#relatively cool weather and layering? nice | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

popatochisssp · 3 years

Note

do you have ref sheets for your skeletons? i want to picture them better in my head

Regrettably no! If I could draw, I would, but the best I can do for you is...

NOTE: Heights are relative, alternative static heights provided for if you’re not into taller-than-you skeletons (based off a short-ass [me])

Nickname: Sans (Undertale)

Height: 4” taller than you (OR 5’3”)

Eye-lights: Basic white (magic otherwise manifests cyan [#00FFFF])

Magic Specialty: Cyan, blue, yellow

Scars/distinguishing marks: None

Preferred Style: Lazy, mostly wears what’s convenient and comfortable without much thought to his Look. Doesn’t like clothes shopping though, and actually takes surprisingly good care of what he has to avoid having to replace it— he’ll stitch little tears and try to wash out the worst stains he accumulates, but he lets a lot of it be, too, and just wears things like that. Favors cool colors and the black-and-white spectrum.

Outerwear: Zippered hoodies, pockets a must; some pullovers, but they don’t get worn as often

Top: T-shirts, either plain white and bought in bulk OR graphic tees with visual gags/puns (one of his favorites is a rib-cage print)

Bottom: Basketball shorts, almost exclusively; has a few rare pairs of sweatpants and one single much rarer pair of dress slacks somewhere (hopelessly crumpled at the bottom of a drawer)

Footwear: Slippers (favorite pair is pink and fuzzy), sneakers, those horrible fur-lined crocs (search ‘oxgmoky’ if you’ve never had the pleasure of seeing them)

Trademark accessory/accessories: Blue hoodie, he actually has several in different weights and linings and swaps them out according to the weather so he almost never has to go without one

Nickname: Papyrus (Undertale)

Height: 1’4” taller than you (OR 6’3”)

Eye-lights: None (magic otherwise manifests cobalt blue [#0047AB])

Magic Specialty: Blue, cyan

Scars/distinguishing marks: None

Preferred Style: Cool! He knows what cool is and he is going to wear it, regardless of the ‘rules’—fashion has no rules! He customizes his clothes a lot and tends to pair things that don’t conventionally ‘go’ together, but usually has the confidence to make it work. Favors bright colors and absolutely loves anything with flames, spikes, or patterns that tessellate (houndstooth, checkers, hexagons, etc.).

Outerwear: Leather jackets, studs and spikes a major plus but has at least a few without; a handful of denim jackets too (heavily customized)

Top: Crop-tops mostly, some bought as-is and some improved (with scissors) to be crop-tops at home; some tank tops too, most also improved (with fabric markers), and a sparse handful of t-shirts

Bottom: Hotpants and shorts (some improved with scissors again); rarely wears anything that covers the whole leg, but has one or two nice pairs of long pants for special occasions

Footwear: Boots, mostly leather, has pairs in many colors ranging from ankle-height to knee-height. His favorites are the ones with laces, but none of them have much heel, if any—he doesn’t need it!

Trademark accessory/accessories: Scarlet gloves, almost never takes them off; his majestic and billowing scarf is a close second, but he’ll part with it to make room for other accessories if necessary

Nickname: Sky (Underswap Sans)

Height: 4” taller than you (OR 5’3”)

Eye-lights: Sky blue (#87CEEB)

Magic Specialty: Cyan, yellow, blue, green

Scars/distinguishing marks: None

Preferred Style: Cool casual, his look is mostly centered on being comfortable, looking nice, and being appropriately dressed for the widest range of occasions. He probably has more clothes than he actually needs but has worn everything at least once and can justify exactly why he has it, so at least he’s organized. Loves to layer and to pack extra articles with him, just in case—he likes to be prepared! Favors blues and greens and the rare splash of yellow; solid colors preferred for ease of mixing and matching.

Outerwear: Button shirts usually worn open, short-sleeved or long-sleeved and rolled up to the forearm (buffalo plaid in blue is a weakness of his, but most are solid colors)

Top: T-shirts and tank tops, plain and in neutral colors

Bottom: Lots of jeans in a variety of dyes, cuts, and lengths; some nicer pants for special occasions and athletic shorts/pants specifically for working out, but mostly jeans

Footwear: Low-top sneakers, cross-trainers, and a few pairs of mostly practical boots (he’s got a couple with a subtle platform heel built in, for when he feels the need to have those couple extra inches—pure vanity, how embarrassing!)

Trademark accessory/accessories: Blue bandana, worn around his neck, only goes without it if he really can’t make it work

Nickname: Paps (Underswap Papyrus)

Height: 1’4” taller than you (OR 6’3”)

Eye-lights: None (magic otherwise manifests cerulean blue [#007BA7])

Magic Specialty: Blue, cyan, green

Scars/distinguishing marks: None

Preferred Style: Relaxed casual, he doesn’t put a lot of thought into his look and mostly just wears what he likes. Doesn’t see the point in having a lot of the same kind of clothing unless it’s visually unique, which leads to the unfortunate circumstance of him only having a couple of most articles (pants, shoes, coats, etc.) and then more t-shirts than he’ll ever wear in his lifetime. He sometimes has problems with wrinkles because of his overstuffed closet, but as long as it’s clean and doesn’t look too bad, he’ll wear the wrinkly stuff out anyway. Favors colors on the darker end of the spectrum (i.e., olive green, burnt sienna, mustard yellow).

Outerwear: Pullover hoodies, front-pocket preferred

Top: Novelty t-shirts, especially with clever or funny wordplay on them (‘reading is lit,’ ‘born to be Wilde,’ he’s a nerd, you get the idea)

Bottom: Cargo shorts and that’s about it, he loves having tons of pockets to keep things in; might own some cargo pants somewhere, but who knows how far back in the closet they are

Footwear: High-top sneakers and slip-ons

Trademark accessory/accessories: Green cargo shorts, he’ll wear them in any temperature without fail—they’re practically his utility belt

Nickname: Jasper (Underfell Sans)

Height: 4” taller than you (OR 5’3”)

Eye-lights: Candy-apple red (#FF0800)

Magic Specialty: Red, orange

Scars/distinguishing marks: Gold tooth (left canine), defensive scrapes and nicks on his forearms, two faint rings circling his cervical vertebrae

Preferred Style: Edgy (lazy) punk, his look is mostly crafted to make him look like more trouble to tangle with than he’s worth while also being comfortable. Tends to buy things a size or two bigger than he really needs and layer it to fit—it gives him extra bulk and if there were to be a fight, extra padding with the added benefit of maybe obscuring where exactly underneath those layers he is. Favors black and red, sometimes yellow and white; likes color-block, especially the angular kind, but only with two, at most three colors.

Outerwear: Fur-hooded bomber jacket; knit turtleneck sweaters (hand-knit, by…well that’s not important), they’re mostly just ribbed but there’s some cabled ones too

Top: T-shirts, solid colors and probably bought in a ten-pack; a few rare exceptions with color-block designs or angled lines

Bottom: Athletic shorts, a few joggers and track pants

Footwear: Basketball sneakers (please imagine the gaudiest black-red-yellow affairs you can and know that they are among his shoes somewhere, likely in the place of honor)

Trademark accessory/accessories: Almost a tie between his jacket and his gold tooth—the tooth wins by default because it never comes out, and it’s his personal favorite fashion statement by a mile anyhow

Nickname: Pyre (Underfell Papyrus)

Height: 1’4” taller than you (OR 6’3”)

Eye-lights: Crimson red (#990000)

Magic Specialty: Red, orange, yellow, blue

Scars/distinguishing marks: Three claw-marks over his left eye-socket, some defensive nicks on his forearms, heavy scarring on his ribs and sternum, one of his false ribs broken off halfway through

Preferred Style: Goth punk, so wholeheartedly, genuinely edgy that even if it shouldn’t, he just makes it work (…most of the time). He wants to look sleek and cool and badass at all times and fills his wardrobe with anything and everything he thinks will further that end. His closet is very full, and so is his wardrobe, and his dressers, but he culls the herd regularly and counts it as a win that he’s never at a loss for what to wear. Favors black and red, loves leather, spikes and studs, and of course, metallic foil.

Outerwear: Mostly biker jackets, some with spikes, some with studs, and a few plain just in case; does own a hoodie or two, but not the slovenly kind (look up ‘unique asymmetrical hoodie’ and the dealbola results are pretty much what he goes in for)

Top: Long-sleeved graphic shirts, the designs as Ed Hardy as you care to imagine (i.e., skulls, flames, snakes, roses, and so on); gold, silver, and red foil prints make up a large chunk, too, with a few nice button shirts (silk and satin) for special occasions

Bottom: Leather pants, of course, often with straps along the side of the leg or artfully placed buckles; some dark denim with strategic rips and tears, and a couple neatly pressed dress pants for when he might need to tone it down a little

Footwear: Almost entirely boots, ranging from shin to knee-height; buckles, studs, and skull motifs are common features, and while he has a few pairs with practical combat heels, he has a clear preference for stiletto-style

Trademark accessory/accessories: Tattered well-loved red scarf, it goes so well with most of his wardrobe that he rarely doesn’t have it on; he also has a lot of really cool belt buckles, mostly skull-themed, but he switches them out often and definitely does not have a favorite (…yes he does, and it’s the one shaped like a ram skull)

Nickname: Mal (Swapfell Sans)

Height: 4” taller than you (OR 5’3”)

Eye-lights: Electric purple (#BF00FF)

Magic Specialty: Purple, green

Scars/distinguishing marks: None…immediately visible (does have faint lines along his ribs, spine, and arms, near-misses that didn’t cut quite deep enough to leave obvious marks; only visible from very close or through touch)

Preferred Style: Rich bitch Classy gentleman is the look he aims for, trying to radiate ‘skeleton of means and standing’ with every article. His closet is more quality over quantity, not filled with a huge variety of clothes, but more than enough to coordinate outfits to suit any occasion; all tailored to his figure and made of the fine, expensive materials he tends to gravitate towards. He favors black and purple and wine red, and high-contrast color matching (mostly black but with strategic pops of bright color).

Outerwear: Blazers and racer jackets, with the occasional long wool overcoat for the drama winter

Top: Long-sleeved henleys and button shirts, sleeves down for business or rolled up for pleasure; a far greater collection of novelty t-shirts than anyone would suspect or that he would admit to (mostly extremely nerdy math puns and, as he cannot reveal himself as a nerdy pun-lover without damaging his reputation, they are sadly at-home-only shirts)

Bottom: Slacks and dress pants, with a few scattered pairs of jeans for casual occasions

Footwear: Mostly boots, either ankle-cut or thigh-high—he has no in-between. He does have a pretty wide range of heels, though, and can choose stilettos, blocks, platforms, riding heels, et cetera according to the situation and his preference.

Trademark accessory/accessories: He has three—his purple scarf, his purple leather gloves, and his old bronze pocket-watch. He’s liable to have all three on him at any given time, regardless of whatever else he’s wearing. He likes to think they add an eccentricity to his overall look!

Nickname: Rus (Swapfell Papyrus)

Height: 1’4” taller than you (OR 6’3”)

Eye-lights: Dusky violet (#6C3082)

Magic Specialty: Purple, blue, cyan

Scars/distinguishing marks: Gold tooth (right canine), lots of defensive chips on his forearms and nicks scored into his ribs from the back, one long deep scar carved up through most of his spine

Preferred Style: Soft grunge, emphasis on the soft! A lot of his look is based around looking a little tougher and more intimidating than he really is, but texture is high-key important for him so if a textile feels bad, he doesn’t want it on him, full-stop. He naturally tends towards high thread-count fabrics, fine cotton, cashmere, velvet—hell, even corduroy, if it’s good to touch, he likes it. He tries to balance out all the softness of the materials with a harder look and doesn’t do half bad. Favors dark colors, but especially cool ones (i.e., plum, navy, emerald).

Outerwear: Lots of hoodies, both pullover and zippered, to choose from; one very cozy fur-lined parka that he’s never going to get rid of but only breaks out when it’s cold

Top: Long-sleeved shirts and sweaters (notch-neck and v-neck mostly, but not shy of a turtleneck); any kind of novelty t-shirt, as long as it’s the right material

Bottom: So many varieties of jeans, the majority dark and a substantial portion of them ripped, splattered with paint or ink stains, or both; prefers skinnier cuts personally but thinks baggier cuts are better for looking more intimidating, so he’s got those on standby too

Footwear: Combat boots, the clunkier, the better. He likes the kind with the laces, at least shin-height so he can tuck his pants into them, and he’s definitely got at least one pair with a fur lining for winter. He has a few pairs of canvas sneakers lying around too with paint on them (some intentionally customized, some accidentally spilled on).

Trademark accessory/accessories: As prominent as his gold tooth is, he’s still a little self-conscious of it, so it’s gotta be his collar—soft, worn black leather worn around his vertebrae, with a gold buckle and a gold bone-shaped tag on it. It was a gift from his brother and he pretty much never takes it off.

Nickname: Slate (Horrortale Sans)

Height: 1’8” taller than you (OR 6’7”)

Eye-lights: Determination Red (#FF0000, magic otherwise manifests slate blue [#9CB0BC])

Magic Specialty: Cyan, blue

Scars/distinguishing marks: A very large and obvious hole in the left side of his skull, only the left eye-socket can manifest a light; rough and crisscrossing lines across his metacarpals (the palm side, both hands)

Preferred Style: Sentimental comfy. Not much has changed in terms of his personal style, but post…everything… he’s a little more attached to the clothes he still has from before. He’s extra glad now that he wore everything so big and baggy or none of it would’ve been wearable through his growth spurt, but it does mean he tends to hold a little tightly to what he has even when it’s probably time to throw it away. Threadbare, stained, fraying at the hems, stitched up a few too many times, no problem—he’ll keep it until it’s undeniably over. He’s gradually replacing things as they wear out, and trying to treat the new stuff just as well. Favors black, dark gray, and jewel tones.

Outerwear: Hoodies, zippered and with pockets, no change

Top: T-shirts, a healthy mix of old/worn/stained and noticeably brand new. The new ones are either solid colors or cute/funny graphics (adorable animals, cartoon food, that astronaut vacuuming stars, etc.)

Bottom: Basketball shorts, sweatpants…that’s about it

Footwear: A frankly ridiculous amount of slippers, all novelty—bunnies, skulls, bears, burgers, the list goes on—he just loves to have goofy, kitschy footwear. He might have some sneakers somewhere, the Velcro kind, but they’re not his favorites.

Trademark accessory/accessories: His last and favorite blue hoodie, a little worse for wear now with some fraying at the cuffs, a subtle patch job here and there, a stitched up hole in one of the pockets… it ain’t perfect, but it’s still good!

Nickname: Papy (Horrortale Papyrus)

Height: 2’7” taller than you (OR 7’6”)

Eye-lights: None (magic otherwise manifests denim blue [#66829D])

Magic Specialty: Blue, cyan, green

Scars/distinguishing marks: Broken, jagged teeth, or braces depending on the timing; faint striations in the color of his bones along his humeri, femurs, and spine (like stretch marks, but with calcium!)

Preferred Style: Free spirit, his look is all about loving the world, living his best life, and not holding back anything. He still likes to pair things that don’t ‘go’ together and make it work anyway, but he tries a little bit less to be cool and leans a little more into things that remind him of the Surface that they’ve almost all gotten to reach. Favors bright colors, rainbows, and floral prints.

Outerwear: He still likes leather jackets, but has a newfound appreciation for painted and/or embroidered ones. Flowers brushed onto his back or stitched along his sleeves are the coolest thing ever, he’s certain of it!

Top: Still loves crop-tops, which is great because a lot of shirts end up being crop-tops on him anyway. Very big into tie-dye, the brighter, more saturated the colors, the better—the full rainbow is Peak, of course, and if he can’t find what he’s looking for, he’s absolutely down to make it. Has a few (custom-tailored) button shirts for looking fancy and a few off-the-rack (terribly-fitting) t-shirts for housework and gardening.

Bottom: Shorts and capris of varying materials, some denim and some colorful; only one or two (tailored) pairs of pants that cover the whole leg, excluding work scrubs

Footwear: Tennis shoes and slip-resistant clogs, mostly—he’s on his feet a lot and intimately understands the value of secure and comfortable shoes that he can wear for hours without thinking about.

Trademark accessory/accessories: Aside from his very cool blue braces (which he will both sadly and happily not have forever!), it’s gotta be his even cooler glasses. He loves the round lenses and sprung for a few different colors of frames (all tortoiseshell—blue, green, red, etc.) for those lenses to go in, and he switches them out to coordinate with his outfits.

Nickname: Ash (Undergloom Sans)

Height: 4” taller than you (OR 5’3”)

Eye-lights: Ash gray (#B2BEB5)

Magic Specialty: Cyan

Scars/distinguishing marks: Pronounced and apparently permanent shadows beneath his sockets, even when well-rested

Preferred Style: Convenience cozy, everything he wears is picked to fit the criteria of being easy to put on and comfortable enough to sleep in—soft and warm is a (preferred) bonus, but not necessarily a requirement. His chronic fatigue makes it so that he can and usually will fall asleep just about anywhere and he doesn’t always have the time or energy to change. Easier to just have a whole wardrobe of clothes that can do double-duty. Favors heather fabric, the black-and-white spectrum, and washed out colors.

Outerwear: Hoodies of all kinds, pullovers and zippered alike; fleece is a big favorite, especially in the lining.

Top: Oversized t-shirts and tunics, a good mix of shirts bought a couple sizes too big and shirts intentionally designed to be loosely fitting. Sweaters to wear over them, but under his hoodie; mostly basic crew-neck pullovers but knitwear isn’t out of the question as long as it’s nothing especially complex in terms of design.

Bottom: More sweatpants than anyone probably really needs to own, especially because he has a few favorite pairs and almost always wears one of them. He likes the thicker ones, generally, and the ones with the elastic at the ankle, and of course fuzz or fleece on the inside is a bonus. He owns some pajama pants too, in black-and-white flannel and silly patterns (like skull-and-crossbones), but those don’t get out as much

Footwear: Slippers, naturally; fuzzy inside is great as usual, but he likes the outside to be more just…normal fabric, and the soles should have some decent grip on them since he’s pretty much wearing them everywhere

Trademark accessory/accessories: Not really any one thing in particular, but taken as a whole, definitely his layers! With all the padding he piles onto his bones, he tends to look even chubbier than Sanses already tend to look

Nickname: Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus)

Height: 1’4” taller than you (OR 6’3”)

Eye-lights: None (magic otherwise manifests pearl gray [#DEE4DB])

Magic Specialty: Blue

Scars/distinguishing marks: None

Preferred Style: Sunshine academia dark academia eat your heart out, he’s all about the scholarly, nerdy kind of aesthetic and thinks it’s a genuinely very cool Look. He’s right, it is! Especially the way he does it, which is to keep the traditional forms but ditch the dark stuffiness and aim for bright and light instead. Favors neutral tones (like white, beige, tan) and nature colors (like yellow, green, blue).

Outerwear: When the occasion calls for outerwear, he’s got lots of knitwear ready, especially cardigans and sweater-vests. No patterns more complicated than a simple rib, he’s a simple man!

Top: Button shirts, mostly, but a few loosely fit sweaters (v-necks, notch-necks, and cowl necks). The only short-sleeved shirts he owns are a couple of polos, but he almost never wears them, long sleeves are his preference!

Bottom: Pleated pants, lots of slacks and khakis in their ranks. A few pairs of jeans, one a decently fashionable pair of gray skinny jeans, but the rest are mom jeans so…there’s that.

Footwear: A very healthy collection of dress shoes—oxfords, loafers, derbies—and a few pairs of nice leather Chelsea boots for when he needs something a little more all-purpose.

Trademark accessory/accessories: His sweater-vests are a big one! He’s a little slimmer in the chest and shoulders than most Papyri tend to be, and his favorite fashion statement tends to accentuate that in a very nice way. The other is probably his glasses—with round and rimless lenses—they’re a bold choice (in his mind) and for all that he’s not typically bold, he thinks they’re pretty cool.

Nickname: Sunny (Gastertale Sans)

Height: 8” taller than you (OR 5’7”)

Eye-lights: Lemon yellow (#FFF44F)

Magic Specialty: Yellow, orange

Scars/distinguishing marks: Drooping right eye-socket, one crack radiating up from the right socket and one coming down from the left, fused metacarpals with a circular hole through the middle (both hands)

Preferred Style: Uhh… vaporwave 80s-ish hodgepodge? His sense of style is a little all over the place and doesn’t seem to live in any one consistent area—he just likes what he likes and wears it with other things he likes and that’s as much as he thinks about it. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t, but he’s boldly and unapologetically being himself and that counts for a lot! Favors fluorescent colors, holographics, and abstract patterns/designs (i.e., bowling alley/arcade carpet, bus seats, synthwave grids).

Outerwear: Windbreakers, vintage style—the brighter, the better. Some denim jackets (he’s got multiple shearlings) , varsity jackets, a military jacket with a bunch of goofy patches on it…he likes his jackets!

Top: Graphic t-shirts and short-sleeve button shirts with abstract patterns and/or loud colors, a few solid color t-shirts but all in printer ink colors (CMYK)

Bottom: Jeans mostly, especially lighter dyes, but some joggers and chinos in brighter non-denim colors (like turquoise, for example)

Footwear: Holographic boots and sneakers, high-top sneakers both patterned and un-patterned, some combat boots just for style; nothing much higher than ankle-height, likes zippers and Velcro closures over laces, and tends not to bother with heels

Trademark accessory/accessories: If he’s not wearing a jacket, he looks (and feels) a little naked, so it’s gotta be any of his many statement jackets—he’s got one for every day of the week and then some.

Nickname: Aster (Gastertale Papyrus)

Height: 1’0” taller than you (OR 5’11”)

Eye-lights: Green-yellow (#ADFF2F)

Magic Specialty: Yellow, green, blue

Scars/distinguishing marks: Drooping left eye-socket, one crack radiating up from the left socket and one coming down from the right, fused metacarpals with a circular hole through the middle (both hands)

Preferred Style: Quirky professor, he dresses such that at a quick side-glance, he could be mistaken for a typical boring, stuffy intellectual, but up close or under scrutiny you can see the hints of his personality and style coming through. Favors asymmetry, angular patterns (i.e., argyle, chevron, herringbone), and black-and-white with neon accent colors (especially yellow and green)

Outerwear: Long overcoats, usually with stand or high collars, bonus if the tails of the coat are asymmetrical; turtlenecks and zip-neck pullovers, and a few very nice blazers

Top: Button shirts, equal amounts solid colors and two-tone/spliced colors and patterns

Bottom: Slacks and dress pants, mostly dark but some that are colorful

Footwear: Dress boots, generally, balmoral boots are his preference and he has a few pairs in a couple colors to coordinate with most things; from there, boat shoes and loafers are the most casual he goes

Trademark accessory/accessories: His penchant for long coats is pretty recognizable so that counts in and of itself. He also likes to fit ties into his outfits when he can and never uses a simple Windsor knot—the Eldredge knot is his favorite, but he’s got plenty of other needlessly complicated knots he can show off on any given day.

Nickname: Brick (Horrorfell Sans)

Height: 1’8” taller than you (OR 6’7”)

Eye-lights: Determination Red (#FF0000, magic otherwise manifests brick-dust red [#B06764])

Magic Specialty: Red

Scars/distinguishing marks: A very large and obvious hole in the left side of his skull, only the left eye-socket can manifest a light, gold tooth (left canine), defensive nicks along his forearms; three gold(-plated) pins in his jaw on the right to hold the hinge in place; a deep spiderweb of cracks in his vertebrae, glowing red through the bone, deepest and most open at the center

Preferred Style: Casual tough guy, after his injuries and the growth spurt he no longer has to try as hard to look intimidating—he just sorta is now—so while he still likes to look like a bad guy to mess with, he’s not as focused on maintaining it, or concerned if something doesn’t quite fit that image. Favors black and red, flannel, geometric patterns, and cables (knitwear).

Outerwear: He’s still got his fur-hooded bomber jacket, with a couple new holes and tears but it still looks good and even fits a little better now so it’s not going anywhere; a few flannels that he wears open and which lack sleeves (they were too short and he either cut or ripped them off, prime ‘i flexed and the sleeves fell off’ fodder); cabled sweaters (sleeves intact, they fit perfect since he made them himself), usually turtleneck

Top: Oversized t-shirts, bowling shirts (his idea of ‘special occasion’ wear)

Bottom: Athletic shorts, sweatpants, some baggy jeans that rarely get worn

Footwear: Basketball sneakers (retro Jordans), one or two pairs of big, clunky biker boots just ‘cause

Trademark accessory/accessories: His jacket is pretty iconic, so it counts, but the tooth/jaw-pins combo deserves a mention too—one’s a vanity and the other’s medically necessary, but he’s personally pretty fond of the way they coordinate with each other.

Nickname: King (Horrorfell Papyrus)

Height: 2’7” taller than you (OR 7’6”)

Eye-lights: Crown of Thorns red (#7A3535)

Magic Specialty: Red, yellow, blue, green

Scars/distinguishing marks: Three claw-marks over his left eye-socket, some defensive nicks on his forearms and one deeper crack along his left humerus; heavy scarring on his ribs and sternum, one of his false ribs broken off halfway through; faint striations in the color of his bones along his humeri, femur, and spine; right leg is missing below the knee, replaced with a prosthetic

Preferred Style: Tall, dark, and pointy, his whole look is about seeming as unapproachable as possible. Anything that might invite attention or conversation is a no-go, which means most of his wardrobe is just simple black on black and he likes it that way. …Mostly, anyway—he actually finds his body type hard to dress to his satisfaction and generally prefers to go blackout to side-step needing the stuff he actually likes tailored to fit him properly (it’s pure vanity, he can’t justify it to himself…yet). Favors black, but if he always dressed the way he wanted to, red and gold and silver, too, as well as vertical stripes and complex patterns (i.e., damask, paisley, acanthus).

Outerwear: Leather jackets, usually biker style and some with patterned stitching but most plain black; when he wears them, he tends to just have them around his shoulders without putting his arms through

Top: Button shirts, occasionally silk and satin, and plain pullovers. He always tends toward long-sleeved shirts, some which are actually properly tailored to fit, but the rest he rucks or rolls the sleeves up to the elbow so it’s less noticeable

Bottom: High-waisted pants (for tucking extra shirttails into), mostly narrow or tapered leg but a few that have more of a flared bootcut (for when he wants his prosthetic covered)

Footwear: Some tennis shoes for work but lots and lots of boots—black leather, knee-high or taller, no ostentations and no heels (he hardly needs them)

Trademark accessory/accessories: He does still have his red scarf, which is one, but though his prosthetic leg is technically a medical device, it counts too because of the way he likes to add flair to it—extremely cool decals like skulls and flames and snakes and roses. He doesn’t show them off to just anyone but they’re a neat little window into his (mostly hidden) personality when they’re on display.

Nickname: Merc (Horrorswap Sans)

Height: 4” taller than you (OR 5’3”)

Eye-lights: Sky blue (#87CEEB), ringed with Determination Red (#FF0000); later on, Mimi pink (#FFDAE9)

Magic Specialty: Cyan, yellow, red

Scars/distinguishing marks: None…most of the time—in states of high or unpleasant emotion, his physical form destabilizes, leading to drippage or literal meltdown if not reined in

Preferred Style: Sterile, while he has to be, and then full-on spring pastel rebirth. While he still has to worry about his body not staying as solid as it’s supposed to be, he makes a lot of practical fashion choices to minimize mess, the ruining of clothing items, and the raising of uncomfortable questions. During that time, he favors a lot of white and water-resistant materials; any colors he wants to include are generally in the context of (mostly white) tie-dye and marbled patterns to disguise drips and stains. Once he has his freedom back, he favors solid pastels, light and loosely fitting materials, and metallic foil designs.

Outerwear: Leather racer-style jacket in white, (waterproof) sports jackets. AFTER, denim jackets, rarely

Top: Athleticwear shirts, usually long-sleeve; a few generic marbled and/or tie-dye t-shirts. AFTER, lots of short-sleeve and quarter-sleeve shirts, and tank tops, all in solid pastel colors; loose fits and light, sometimes even sheer fabrics. Gold and silver metallic foil prints are common, especially stars and planets.

Bottom: More athleticwear, joggers and track pants, some light denim in strategic washes and dyes. AFTER, board shorts and Bermuda shorts with a few pairs of capris for good measure

Footwear: Leather sneakers, boots (also leather, Russian style). AFTER, low-top sneakers, especially with prints or metallics; sandals (slides and birkenstocks)

Trademark accessory/accessories: A blue and white speckled bracelet, made out of braided fabric. It used to be his bandana before it got ruined by…bone goop…and he couldn’t wear it without risking ruining it worse. It’s repurposed now, though, and he can—and does—wear it again with just about everything!

Nickname: Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus)

Height: Eventually 1’7” taller than you (OR 6’6”)

Eye-lights: None (magic otherwise manifests violet-blue [#4C51A9])

Magic Specialty: Blue, orange, cyan

Scars/distinguishing marks: Both legs missing from above the knee, eventually replaced with prosthetics

Preferred Style: Casual emo grunge, there’s no full commitment from him to any particular aesthetic but the vibes are present. It’s as if he definitely shops at Hot Topic, but only buys t-shirts and hoodies there. He doesn’t put much thought into his wardrobe and just buys and wears things he thinks are cool, and the rest of it is just whatever as long as it fits okay. Favors black and cool colors (i.e., navy, olive, eggplant), and vintage designs.

Outerwear: Lots of hoodies, preference for zippered; most are plain and dark but he has a few with designs/words/logos on them

Top: Graphic t-shirts almost exclusively, designs range from band shirts and horror movies to art he just thinks looks neat (like a circuit board with a human heart at the center, or a skull merged with a rose—y’know, cool stuff)

Bottom: Cargo shorts are still his preference, but he likes the kind with the cinch at the bottom so he doesn’t have to pin or sew them up; has some jeans and sweatpants too, but they’re not his favorites

Footwear: ……… Well actually, when he does eventually have some feet to put shoes on again, he generally goes for high-top canvas sneakers like before, maybe with some prints if he can find any cool ones

Trademark accessory/accessories: His dark (and/or black) hoodie(s), he’s rarely without one unless he’s at home—and sometimes not even then.

Nickname: Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans)

Height: 4” taller than you (OR 5’3”)

Eye-lights: None…but if you look long enough, you’ll see faint and ever-shifting specks of light—these start out mostly electric purple (#BF00FF) but later shift to harlequin green (#3FFF00)

Magic Specialty: Green, purple

Scars/distinguishing marks: Skull is broken across where his eye-sockets were, leaving a large and jagged hole; several lines from healed breaks, most across the backs of his ribs and spine (hard impact), one through his clavicle, and one through his right ulna

Preferred Style: Nightlife hedonist, he dresses like somebody you’d run into at a nightclub looking to party, or like a young rich guy who is almost definitely into something illegal on the side. He’s not really either, but he’s also lost a lot of inhibitions and his concern for appearances—just because he can’t see how good he looks, he shouldn’t flaunt it? Pfft. He wears a lot of form-fitting clothes that suit him well, but without verging into anything complex or impractical . He still favors black paired with bright colors to offset, but also some animal print (i.e., leopard, snakeskin) in moderation, and accents that add texture to articles (like rhinestones and embroidery)

Outerwear: Peacoats, when weather/temperature appropriate

Top: Button shirts, usually silk or satin, worn over undershirts; his undershirts are sleeveless, with an even split of scoop neck and turtleneck. He likes being able to quickly shrug off an outer-shirt if necessary, and to have one with good freedom of movement underneath. Also has some tank tops for lounging or working out

Bottom: Mostly long pants, slacks and jeans (relaxed fit and bootcut); some athletic shorts and joggers for lounging or working out

Footwear: Boots, Doc Martens especially, ankle-height and minimal heel; he prefers buckles and laces over zippers

Trademark accessory/accessories: A necklace chain with a dog-tag—literally a gold bone tag hanging vertically at around his sternum, when it’s not tucked under clothing. It used to be part of his brother’s collar. There’s braille stamped on it now that translates to ‘AGAINST THE WORLD’. He never takes it off.

Nickname: Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus)

Height: 1’4” taller than you (OR 6’3”)

Eye-lights: None…for awhile, but eventually when he starts to feel like manifesting them is important again, papaya orange (#F07015)

Magic Specialty: Orange, purple, blue, green

Scars/distinguishing marks: Gold tooth (right canine), lots of defensive chips on his forearms and nicks scored into his ribs from the back, one long deep scar carved up through most of his spine; more chips and cracks on his chest and one missing distal on his left hand (the ring finger)

Preferred Style: Indoor (for now) outdoorsman, lots of durable and practical clothes that can be bought quickly (in-and-out trips to a box store) and not need to be replaced for awhile. He’s come to prefer feeling prepared and safe over just comfort, and his style reflects that. He wears things a little baggier than necessary and likes to layer and stay covered up. Favors earth tone colors, flannel, and leather.

Outerwear: Waxed leather jackets, field jackets, one very cozy fur-lined parka that he’s still never going to get rid of

Top: Mostly flannel button shirts, some plain t-shirts, all very soft (if it’s not soft enough to be right up against his bones, he’ll layer shirts to make it work); he ends up doodling his own designs onto some of his plain shirts with fabric markers

Bottom: Denim pants, lighter dyes and skinny fits, often cuffed

Footwear: Work boots, ankle-height, comfortable and sturdy and very practical; a pair of trail shoes for more casual occasions

Trademark accessory/accessories: A torn and dust-stained purple band, worn around his wrist. It used to be his brother’s scarf and now he hardly ever takes it off.

Nickname: Spectr (T!Sans)

Height: 4” taller than you (OR 5’3”)

Eye-lights: Ghost white (#F8F8FF), magic otherwise manifest as white with rainbow flecks

Magic Specialty: All

Scars/distinguishing marks: Opalescent white plating over a chrome endoskeleton

Preferred Style: Cyberpunk, the more covered up the better. Prefers to be as shrouded and hidden as possible, with comfort and utility as high priorities but not opposed to a bit of flair as long as its subtle. Reflective strips and light-up accessories help camouflage him in plain sight and make it less likely people will ask about glowing eyes or glints of metal if they think he’s a cosplayer or just really into the aesthetic. …which he kind of is, but that’s beside the point. Favors black and dark grays and blues, with silver and gunmetal accents when possible.

Outerwear: Hooded jackets or hoodies with cowls and high collars that come up to obscure some of the face. He wants to strike the best balance possible between shrouding him completely and not flaring or hanging too far from his body, to be obscured but not draw attention to himself, whether by catching on something or swishing too dramatically, so quiet and hardy materials are also preferred.

Top: Long-sleeved shirts, cotton and waffle fabric, goes for light and loose and breathable. Little to no design or prints among his shirts except for a rare company logo, or a really cool cyberpunk design that he just couldn’t pass up. Favors crew, cowl, or turtlenecks to v or square necks.

Bottom: Favoring utility, tactical cargo pants and joggers, comfortable and easy to move in with lots of storage space. Preferred fit is baggy down to the knee and more narrow around the shin and ankle, to be fit into boots.

Footwear: Chunky combat boots, durability over style and ankle height or just slightly higher. Laces tend to get loose but never fully untied

Trademark accessory/accessories: Toss up between his soft, sleek wool gloves and the dark face mask he wears over his mouth and nasal ridge. Either rarely comes off.

Nickname: PapAIrus (T!Papyrus)

Height: 1’4” taller than you (OR 6’3”), but variable if not fully manifested

Eye-lights: None but overall appearance when manifesting as hard-light is Alice blue (#F0F8FF)

Magic Specialty: None

Scars/distinguishing marks: Usually manifests only as skull and hands, capable of filling in the blanks with limbs and torso but tends not to

Preferred Style: Cyber dystopian, like a digital High Elf living in a desert oasis after an apocalypse destroyed the rest of the world. He loves things swishy and long and impractical, and especially delights in making coattails and sleeves and scarves defy gravity and act independently, simply for the fact that he can. Prefers stark, impossibly pristine white and silver/chrome, but can change his hues on a dime to suit an occasion or a mood.

Outerwear: Long coats, for maximum sweep and flair, sleeveless mostly because it’s less to materialize and dematerialize if he decides not to have arms. Occasionally hooded (if he feels like teasing his brother) but more often with high collars or no collar at all

Top: Crop-tops and halter tops, also almost exclusively sleeveless but sometimes long-sleeved with cut-out shoulders or separated sleeves if he feels like having humeri and forearms to show off and showcase. Also enjoys the occasional bodysuit a la Cortana or other similar futuristic characters of her ilk, to tongue-in-cheek play up to the legacy

Bottom: Bodysuits fill in most of this niche, but otherwise he mostly materializes simple, sleek and cleanly fitting pants because he doesn’t think about it much. Who needs legs when you have a handsome skull and big dexterous hands like his?

Footwear: Boots, generally heeled, favors a bit of a go-go style but certainly not shy of going knee-high, with an impractical amount of buckles, combat style, or even just a simple fancy dress shoe.

Trademark accessory/accessories: A digital approximation of his favorite scarf and gloves from when he was alive but a silvery blue instead of scarlet red—an trade-off, but in the grand scheme of things, this scarf blows majestically whenever he wants it to, wind or no, and these gloves fit his fingers like…well. Does he even have to say it?

Nickname: Xanth (A!Sans)

Height: 4” taller than you (OR 5’3”)

Eye-lights: Sky blue (#87CEEB) with flecks of xanthic yellow (#EEED09)

Magic Specialty: Yellow, cyan, green

Scars/distinguishing marks: Frozen open right eye-socket, the black inside replaced with pure yellow magic (usually covered with an eye-patch), loose stardust-clouds of yellow magic also replacing a slash of his throat, a starburst in the middle of his sternum, the middle of both forearms, and a line from the top of his ilium to the top of his femur

Preferred Style: Sporty boho, very freeform, eclectic and organic but with a grounding touch of athletic utility. He’s a little more willing to show off some bone and less concerned with appearing put together and sensible than he used to be and it comes together into something a little slapdash, a bit casual, but as a whole both comfortable and fun. Tends towards greens and yellows and blues still, but more open to beiges and browns and tans as well.

Outerwear: Occasional cardigans, kimono-style (or similar) shrugs, maybe a light poncho or two tucked away somewhere, but mostly prefers to go without outerwear entirely. Overalls may make an appearance now and then

Top: Graphic tees, athletic tanks, tank tops of just about any kind, but a preference for scoop or square necklines to let his collarbone breathe (…well, as much as it can with his scarf in the way, at least)

Bottom: Basketball shorts, sweatpants, cinch-leg pants, the odd pair of harem pants here and there, loosely fitting and usually torn up jeans

Footwear: Running/walking shoes, sandals (little preference as long as they’re durable, flipflops need not apply), sometimes boots but practical and the amount of heel is not a concern

Trademark accessory/accessories: Between a few things, his distinctive square eye-patch, his well-loved blue scarf, and his heavily adorned forearms—wrapped with bandages (to keep the purely magic bits [literally] under wraps) and decorated with a variety of leather and beaded bracelets, some of which have meaning to him and some he just thinks look cool

Nickname: Piper (A!Papyrus)

Height: 1’4” taller than you (OR 6’3”)

Eye-lights: None (magic otherwise manifests cerulean blue [#007BA7], with threaded streaks of xanthic yellow [#EEED09])

Magic Specialty: Blue, yellow, cyan

Scars/distinguishing marks: A slice of yellow across his cervical vertebrae, a similarly yellow (skeletal) handprint wrapped around his right humerus

Preferred Style: Candy-colored classic, very into a sleek and sophisticated style, the kind to get you on the cover of a GQ magazine, but unafraid of bright and vibrant color to stand out. Amaranth, turquoise, lavender, and lemon, often paired with black or white for a more dramatic pop, he tends not to spare expenses for quality and has a well-cultivated wardrobe for a variety of classy modern looks.

Outerwear: Blazers, fitted, with the occasional overcoat for fancier (or colder) occasions

Top: Button shirts and sweaters, sometimes worn together and sometimes separately. Cashmere and wool are favorites of his for sweaters, either turtleneck or v-neck with no in-between (he prefers to keep his ‘slit’ throat covered, but if that’s not an option he’ll bare it as an accessory). Some simple shirts in linen and cotton for warmer weather, as well a few old t-shirts kept for sentimental value that he wears around the house or when he expects he might get dirty

Bottom: Slacks, some pressed, but all slim-fitting to highlight his length of leg

Footwear: Dress shoes and boots, most fond of chukka boots but certainly has a shoe for just about any occasion

Trademark accessory/accessories: Wears a variety of necklaces, mostly layered chains (gold to match his neck), but some with crystal or stone pendants if they happen to coordinate well with his outfit

Nickname: Carmine (UFF!Sans)

Height: 1” taller than you (OR 5’0”)

Eye-lights: Carmine red (#960018)

Magic Specialty: Red, yellow, orange

Scars/distinguishing marks: Gold tooth (left canine), light defensive scrapes and nicks on his forearms, two faint rings circling his cervical vertebrae, one deep pock-mark on the underside of his right humerus

Preferred Style: Urban casual, dresses equally for comfort as for a Look and aims somewhere in the vicinity of streetwise punk. He likes having a distinctive style going on, but not too distinct as to separate him out from a crowd, just a bit uniquely flavored. He prefers things loose and tries to layer, but he can never commit because of overheating issues, so outer layers tend to get shrugged half-off or removed entirely. Likes a lot of black and red and shiny gold.

Outerwear: Zippered hoodies, athletic/tracksuit jackets, often end up hanging at his elbows or thrown over his shoulder

Top: Tank tops and muscle shirts, a largely random assortment of graphic tees (band names, album art, product logos, locations, etc)

Bottom: Joggers, baggy pants, drawstring and track pants

Footwear: Sneakers (nothing special but well-cared for and quickly racking up use)

Trademark accessory/accessories: Gold chains, he’s got a few in rotation and isn’t shy to wear a few at once, but he usually has a little bling on at any given time, with a preference for interesting linking patterns (as long as they’re not right up against his neck)

Nickname: Tank (UFF!Papyrus)

Height: 2’4” taller than you (OR 7’3”)

Eye-lights: Cardinal Red (#C51E3A)

Magic Specialty: Red, white

Scars/distinguishing marks: None

Preferred Style: Varsity Boy Next Door, a built jock who has a soft spot for loud Valentine colors (red, white, pink). He mostly prefers simple minimalist designs, the occasional double-stripe hem or a color-block, but every so often he’ll be lured in by a pattern or a classic wide-striped red gingham (his weakness!). He keeps it basic (albeit bright) when he expects to be doing any dirty work, but when not, he likes to show off some of his nice things.

Outerwear: A varsity jacket or two for cold weather, though he hardly wears them

Top: Lots of t-shirts and long-sleeved muscle shirts, all on the tightly fitting side, and a handful of ribbed halter and polo-collar crop-tops for special occasions

Bottom: A good range of jeans from slim fit to relaxed fit, many with dirt/dust/paint stains or a few rips and tears from use (these often get patched either with plain blocks of fabric or an interesting design he found somewhere). Some cargo pants in a variety of colors too, and the odd athletic pant to help build an outfit

Footwear: Boots, largely work boots with steel toes, but some combat-style boots in a lot more styles and colors, usually with little to no heel—he really doesn’t need the height…

Trademark accessory/accessories: A sleek silver ring with a single large white stone, worn on either the index or middle finger of his right hand, or on a chain around his neck. In any case, it never leaves his person.

Nickname: Vi (SFF!Sans)

Height: 4” taller than you (OR 5’3”)

Eye-lights: Dark violet (#9400D3)

Magic Specialty: Purple, cyan, green

Scars/distinguishing marks: Small crack above his right eye-socket, three letters etched vertically along his sternum

Preferred Style: Business casual, aiming for sleek and professional and well put together enough to blend completely into the background. He doesn’t want to stand out as anyone or anything special, but if he does happen to have someone’s attention, he wants to be entirely unobjectionable and unworthy of scrutiny, because everything about him is perfectly, neatly arranged and very boringly ‘normal.’ Favors dark colors, lots of blacks and grays with the occasional accent color or geometric pattern—within reason of course.

Outerwear: Blazers and jackets (center-clasping stand-collars are a preferred style), generally worn open

Top: Button-ups, henleys, and other such long-sleeved shirts

Bottom: Slacks and trousers mostly, with maybe one or two pairs of dark jeans in the mix that rarely see use

Footwear: Mostly boots, flat combat style by preference or balmoral style for appearances, but also has some nice wholecut shoes for when the boots don’t work with the outfit of the day

Trademark accessory/accessories: An expensive-looking black watch with a Tyrian-purple face, worn on his right wrist

Nickname: Hunter (SFF!Papyrus)

Height: 1’7” taller than you (OR 6’6”)

Eye-lights: English violet (#563C5C)

Magic Specialty: Purple, cyan, red

Scars/distinguishing marks: None

Preferred Style: Rugged bad boy…but not too bad, of course, perfectly safe and approachable. Comfort and function are more important to him than style, but he’s good at working within those confines to make himself look good, and exactly the right amount of ‘dangerous’ to be interesting but not really threatening. Tends toward natural, earthy tones (greens, grays, and browns), solid colors, and little to no ostentation.

Outerwear: Hooded jackets and sweatshirts, usually leather for his outermost and something lighter underneath, but a big fan of being able to put the hood up or down to obscure his face a little or just change his vibe from spooky to chill or vice versa

Top: Athletic shirts, usually long sleeved and thumb-holes a bonus, but a good amount of tank tops and sweaters too

Bottom: Joggers and cargo pants mostly, but some sweatpants and even a pair of shorts or two (though those are usually layered with athletic tights for running)

Footwear: Cross trainers with some hiking boots in reserve, just to be prepared for other terrains

Trademark accessory/accessories: Fingerless gloves, the kind that are open and don’t circle the base of each finger. He likes having his digits free, but his palms warm and covered

Nickname: Kohl (D!Sans)

Height: 3” taller than you (OR 5’2”)

Eye-lights: Eclipse blue (#000020), magic otherwise manifests anthracite black (#383e42)

Magic Specialty: Blue, red, cyan

Scars/distinguishing marks: Only the left eye-light manifests, blackened extremities in a gradient up to the shin and forearm and darkest at the fingertips and toes, sharp needle-like teeth, thorny protrusions sparsely dotting his body (blackened at the tips as well), small with the exception of one slightly larger dark (devil) horn on the left side of his skull

Preferred Style: Casual goth, in line with the dark and occasionally macabre aesthetic, but without the commitment to any involved outfit assemblage. Favors all black and any colors that enter his wardrobe tend to be dark or gray-tinged, corpse blues and sickly greens. Strong preference for thick and heavy fabrics and materials, layering thinner, lighter clothes if lacking options.

Outerwear: Button jackets, mid-to-long, sometimes accompanied by loosely tied or lazily draped scarves

Top: Plain shirts, in a variety of configurations (short-sleeved, long-sleeved) solid pieces and almost never button-downs. Prefers rounded collars but not opposed to a turtleneck from time to time, singular (dark) colors or EXTREMELY subtle patterns

Bottom: Long pants, black denim a favorite, slim fit or only slightly baggy

Footwear: Plain black slip-ons, some boots, mostly combat style but with a few slightly dressier pairs

Trademark accessory/accessories: None, except that it’s rare to see him in any other color but black, and he has a noticeably slimmer profile than any of the other Sanses

Nickname: Bram (D!Papyrus)

Height: 1’2” taller than you (OR 6’1”)

Eye-lights: None (magic otherwise manifests charcoal black [#36454F])

Magic Specialty: Blue, green, orange

Scars/distinguishing marks: Blackened extremities in a gradient up to the wrist and ankle and darkest at the fingertips and toes, sharp needle-like teeth, many moderate-sized thorny protrusions (blackened at the tips) on his body, concentrated along both arms and spine

Preferred Style: Dark academia, he’s fond of old-fashioned styles and wants to look neat and presentable, but practical enough to move and work in. Tends to avoid patterns or bright colors, as well as synthetic materials, in favor of simple designs and natural dyes and colors.

Outerwear: The occasional jacket or blazer, denim or wool, but generally prefers to go without (he likes to show off the spikes on his arms and that’s harder to do when they’re completely covered)

Top: Undershirt tanks beneath simple button-downs (usually rolled up to the elbow), often paired with vests on special occasions, or worn beneath overalls if he’s working

Bottom: Overalls, slacks (mostly plain and solid color, but some pinstripe), and jeans (cuffed), little else

Footwear: Sturdy work boots (for work), knee-high boots (for fun), generally prefers leather ones and laces over zips or buckles

Trademark accessory/accessories: A fan of button-hole suspenders and may often accent his look with them, but also almost never seen ungloved—he has a strong preference for leather driving gloves but is willing to change it up with a nice suede pair, or something heavier duty for work purposes

#long post #for reference #headcanons #undertale #underswap #underfell #swapfell/fellswap #horrortale #undergloom #horrorfell #horrorswap #horrorswapfell #gastertale #transcendtale #ascendswap #underfell fruition #swapfell fruition #descendtale

218 notes · View notes

dwellordream · 3 years

Text

“...First, let’s talk about materials. We can rule out a Steppe Nomad inspiration for any of this right off. The Eurasian Steppe is very large and covers a range of arid climates (that is to say, parts of it are colder, parts of it are warmer), but they all have spinning and weaving technology, by which the supple hairs of woolly animals, or plant fibers like linen, or cotton, or even natural protein fibers like silk can be fashioned into fabric which is more flexible, comfortable, breathable and temperature controlled than the raw leather we see in the show.

...there is a distinct lack here of lots of leather, except in the sort of things that lots of cultures use leather for (boots, fittings, saddles, bags, tents). Instead, clothing is mostly made out of nice, comfortable, breathable textiles, because of course it is. That is not to say, to be clear, that leather or hides or fur were never used – fur especially was used; merely that they were generally used to supplement clothing primarily made out of textile.

...Now Plains Native American clothing does make much greater use of animal skin as a clothing material, but there is an important distinction to be made here. The problem here is with the plasticity of the term ‘leather’ which can technically include a wide range of products, but in practice is understood to mean exactly what the Game of Thrones costume department and literally every piece of official artwork of the Dothraki understand it to mean, which is the product of tanning processes.

I am not an expert, but as far as I can tell, Native American clothing was not made in the same way; animal products were used in a process I have seen described as ‘brain tanning’ (rather than using chemical tannins) and the final product was then smoked. The result – which is often called ‘buckskin’ regardless of the animal source for the hide – is very different from the leather we see in the show.

This is, in terms of material, very clearly not what the ‘vests’ the Dothraki in the show are wearing. Buckskin would also be used to make trousers, as opposed to the “horsehair leggings” of Martin’s wording, which also strike me as deeply improbable. Haircloth – fabric made from horsehair (or camel hair) – is durable, but typically stiff, unsupple and terribly itchy; not something you want in direct contact with your skin (especially not between your rear end and a saddle), unless you just really like skin irritation. It is also a difficult material to get in any kind of significant quantity – and you would need a significant quantity if you intended to make most of your trousers out of it.

...Well that’s for materials, what about patterns? Once again, we can quite easily rule out anything steppe inspired. Again, the Eurasian Steppe is big and has lots of variety, but relatively long robes are generally the norm in terms of dress; where long robes were not worn (see our Scythian above), the common pattern was heavy sleeved garments and trousers with very complete coverage. A common example of the type of long robe-like garments is the Mongolian deel, a long sleeved robe or tunic which provides a lot of protection against the elements. In the case of elites – and Daenerys is, initially, mostly around elites – these could be made of expensive silk or brocade – but poorer versions might be made of wool.

...And there is good reason for these relatively high-coverage garments. Plains or Steppe peoples naturally tend to live on, well, plains and steppes – that is large expanses of semi-arid grasslands. The very nature of that terrain configuration produces fairly extreme seasonal temperature variations (that is, very hot summers and very cold winters) as well as extreme daily temperature variations (that is, hot days and cold nights) because such places are far from large bodies of water and also don’t have tree-cover, both of which serve to moderate rapid temperature changes.

Consequently, as anyone who has lived in a plains state in the USA (or on the Eurasian Steppe, though that is fewer of my readers, but for my brave handful of hits from that part of the world, hello and welcome!) can tell you, you need clothes that can be layered and which can be both warm in the winter and cool in the summer. For us moderns, we mostly do this by owning multiple season-specific wardrobes, but clothing is expensive in pre-modern societies, so multi-purpose garments, or garments that be layered, to turn a warm-weather outfit into a cold-weather outfit are important!

There’s no reason to suppose the Dothraki Sea would be any different: it sits at about the same latitude as King’s Landing so there is little reason to assume it would be warm all-year-round. Parts of the Eurasian Steppe stretch decently far south, sharing a latitude with northern Italy and Spain; nevertheless they do not enjoy the same Mediterranean climate because they don’t have the same exposure to the weather patterns created by the sea. The southern end of the Great Plains stretches down all the way into Texas, but still gets properly cold in the winter with temperatures regularly dipping below freezing in the winter despite the latitude. For a people who are camping and working outside all of the time, warm clothing is going to be a must.

...There is tremendous variety here, but I don’t think any of it could be aptly described simply as “Men and women alike wore painted leather vests over bare chests and horsehair leggings.” Now, if you looked hard enough could you find something that resembled Martin’s leather vests, bare chests and horsehair leggings somewhere in the clothing of Native Americans across two continents? Probably, but among the specific Native peoples that Martin cites as inspiration, it does not seem to be at all common. And if that description was wholly unconnected to anything in the real world, we might well stop there and conclude that, well this is just the ‘dash of pure fantasy’ that Martin was talking about (although as we’ll see, it is going to be quite a bit more than just a dash). But I don’t think we can stop there, because (removing the medallion belts) Martin’s description does adequately describe something that exists in the real world: Halloween costumes purporting to depict Native Americans.

...The vest-and-pants style of Native American Halloween costume seems to be rather rare now, but it was, at least to my memory, much more common in the 1990s, when A Game of Thrones was written (initial publication date of 1996). You can see them, for instance, on many of the background extras in the famous Thanksgiving scene from Addams Family Values (1993) and that vest style was also a part of the outfit for the also-quite-unfortunately-branded YMCA Indian Guides/Indian Princesses program (rebranded as the ‘Adventure Guides’ in 2003 after decades of Native Americans complaining about it) which was also fairly popular in the 1990s.

Now, I am not saying that Martin planned to construct his Dothraki out of Native American stereotypes and bad Halloween costumes. In fact, I am fairly confident he intended nothing of the sort. But in the absence of doing some effective research (and it is going to become increasingly apparent that at least effective research was not done) there was quite possibly nothing else to inform the effort other than what was ‘in the air’ of the popular consciousness. Of course the danger of those often simplistic public stereotypes is that people often do not know that they have them, assuming instead that the vague impression they have is essentially accurate (or at least, close enough for a regular person). And that’s a real problem because it reinforces the popular stereotype, especially given Martin’s reputation for writing more ‘historically grounded’ fiction. And that is a problem because…

The clothing that the Dothraki are described and visually shown wearing is clearly intended to convey things about their society. Returning to our visual comparison above, it is easy to see that the actual clothing of both Eurasian and American ‘horse cultures’ was often bright, highly decorated and generally eye-catching, featuring complex patterns and shapes. It was both nice looking, but also spoke to the humanity of the people that made it and their very human desire to look nice and have nice looking things. By contrast, the clothing of the Dothraki is presented as simple, rugged and unadorned.

...I want to stress this to make the point clear: people in the past liked to look nice! Much of the popular perception of pre-modern clothing assumes lots of dull, drab colors, undecorated or merely adorned with rough pelts, but this is almost entirely a Hollywood construction. The Romans didn’t exclusively dress in white (indeed, the toga candida, the white toga, was an unusually formal thing to wear, like a politician’s suit-with-flag-pin), medieval peasants didn’t wear drab brown (they dressed in bright primary colors mostly), and as I hope the historical pictures for this essay show, both steppe nomads and Plains Native Americans wore nice clothing with lots of patterns, color and decoration. These men next to Khal Drogo are his elite guard of ‘bloodriders,’ the companions of a ruler who wields tremendous power and wealth! And yet they have opted to wear mostly undecorated bland brown leather.

Just to underline this point, think about what a fine set of clothing communicates to an observer (for instance, one of Khal Drogo’s thousands of mounted warrior retainers who are present at this event). Imported goods, like metalwares (which nomads won’t generally be able to make themselves) or fine imported fabrics demonstrate not only trade contacts but also often that the leader has useful ties to foreign leaders (since such things were often gifts or tribute from foreign courts). Garments whose production, due to fine patterns, complex weaves, intricate beading or quillwork, would take many, many hours of production demonstrate that the leader has a lot of subordinate people in their household (in many cases, that would mean women), which both implies the ability to give these people as gifts (either in marriage or because of their non-free status) and also the access to resources (in this case herds of animals) needed to sustain so many people – in short, the sort of leader who can reward faithful warriors richly.

And of course a leader who outfits his closest retainers – his bloodriders, in this case – with such wares (especially expensive foreign metal military equipment) demonstrates both access to military capital and also the ability to reward his trusted lieutenants. In short, the Khal whose person and immediate retainers are decked out in finery looks like backing the winning side, which is a very important thing to assess as one of his warriors. So even if not one of Drogo’s men cares about their personal appearance at all, it is still politically important for them to dress for success.

Which then demands the question, looking at the very fine clothing of historical horse cultures that supposedly provided the inspiration for these Dothraki fellows: Where is the exquisite bead work? The fine quillwork? Where are the carefully made fringes? Where is the silk brocade? Where are the detailed, complex patterns?”

- Bret Devereaux, “That Dothraki Horde, Part I: Barbarian Couture.”

#the dothraki #bret devereaux #history #fashion #grrm critical

53 notes · View notes

plumoh · 3 years

Text

[SK8] down the waves of august

Word count: 4035

Summary: Skating under the scorching sun, sitting on the porch and eating popsicles—this is summer, and Kojirou doesn't take his eyes off Kaoru.

Note: AO3 link. This is high school era, so there are strong vibes of one-sided Kojirou/Kaoru, and a lot of pining Kojirou. They're still having fun though!

It never starts with Kojirou dragging Kaoru to a new skateboarding spot or an ice cream shop, even though he recently got his license to legally drive a bike that will allow him to go anywhere he wants.

It always starts with Kaoru showing up at Kojirou’s house with a grander than life energy and never-ending excitement that transforms every one of his steps into a skip. He’s smiling and shining, like there’s nothing more valuable than taking the biggest breath of air and swallowing it whole to absorb the freedom summer is giving them.

“Let’s go,” Kaoru says, shoving his fist against Kojirou’s chest with a grin. “Take your board.”

It’s nine in the morning on a summer day of their last high school summer vacation, and Kojirou doesn’t even think about his homework or his cram school classes as he follows Kaoru’s extended hand, guiding him towards a world where nothing matters except the smell of fresh flowers and the sight of a back showing him the way.

***

They’re sweaty, exhausted and hungry but Kojirou finds himself grinning like a fool as he collapses on the stairs of his house porch, skateboard in hand. Kaoru follows suit, placing his hands on the cool stone of the stairs, and lets out a long sigh as he tips his head back, some of his hair falling out of the low bun as he does so. Kojirou glances at the curve of Kaoru’s exposed neck, then quickly averts his eyes.

“We should go back to that skatepark tomorrow,” Kojirou suggests, still high on adrenaline. “I’ve got classes until 3 pm, we’ll have enough time before my mom starts calling me to get home.”

Summer classes suck, and Kojirou would have gladly spent his days lazing around and eating junk food while watching shows on TV, or skateboarding until his legs couldn’t take it anymore, but university entrance exams aren’t going to be passed without extensive studying. Simply thinking about them is enough for Kojirou’s good mood to drop.

“We should,” Kaoru answers slowly.

Kaoru’s face is turned towards the reddening sky. Even though the sun is setting, drowning the white facade of the houses into warmer shades, it’s still hot and way too humid for Kojirou’s taste. All summer is going to be like this—uncomfortable, sticky and heavy, but nothing he isn’t used to. He’ll complain about the weather until Kaoru gets annoyed and complains about him, then they’ll buy a week’s worth of popsicles to eat in one afternoon as they do their homework and they’ll go skating at night, once they’re free from obligations and the crushing heat.

This is what summer is supposed to be like. The view from his porch, from his family’s army of bicycles near the gate to the neighbor’s wind chime hanging on the first floor’s window and to the cat wandering on the roofs, is familiar and reassuring in its immutability. Kojirou has spent countless hours sitting here with Kaoru until dinner time, until one of them starts fidgeting because the stairs are stiff and uncomfortable and really not the place to sit on for a prolonged period of time. Kaoru’s traditional house would be a much more logical choice to hang out at; but both of them know it wouldn’t be the same.

When Kojirou stares at Kaoru’s figure, still looking at the infinite stretch of sky and gaze seemingly lost somewhere that Kojirou is not allowed to enter, he realizes that this summer will be different.

“You’re staying for dinner?” Kojirou asks, scraping his shoe against a hole in their paved pathway leading to the stairs they’ve never bothered fixing. “For some reason as we grow older, my family gets more excited when you stay for dinner. Eisuke is even asking for you.”

Kaoru shifts and turns fully towards Kojirou, his face the slightest bit surprised before his lips are curled into a smirk. The light of the sunset makes the color of his hair and of his eyes even more vibrant, like he was meant to be seen at this time of the day, when the sun recedes and the stars arise, and Kojirou almost misses what Kaoru says.

“That’s because I’m way cooler than you,” Kaoru snickers. “I’m a better role model for Eisuke than you are, you’re a lame big brother.”

Kaoru’s laugh comes from within, resonating deep in the front yard, filling it with the image of a breeze strong enough to make people sway and stagger, knocked off their feet by how genuine it is. The weight pulling at the strings in Kojirou’s heart grows bigger and heavier with each passing day, but no more painful.

Kojirou shakes his head. “Excuse you, he doesn’t need to be taught how to be a delinquent at twelve years old. You’re not even half the delinquent you pretend to be!”

“Still cooler than you are, stupid!” Kaoru retorts, and jumps to his feet. “I’m gonna eat everything in your fridge. Do you still have ice pops?”

Kaoru doesn’t even wait for his answer as he darts towards the door, easily sidestepping Kojirou and jumping over the last steps of the stairs in springy leaps. Kojirou, momentarily dazed, scrambles to get up but he’s not fast enough to stop Kaoru from turning the doorknob and dashing into the house like he owns the place. Shoes are carelessly thrown aside in the genkan while loud footsteps on the perfectly polished floor resound like an entire class of toddlers are raiding Kojirou’s home, which is not too far removed from the truth. Kaoru is laughing like a maniac.

“Don’t act like this is your house, you punk!” Kojirou shouts, making just as much noise as Kaoru in his chase, down to the kitchen. “Who said you could take the ice pops in the first place!”

“Your stuff is also my stuff!” Kaoru replies, almost hitting his face against the fridge when his steps screech to a halt in front of it.

“Stop stealing my food!”

“Hey, you have Papico ice cream too, nice!”

“I thought you didn’t like Papico—”

“Boys, play nice.”

Both of them jerk away from the fridge and swivel their heads to Kojirou’s mother, who is watching them with the kind of fond exasperation and amusement she adorns only when she thinks they won’t remember any of her words as soon as she leaves them be. Kojirou clears his throat and grabs Kaoru’s arm, pulling him along and shoving him to the front like a shield, ignoring Kaoru’s grunts.

“Kaoru was stealing our ice cream,” Kojirou says flatly.

“You’d let me starve?” Kaoru gasps.

“We’re going to eat dinner soon enough, you glutton!”

“You eat way more than I do! And after skating all afternoon we need snacks to help us cool down!”

Kojirou’s mother sighs, mutely shaking her head. She lifts her hand and points at the bathroom at the end of the corridor, tutting.

“No ice cream before dinner, go wash your hands, and help me set up the table. Kaoru-kun, don’t leave your bag in the front yard and bring it inside.”

“Yes,” Kojirou and Kaoru chorus.

Once they brush past Kojirou’s mother, they start kicking and pushing at each other to get first in the bathroom, then they flick water at the other’s eyes like it’s some sort of childish competition before they remember that Kojirou’s mother is waiting for them and probably expecting them to be on their best behavior (as behaved as they can be).

Kaoru goes to retrieve his bag and opts to drop it in the genkan beside his still carelessly thrown aside shoes. Were it someone else’s house, he most likely would have neatly put them away—but this is Kojirou’s house, always loud and welcoming and warm. Kaoru then bounds towards the kitchen to give a hand to Kojirou’s mother, moving with the confidence of someone knowing where the cracks on the pavement are and choosing to dance around them. He’s allowing himself to be extravagant in the company of people who are, at this point in his life, basically his relatives.

Kojirou watches the ease with which Kaoru reaches into cupboards and rummages through drawers under his mother’s orders, and he thinks it strange how natural Kaoru’s presence is in his house. Strange, but not unpleasant; Kaoru brings a warm gust of wind and slips into every rift left open for him to poke his head into. Kojirou sees the way his mother smiles and guides Kaoru like he has lived here all his life, waving a wooden spatula around and telling him to go fetch this and that, and Kaoru complies without a single complaint. It does something funny to Kojirou’s stomach, which he squashes down by breathing in deeply and rubbing his temples.

It’s fine. Kojirou is eighteen years old, and this is the last summer he can spend with Kaoru before responsibilities catch up to them. It won’t change anything.

***

Kojirou doesn’t ask why Kaoru wants to skate every day, despite their obvious amount of workload that barely diminishes as the long days of summer stretch into the end of August. It’s simply easier to pretend that everything pushing them around like they’re trapped in a train full of people, from the urgency to get grades above 80 points to the quiet expectation of finding a more socially acceptable hobby, doesn’t exist. For a few hours in the hot night of the city, Kojirou lets himself believe that this freedom of choosing will last for a while longer.

Kaoru starts to skate differently; he brings a notebook with him and scrawls remarks and numbers of his performance, comparing the different results of complicated tricks, and asks Kojirou to evaluate how accurate his predictions are. He looks so focused and sure of himself, unravelling this perfectionist side he’s kept under layers of piercings and aggressive language. Kojirou has never understood why Kaoru was so adamant on accomplishing things that contradict other, more established achievements of himself—like that time he said he wasn’t aiming at a better computer science university outside of Okinawa, despite his excellent grades and hunger for learning all he can; or the obvious question of why he keeps doing calligraphy with such dedication when the love he has for this art is nowhere near the amount of love he’s pouring into artificial intelligence.

“You know, I’m not a computer,” Kojirou sighs, trying to make sense of Kaoru’s instructions. “I can’t calculate all these things as fast, and I don’t even understand what you’re trying to do.”

“That’s because you skate without finesse,” Kaoru answers, an argument he’s repeated multiple times these past weeks. “You can turn anything into art, or something graceful and technical if you put effort into it.”

“Huh. Sounds like a lot of unnecessary trouble.”

Kaoru glares at him but keeps skating, going up and down the spine, jumping at the last second to flip his board and landing smoothly without making his wheels cry in agony. Kojirou doesn’t think it’s as satisfying as hearing the screech of the wheels against the asphalt—hearing how close the board is to the ground makes his performance even more spectacular and boisterous, like fireworks bursting into colors.

It’s past dinner time. They both warned their families they wouldn’t make it home on time—Kojirou received a message from his mother telling him to be careful, and Kaoru was asked to get back not too late. The skatepark is empty save for the both of them and two kids accompanied by their father at the funbox, all of them foolish enough to continue sweating after hours spent under the scorching sun. Kojirou is sitting at the top of the half-pipe, elbow propped up on his knee and chin resting in his hand, observing Kaoru. There is tension in Kaoru’s shoulders that wasn’t there before, slowing him down and making his skating stiffer, stilted, like some sort of insurmountable obstacle stopping his progress.

“Hey,” Kojirou calls, tone softer than usual. “Still no signs of Adam?”

Kaoru comes back at his side, gives him a single glance, and shrugs.

“Probably stuck at home or something. We can go a few days without him.”

And he goes down again, this time even faster and correcting his trajectory. Kojirou rolls his eyes and resists the urge to call on Kaoru’s bullshit, because it’s so infuriatingly obvious how upset he is at not being able to skate with Adam. Kojirou doubts it’s the sole reason for Kaoru’s bad mood, but it is definitely a factor and he doesn’t wish to ponder on it longer than necessary, lest he starts having ugly, intrusive thoughts.

“Hurry up, I’m hungry!” Kojirou says. “We’re getting ramen and you’re paying!”

“Why am I the one paying—”

Kojirou doesn’t ask why Kaoru is skating like his life depends on it, why it looks like this is the last time he will touch a skateboard. He waits, like he always has, until Kaoru is ready to tell him what’s been bothering him.

***

Cicadas are screaming and making a nuisance of themselves, even if the patch of grass and trees is two blocks over Kojirou’s house. He listens to them as he eats the popsicle he’s legitimately won by beating Kaoru at janken, idly thinking that maybe it’s counterproductive to sit on the porch when they have an electric fan in the living room to fight against the heat. Kaoru, leaning all his body weight against Kojirou because he likes being insufferable, is cradling his can of cola in one hand and playing some game on his smartphone in the other, looking deep in thoughts. Kojirou specifically does not think about their proximity and the warm point of contact between them.

“You’re heavy,” Kojirou mumbles.

“That will help you build muscle,” Kaoru says flatly, not budging at all.

It’s too hot to continue arguing, especially since Kojirou’s brain feels fried and unavailable for the next twenty-four hours. This is probably one of the hottest summers they’ve had, blinded by rays of sunlight and reduced to mush by the heavy air, dragging their feet from one point to another and doing at most three tasks a day, including attending classes and doing homework. Which doesn’t leave enough brain space for mundane activities like deep thinking.

And yet Kaoru still has that troubled look on his face that Kojirou wants to douse with cold water. Long strands of pink hair are falling over Kojirou’s shoulder—he can smell the stupid floral scent of his shampoo that drives him insane, the one they’ve chosen after spending thirty minutes comparing a dozen different brands at the store. He lifts a hand with the intention of touching them before remembering himself, and withdrawing just as quickly. How simple a gesture it is, and how easy a shift it would bring in their relationship.

“Say, Kaoru.”

“Hm?”

“We’re not going to drift apart once we graduate, right?”

Neither of them is going to leave Okinawa, for the time being. Their universities, if they get into the one they want, will be in opposite parts of the island. They can text and call each other, and they will most likely come visit their parents during breaks—it’s not like they are leaving for another country.

It dawns on Kojirou, then, that he and Kaoru have never spent a prolonged period of time apart since they met in middle school. The thought gnaws at him and wraps a tight hand around his chest; he chances a look at Kaoru, and finds golden eyes staring at him with incredulity and faint amusement in equal measures.

“I think it would take something bigger for us to stop talking,” Kaoru says. “Your flip phone looks ugly but at least it’s working.”

“Not everyone can get a smartphone of the latest technology,” Kojirou grumbles, though his entire posture relaxes. “I’ll detail in my emails the ingredients of my delicious meals while you’re eating instant ramen or sandwiches bought at the convenient store. I’ll even send you pics!”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, maybe your meals will look pretty but they won’t be tasty.”

“I’ve never heard you complain about my food before.”

“There’s a first to everything, you naive idiot.”

Kaoru presses himself closer to Kojirou and almost manages to tip him over the porch, but Kojirou simply laughs and grips Kaoru’s shoulder to steady the both of them. Perhaps this is why they choose the porch and not the crowded space of Kojirou’s living room; a moment shared between the two of them, listening to the cacophony of nature and suffering the heat solely for the opportunity to exist together.

Kaoru doesn’t say anything else, returning his attention to his game and Kojirou thinks that maybe, as long as he lets himself believe it, this is the peace they will always carry within themselves.

***

Their bikes were left abandoned on the sideroad, out of the way for people to circulate freely but still parked in a haphazard manner that would have made their parents yell. It’s not Kojirou’s biggest concern though, and this is hardly the most unforgivable inconvenience they’ve perpetrated.

The sun is hanging low in the sky, kissing the edge of the sea and covering the entire beach in warm tones. The elevated highway running across the water sounds just as noisy as usual, bringing some sort of twisted rhythm to their footsteps on the soft sand. It’s quiet; not many people are agglutinated on the shore, and even less are taking a walk alongside the waves.

Kojirou’s bare feet are crunching the sand and the pebbles in slow and measured steps, following Kaoru’s trail in front of him. They left their shoes somewhere near their bikes, throwing aside what was in the end a dead weight they would have had to carry. They don’t come to the beach nearly enough—it’s a place where nothing seems to matter, all worries drowned by the steady sound of the waves and by the tickling breeze caressing their hair. Kojirou walks and lets his mind rest.

Kaoru is walking backwards, tracing a path he’s the only one visualizing one step at a time, carefully and gently. He doesn’t exude his usual fiery energy that burns everything around him; he’s calm, but not in a worrying way. Kojirou’s eyes never stray away from Kaoru’s figure.

“You’re going to trip,” Kojirou says.

“There is less risk of tripping in walking backwards than in skating,” Kaoru replies with a snort. “And even if I do, the sand’s not going to hurt me.”

“I would catch you anyway.”

Kaoru looks up from his feet. For one short, miraculous second, Kojirou thinks that there is hope in Kaoru’s eyes, but it vanishes in a blink and he’s left with a crooked grin.

“Maybe, if you’re fast enough,” Kaoru teases.

Kojirou’s shoulders lift in an overt, deliberate shrug. “I’m as fast as Adam.”

It’s half-petty, half-true, but Kaoru doesn’t pick up on the obvious disdain in Kojirou’s words and chooses to burst out laughing. His voice carries high and far, as clear and limpid as water, and his face breaks into an expression of pure joy that lights up his eyes. Kojirou stares, mesmerized and feeling stupid for still being caught off guard by all the alluring facets Kaoru is willing to leave open to be scrutinized.

“You’re trying to show off?” Kaoru asks, mirth in his eyes.

“I don’t want to hear it from mister I’ll-steal-your-thunder-anytime,” Kojirou snorts. “I’m not showing off if it’s true.”

“Then prove it.”

Kojirou raises an eyebrow, momentarily confused. Kaoru is still grinning as he splays his arms wide, something wild glinting in his golden irises. It’s only when Kaoru starts tipping backwards that Kojirou understands what kind of crazy shit he’s come up with and he leaps into action, his left foot kicking the sand and his right arm shooting forward. One or ten curses fly out of his mouth as he forcefully grabs Kaoru’s arm in one hand and grips his shoulder in the other, then yanks him towards himself.

For a few seconds, this moment floats in the air and remains suspended. Kojirou’s feet are half-buried in the sand in his rush to catch Kaoru, covered in an odd veil of warmth that somehow feels comforting, making him take root in this spot. He’s completely drunk on the sight of Kaoru, face too close and illuminated by the faint light of the setting sun, hair out of his eyes and piercings gleaming, his lips curled into a satisfied and lazy smirk. The sound of the waves is but a distant noise to Kojirou over the hammering of his heartbeat and the ringing in his ears. And for a few seconds, he wants nothing more than to lean down and kiss Kaoru.

The spell shatters and breaks when Kaoru lifts his hand and flicks Kojirou’s forehead, tearing a long groan out of him.

“That hurts, you know!” Kojirou grumbles.

“That’s only a tickle, you big baby,” Kaoru says, rolling his eyes. “Well, I guess you prove you’re not completely useless.”

Kaoru wrenches his arm back and straightens up, making a show of dusting off his shirt and smoothing the wrinkles. Kojirou silently lets his arms fall at his sides, fingers still burning from the contact.

The wind is picking up. Kaoru turns his face towards the sky, and this—Kaoru’s profile, shining bright against the orange hue of the beach and the sky, devoid of worry and looking serene, is what matters the most to Kojirou.

“Summer’s ending,” Kaoru sighs, closing his eyes. “We still have a few months left together. And then it’s another kind of life entirely.”

“We’ve already established we’re not going to stop being friends,” Kojirou points out as he extracts his feet from the sand, tracing formless shapes in it instead. “Or are you already forgetting things from like, two days ago?”

“I was just making sure you remembered it, bastard.” Kaoru pauses; the sudden silence finally leaves space for the muffled noises of the water running on the sand. When he speaks again, his voice comes from the deepest well of his resolve. “You’ll become a cook and I’ll become the next renown calligrapher of Sakurayashiki studio. That’s how we’ve decided to grow up.”

Long days of unconcealed frustration, helpless screams about not being able to pursue a more profitable career and disappointment at his own inability to fully let go of something that has been transplanted in him since birth, leading to defeat simmered in rage—these memories come back in Kojirou’s mind unbidden and leave a bitter taste in his mouth. The puzzle pieces of Kaoru’s mood scattered across all summer move into place. But Kaoru is smiling and determined not to show weakness, even if the lines of his eyes are still angry, and who is Kojirou to not fall a little bit more in love with this flawed yet beautiful person that is Sakurayashiki Kaoru?

“We’ll grow up and become boring adults, but we’ll still be the same people,” Kojirou says with a smile of his own.

Kaoru slowly opens his eyes and looks over. Kojirou lifts his closed fist, expectant, and Kaoru obligingly bumps it with his own. A silly, mechanical gesture that accompanied them for years, like a sign of their bond that does nothing but strengthen and bloom with each passing day.

They are both sporting a grin as if they’ve just completed the best races of their lives. For once, Kojirou lets himself wholly acknowledge the pleasant fire that travels from his stomach to his chest, spreading a tingling sensation all over his body that makes him feel like he’s skateboarding at the highest speed with the certainty of victory under his wheels. He could get addicted to this quiet storm with the scent of spring brewing in his heart.

“Boring adults with boring friends,” Kaoru adds.

“That’s only natural,” Kojirou laughs.

The sun is dipping farther into the sea now—the colors are changing, gradually engulfing the beach in colder shades, but no less stunning.

Summer is ending, and new resolutions are starting.

#matcha blossom #joecherry #matchablossom #kaoru sakurayashiki #kojiro nanjo #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #i love the summer vibes and okinawa is excellent for them #kaoru and kojirou are dumb teenagers learning that they have to grow up...

24 notes · View notes

stevesharrlngtons · 3 years

Note

The lake + the kid

12. the lake

the kid slept the entire way. his long limbs coiled up on your passengers seat in a way that looked incredibly uncomfortable. but he didn’t complain as his cheek rested precariously on his knee.

when you arrived, you roused him with quiet, calm pleas and gentle strokes through his hair. after a few moments of your soft words and ministrations, he revealed two jewel colored eyes under his sleepy lids, and you smiled.

“we’re here, henry.”

he perked up at this, glancing out the windshield to the sparkling lake that stretched out before him. he looked enraptured with it and the scenery around; large weeping trees neighbored by strong pines; expansive stretches of grass muddled with wildflowers; a lazy cloud filled sky that held muted colors of cream and blues. you hadn’t even gotten out of the car yet and you were already so happy you decided to make this drive for him.

fall, winter and a relatively cool spring had come and gone without incident with the kid around. he didn’t necessarily like being cold, but he seemed more at home in the frigid temperatures and blankets of snow than you had found he felt in the sweltering heat. in the winter, he would huddle by the windows and watch the elements fall from the sky, excited at the notion of snow and loving the relaxation the rain offered him. he would take walks with you, bundled up in heaps of clothing so he was protected from the weather and the world's prying eyes. he liked to sit close to you in front of the fire, draping himself all over you in the name of warmth, but you both knew the real reason he did so.

but now, as late june had skyrocketed the temperatures in castle rock, henry barely left his room. he was glued to the fan you had set up for him, swaying his body along with its oscillation. he refused to go upstairs where the heat was higher, and even more fervently refused to go outside. he could no longer hide beneath layers of soft fabrics and thick ski coats. now, if he did that, he would no doubt get heatstroke. now, he was expected along with the rest of the population, to strip down to shorts and sleeveless shirts that offered him no protection. he felt bare, tender and raw with his skin on display. he felt exposed. he had just gotten to the point where he was comfortable with you seeing him shed from his clothes at least most of them. he really wasn’t ready for anyone else to really see him.

so, you had hatched a lovely plan.

as a child, your older sister had found a secret section of the nearby lake that was unknown by most locals. she and her friends would frequent it as teenagers, and when you were old enough, she let you tag along. through the years, you continued to make the drive to the secret little hideaway, it being the perfect place to think and reminisce of simpler times.

of all the times you had been to the lake, you had never seen more than two other people there. commonly, they were older men trying their luck in a new spot to fish in. they usually got the memo that there was nothing more than water bugs and frogs hopping about, and left soon after.

you had proposed the idea to the kid a few days before, telling him that he could get out of the house, be nature, but away from prying eyes; that you both could go somewhere you loved that was completely isolated and quite. telling him that it would just be the two of you for as long as he wanted to stay. he had giddily accepted.

now, you watched with a full heart as henry’s wide eyes took in the little spot you had loved for over a decade.

“come on, let’s set up,” you said, popping the trunk and getting out of the car.

you had brought a small picnic for the two of you to enjoy by the water, and a book for each of you if you decided to stay into the afternoon. the kid got out of the car soon after and swooped in front of you before you could pick up the picnic basket. you shot him a reprimanding look that had more love behind it than ire, and opted to take the two large beach towels instead.

henry followed you as you made your way down a familiar path to a grass clearing by the lake. that was where you decided to set up, laying down the two thick towels, followed by tupperware and sandwich baggies.

the kid ate his pb & j and drank his ginger ale (which he had just recently decided he enjoyed) while you snaked on a chicken salad sandwich and crackers.

it was nice, your little picnic. it was small and nothing fancy like you would often see your friends or coworkers go on. there were no elaborate dishes or decorations and you both had to shift your bodies and food often for the lumps of the earth underneath, but it felt perfect. it felt overwhelmingly right to show henry your secret hideaway. you had an urge to share everything with him, to have him know you deeper than any other living soul ever had. you wanted no secrets or confidentiality with him. you just wanted to be with him, wholly and completely, hoping that he would feel the same.

you wanted him in every part of you, and you yearned to be in every part of him.

you both finished up your sandwiches, and you reclined back on the towel, your elbows there to prop you upright as you enjoyed the beaming rays from above. similar to how he sat in the car, henry had pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his shins as he seemed to do the same. you could often sense when he was feeling anxious or tense, and now all you felt was calm. he felt utterly still.

with your eyes shut and your nose poised to the sky, you felt a gentle tickle against your finger. you opened your eyes and glanced over your shoulder to see that the kid had moved one of his hands from his shins to rest near your own, his pinky finger draped over your own in a small embrace.

after a while, henry had taken his book from your bag and begun to read though his finger never moved from where it rested over your own. with his attention captured within the pages of his novel, you decided it was a perfect time for you to take a dip in the lake. it wasn’t the hottest day that maine had experienced, but it was still quite warm and you had been dying to go for a swim.

“do you mind in i hop in for a while?” you asked, gesturing to the lake.

the kid fleetingly glanced at you over the top of his book before he shook his head gently and smiled, which you returned.

“ok,” you stood, unfortunately breaking the tether between you, “you can come sit on the dock if you’d like?”

there was a short, slightly dilapidated wood dock that gave best access to the lake, so you didn’t have to wade through a bunch of muck to get there.

the kid looked up a you fully this time, his large, bulging eyes clearly deep in consideration of your question. though soon, he nodded once more and pushed himself to stand next to you. the beaming grin you offered him at his acceptance made his cheeks tinge pink. as you striped from your t-shirt and shorts to the bathing suit you had underneath, his blush deepend profusely.

the cool water was a relief from the heat, and you let yourself fully enjoy the welcomed tempature as you ducked your head under the surface. when you did so, the kid watched with a close intensity, worry tying in his heart until you buoyed back up with a deep inhale. he would look up to watch you intermittently, swimming around and floating on your back, to make sure you were ok.

he continued to thumb through the pages of the theory of everything like he had on the towels, when he heard you call his name. the kid looked up from the book on his lap to see you swimming toward him, though one of your hands was cupped in a fist. when you reached him, your eyes sparked with excitement as you told him to open his hand and present his palm. he did so, though rather hesitantly after he set his dog eared book to the side.

“look at that,” you whispered with quite wonder as you opened your hand to reveal your treasure for him.

there, was a small, speckled frog, that hopped and squirmed from your palm to henry’s.

his lips formed a perfect o, and you swore you heard him hold his breath as the little creature sat and puffed out it’s throat rhythmically in his hand. he slowly took a finger and lightly stroked down the little amphibian’s back. at his touch, the frog quickly launched from his hand, onto the dock, then into the water. the kid’s eyes shone bright with intrigue and fascination.

“did you like ‘im? i thought he was pretty cute,” you said, hands clutching the lip of the dock as you looked up at him, in search of his approval.

“yes,” he said with a breathless smile, “thank you.”

“of course,” you replied, your heart fluttering.

you moved your cold nose to dust light strokes over the expanse of henry’s thigh, giving him sweet nose kisses that he keened happily about in his chest. when you were about to pull away to return to your frolicking, you felt him fold his body over you, pressing his forehead to your crown. his moved his hands to rest snuggly next to your own that still held the dock, and you heard him exhale pleasurably. like he was ridding all his anxieties and fears with one breath in favor of melting over you.

you said nothing and made no move to leave, just simply nuzzled your nose back his his thigh and enjoyed the sweet affection he showed you.

#I hope u liked this 🥺🥺🥺#the kid #the kid x reader #the kid imagine #stevesharrlngtonswrites

43 notes · View notes

katzkinder · 3 years

Text

Fool’s Gold, Ch 1

Prologue

I should mention that the version up on ao3 has extra content not included in the tumblr updates. The version available on Tumblr is just the story featuring Greed pair, while the ao3 version has some extra bits and bobs. They don’t particularly impact the story, but they do add another layer, and if you like Gear and Youtarou, you might enjoy it! Thank you for being patient with my sporadic schedule ^^

[All That Glitters Is Not]

The first thing Licht noticed upon regaining consciousness was that his head felt like someone had tried to split it open like a melon. The second was that, wherever he was, it was cooler than the weather permitted, and the scratchy sheets beneath his cheek could sorely use a good wash. He wrinkled his nose, groaning as he sat up and clutched his head. The third…

“Ah, good. You’re awake. Was starting to get worried.”

--Was that he wasn’t alone.

Licht whirled, nearly falling off the small bed he had been placed on in his haste and only succeeding in making his aching head spin. The sound of metal clanging against it itself made him grimace, using the sound’s source to finally locate the… Dungeon’s, he supposed, other occupant.

A suit of armor?

“Hey now, no need to be hasty. You’ll only hurt yourself like that.” The deep voice he had heard was definitely coming from the armor, which sat, almost casually, even, upon a stool with a little wooden serving cart laden down with a pitcher, food, and dishes to serve it on. If he squinted, he could make out the shape of bread and what might have been a block of aged cheese in the darkness, penetrated only by the light of torches placed at regular intervals around the place.

“P… Piss off…” His throat hurt, voice coming out scratchier than he would have liked. “Who are you, and where am I?”

“First, drink this.” A copper cup was pushed at him through the bars, held securely in the jointed fingers of a gauntlet and presumably filled with water. Licht scoffed at it, not budging.

“Not until you answer me. Who. Are. You,” he repeated, carefully enunciating each word as if the man in front of him were some foreign entity just barely capable of understanding him. If suits of armor could look annoyed, this one certainly did, joints creaking as the whole thing sagged with its occupant.

“Do you want the damn water or not?”

“What I want is answers.”

A soft, harsh mutter that was almost certainly a swear, his captor turning to place the cup back in its place amongst the meal’s various other accoutrements. “Listen. If I promise to answer your questions, will you drink something? I don’t need that brat boss of mine giving me an earful over a stubborn kid…”

Licht bristled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed that was, now that he took a moment to look, little more than a cot pushed into the corner, and standing fast enough that the room spun. Stalking towards his unflinching captor, his lip curled back into a sneer, baleful glare trained on approximately where he thought the man’s eyes would be. Gripping the bars of his prison, he pushed his forehead up against the cool metal, duly noting that where he had expected rust he instead found smooth, well cared for material. That would make things more difficult once he was alone again, but it was nothing he couldn’t overcome, he thought.

“I’m not a kid.”

The helmet tilted, arms folding noisily across the chest plate. “You sure are acting like one.”

“I’m not,” Licht insisted. Adjusting his grip, he shoved his face more insistently at the bars, trying to get a look at the layout of the area beyond his cell. It was fairly large, all things considered, with clean, dry stone that looked like it was well fitted together. Directly across from him was a wall with a torch holder, unlit for the moment, though light sources reflected off the silver armor his captor wore from either side of him. To the left and right of that torch were more cells, equally as bare as his own save for a cot and, if he squinted hard enough, the shape of what might have been more bedding underneath.

No doubt moth eaten and covered in rat shit.

Still, the relatively clean space was… Surprising, and up close like this, he found he was indeed correct in assuming the shape he had seen to be cheese. Bread, cheese, some cured meats, and…

The words he had meant to speak died on the tip of his tongue, facial expression going slack in his befuddlement. “What’s that?”

“Hm?” The man turned at the waist, following his line of sight to a yellow skinned pear sitting innocuously amongst the other foodstuffs, the bottom of which appeared to be colored pink to red at uneven intervals. “... Have you never seen a pear before?”

Licht bit down a snappish reply, stomach giving a sudden rumble in protest to him doing anything that might deny him food he hadn’t until then realized he was sorely needing. “Give.”

“Excuse me?”

“Give me. The pear.” When all that met him was silence, he tore his gaze away, leveling it back again at the other man and ignoring the feel of eyes judging him. “What? You wanted me to eat and drink something, right? So hand it over.”

Slowly, as if he were still putting together the pieces of some sort of complex puzzle, the man moved, passing items through the bars to Licht’s awaiting hands. “You’re… A very strange man.”

“I’m an angel.” And with that, he bit into the fruit’s unblemished skin with a resounding, satisfying crunch. It was sweet, tart, just the slightest bit gritty, but not at all unpleasant as the juices ran down his chin, Licht closing his eyes to savor the taste. “Sho. Ansher my queshons.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full…” was the muttered reply, and feeling eyes boring steadily into him, Licht cracked an eye open, not seeming the least bit sheepish for the halfhearted scolding. “I think it’s pretty obvious where you are, anyway.”

“Hah?”

Shifting to prop his chin in hand, he continued, waving his free round around with a lazy, lackadaisical motion. “Look around. It’s a dungeon-”

“But where, and why, and who the hell are you?”

“Guildenstern.”

Finally receiving an answer mollified him, somewhat, Licht finally picking up the cup to take a drink and, after giving it a cursory sniff, finding that he quite disliked the metallic taste the copper imbued everything with. Still, it was refreshingly cold against his parched throat, so he couldn’t complain too much, all things considered. “Guildenstern, huh… What’s with the armor?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Least comforting thing you could have said.”

A snort, Guildenstern rising to his feet with a grunt and the creaking of nearly every joint in the whole uncomfortable looking mess, in Licht’s opinion. Yet Guildenstern didn’t seem too bothered by what was undoubtedly a getup that only made his life harder. “Wasn’t supposed to be. Behave yourself. Boss’ll want to know that you’re awake.”

Licht rolled his eyes, stuffing a hunk of bread into his mouth next. “Good. Bring him here so I can kick his ass for making me late for dinner. My parents are going to start worrying if I don’t get home soon. Angels don’t make their parents worry.”

For a moment, Guil paused, and Licht got the distinct, infuriating feeling that he was being pitied by those unseen eyes. “... I’m sorry.”

“You’d better be.” Soon left alone with nothing but a quickly depleting meal and his own thoughts as the loud clanking steadily faded away, Licht eyed the door of his cell, slowly chewing in order to better savor the flavor of the fruit while he thought.

Well, he supposed, there was no use in overthinking it. After all, an angel’s power was absolute and he could overcome anything he set his mind to.

Satisfied with his conclusion, Licht stood, wiped the back of his mouth on his grass and dirt stained sleeve, approached the cell’s door… And kicked with all his might. One way or another, he was going to get out. Guildenstern hadn’t been wrong about it being obvious where he was. He knew without a doubt the where, he had an inkling of the why, but he didn’t particularly want to stick around and confirm his theory. Such a nice meal for a prisoner, when provided by a demon, could only mean one thing. He wasn’t about to be the fattened up main course for any monster, and that getting any info out of the man stationed to guard him had been so difficult only further cemented it in his mind.

“Tch.”

The lock held steady. Once more, then. Once more, once more, as many times as it took…

“Stupid piece of… Just-!” Clang! “Die-!” Clang! “Already-!”

“First you steal my flowers, now you try and break my stuff? After I so graciously provided you with food, too. Maaan…”

Licht growled, the new irritating voice prompting him to put even more power into the swing of his leg than he had been. Although the whole door rattled in its frame… It did not give way. He swore, stepping back as a looming shadow approached.

Glittering golden scales and wickedly curved horns, razor sharp fangs and eyes that burned like hellfire, all wrapped up in cloth as dark and decadent as the pitch of night…

“You sure are a firecracker who just doesn't know when to quit, aren't ya~? Guil says you think you’re an angel. Ha! That’s a riot! So tell me, lil angel…” The dragon leered at him, curling one clawed hand around the bars of his prison while Licht glared back, baring his teeth at the monster before him. “What kind of punishment is suitable for thieves~?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

A startled laugh, smoke curling out from behind unsettlingly human lips. “Ohh, I am gonna have fun~ With~ You~”

A demon, through and through.

#kat's katerwauling #servamp #lawlicht #pawprints #look at me remembering to put a read more #and also include a link to the first part #maybe one day i'll actually set up a real writing blog #or at least put this one in order

20 notes · View notes

pixiegrl · 3 years

Note

“I bought you a beanie! Isn’t the pompom cute?” with fairy tale lashton

Meghna!! I’m so happy to revisit bad gift giving mermaid and werewolf Lashton with more gift giving gone wrong and then right! This is the sequel to this fic. Shout out to Amanda for editing this!

On ao3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28254867

Luke’s stuck. It’s Christmas and he’s relatively sure that Ashton celebrates Christmas. Do werewolves celebrate? They must. Luke’s never celebrated Christmas, because he’s a mermaid and he’s still trying to understand human customs. Ashton’s spent his whole life on land, so surely he must celebrate this. As such, Luke’s picked out a gift for Ashton that he’s sure is perfect. It’s a beanie with a cute little purple pom-pom. Luke happens to think Ashton looks very nice in deep purple, complimenting his hazel-gold eyes and he thinks the colors of the beanie will be good for Ashton. The weather is getting colder too and Ashton never seems to have a hat, unlike Luke who has to wear three layers at all times. Luke texted Ashton an hour ago, asking him to come by the shop so that he could give Ashton his gift.

“You’re excited,” Michael says from his spot on the other side of the counter, sorting through different gemstones for authenticity and their value.

“I have Ashton’s gift. It’s perfect and I can’t wait for him to get here so he can see it,” Luke says, bouncing on his heels and fiddling with his pearl necklace. Reginald bubbles in agreement to Luke. Michael rolls his eyes.

“You two are gross. It’s only been like two months and you’re practically married already. Maybe your gift should be an engagement ring.”

Luke blushes, “I couldn’t do that Mikey. It’s too soon.”

“Ashton gave you a pearl. That’s like a proposal already. Why don’t you just make it official?”

Luke’s saved from answering by the bell at the front door jingling, bringing Ashton in from the cold in a burst of cool air and a light dusting of snow. The door’s barely closed behind him before Luke’s rushing over, fussing over Ashton to make sure he’s not cold. Ashton laughs, pulling Luke in for a quick kiss.

“Hi Starfish. How’s your day?” He says when they separate.

Luke grins, “Better now that you’re here, Moonshine. I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“It’s been four hours. Get a room you two,” Michael grumbles from the counter. Luke steadfastly ignores him.

“I have a surprise for you,” Ashton says, grinning widely, sharp canines on display. Luke’s heart flutters.

“What a coincidence, so do I.”

Luke tugs Ashton over to the counter, rounding it and pulling his gift from underneath, laying it out for Ashton. Ashton grins, pulling his gift from inside his coat. It’s a neat little gift, wrapped in silver paper. Luke picks it up, realizing that the paper is covered in little seashells. He laughs a little, earning him a bright smile from Ashton.

Luke tears into the paper. It’s the first Christmas gift he’s ever received and he’s excited to see it. Surely, Ashton’s gotten him something sentimental and personal now that they’re dating.

Luke is wrong. He pulls a white crop top out of the paper, with little purple seashells on the chest. Luke cocks his head to the side, glancing up at Ashton, who’s grinning earnestly at him.

“I don’t...um...get it?”

The smile drops from Ashton’s face, “The Little Mermaid? She has a seashell top she wears.”

“Did you just compare Luke to a cartoon teenage mermaid?” Michael blurts out, laughter edging at his voice. Ashton goes red.

“I thought it was cute.”

“It’s cute. Thank you, Ash,” Luke rushes out, trying to soothe over the situation quickly before the werewolf’s mood drops even more. He’s already drooping as is.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes it’s very cute. I’ll wear it when it’s a little warmer out. Why don’t you open yours?” Luke says, gesturing to the package and trying to distract Ashton. Ashton perks up, tearing into his own wrapping paper. He pulls the beanie out, frowning slightly at it while he glances between Luke and the present.

“A hat?”

“It’s a beanie! I say it and I know you never have a hat, so I bought you a beanie! To keep you warm! Isn’t the pom-pom cute?” Luke gushes out, leaning over to bat at the little pom-pom.

“Luke, this is very sweet, but I don’t use a hat because I don’t get cold,” Ashton says, looking up at Luke sheepishly.

Luke freezes, “What?”

“I’m a werewolf. I don’t get cold. Internal body heat and all. I’m practically a furnace.”

“But it’s cold out. Don’t you need a hat sometimes?”

“Not usually. It’s cute though. Thank you for the thought,” Ashton says, taking the beanie and putting it into his coat pocket. Luke’s filled with despair looking at it.

“You’re welcome,” He mumbles, crestfallen. Ashton smiles, corners of it not reaching his eyes as he leans over, pressing a kiss to Luke’s cheek.

“I have to run. Thank you for the gift, it was very sweet. I’ll see you later,” Ashton says, raising his hand in a wave to Michael as he leaves the shop.

There’s a beat of silence when Luke huffs, morosely and looks down at the crop top. Michael clears his throat.

“You’re doing it again,” Michael says.

“Doing what again?”

“Failing to communicate and giving each other shitty gifts. Except you guys are dating now so you shouldn’t be this bad at it,” Michael says, staring at the rose quartz in this hand, turning it over and over. Luke stares at the side of Michael’s head blinking. No that’s not...that can’t be…it can’t be happening again. Right?

Luke looks down at the crop top in his hands with the seashells on it, the thing that reminds Luke of Ariel.

“Michael, this is like...a joke gift though. This is the kind of thing you would buy me.”

“I think Ashton was trying to be funny? And before you, the only mermaid he’s probably seen is Ariel. Plus, we already know you two suck at giving proper gifts. It has to be,” Michael says, glancing at Luke over the rim of his glasses.

Luke huffs, thumbing his forehead down on the countertop, groaning.

“Oh god Michael. We are. I bought a werewolf a beanie. He bought me a seashell bra top. We are destined to be a mess, aren’t we?” Luke moans.

“We saved this last time. Maybe we just need to do some more research. Find what we can give a werewolf. I have faith in us,” Michael says.

“What do I even get him? This is so stupid,” Luke mumbles against the counter. Michael hums.

“Well, last time he got you the pearl. Maybe we can find something in one of the books for species rituals. Seriously, we didn’t exhaust all our courting options with the potion.”

“The pearl was practically a proposal.”

“So, we find something that’s a proposal for werewolves. There has to be something out here. Chin up, Ariel. We’ll figure something out for your Beast,” Michael says, grinning.

“You’re mixing Disney movies, Tinker Bell.”

“Fuck you, I’m a Merryweather,” Michael says, mock offended, wide grin on his face. Luke rolls his eyes. He regrets making friends with Michael.

“Fine Merryweather. Show me in the direction of the books. Let's get started,” Luke says. He’s going to regret this, he knows.

***

Luke’s sure he has the perfect gift now. He and Michael looped through all the possibilities for days before landing on it. Luke still has the knife he tried to give Ashton months ago. He knows that Ashton won’t use it to hunt, but Luke still wants to extend the sentimentality and meaning of it to Ashton. Ashton gave him the pearl, practically proposed marriage and Luke wants to extend the same thing to Ashton. Show Ashton that he’s serious. It’s taken a little bit of time and effort, but with Michael and Calum’s help, Luke’s crafted a shadowbox for the knife. He polished the wood and put the box together, carving a little moon with Ashton’s initials in it and a little starfish with his in it. It wants it to be pretty, something that will remind Ashton of them, a display of their love (and, Luke selfishly thinks, something they can display in their future home).

He and Ashton are having their weekly date night at Ashton’s apartment. Luke prefers Ashton’s apartment. It doesn’t have Michael for one thing, but it feels more lived in. Luke’s place is messy, practically an extension of their store, filled with books and potions and anything else they can find. It never used to bother Luke, but now, after seeing Ashton’s apartment, filled with family photos, bits and pieces of his life, blankets, plants, and candles, Luke realizes that this is a home. That he never wants to leave Ashton’s apartment, wants to weave himself into Ashton’s life, add his seashells and seaglass to the collection of things Ashton has, wants to be a permanent part of Ashton’s life.

Luke’s clutching onto his gift in its little gift bag, approaching the door to Ashton’s apartment. Luke has only just raised his hand to knock on the door, when Ashton pulls it open, grinning. His curls are messy, falling into his eyes and he’s wearing an apron. It’s endearingly cute and Luke has no choice but to lean over, brushing the hair out of Ashton’s eyes and pressing a kiss to his nose.

“Moonshine,” He says, giggling when Ashton pulls him close, burying his nose into Luke’s neck.

“Starfish.”

“How did you even know I was here?”

“Smelled the ocean wave down the hall. Only one person smells like that.”

“Sap,” Luke mumbles, tugging Ashton back and kissing him on the mouth. Ashton grins into the kiss, nipping at Luke’s bottom lip before pulling back. He grabs hold of Luke’s hand and tugs him inside and over to the dining table. Luke knows that Ashton never used to eat fish before Luke, just like Luke never used to eat meat, but they’ve been slowly adapting their tastes to fit each other. It looks like Ashton made some kind of stew tonight, smelling of potatoes and vegetables and fish. It warms Luke, knowing that Ashton made something he would like.

“And I made those ginger cookies for us later. The ones you liked last week,” Ashton says. Luke grins, settling in at the dinner table. Ashton goes around to the other chair, settling in. They swap stories back and forth, Ashton talking about how his day on site as a carpenter was, the table he’s building for a client, Luke talking about having to deal with the various witches who come into the store, thinking they know more than Luke and Michael.

Eventually, they finish their meal, clearing the table, Ashton washing the dishes, Luke drying them. Ashton makes tea when they’re done, carrying the two mugs and the plate of cookies over to the table.

“So, I have a gift for you,” Ashton says, clearing his throat. Luke glances up at Ashton, notices the blush on his cheeks.

“You do?”

“Yeah. I realized the last gift wasn’t the best and I talked with Michael, who had a really great idea.”

“What a coincidence. Michael also helped me plan my gift to you.”

“Michael’s a menace it would seem,” Ashton mumbles.

“Guess that depends on what the gift is,” Luke says. Ashton blushes even harder, turning around to picking the gift up off the counter behind them. It’s small, neatly wrapped in the same paper as before. Luke snorts, getting up to grab his gift off the table by the door and bringing it over. He places it in front of Ashton and sits back down, peeling the paper back on his.

Luke sucks in a breath when he realizes that it’s a rabbit’s foot. He picks it up gingerly, turning it over in his hands. He looks up at Ashton, ready to ask him about it and feels his breath catch in his throat when he realizes Ashton’s holding the shadowbox with the knife in it.

“Luke. You gave me the knife?” He whispers, looking up at Luke, meeting his eyes. Ashton’s look a little wet, like he’s close to crying, voice full of emotion.

“I know you don’t need it to hunt like I do, but it’s still an important part of my culture. It’s a courting gift and it’s important because it’s crafted to fit the person we want to be with. I designed it specifically for you back when I first gave it to you. Usually, you would use it to hunt, but since you don’t need to, I thought you could display it. See, I even carved our names into the outside. You practically proposed to me with the pearl and I wanted to do the same for you. I love you, in the forever kind of way. I want to be with you and I want you to have this knife,” Luke rushes out. He blushes when Ashton looks up at him again, glancing between the box and Luke’s face.

“Luke,” Ashton says again.

“Is that good or bad?”

“Good. So, so good. The rabbit’s foot is from that rabbit I gave you months ago. Michael apparently saved the foot and gave it to me cause he read about how important the rabbit is for us. He said I should give it to you as a gift and that it would make sense later. Now I get it,” Ashton says.

Luke’s a little puzzled at that, looking between the rabbit’s foot and the knife before it clicks, “Oh, we can display the foot. We can display our love for everyone. Oh, Ashton.”

Luke leans across the table, pulling Ashton in for a kiss, soft and full of love. Ashton huffs against his lips, pulling back.

“Wait, did Michael just give you this idea?”

“Yeah, must have been a couple days again. I guess after you made the box.”

“So, did you literally come up with a gift idea that quickly?”

“Well, I had another idea before this.”

“What was it?”

“Check the wrapping,” Ashton says. Curious, Luke leans back, moving the paper. A key falls out, bright blue and covered in little waves.

“Is this...for here?”

“It’s a key to the apartment, yeah. I...I want you to move in. I mean, we’re engaged almost and it would be nice to come home to you. To know that you’ll always be here, that you’re not leaving. I want this to be your home, our home. I want to build a life with you and I want it to start here.”

Luke rushes around the table, pulling Ashton into a tight hug, pressing kisses to his face. Ashton laughs, returning the kisses happily.

“Yes, yes, a thousand times yes I’ll move in. I want never want to leave, I want to call this home, to put our shadowbox up on the wall for everyone to see, I want to argue with you over closet space and I want this to be home,” Luke says, pressing the words to Ashton’s skin in a quick succession of kisses.

“Well then, welcome home Luke. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Ashton,” Luke says, burying himself in close to Ashton, pressing his face into Ashton’s neck. He has a home, a place to call his, a life to build with Ashton, the love of his life. It’s the best gift he could have asked for.

#5 seconds of summer #lashton #luke hemmings #ashton irwin #im back with more fairytale au with mermaid luke and werewolf ashton #bad at gift giving #what else is new #my writing

11 notes · View notes

lonelyheartsclubhaze · 3 years

Text

We Sold Our Souls to Instagram

September 2020 // Chapter 2

“No, I’m not going to pick you up.” I shook my head, visibly and audibly annoyed. “You know damn well that I’m not getting behind the wheel. I’m hanging up, sorry.”

Converting potential energy into kinetic, the iPhone X left my hand, skimming across the wave-front of my bed. My hands ruffled through my hair as I inhaled then sighed, absentmindedly channelling the virtues of cellular respiration.

Tired of this perpetual bullshit, my fingers slithered across the Ikea desk before me, eventually detecting the apple of my bedroom’s Eden: a lychee ice Puff Bar. My fingers honed in on the device, ensnaring it, raising it to my lips. A deep breath saved me from the agony of sobriety, the nicotine buzz lasting a moment. Then, it was lost.

Six soft, knuckled knocks rapped at the bedroom door. “It’s unlocked,” I shouted.

A creak later, the door swung open, revealing Adam. There was nobody else in the house anyway. With a global pandemic at large and wildfires blazing on deep into September, neither Ajay nor Cam had seen Dwight House since March. Just Adam and me.

“Yo, we out,” he said, pulling a reusable, black cloth mask under his chin. “Can’t see shit outside but we still drinking, dawg.” Ah, the charming vernacular of a Korean-American friend from the elite suburbs of the East Bay.

“It’s good. What’re we feeling today?” I had actually enjoyed the past six months with Adam—it had been a good bonding experience. Despite his rough tone around me and the rest of the guys, Adam was quite versatile in social settings, weaving between upper-class gentility at investment banking info sessions and middle-aged rednecks at gun ranges. With classical Berkeley-liberal ideologies and Wall Street Journal-reading, center-right-leaning, finance friends, Adam defied social realities.

Adam shrugged. “Could go for some Chimay. I’m feeling classy.”

“Not a bad idea at all, my friend,” I said. It had been awhile since I’d had a good beer like Chimay, and I was getting sick of Coors Banquets. “On the other hand, your timing just might be—a bad idea, I mean. Air looks cancerous outside.” Marmalade light cast by the wildfires of a fuming Earth engulfed Northern California, held in suspense by cool, Pacific layers of atmosphere. It was like we were on planet Arrakis, from Dune, or trapped in the world of David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust.

“The air low-key is cancerous. AQI is pushing 180’s right now,” said Adam, raising his eyebrows.

“Looks like an N95-kinda day. I’ve got a spare, you know,” I said, gesturing to a pile of three or so N95 masks by the lamp on my desk.

Adam waved it off. “Eh, I’m good. That’s some puss shit. Let’s just run over to Crafts and Grapes or some shit, shouldn’t take long.”

I shrugged. “So be it.”

Tossing on a pair of five-and-a-half inch inseam Lululemon shorts, I joined Adam as he hopped downstairs.

“Got keys?” he asked once we reached the door.

“Yer, we out,” I said, shaking my keys out from my shorts’ pocket to lock the front door.

“Fuck,” griped Adam. “It’s actually hot as shit out here.” Smoky, red air obscured him from sight as he craned his neck to see me.

“Hence the shorts.”

Adam squinted his eyes, pursed his lips, and jutted his head back and forth, mocking me. “For sure. Forgot your MCAT-lovin’-ass could predict the future. But really though—it’s the middle of September, dude. This shit is wrong. It’s hot as balls and California is on fire and the sky is red and fools are straight-up dying off this COVID shit.”

“And you’re still an idiot,” I said, flashing a cheeky smile.

“Are you qualified to diagnose me as an idiot?”

“Maddie would say so.”

“Hence the pet names.”

“Precisely.”

“We gotta do something about this, bruh. This shit pains me to see,” declared Adam.

“Let’s start by drinking these brews. We’ll recycle the bottles after.”

We walked east on Dwight toward Telegraph, dodging cars as we skipped across the one way street. Adam was quieter than usual, for the most part, looking up from his iPhone 11 Pro Max periodically to comment on something he’d read in the news, or the glum weather. He wore a khaki short sleeve button-up, Kapital raw denim jeans with smiley face patchwork on the back left pocket, and a pair of slip-on Nike Janoski sneakers. The jeans were nice—quite expensive, from the looks of it—but looked baggy on him. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, all of his clothes wore a bit loose on him, akin to a fiery adolescent who’d picked out hand-me-downs from an older sibling. Who that older sibling might’ve been, I’d never know—with his unwavering demeanor, Adam always seemed like the eldest in the room.

Banking right onto Telegraph, we bore the full brunt of the veiled sun, which, though hidden behind dense clouds of smoke, now revealed its penetrating UV rays. We ducked under corrugated foam polycarbonate sheets, which lined the rooftops of mom-and-pop Telegraph shops, fending off the sun’s cancerous radiation. The insanity of the world mingled with the smoky, copper air, making me delirious. I imagined I was Mel Gibson or Tom Hardy in Mad Max, feigning off flashbacks in the Wasteland. At the corner of Telegraph and Blake street, Adam pushed and held open the door to Crafts and Grapes. Nodding my head at him in small thanks, I entered, squinting my eyes as the light shifted from hazy red to bright white inside. It was a tiny store, with two aisles directly ahead lined with candy, nuts, and other inconsequential (unless you ate too many) snacks, followed by two refrigerators: one in the back, the other on the far right. Cool, wispy air emanated from the cold storage, contrasting with the late summer atmosphere only meters behind us. A bell rang as the door squeaked to a halt, prompting the middle-eastern cashier, directly to our right, to rise from his stool and greet us. We nodded back silently, all three of us clad in masks.

Per usual, Adam took the lead, striding toward the fridge directly back. He popped open one of the see-through doors with his left hand, mapping his way through its items with his right pointer finger. Finding my eyes, Adam shook his head, indicating a lack of Chimay.

“Blue moons?” I suggested. “Mango wheats?”

Adam screwed up his face. “Fuck that. Let’s go with Lags.”

“Sure, why not.”

Adam kneeled and looped his hand through the cardboard handle of a Lagunitas StereoHopic IPA six-pack. We walked over to the register where Adam made small talk with the cashier. Eventually, he tapped his iPhone 11 to an Ingenico payment terminal, finalizing our transaction. Drinks acquired.

The bell jingled as the door shut behind us once more. We hurried home, eager to crack open our drinks, intent on droning out the blistered yonder. Adam tried to explain his enthusiasm for hoppy beers while I pretended to listen. He was distracting me, though; we both knew I couldn’t care less.

Arriving home, my keys found their way to the door, and we found our ways to the couch. A tenor beep resounded through our living room as Adam’s iPhone connected to an old speaker via bluetooth. “Street Lights” by Kanye West filled the air, followed by carbon dioxide bubbles freed by an unlikely liberator—the bottle opener.

Let me know

Do I still got time to grow?

Things ain’t always set in stone

That be known let me know

I found myself back in the hand-me-down BMW 330i, with her, the white wire packed into the lightning port of my iPhone, transmitting cosine waves that replicated the robotic voice I was listening to in my living room.

“Stop!” she cried, thrusting herself back against beige, leather seats. She wanted me to press the brakes. I had to stop the car, right, stop the car. Where were the brakes?

She was beautiful, of course.

Dark, brown hair fell over eyes of the same color, guarded by double-lids that I wish she hadn’t paid for.

Hardly anyone would notice the difference, but I did, and it hurt to know that she didn’t love them.

I loved them, unconditionally, but she loved the brakes.

Needed to find them.

We’d shared a large bowl of Marafuku’s acclaimed Hakata Tonkotsu DX ramen. I’d let her eat most of it, sneaking my chopsticks in for bites at intervals.

“Pennsylvania?” I shook my head.

“What, you’ve never been?” She tilted hers. “You’ll love it. Come with me.”

“You’re crazy,” I said, smiling. “My MCAT summer is coming up.”

She rolled her eyes. “Then I’ll help you study for it. Duh.”

“I’m sure Brandon would love that.”

“Will he? All the way from San Francisco?”

“He’ll make the trip.”

“Not if you do,” she said, melting my mind.

I was dizzy, sleepy, lost, a newborn. Vulnerable. And I couldn’t seem to find them.

I’m just not there in the streets

I’m just not there

Life’s just not fair

Sonorant chimes reverberated in my ears as Adam clinked his glass bottle to mine. “Cheers,” he said with a nod.

“Cheers,” I echoed. Leaning my head back, I swallowed, allowing the cool liquid down my esophagus and into my gut.

“You good?” he prodded.

“Yeah,” I replied, my voice cracking a little. I cleared my throat.

“Pretty hoppy, huh?”

I took another sip, licking my lips after. “Quite. I suppose we knew what we were getting ourselves into. You know, given the ‘StereoHopic’.”

“You right.”

“Yeah.”

“Yo,” said Adam. “On another note—might be going in on an addy deal with Grace if you’re tryna hop in.”

I scratched my head. While I wouldn’t have any major exams in the near future (although midterms for my biochem course [MCB 102, for my fellow pre-med students at Cal] were slated for October sixteenth), I certainly had errands that might be eased by a twenty milligram dose of extended-release Adderall. There’s nothing like a thorough room-cleaning session when you’re high on stimulant drugs.

The first time I ever tried Adderall must’ve been during my freshman year, back in 2017. Midterm season was approaching—come to think of it, that was around this time that year—and our generous friend, Grace, was kind enough to grant me a ten milligram pill of instant-release Adderall. Grace and I, along with Adam and perhaps Ajay, too, were partaking in a midnight study session at Moffitt Library, which was open twenty-four-seven—prior to the pandemic. I popped the pill, chased it down with a Javiva drink from Peet’s, and got to work.

Twenty minutes later I began to feel its effects as the amphetamine altered monoamines in my brain, releasing surplus dopamine into my many synaptic clefts. Optimism filled me to the brim and my vision bent inward. I saw nothing but the iPad in front of me, my mind enamored by golgi apparatuses and various protein structures. The stimulant saturated me with a profound appreciation for all thoughts that meandered into my head; a giddiness originated in my heart, spreading down my arms, my legs, and outward across my skull, contracting then expanding once more. It was artificial love.

Eventually, I was distracted. Grace’s dilated pupils stared into mine as she chattered away about Lin-Manuel Mir-something and a hurricane in Puerto Rico. After a second or two, my attention snapped away from cell membranes, landing instead on her words. The words of a girl from Colorado with a soft spot for the snow. I’d met Grace via Adam during Orientation Week and she’d quickly become one of my favorite people.

Gingerbread specks stippled her face like a George Seurat painting, fractal constellations arising as my eyes outlined her cheekbones. Gaps between long, chocolate locks revealed sepia collarbones, lined with descendants of the freckles on her face. A white Nike Alex Morgan soccer jersey overlaid the loose sweatpants that hung from her hips, held up by drawstrings I almost hoped would fail, concealing proportions that emulated golden ratios. Stained, white, laceless Vans hugged unpainted toes that tapped together when she spoke. Lips that scorned the artificially enlarged mouths of Instagram influencers communicated messages I was only barely beginning to listen to. She was the love interest of a nineties’ coming-of-age motion picture. But she wasn’t mine.

You know, I thought Adam might’ve loved her, but it was hard to tell when he was cycling through hookups with three different girls at a time. Come to think of it, I didn’t know if Adam loved anyone. A talker, yes; a charmer, certainly; but a romantic, I really didn’t think so.

He spent a lot of his time with her, no doubt. And she cared for him—anyone could see it. But she knew as well as I did that his head wasn’t in it. He wasn’t looking for love. He wanted to graduate, make money—to be someone. Sex seemed like nothing more than a physical need to him. I don’t think anyone would’ve described Adam as an emotionally vulnerable guy, and I don’t think anyone thought that emotion was what he kept those girls around for.

But at the same time, anyone could’ve seen what I saw in the way he bounced when she was around. Anyone could’ve heard the way he spoke about her. She meant something to him. But when you asked him about it, he’d brush it off; she wasn’t his type, or he had commitment issues (jokingly—but hey, grain of truth in everything).

Maybe she was his distraction from ambition—his distraction from latex-wrapped, emotionally removed nights and Wall Street Journal mornings, just as she was my distraction from cell structures.

For a good hour-and-a-half, Grace entertained me with conversation regarding natural disasters across the West; Broadway musical comparisons between Hamilton and Sunday in the Park with George; and the latest updates on Cal’s women’s soccer team, of which she was a huge fan. The Adderall certainly kept me focused, although not necessarily on my coursework.

“Let me know,” said Adam, tipping the bottle into the corner of his mouth. “I’m boutta text her back.”

I looked up from my lap at Adam. Right, I thought. “Sure, I could be down. Why not. Think you can pick me up two? I have some errands to run.”

“Twenty milligram XR work?” he asked as he tapped along the screen of his iPhone.

“That’ll do.”

The room went quiet for twenty to twenty five seconds as I was confirmed as an accomplice in the drug deal.

“What’s she been up to?” I asked.

“Hm?” he noised, raising his eyebrows without looking up.

“Grace,” I said. “Haven’t seen her much.”

He shrugged. “Not much, I guess. Drinking a solid amount though, from what I’ve seen.”

“Makes three of us.”

“Yeah,” he said, feigning a smile. “What about yours?”

“Maddie?”

“Yeah.”

I took a deep breath—inhaling, holding to the count of four, exhaling. “Not much of a difference, to be honest.”

“It’s not her fault, you know.”

“I know,” I breathed.

“Then talk to her.”

“It’s not like that,” I mumbled.

Adam paused.

I stared at my feet. “I’m sorry, Adam.”

He squinted. “The fuck you sorry for?”

“You know.”

He waved his hand aside, brushing it off. “I’m not tripping. Talk to her. Before I do it myself.”

I forced a smile. “Maybe it’s better off that way.”

“Here,” he said, handing me a two-foot-tall bong and lighter from under the coffee table. “Take it.”

Couldn’t stay away. My fingers gripped the paraphernalia as he withdrew. My heart quickened as the impending drug interaction approached. When it reached my lips, I lit, then inhaled, holding to the count of four, and then some. Blurry feelings rushed my mind as states of sufferance gave way to sedated nebulas, teaching me forgetfulness.

#writers on tumblr #my writing #fiction #writers #writing #mood #vibe #original #original fiction

1 note · View note

segenassefa · 4 years

Text

6: Brand Focus: Los Angeles Apparel

September – the season of changing leaves, pumpkin spice lattes (those are nasty but if I speak…), and – usually – back to school shopping.

However, now that life has transitioned online, there is no reason to wear anything that is uncomfortable or at least two sizes oversized on a day-to-day basis. But – and don’t fight me on this - there is nothing more satifying than new and quality loungewear.

This is where Los Angeles Apparel comes in.

The brand formerly known as American Apparel rebranded as Los Angeles Apparel – the same basics brand, full of heavyweight cotton, styles ranging from classic to contemporary, and a wide range of colours, everything from neutrals to neon colours.

After bankrupting twice, American Apparel was purchased by Canadian manufacturer, Gildan, in 2017. Gildan went on to rebrand and remove the more notable points of the company’s marketing strategy – namely, the borderline pornographic advertising and sinfully high price range (some AA products can now be purchased on websites such as Wordans and Amazon).

Founder and Montreal native Dov Charney (who has his own demons, including accusations of sexual harassment and mismanagement of funds when he ran American Apparel in 2014*) then decided to take his ideas elsewhere, introducing Los Angeles Apparel.

Now operating out of a south Los Angeles warehouse, LAA poses itself as an ethical, basics, brand, paying workers between $15-$20 USD, as well as overtime pay and benefits, and varies from other fashion retailers in the amount of transparency to behind the scenes of their warehouse and in the production process – many of the brand’s Instagram stories include shots of models, posing outside and throughout the warehouse, and well as videos of various garment and production workers at their daily dyeing, stitching, and cutting tasks. Another plus of this brand is the composition of the garments, specifically their sweatshirts and sweatpants, tops, and bodysuits. Most places do not manufacture goods with 100% cotton - traditional brands either use a 50/50 blend of cotton and polyester, or an 80/20 blend for goods in the heavyweight category. Using 100% cotton leads to a garment that looks even better with wear and tear, as well as prevents pilling, worn out elastic cuffs and hems, as well as less discolouration. Lastly, LAA is mostly devoid of branding – their clothing has no flashy logos or tags, no awkward stitching or excessive distressing, product styles, and unsavoury colour combinations – likely stemming from their roots as a wholesale blanks company. There is a bit of 90’s flavour to the styles shown on the website, included oversized sweats and t-shirts, lots and lots of pleats (pants, skirts, shorts, everything), as well as having more fresh-faced models, both men and women.

I’ve never personally been a huge American Apparel shopper – the original brand was not the most inclusive in terms of sizing as most of their items run on the smaller size (even to this day – their 2XL fits more like a very roomy XL) or were the dreaded “slim fit” (the ugliest cut of clothing to touch down on this face of the Earth, please don’t argue with me). However, since rebranding, Charney and the rest of the LAA team began to embrace more true-to-size and oversized fits. After rebuilding my wardrobe with quality basics, I can say about 80% of my wardrobe is from LAA – the pieces are good quality, minimal, and tasteful. Also, as a person who tries to be as ethical with my spending practices as possible and invest in quality clothing, I feel a bit better knowing the $40 t-shirt won’t be falling apart in the wash or after a few wears. For anyone who has considered dipping their toe into LAA or has been looking for other basics to add to their collection, here is a listed review of my favourite items from Los Angeles Apparel**.

HF09GD Unisex - Garment Dye 14oz. Heavy Fleece Hooded Pullover Sweatshirt

If I had the power to get rid of all of the hoodies in the world and replace them with only one, this would be it. This hoodie is thick as hell to the point where sometimes it feels like canvas, but not in an uncomfortable way. The colours are also super rich – my favourite one is Chocolate (one day we will talk about how brown is the supreme neutral for its ability to be and blend with both warm and cool tone colours, but I digress). Another interesting thing about these hoodies is that they don’t hold smell the way I’ve found polyester blends do and when washed, literally smell like an entirely new garment. This is also one of the products that I found is actually more of an oversized fit, and as with most cotton goods – stretch (but not unreasonably) with wear. It comes in a huge selection of colours as well and the sizing is fairly unisex, as both me and my boyfriend have worn this hoodie and have marveled at the quality. While it is an investment ($100 CAD per hoodie, about double that for the whole set), it is truly the hooded sweatshirt I’ve ever owned.

Size: XL, Colour: Chocolate, Price: $100 CAD

3380GD - Heavy 2x1 Rib Crop Tank

As our beautiful friend who was floating around Twitter not too long ago said, “Get into eeeeet!”. And she was absolutely right. This tank top is made for the people who want to get into the w*fe-beater/undershirt-as-a-shirt trend but don’t particularly enjoy the length or thinness of those traditional tops. This cropped tank is a racerback, but not to the point where it is completely unwearable without a bra, provided you have a convertible bra. This top is also 5% elastane as opposed to polyester (for those who are curious, elastane is a member of the Lycra and Spandex family, so the stretch in this top will also provide some shaping benefits). While it does only come in two colours for the time being, I’m one of those people who owns everything in my closet in both black and white, so this was perfect for me. Another thing to note, all my BBWs, this top does not roll up or require too much adjusting throughout the day, and sits just above the belly button for a cropped look without making you look like Roger the Alien (you know what I’m talking about….). This tank top is relatively affordable, considering the wearability, and the ribbing isn’t too noticeable so if you wanted a nice cropped but semi conservative top, this just might be it.

Size: L, Colour: Black, Price: $30 CAD

1215GD - Heavy Jersey Garment Dye Casual Pants

Ok, you know when you want to wear sweatpants, but you also realize that maybe the occasion is not appropriate, or you just need a little bit of pizzazz without all of the frump? This is these pants. When I first read the reviews, I was skeptical, but after realizing all I own are jeans and sweatpants, I copped a pair. I wore these in 75-degree weather, walked a good three or four miles, and was comfortable all day. Plus, unlike most traditional womenswear pants, these pockets are DEEP. Like Mariana Trench deep, which I love because one thing about me – I’m going to use a damn pocket. I would say to avoid these if you aren’t into the straight leg look because with a t-shirt, they do give very public-school art teacher vibes, but they also come in a huge range of colours. A lot of people complain about the elastic band for a lot of their products (too tight), but personally I prefer that – it provides a longer wear time before you have to wash (since it takes longer for the garment to stretch out) and keeps everything cute and covered. These pants are also a nice alternative to jeans, and even come in the couple shades of blue to mimic the idea of dark/light wash. The price is a little obscene for some casual pants, but I think you’re someone who usually wears pants from Urban Planet, H&M, or even Zara, these will be a nice upgrade, sure to last a very, very long time.

Size: L, Colour: Black, Price: $52 CAD

1406GD - Long Sleeve Garment Dye Mockneck T-Shirt

Another one of my favourite things about LAA is the fact that a lot of their products are unisex (while not explicitly labelled as such, you will see a lot of the same items in both the men and women tabs on their website). I love a good long sleeve shirt, but my proportions were never too forgiving to pull it off without looking like a 1960’s ghost, or like I had gotten dressed in the tent section of Home Depot. This top is more of a boxy fit, but the bottom is cropped enough to make it hit just above the thighs for a nice, slouchy look. The colours in these are also super nice, veering more towards neutrals and pastels. This shirt looks good with bike shorts and tucked into jeans, and (the best part) the white is not see-through at all, which was one of my biggest complaints when buying shirts from brands like Hanes, Gildan, Fruit of the Loom, and Keya. The neckline is a lot higher than most traditional crew necks, but I’m a fan. Plus, I feel like it looks a lot better when you layer jewelry over it. If you’re springing to get a basic colour, I’d say it’s totally worth it, at $41 a pop, considering that it’ll last damn near forever.

Size: XL, Colour: White, Price: $52 CAD

B128CF - Long Sleeve Crossfront Bodysuit

The bodysuit that started it all. Y’all. The number of compliments I get whenever I wear this top is insane, not to mention of all the bodysuits I have purchased from this brand, this one is the most flattering, the most versatile, and the most forgiving, in terms of sizing. The cross-front bodysuit is a happy medium for people who want to get into the criss-cross top look without the hassle of strings and shit like that. Not to mention, many bodysuits in this style tend to be ribbed – and not the good kind of ribbing either *retches*. I own this bodysuit in both a medium and a large, and my advice would be to size down, especially if you’re planning on wearing it without a bra (not much of a choice considering this bodysuit has a deep, deep, V neck) and will definitely add to the effortless look of the whole ensemble. This bodysuit can be dressed up and dressed down, but my favourite way to wear this is with some slouchy ass sweatpants, white sneakers (preferably a little beat up) and a small shoulder bag – ad square or transparent sunglasses for some big 90s energy, like you just left a Bikram yoga class or something. The colours on this could be better – aside from the white, black, and flesh toned colour, I really don’t see a purpose for the coral or blue shade, but I may be biased considering I do avoid bright colours like that. Now, it may seem a little overpriced for what it is, but I promise you – in my years of bodysuit research, the only brand that’s coming close to this, especially for larger chested laydeez, is Capezio, and that’s literally dancewear. Like, industrial ass dancewear. Regardless, this bodysuit is top 2 and it’s not 2.

Size: M, Colour: White, Price: $49 CAD

BD12 - Bull Denim Oversized Bag

If I had to give a name to my aesthetic – particularly when it comes to accessories – I’d say I’m somewhere in between “Bag Lady” by Erykah Badu and first year art student in the Midwest working part time at a dusty bookstore. This bag is more of the latter. For reference on size, it’s about as big, laid flat, as my large Telfar, but when on, doesn’t have the same structure, thus keeping it from looking like a burlap sack (or keeping you from looking like Santa on December 24th). The material is bull denim, which is similar in texture and style to regular denim, however, dyed to give it a rich and uniform colour. Also this bag comes in literally all of the ROYGBIV colours, plus black and white, and in a variety of styles and closures (they have one with a zipper for people who are diligent about things like that, as well as a more standard tote size and shape). This bag is perfect for literally everything – I like it when I go grocery shopping, or even getting from A to B when I have to carry a million things. Another bonus is the construction of the strap is thick without being comical, meaning that you won’t have those nasty lines in your shoulder after a long day, and you won’t have to worry about a strap busting and embarrazzzzing you (Nella Rose voice) when you’re out. In terms of pricing, you could get a little pleather number from H&M for the same price, but if you don’t take yourself seriously, then just say that (kidding!). as someone who loves the look of a good canvas tote, without wanting to look too much like a crunchy granola kinda person, this bag is lowkey one of my favourites (sorry, Mr. Clemens!).

Size: OS, Colour: Navy, Price: $58

Notes:

*= We do not condone predatory behaviour from anyone, but it is important to highlight that just because you love something doesn’t mean it’s perfect. Part of being a responsible consumer is also knowing about who you purchase from, not just what and how things are made. I am aware of this and am taking accountability for not knowing this information sooner.

**= All of these opinions are my own and not sponsored. Product codes will be listed in the title, and sizing, colour purchased, as well as CAD pricing will be listed at the end of each review.

#cms cashmoneysegs #blog post 5 #los angeles apparel #laa #aa #american apparel #brand

2 notes · View notes