While he was obviously looking in your direction, you could tell that he was zoned out, his left leg jiggling in an anxious rhythm, not paying attention to you scarfing down a sandwich from the craft services table across the room, and not analyzing your face for any mustard you may have left on your face.
“Jack- baby?” You snapped in his direction, him reacting with a shake of his head, taking a moment to rake his hand through his mop of brown curls before meeting your eyes. “Everything okay?”, you asked responding to a look of worry across his face.
You placed your empty plate on the table between you two and rubbed your hands on your thighs, the dark wash denim acting as a pseudo napkin. You had chosen to dress comfortably, a basic hoodie underneath a trench coat you had copped from a vintage store in LA. Most of these performance days were sent waiting around in a room, so you knew better than to dress to the nines.
He still hadn’t answered you as you stood and made your way over to his chair, squatting down in front of him, using his knee for leverage. You rested you head on your closed fists and began to study his face.
Jack was usually the most confident man in any room, referring to himself as an alpha male, much to your annoyance and amusement. There was just something about him that made everyone he came across an immediate fan of him and his work. You liked to think that it was that he was so God damn handsome, towering over most people, and had a smile dentists would use in their office advertisements. While you still saw all those things in him tonight, you could tell he was uncharacteristically nervous.
“Talk to me baby, what’s going on?” you placed a hand on his leg to stop his shaking and grabbed both of his hands in yours, placing gentle kisses on his knuckles. He leaned toward you, gazing into your eyes and giving you a weak smile. “Nothing- just pre-performance nerves I guess.”
“You’ve done hundreds of performances in front of way more people then are out there tonight, this is nothing!” Jack dropped your hands lightly into your lap in response to your comment, getting up quickly and making his way over to craft table, fumbling with the basket of fruit set off to the side. “This is not just any performance” he takes a bite out of a granny smith apple with a questionable waxy exterior “this is TV. Millions of people are going to see this performance and I just don’t want to fuck anything up. You know how much my mom loves Jimmy”, his mouth still full of fruit. You reached out toward him to get his attention, knowing he hated green apples, but stopped short when you realized he was occupied. You couldn’t help but giggle as he gestured around wildly, pacing back and forth through the small room and making circles around your standing body, trying to convince not only you, but himself that he was way in over his head.
“What are you laughing at?” he stopped short of you, dropping what was left of the apple core in the trash, his eyebrows scrunched in an inquisitive manner. You grabbed both of his arms, pinning them to his side, hoping to keep him from continuing his tirade long enough to calm his nerves.
“You are fuckin’ adorable when you’re nervous, you know that?” you let out a belly laugh and placed your hands on his cheeks, using your thumbs to rub against his scraggly beard that you loved way too much. It made him look so sexy. You could tell that your attempt was working, Jack placing his hands around your waist, pulling you in closer. You moved your hands down from his beard, slowly tracing your hands down his shoulders, making sure to graze lightly over his pecs, feeling how strong and tight his body felt underneath at least two layers of clothing.
Anxiety quickly turned to lust in his bright blue eyes as Jack followed your movements, temporarily forgetting that he was about to get on the biggest stage of his career, his mind suddenly clouded with impure thoughts. As you continued to make your way down his body, Jack let out an involuntary shiver. Your hand landed on his belt buckle when he started to pull away, against his “better” judgement. “What are you doing, Y/N? As much as I would love to fuck you right here on this couch” he glanced over at the supple leather couch that must have been worth a small fortune, placing a kiss on your lips before continuing “you know I’ve got a thing for sex in public places, and this one would take the cake, I don’t want anyone to walk in on us. I’ve got a reputation to protect!” He gave you a big smile, and you matched it, knowing that he was lying. You both knew he’d love to be the rapper that was known for all his sexual conquests. He had shown you the list on his phone of all the places he wanted you both to “get it on.” (His words, not yours).
“You’re right, but I think I know the way to fix that problem”, you looked over his shoulder at the closed door. You sauntered over to the door, exaggerating the swing of your hips, Jack chucking at your attempt at seduction from afar. You quickly turned the lock of the door, the metal clang echoing throughout the room. You quickly turned to face Jack, your back pressed against the door, eyes narrowed as you focused in on what you were sure was going to release all the anxiety and stress from Jack’s body. “C’mere.” You reached out your hands in an innocent manner, no more suggestive of a hug. Jack quickly made his way to your arms, prepared to sink into your affection, when you quickly flipped the script and swung him around, so he was the one against the door. He hit is head during the flip, his face grimacing, reaching up to rub the back of his head.
“I’m so sorry boo!” Your hand slapped across your mouth in surprise, “are you okay?”
“Yeah.” He replied, now in a full fit of laughter with this situation being just what he needed to get his mind off things.
“Let’s try this again” you pressed into his body, planting a hard, passionate kiss on his lips that lasted a few seconds, both of you leaning into one another and becoming handsy. Jack slid his hands down to your low back, his fingers tangled into the waistband of your jeans, grabbing a handful of your ass in a way that made you moan in surprise. To catch your breath, you broke the seal between your lips, just mere millimeters away from another interaction. Jack kept his eyes closed in anticipation of this make out session continuing, but you had other plans.
“Look at me”, your tone made his eyes shoot open, his vision having to adjust to how close your faces were. You began to work on his belt buckle, slowly pulling the leather out of the buckle, hesitating to pull the prong out of the holes, not breaking eye contact. He had trouble concentrating on your command, his blood supply rushing to a more important area now.
“You know what made me fall in love with you?” the belt was now undone, and you began working on the button and zipper of his jeans, “I can think of a few things” Jack responded, his cockiness coming out through uneven breaths. “My height?” Jack ran his fingers up and down the small of your back as you fumbled with his pants, little space between you to making it more difficult to get to your goal. “Nope, that’s not it,” the only thing keeping you from his erected cock was his boxers, and you slipped your hand down his pants, grabbing his length in your grip, causing him to immediately groan in ecstasy. You used your left hand to slowly begin stroking his length, intent on making him feel good before he went on stage.  Your right hand went to the base of his neck, providing support he so desperately needed to prevent him from buckling at the knees. “My smile?” Jack had to concentrate desperately hard to even think of anything past how good this felt, but he was enjoying having both his ego and dick stroked at the same time. “No, although that’s definitely up there on the list”, you responded pressing kisses on his neck, his chin, his cheeks to prolong his pleasure, meeting his lips in another passionate kiss, though he could barely reciprocate, only managing a deep guttural moan in your mouth. You began to quicken your strokes on his cock, his pelvis pulling in towards you at the change of pace, and you realized that he was getting close to cuming.
“Fuck, that feels amazing,” he praised your actions, leaning his head on your shoulder as his stomach contracted and his body collapsed, his breathing getting louder, frequent grunts and moans ensuring you were giving him exactly what he needed.  You leaned your head against his, your lips close enough to whisper into his ear.  Without stopping the speed and aggressiveness as you rounded the head of his cock in the way you knew he liked during a hand job, you listed some of his best features. “I love your hair, your shoulders, chest hair that trails down your stomach to your-“ you didn’t bother to finish your sentence; you both knew what you were referencing. “But most of all- I love that you don’t let anyone tell you what you can’t do” the end of your sentence was punctuated by Jack cuming into your hand, you continuing to stroke him through to the end of his orgasm.
You took your time removing your hand from Jack’s cock, relishing in the fact that you were the one that made him cum like that, that you were responsible for his pleasure, his reassurance, his relief. As you turned to wipe your hands clean in the bathroom, Jack adjusted and closed his pants button, and buckled his belt back. He took a moment to regain his consciousness and take a deep breath in response to what had just happened. He wasn’t anxious anymore. In fact, he felt fucking good, and more than ready for his first primetime performance.
After washing your hands, you glanced at yourself in the mirror, adjusting your hair and makeup, downright giddy to see Jack perform. You always felt like a proud girlfriend seeing him doing the thing he loves (second to you of course). Jack appeared in the doorframe, wrapping his arms behind you, humming in your ear. You met his eyes in the mirror and realized that his face had completely changed from earlier. This was the man you fell in love with, the self-proclaimed alpha male.
“Thank you, baby,” Jack brushed your hair off your shoulder and planted a kiss on your neck as you laid back into his hold, leaning your head to the side to expose more skin.  He lingered here, planting gentle kisses in the same place, his lips barely touching your skin in a way that made your whole-body shiver. “Whatever are you talking about?” You played coy, hoping to sneak in a few more kisses. “You know just what to do to get me out of my head. And God, you sure do know how to make a man feel good”. You turned in his hold, making your chest meet his, locking eyes on his lips, brushing your thumb against his bottom lip. As if you were making conversation with just his mouth, you held your gaze there. “I meant everything I said, even in the heat of the moment. I love so many things about you,” you looked up at him, his blue eyes sparkling, hanging on your every word, “It doesn’t matter how many people are going to see your performance, live or on the internet tomorrow. You are one of the most talented people I know, and this is only the beginning of what’s going to be an amazing career.” You grabbed Jack’s face in your hands, your kiss this time more delicate, romantic and filled with love then those before. A knock on the door interrupted your personal moment. “Jack, you’re on in five minutes”. The PA sounded rushed and overly tired on the other side of the door, Jack being her third guest she had to round up tonight. Jack bounded over to the door, quietly un-latching the lock, swinging it open to meet a petite woman with wild, curly blonde hair, a headset barely visible through the mess of locks. She was holding a walkie-talkie and clipboard haphazardly, papers randomly held beneath the clip. k
“Great, yeah I’m ready”, Jack looked back at you as he stepped into the busy hallway. Urban was waiting in the hallway, snapping pictures to try to get the best behind the scenes shot as Jack made his way to the stage. “I’m right behind you!”, you yelled behind him, guessing he probably didn’t hear you. You walked down the hall through the crowd of employees and fans of people up to the side stage and stood next to Neelam while you watched Jack get hooked up with a mic pack by the tech assistant. Jack shook off his last-minute nerves like he was about to run through the tunnel at an NBA game, and you gave him two enthusiastic thumbs up, paired with a bright smile that could barely be seen in the dark.
“This song is my jam right now. Making his TV debut, performing “What’s Poppin’”, give it up for Jack Harlow!” Jimmy sat behind his iconic desk as he held an image of Jack’s album, announcing his next guest. The music began playing as the audience cheered. You, Neelam and Urban all began dancing in place to the performance, agreeing that Jack sounded amazing. Neelam bumped you with her elbow in your side to get your attention. “Hey, what changed? When we got here Jack was a mess?”. “I just gave him a pep talk! He just needed to be reminded why he is the best”. You gave Neelam a cheeky smile and then quickly turned back to the performance, so your face didn’t give anything else away. Jack had just hit the final verse of his song. “Well, whatever you did, it worked”. Neelam begins to clap as the song ends, walking towards Jack as he runs backstage.
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theghostparty · 2 months
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Roméo et Juliette: de la Haine à l'Amour - Redesign - 2024
To understand my completely unnecessary desire to redesign a musical that is over twenty years old, you have to understand that Romeo et Juliette is my Roman Empire. Long explanation under the break.
I wanted this design to be an homage in the silliest way possible.
I really leant into the sensibilities of original costume designer Dominique Borg, who used contemporary colour and technique and applied it to historical (or pseudo-historical) silhouettes.
Broadly, I wanted the Montagues to feel English in their shapes--Elizabethan doublets, high necklines, and ruffs, in homage to Shakespeare and the source text. They're all leather, denim, silver hardware--a little bit punk with status.
The Capulets would be deeply Italian Renaissance in their silhouettes, in reference to the setting of the play. They're all velvets, lace, chiffon, satins, and gold hardware--giving them an airiness of the Mediterranean while still allowing some drape here and there.
I wanted each family to have a slightly more broad palette than most versions afford them--which is why the Montagues have a smattering of green and magenta while the Capulets play with some soft yellows and lavenders.
The ball scene is largely Arthurian in inspiration--just because I took the idea of "what would the 1500s consider vintage and costume-y in the same way we think of the Victorian era" and ran away with it. There's also some silly Y2K nonsense because I rewatched the "On dit dans la rue" music video and thought "What if the Capulets threw this big Arthurian affair with full elegance and the Montagues cobbled together some gay club outfits circa 1998 fits out of a suit of armour."
FINALLY, I wanted Roméo and Juliette to take on elements of each other's family's style and colours for the end of the play--because to be loved is to be changed.
So here is a breakdown of my choices for each of the looks.
Un Jour: Here we see Roméo in his base look. It's a two-tone patent leather double with multiple zipper details. The peplum is criss-crossed zippers. The wings over the shoulder seams are edged with zipper teeth. The ruff detail at the neckline is also edged with zipper teeth. He has along zipper across the front of his boot like he's trying to be the next Sailor Moon. I don't know y'all. I went a little feral with trying to figure out all the places I could put zippers in.
Juliette is the most juvenile looking in Un Jour. I imagine that in this scene, she's being dressed by her family instead of her own volition.
She's in an asymmetrical, empire-waisted gown that is likely a brocaded or printed silk. Her chemise is a sheer lavender georgette or chiffon that peaks through the lacing at the shoulders and along the upper arms. She has a velvet choker and velvet belt and a heavily stoned velvet headband. Her hairstyling (it would have to be a wig, it would be NUTS to not make this a wig) is an homage to the open-weave Juliet caps that were similar to nets worn in the period on hair. Italy was, fun fact, one of the few countries where women didn't cover their hair during the renaissance.
L'amour heureux: As I explained above, Roméo's outfit is so silly. The wrap around glasses. The one arm of armour. The sheer, stoned period shirt. The gold brocade on the trousers. The pearl earring. The many, unnecessary belts. Bless this mess. It's also a cheeky little nod to Baz Lurhmann's Romeo + Juliet.
Juliette is, ostensibly, cosplaying as Guinevere or Lady Macbeth or Ophelia or any number of Middle Ages women. The ball is the Capulet's opportunity to really sell their daughter as marriage material so I wanted the look to feel bridal, hence the veil. I wanted to give reference to exaggerated surcote sleeves without actually doing them, hence the sleeve-into-glove and bow detailing with trails down to the floor. There is also a hint of yellow chemise underneath, which is actually just her Le balcon look underdressed for ease of the quick change (yes, I did think about this.) The dress is velvet with one panel of lace in-set into the underskirt. The bows are satin-face organza.
Le balcon: Romeo would change into his base again (during Le Poète). Juliette is in a simple yet totally impractical sheer chemise + slip combo. I wanted this soft yellow for this sequence because I always think about the lines "O she doth teach the torches to burn bright!" and "But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?/It is the east and Juliet is the sun" when it comes to describing her. The chemise would likely be a chiffon, while the slip would be silk.
Aimer: I say this with my whole chest--I hate how they changed the palette for Aimer in the 2010 production. I want my lovers soft and angelic and matching in this moment of union. Here we see a bit more of Romeo's lace shirt--his sleeves are laced like Juliette's in the first look. His doublet, trouser, boot combo are off-white leather in homage to the original production. Juliette's dress has a similar train length to her ball look (again, bridal) and we see the neckline creep up into a ruff (Elizabethan, rather than Italian). Lots of sheer net and lace with cream bridal satin as a skirt. Tiered sleeves. A little circlet on her head.
Le poison: Honestly? Just wanted her to have another outfit change before her death dress as a transitional choice. There's so much more of the purple in this look because it's going to take us into the blue elements of the final dress.
La mort de Roméo/Juliette: Again. To be loved is to be changed. Juliette has a dropped waistline, a high neckline and ruff, and a heart shaped cut-out detail (see: boob window). She's straight up in blue, and all the sweet and soft pinks of her youth are gone. Romeo has lost his high neckline, ruff, wins, and peplum in favour of a shorter Italian silhouette. He's asymmetrical (a call-back to Juliette's asymmetry) and all the edging detail is done in red. Mantua as a setting is patchworked, torn, and dirty, so I imagine the doublet is pieced together from scraps of jersey (so it's drippy and sad and hangs off him in a lovely manner).
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angellayercake · 7 months
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Save a cowboy, ride a cardinal
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Cardinal Copia x @ramblingoak happy birthday to yooooou 🎂🎂🎂
Copia attempts some roleplay fun for his favourite lady's birthday
‘Can I have this blind fold off yet?’ The ghoul didn’t answer, leading you down the gravel path only telling you just in time about the steps in your way so they have to catch you when you stumble. When Copia had mentioned blindfolds, surprises and your birthday this was not what you had imagined. You can hear buzzing voices ahead of you and the distinct sound of ragtime piano. ‘Where the hell are we?’ The ghoul ignored you again, continuing to lead you forward, the distinctive sound of doors being opened and then swinging shut behind you. There was only one place where all those things would be all together that's the new western themed bar that had opened in town. You loved westerns, LOVED them and had even been considering coming already. Unfortunately your friends at the Abbey had turned up their noses at a themed bar so you had given up any hopes of going, but it seemed Copia had been doing some snooping. 
You reached what you assumed was the bar, the ghoul helping you get sat on a high stool and then finally they removed your blindfold. There was almost too much to take in at first. Every table was full, being served by wait staff all dressed up in old west themed costumes. The walls were covered with vintage photographs, American flags, taxidermied cows and a hundred other themed trinkets, not quite authentic but the amount of history crammed into this place made you feel a bit giddy. In one corner a piano sat on a small stage, the source of the chipper ragtime you had heard on your way in. But dominating the middle of the room was a large empty space surrounded by a barrier, lined with padding and in the centre the unmistakable shape of a mechanical bull. It was still at the moment but you imagined things got a lot more rowdy when it was up and running. 
‘Well howdy there little lady,’ you hear behind you and a smile is spreading across your face before you even turn on your stool. You are about to reply when you register what he is wearing. Gone are his cassock and his perfectly tailored suit and in its place he is wearing jeans, you didn’t even know he owned a pair of jeans, but the dark blue denim clings to his thighs. Or at least what you can see underneath the black suede tassled chaps. You manage to tear your eyes away from his thighs, to his black shirt, the sharp piping his signature shade of red and then there was the hat. He had gone all out with what looked like a custom stetson. His put on smirk falters when all you can do is stare at him and he starts to fidget with his outfit nervously.
‘Did I not do it right? Aw shit,’ but before you can reassure him the barmaid interrupts. 
‘And what can I be getting you tonight?’ You switch your attention to the bar taking in the rows of bottles. Glancing at Copia you see him still fussing over his clothes so it looks like it's up to you to make a decision. 
‘Two beers please.’ She nods, quickly setting out two tankards and filling them at the vintage looking beer pump. This place was everything you had hoped, you only wished you were dressed for the occasion. If only he had given you some notice you could have pulled together a great bar wench outfit. When the full tankards were slid on the bar in front of you he snapped from his anxious haze and began fumbling for his wallet, struggling to get to it under the chaps. Just before you took pity on him he squeezed it from under the waistband with an adorable ‘ah ha’.  He hands over some notes, refusing the change with an awkward wave of his hand, as she turns away happy. 
‘I’m sorry,’ he says with a sigh slouching down against the bar. ‘I tried to find the outfit like ‘The Cardinal’ but I couldn't find the jacket and then I wasn’t sure what the hat looked like and.’ You rub his shoulders where he is slumped over on the bar.
‘Copia,’ he raises his head from the bar, his hat knocked askew so you straighten it as you look into his disappointed eyes. ‘Your outfit is great! The best dressed cowboy in the joint.’ He perks up after that explaining to you how he had noticed you reading your cowboy romances, how he had heard your friends talking about the new place opening in town and how he knew this would be the perfect place to celebrate your special day. 
‘Calling all cowboys and girls,’ The loud speaker crackles interrupting your conversation. ‘In just a while we will be unleashing the bull into this here restaurant. So we are calling on some brave folks to try and tame this beast! Come on down to the ring to volunteer andsignawaiver.’ You see the idea form in his mind and before you can vocalise all the reasons this is a terrible idea he is up. 
‘You will see now amore, I will be the best cowboy si?’ He practically jumps off his stool, his eyes shining.
‘Wait, Copia, you already are the best cowboy.’ But he is already halfway across the bar. You watch him waiting bouncing on his heels at the front of the queue. You soak up the atmosphere while you wait for him to read through the probably substantial terms and conditions and when he hands over the clipboard and enters the ring you wander over with your beer. You edge your way to the front of the small crowd just as he is getting seated on the bull. He spots you giving you a nervous grin, the expression on his face screaming what have I got myself into.
‘All set?’ The assistant checks in with him and he gives them a slightly frantic nod and then he is alone in the padded ring. ‘Our next challenger is Copia, a first timer, so let's see what he can do in three, tw, one,’ he calls over the loudspeaker and then it is set in motion. It starts slowly rocking forwards, then backwards, side to side. You admire his strong thighs tense as they grip to keep him seated. When it spins him back to face you, you can see his grin has lightened up and he mouths, ‘this isn’t so bad’ at you before he is whipped around. The bull picks up pace jolting back and forth and this time when he is brought back around all you can see is his wide round panicked eyes. You cover your mouth with your hand to stifle your laugh but it quickly becomes a gasp when with a sudden jolt forward and to the left he goes flying face first onto the mat.  
You shove your beer into the hand of the person standing next to you and rush around the barrier as he is sitting himself up. He groans as you help him to his feet, red faced and rubbing at his back. You pick up his hat where it had fallen next to him and dust it off before placing it back on his head. 
‘Amore, why didn’t you stop me?’ He moans as you support him across the bar back to your seats. ‘I am too old for this nonsense.’ Between you you hobble back over to the bar only to find your stools had been taken. He sighs, wrapping his arm around your shoulders more firmly. ‘I’m sorry, I had a whole plan and now it's ruined and.’ You squeeze his waist and turn him towards the exit.   
‘Nothing has been ruined silly.’ You push open the swinging doors and help him out into the cool evening air. Stretching his arms over his head he groans again and even though he is aching and slightly covered in dust you can’t help admiring the view. ‘And anyway you looked damn good up there on the bull, very powerful.’ He looks at you in disbelief but let’s you wipe some of the dust from his shoulders. ‘You even looked good all laid out on the floor.’ 
‘Oh you think you could have done better?’ He tickles at your side until you fall against his chest. ‘Shall we go back in? Do you want to have a ride?’
‘I have been thinking about riding tonight. Not the bull though’ You toy with the collar of his shirt, sliding open the top few buttons, if he was wearing jeans he may as well be even more casually dressed. 
‘Is that so amore?’ He backs you up against the wall, leaning on his forearm and boxing you in. ‘Perhaps we should start this evening again?’
‘Ok,’ You take a second to neutralise his expression so you can play along. ‘Hi.’
‘Howdy,’ He pulls his cowboy smirk off perfectly this time and it makes your knees weak. ‘What’s a pretty lady like you doing in a dive like this?’
‘I was looking for a handsome cowboy but I think I might have just found one.’ He closes the distance between you but doesn’t go straight for your lips. He kisses your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. Slow soft presses of his lips that have your breath catching in your throat in anticipation. Finally he kisses you, and all his reservation dissolves as your lips finally touch, his full body pressing against you as his tongue slips past your lips to tangle with yours. The sudden swinging of the saloon doors snaps you both back to reality. You break apart but only just, partially hidden in the shadows of the porch.
‘Take me home Cardinal,’ you whispered against his swollen lips. He growls diving back in for one last aggressive kiss that had your stomach flipping and almost made you reconsider letting him have you there and then. But you manage to pry yourselves apart for long enough to get back to the car, where the ghoul was waiting to drive you both back to the Abbey. You can’t keep apart for long however and you end up wrapped up in his arms. 
‘I think this has been one of my best birthdays ever,’ you sigh contentedly. You run your fingers over his chest, following the lines of red piping until you can reach into the unbuttoned neckline of his shirt.
‘Only one of the best?’ He glares down at you,some of the strict Cardinal you had first met coming out. In the past that look would have cowed you but now you just smile up at him fluttering your lashes.
‘Well if it’s the top spot you are after, I have some ideas.’ He raises his eyebrows at you but starts running his fingers from the small of your back up to the nape of your neck. 
‘Ok let's hear it then,’ He tips your chin up, ghosting his lips over yours. You try to resist, well aware of the game he is playing. You close the distance this time, it’s your birthday you can take all the kisses that you want. Only when you are both breathless do you pull back. 
‘Tonight the chaps stay on,’ and after a moment's thought. ‘And the hat.’ 
‘That I can do. Anything for my Principessa.’ And he pulls you into another searing kiss.
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coffeestainedcashmere · 6 months
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plans for a, much needed, weekend alone: - having a little gem salad, old bay french fries and multiple glasses wine at the bar of the cosy restaurant near the apartment... with a book. - dropping pairs of vintage levis off for denim repair - binge watching love is blind - taking all of the clothes from the wardrobe, leaving them across the apartment and doing a massive wardrobe clean out. - face mask, under eye patches and a long soak in the bath.. with a book - going to manhattan to buy a large amount of flowers from my favorite farmer market stall - long distance phone calls to people in wildly different time zones for a good catch up
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susoriginals · 6 months
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Vintage Ladies Blue Jean Denim Top Shirt Blouse Lizwear by Liz Claiborne Large Size 16 Only $9.99
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laracrofted · 1 year
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we'd run inside out from the cold (part ii)
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synopsis: after a quiet moment in the snow, jake and his girlfriend warm up with a midnight shower. (read part one here)
pairings: jake seresin x fem!reader (no y/n, c/s is butterfly)
warnings: 18+, minors dni, fluff and smut - shower sex and oral (f receiving), mentions of christmas, excessive use of pet names, waxing poetic about jake in sweaters, swearing (wc: 2.5K)
note: welcome to the steamier (lol) part two of the soft christmas fic... aka the shower smut that jake implied against my best intentions. enjoy!
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tag list for people who wanted a part two: @theharddeck @six-bloodyminutes @thedroneranger @blue-aconite @dhwanishah09
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It is pitch back in the living room without the glow of the Christmas lights, but Jake finds your hand in the dark, engulfing your still chilled fingers in his reliable warmth.
You’d forgotten to grab the spare mittens on your way outside, the ones from the shoebox in the hall closet that Ms. Seresin showed you on your first afternoon here. 
“Shit,” Jake lets out a hushed curse, cradling your one hand between his palms. Hot breath blows across your cold fingertips in the darkness. You smile where Jake can’t see. “You’re freezing. Let’s get you warmed up.” 
You expect him to guide you up the stairs, steering you around the steps that might creak too loud, lifting you over the third and second-to-last steps like last night. Hands, a familiar heat around your waist. 
He pulls you in a different direction, further into the house. 
Snow is floating down outside the paned window at the end of the dim hall, casting everything in a soft white glow. Moonlight winks off the assorted picture frames, hung slightly crooked on the old wallpaper after Ms. Seresin took them down to show you the young Jake Seresin highlights one by one. He had the chubbiest little cheeks as a child and the same up to no good smile. 
He tugs you into the bathroom, gently closing the door behind you, careful not to let it slam and break open the fragile silence. 
It is so quiet, so serene. Like the Seresin ranch exists in a freshly shaken snow globe, not a sprawl of land outside Austin, Texas. 
Something from a dream.  
“Don’t want to run the upstairs shower and wake Ma up.” 
You lean against the bathroom counter, arms crossed over the fabric of the worn crewneck sweatshirt that is really his, stolen from the top drawer of his dresser back in San Diego. You’ve been ‘borrowing’ it for months now without the slightest intention of giving it back, and Jake doesn’t mind one bit.
He likes you in his clothes. 
Jake darts around the bathroom, gathering a pile of fresh towels from the closet, pulling back the shower curtain and cranking the water on. He checks the temperature once, twice, and in the process, pushes the sleeve of his white sweater up to his elbows, revealing a tantalizing stretch of forearm. 
You are loving the cold weather for festive activities, but Jake has had to hide away all of that hard muscle this week under wool sweaters and flannel button-downs and in the case of the Christmas Tree Farm this afternoon, a denim jacket with a lined collar that made him look like an outdoorsy Abercrombie model.
Winter is... admittedly an excellent look on him.
Who knew that Jake would look so good – and so much like a long-lost Chris Evans relation – in a fisherman sweater? He looked so classically handsome, straight out of one of those vintage L.L. Bean catalogs. 
Sweater Jake was appealing in a way that surprised you both.
You, upon seeing him come down the stairs on that first night, wearing a thick cable knit sweater and flannel pajama pants, looking cuddly enough to make your heart ache.  
Him, upon sneaking into your room later that night, which ended with your sleep clothes strewn across the blankets and your boyfriend’s large hand across your mouth to muffle your moans. 
“Might I remind you… We agreed not to have sex in the house,” Jake mumbled into your neck afterward, too amused to sound chastising. He rolled onto his side and half-pulled you onto his bare chest, pressing an affectionate kiss to your temple, interlacing your fingers on his stomach. “You’re the one who suggested that rule.” 
He had you there.
You had suggested that rule, nervous to go home with your boyfriend for the holidays, despite Jake’s repeated insistence that all of the Seresin women would adore you to bits. You didn’t want to give them any ammunition to dislike you – and especially not overheard sex noises in the dead of night after Ms. Seresin had so kindly made up the guest room for you.
“You wear the hell out of a sweater, babe,” was the only drowsy explanation you could provide, pushing up to leave an open-mouthed kiss on his jawline that made his breathing stall… which led directly into another round when Jake rolled you under his weight and pressed you into the pillows. 
Still…
You’d taken the mild San Diego weather for granted. Being able to see Jake in fitted tees and on the cooler nights, unbuttoned Henleys that gape at the neck, giving a delicious sneak peek of that gold chain.
You haven’t seen his washboard abs in such good lighting all week. 
You stare. More than is warranted, given Jake is your boyfriend and would probably rip off his shirt upon request without any follow-up questions. 
Muscles ripple in his abdomen when Jake pulls his sweater over his head, revealing even more tan skin. You want to drop to your knees and run your tongue along the line of his abs. Want to lick up his chest and get comfortable in that spot under his jaw that makes him moan. 
You should probably take off your sweater too and avoid hypothermia and get in the shower and all of those important details. 
You keep staring instead, absolutely shameless, and Jake catches you.
A smirk pulls at his mouth. “Planning to maul me again, darling?” 
Are you drooling? Probably a little bit. 
“Do you think Mav would let you wear sweaters in the cockpit?” 
He pretends to consider it. “Might get a little warm up there,” Jake says after a few seconds. Heat simmers in his gaze as Jake watches you back, pulling his bottom lip between his white teeth, and reaches out to sneak his index finger under the hem of your sweater. “Wool is probably a little more flammable than the Nomex too.” 
“Better than frostbite, right?”  
His smirk widens into a full-blown grin, and Jake pulls you into an embrace.
“Frostbite is no laughing matter,” Jake says against the back of your neck, tugging the collar of the sweater away and pressing a chaste kiss to your nape. Goosebumps erupt over the skin. “Better get undressed there, Butterfly, before I have to do it for you.” 
Butterflies flutter in your stomach, as if invoked, and despite the mild threat, Jake doesn’t give you the chance to get undressed.
Calloused palms slide along your bare back, tugging the sweater over your head, careful not to snag your hair. You push your pants and underwear down in one motion, casting off your socks along the way, and after shedding his own flannel pants and boxers, Jake bands a strong arm around your waist and tucks his chin over your shoulder.
He is a damn furnace against your back, already half-hard.
You swallow, and Jake studies you in the bathroom mirror, ghosting his fingertips across your stomach. A promise that makes every part of you tighten, and Jake presses a grin into your shoulder, kissing the small scar there. 
“Let’s get in the shower.” 
Steam rises around your bodies as Jake pulls the curtain closed and looks down at you. Affection warms his face, a soft glow. Fingers trace down your arms, somehow still covered in goosebumps from sitting out in the snow, and Jake asks, “Still cold?” 
Not really.
Not since before your boyfriend kissed you a few minutes ago, whispering dirty things in your ear about not being able to walk tomorrow. Not when Jake is looking at you like that with such adoration and tenderness and blatant desire in his green eyes. 
You catch a wicked gleam in his gaze, underneath it all, and decide to invite a little trouble. Make a whole show of shivering in a way that draws his split-second attention to your chest. 
“A little bit.” 
He leans in, naked chest pressed against yours, warm water cascading over your heads and down your back. Presses a white hot kiss to the center of your collarbone, then lifts your chin with one finger and nibbles up the side of your neck in a way that makes your lids flutter closed.
“Think I’ve got a good way to warm you up.” 
You’re facing him one minute and the next, Jake spins you to face the shower wall, pressing his whole body against yours. It is cold against your cheek and your bare chest. You shiver and complain, and Jake makes a sympathetic – if a bit mocking – noise against your throat. 
“Jake…” You don’t mean to sound so unbalanced. You love the man, but Jake doesn’t need the ego boost right now. 
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Jake says again, bringing back the same words from earlier, the same thread of teasing condescension in them. “Told you I’d go easy on you, didn’t I?” 
You don’t think Lieutenant Jake Seresin has ever gone easy on a damn thing in his life and have every intention of telling him so, but he is quicker to the draw. Every thought vanishes from your brain when Jake glides his hand down your stomach and touches you.
“God, darling…” He practically moans the words, rocking his hips against your back, which makes you push against the palm that’s there for you to grind against. He wants you to do it, to take your pleasure from him like that. “You’re so wet. How long’ve you been like this?” 
Since the Christmas Tree Farm. 
“No one has ever…” You start strong, but Jake runs his fingers through the slick wetness again, causing you to take a quick breather. “…chopped down a Christmas tree for me, okay? You were like a sexy lumberjack.” 
His chuckle is a low hum against the shell of your ear, and Jake abruptly withdraws his fingers, turning you around. You catch a flash of tongue as Jake slips his shining fingers into his mouth and sucks on them.
God. Damn.
“What do you think Mav will say when I tell him the news?” 
You stare at him, confused, brows knitting together, and Jake looks too amused and proud at his own wittiness to leave you in suspense. 
“Obviously, I won’t have time to be a fighter pilot while I’m learning how to become a full-time lumberjack for you.” Water drips from his lashes, making his eyes look liquid warm. “Is it just chopping down trees that gets you this hot? Can I maybe split some firewood instead? Might be more cost effective, less time consuming.” 
A giggle escapes your lips, and Jake laughs too, capturing the hands that want to cover your flushed cheeks. He winds his fingers through yours, pressing them back against the slippery tile.
“Stop it, Jake. You don’t need to change careers for me. You’re a damn good pilot, a great one. Just…” You gnaw the edge of your lip, studying a freckle on his shoulder, letting the words out in a hushed tone. “I’d settle for one tree every Christmas.” 
You meet his eyes, parsing out if Jake gets your meaning. 
You want every Christmas with him. 
Every damn one.
Tenderness shines in his eyes. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” 
You don’t have time to appreciate the warm and fuzzy feelings inside your chest because Jake rewards you with a too short kiss on the lips and then, smirking again, sinks down to his knees. 
“Now,” Jake says, looking up at you, splaying his hand across your stomach to hold you upright, “I think I said something about warming you up, sweetheart. Can’t have you go into Christmas cold or unsatisfied. What kind of boyfriend would I be then?” 
Any response evades you as Jake hooks your knee over his shoulder and dives right in, not even pausing to rev you up with teasing. Why bother? He already managed that with the damn Christmas tree. 
He spreads you open with his fingers, licking wet strokes across you. His non-regulation stubble chafes against your thighs, almost definitely leaving an angry beard burn that’ll hurt in your jeans tomorrow.
You couldn’t give less of a shit right now.
“Taste so good, darling,” Jake says, pulling back to sink one thick finger into you, then adding another, watching your face the whole time. “Sweeter than those Christmas cookies.” 
What a fucking cheeseball of a man. You’d roll your eyes if Jake didn’t already have them rolling back in your head.
Coyote, Rooster, Phoenix… None of them would believe that Jake was such a walking Hallmark movie. He doesn’t let anyone else see this side of him.
“I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. Ain’t that right, darling?” 
You nod, dropping your head back against the shower wall with a gentle thump, and Jake swirls his broad tongue over your clit, once, twice, then… pulls back and looks up at you with expectant smugness.
“Don’t think I caught that. I’m the only one who…” 
You stifle a snort, rolling your eyes this time. Such an ass. 
He ghosts the slick pad of his thumb across your clit, teasing and taunting. You almost lose your balance, stretching out a hand to grasp at his shoulder, and Jake flashes you a self-satisfied grin.
“You’re the only one.” You nod fervently, digging your nails into his shoulder, canting your hips closer to his face. You can practically feel his breath against you, only centimeters away. “Come on, Jake…” 
He closes his lips around you, curling his fingers inside of you, hitting a spot that makes your mouth gape open. His words are increasingly fragmented, bits and pieces of unintelligible nonsense as Jake encourages you to rock against his face. You are damn near floating with the pleasure of it all. 
“You’re so pretty like this.” 
“No one can hear us down here, darling. Let me hear those wonderful sounds.” 
“You’re it for me. Please…” Jake asks, begging, pleading, worshipping you.
You reach the precipice and fall over the edge in a whirlwind of bright spots that look like Christmas lights. Look like the December moon reflected and refracted in the fresh snow. It is absolute heaven.
From there, Jake could easily get up from his knees, push you back against the tile, and slide right into the spot between your thighs that’s wet and aching for him, waiting to be filled. But he stays right there, kneeling between your legs, absentmindedly stroking himself with one hand.
Looking at you like the luckiest man alive. 
“Give me one more, darling,” Jake gently orders, then goes back in with enthusiasm, holding your shaking thighs in place over his shoulder. 
You stay in the shower long enough to make the water run cold, and in the steam-filled bathroom, Jake gathers your limp form in his arms and bundles you both in fluffy towels... that end up immediately abandoned on the carpet of the guest bedroom. 
And after kissing every inch of your body, holding your hips hard enough to leave bruises, and fucking you into the soft sheets with stuttered breaths, fingers interlaced with yours, pressing kisses against your back to muffle his own groans, Jake holds you against his side. 
He brushes your hair back from your face, still damp from the shower, repeating the motion, tracing the curve of your jaw and the shell of your ear, back and forth.
And with the soft rush of snow blowing against the window, Jake whispers, “Merry Christmas, Butterfly.” 
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end note: wishing you all a happy and safe holiday and a hot, cuddly boyfriend under the christmas tree. send me all your thoughts and feelings!
(and since it didn't make it into here, i actually do have a hc for the call sign butterfly, so i might revisit these two again sometime!)
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themakeupbrush · 2 months
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What are your thoughts on the Schiaparelli tech baby, specifically in regards to any sort of societal commentary but also in terms of the rest of the collection?
Collection description from Daniel Roseberry
If there's one thing Schiaparelli is good at, it's having a weird showstopper that everyone will be talking about. It always feels a little gimmicky but clearly it works and keeps fashion week interesting, so I'm not complaining. Also, Daniel Roseberry's dedication to fashion + couture is always inspiring. You can read an article here where he complains about people feeding his work through AI, being inspired by other couture icons, and honoring a member of the atelier who's retring.
I think they accomplished the classic Schiaparelli goal of putting two unlikely things together and making them work, but to me this collection kind of felt like it had one too many design concepts going on. It had extraterrestrial, technology, texas cowboy, and then all the iconic Schiaparelli design elements. The outfits on their own were great and cohesive, but it kind of made the show feel like it was all over the place.
Collection description from Daniel Roseberry:
In 1877, Elsa Schiaparelli’s uncle Giovanni Schiaparelli, the director of the Brera Observatory in Milan, discovered something new: a series of channels, an area as large as the Grand Canyon, scoring the surface of Mars. He also coined the term “Martian”, and inadvertently began our modern fascination with creatures from out there, a fascination that continues to this day. So it makes sense that space has always been an informal code of the Maison. Elsa was, famously, preoccupied with astrology, and why not? Looking to the stars was clearly a family pastime. This collection is an homage to that obsession, as well as a study in contradictions — of legacy and the avant-garde, of the beautiful and the provocative, of the earthbound and the heaven-sent. But as art (and nature) teaches us again and again, the things and ideas that seem diametrically opposed to each other can also combine to make startling chimeras, objects composed of familiar parts that, when united, create something unexpected and new It is, in fact, one of the Maison’s guiding philosophies: Elsa was committed to unlikely marriages win her own design, and the looks in this collection honor that tradition, combining old world techniques (such as over-embroidered guipure laces, velvet and lace appliqués, and hand cut and embroidered chenille fringe) with new world shapes, patterns, and references (such as a motherboard-and-strasse microchip dress encrusted with pre-2007 technological artifacts — now, the technology I grew up with is so antiquated that it’s almost as difficult to source as certain vintage fabrics and embellishments). They also unite her personal references with my own: you’ll see abstracted references to iconographies of my home state of Texas throughout, from the bandana, here remade in hand-painted paillettes; to the cowboy boot, reconceived as a thigh-high fantasy bristling with buckles; to the iconic horse braid dressage knots redone as silk satin spikes and smothering a camel suede bomber jacket and a white denim corset suit. Elsa was famous for her codes — the keyhole, the measuring tape, anatomical body parts — and we’ve embedded them like Easter eggs in jewelry, shoes, clutches, and embroidery, a secret message from us to the woman who wears them. The result are a series of profiles both familiar and not — part human, part something else. And, therefore, totally Schiaparelli.
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because-she-goes · 4 months
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warm
warnings: drinking, fashion references, swearing, yeehaw! matty’s hands, a sprinkle of doom and almost no dialogue. Enjoy!
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Matty’s rugged hand reached out to Thea as she took a final, long sip of her admittedly quite shitty gin and tonic. They had gone out to a different bar that evening, Matty grumbling about how he could just make her drinks at home and they'd be worlds better than whatever the young trainee bartender could whip up. She giggled at this and pleaded with him to get dressed and put on his nicest pair of boots - preferably ones without mud stains. He agreed to go under one condition, that he pick her outfit for this particular outing.
The outing in question? A line dancing night with a live band and $5 drinks. To be honest, nothing sounded better to Thea than cheap alcohol and loud music and Matty’s large hands on her hips after the week she’s had at work. Khaite had pulled out of a spread about how higher end, quite luxurious designers were now entering the denim game. This left Thea scrambling as she had to track down new jeans to feature in her piece and ones that would especially photograph well. Her and her team had ended up landing on Bottega Venetta’s denim printed leather pants and how seemingly from a distance, they are jeans up until you are able to touch and feel them. The likes of Kate Moss and Kendall Jenner had been seen wearing them. It was a wonderful innovation and far more worthy of the magazine space than the regular khaite jeans. A trick on the eyes, like Matty.
When they had met, Thea assumed Matty would be your typical Texan cowboy who was stiff and tight lipped and totally disinterested in anything that went against the usual machismo that came with that title. As the weeks progressed, she had learned that Matty was very interested in her job and what she did for a living and her world, additionally he was a phenomenal dancer and a breathtaking guitar player. After work sometimes, he would play her a lullaby on his acoustic or they’d dance around half-drunk in her kitchen to everything from Buddy Holly to Bruce Springsteen.
He was an enigma, just as she was.
Since knowing each other, Thea had become fond of Matty’s little surprises. Always keeping her guessing. He was a hidden gem, a diamond in the rough. Externally, he was the typical Texan guy… imagine Ennis from Brokeback Mountain, completely disinterested in dealing with his own emotions and confronting them. However, the few times Thea had caught Matty singing softly late at night while strumming away it was like she had an MRI of his heart, able to see every nook and cranny of him, every last thing he held dear. He was unexpectedly tender.
Even now as he held her while they danced to the sounds of bluegrass, the fabric of her soft, feminine, embroidered pink dress crinkled under his calloused hands. It was frilly, it was delicate, it was vintage Valentino - all things Thea loved. It swung around just above her knees as Matty swayed and moved behind her. It was his favorite dress of hers, that was another thing Thea had learned… Matty loved vintage shopping and finding clothes that seemed from another time. He loved an old beat up pair of Levis that fit him perfectly and he especially found joy in finding flannel shirts from the 80s. They had made a deal to pick out the other’s outfit and Thea had really done some of her finest work. A perfectly worn white tee shirt, dark navy straight leg Levis 501s, a silver and brown chunky western belt and a beautiful gray Prada sweater. Perfectly Matty. Her cowboy.
It was as she took in her surroundings and fully drank in the moment that she felt his warm breath hit the shell of her ear. It ghosted over her skin, the smell of his Tom Ford cologne filling the air around the two, she immediately felt heady and warm. Drunk on the feeling of him and no longer on the shitty fucking drink. Her feet stumbled a bit as they continued trying to keep up with the group line dancing around them. Music drowning out his voice and yet she still heard him clear as a bell…
“Be my baby… Thea, be mine.”
“Happily, my love.” Fuck it, into her doom she went - head full of dreams and optimism. Head full of him. What a fool.
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rrlexchange · 1 month
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"HOW ONE PAIR OF RRL DENIM JEANS MAKES IT FROM A COTTON FIELD TO YOUR CLOSET" - by Ikhtier Rustamov
When Ralph Lauren founded Double RL in 1993, he was inspired by the heritage of the American West and the train-hopping, steer-wrangling, gold-panning men who helped to settle it. “It’s not fashion, it’s real stuff,” Ralph has been known to say about the line in the years since. Nothing better embodies that uniquely American quality than a pair of blue jeans (made in the first place for the hard-wearing needs of miners and cowboys). American made jeans have always been a staple in the Double RL wardrobe, but the jeans made with the “East-West” denim, which crosses the globe in pursuit of perfection, just may be the gold standard. Here’s how a single pair comes together.
All denim is made from cotton, but not all cotton is created equal: the material can vary vastly in quality depending on where it’s sourced. RRL’s East-West denim is fabricated using premium grade cotton harvested in the state of Tennessee. The crop that grows there is renowned for its extra long, uneven fibers. When eventually spun and woven, that will translate into denim that’s supremely resilient, with a unique texture that sets it apart from the pack.
From Tennessee, the cotton is flown across the ocean to Japan. To Okayama, specifically, a city that is to denim what Memphis is to the blues. Today, some of the world’s best American denim is made in Japan, where a centuries-old tradition for indigo-dying and fabric weaving is combined with a dedication to maintaining and using vintage narrow shuttle looms which were largely dispensed with half a century ago. In the 1900s, all denim was made on these narrow shuttle looms: slow, noisy, and costly to maintain these looms created a narrow fabric with low-tension, resulting in strong and dynamic denim, rich in texture and finished on either end with a closed selvedge edge. By the 1950s, the fabric had grown so popular that most factories switched to more efficient air-jet looms, creating more product, faster, cheaper and at a lower quality.
To create our East-West denim, we partnered with a small Okayama denim mill that is a standard-bearer in a nearly lost art. The long-staple cotton is deftly ring-spun into a soft, lofty yarn, and rope dyed a red-blue shade of indigo inspired by jeans from the 1930s. Spun and dyed, the yarn is finally woven into bolts of fabric on wooden hanger-style shuttle looms, finished with an iconic red-line of yarn through the selvedge fabric edges. Off the loom, the fabric is then Sanforized, to reduce shrinkage, and finished with a proprietary process that retains the natural “loomstate” characteristics of the denim, creating a true “hand of quality”.
From one denim mecca to the next, the finished bolts are shipped over to California — the state where jeans got their start. Here the product really takes shape: the denim is cut and sewn into finished jeans manually using methods that were common from the 1940s-1960s, but have become rare today: chain-stitching, washer burrs, hidden rivets, and handset pockets and waistbands.
American-made thread and rivets hold it all together, while an open “busted” outseam on the outside of each pant leg leaves the selvedge edge visible as a hallmark of quality. For a finishing touch, the signature RRL leather patch is applied by hand.
Once assembled, the jeans are given a final once-over for detailing and distressing. A team of artisans in Los Angeles fits each individual pair onto a special form and rough them up just a bit. Hand-sanding is one of the best ways to give a patina of age, but that’s just one piece of the tool-kit: a finished pair of pants can undergo up to 50 steps before they head out the door, and that’s without even considering the variety of vintage-inspired washes that change with every season.
With this last step, East-West Denim goes from uniform fabric to a wear-ready pair of RRL jeans.
From field to factory to weekly rotation, East-West Denim comes to life when the jeans take on the life of the wearer, weathered by the elements and the inevitable abrasions that come from daily use. Eventually, whiskers above the legs and “honeycombs” behind the knees appear. The tell-tale “track” on the outer inseam manifests. A phantom outline appears on the pocket where you always put your wallet. And then they’re not just “real stuff.” They’re really yours.
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