peach jacket

Varsity Jackets and Peaches. - Part 1

–words: 6k

warning: grinding

Summary; Dan Howell hates him. He hates that black haired boy that wears a varsity jacket and smells like peaches and oh goes by the name Phil Lester. He takes joy out of ruining Dan’s life and he hates him. Well he hates him until a round of spin the bottle commences.

read part two here

     “Were going to be late!” Dan exclaimed.

Jesse rubbed his eyes and stuffed his books into his bag. He shut his locker just as Dan pulled him down the hall. Someone with red hair decided that he wanted to sleep in this morning and forget to pick his best friend up like he did every morning.

“It’s only Ms. Rogers class, calm down.” Jesse mumbled.

“Don’t tell me to calm down.”

Jesse rolled his eyes and let Dan pull him down the hall.


Keep reading


→ immortal!reader x exo; aeon’s lovers

prologue - chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 - chapter 4

warnings: mentions of cigarettes and smoking.

You chuckled humorlessly. “I suppose the word ‘fled’ is getting a bit old, isn’t it?” You then shrugged, moving forward in your seat to take a sip of your tea, the hundred years of memories flooding over you and leaving you dry in the mouth.

“But it was the only thing I did,” You continue. “there was no other way but fleeing.”

Detective Do stayed silent, eyes fixated on you, and solely you.

“I fled San Fransisco and took a bus across the country to New York in 1956. New York was intimidating, to say the least, but I had just been shot in my thigh, I had fled China during the civil war, I had survived a fatal car crash 22 years earlier, I was immortal, so after a few days—New York was intimidated by me.” You were too oblivious to notice Detective Do gulping.

“”Fresh-out-of-college-me” was hired at a travel magazine office and became the assistant to one of the busiest writers there, working and traveling alongside him for six whole years—until the editor-in-chief spotted me and assigned me to be his assistant instead. He became my second fiance.”

New York City, USA, 1963

It was spring when Minho came into the office an usual Monday morning, hugging you as he usually did and sat down on his desktop, sipping the tea you had made for him as usual–just as usual. But things weren’t as usual; Minho looked gloomy and his voice was soft and almost weak. He fixed his tie, tugging slightly at his blazer before looking up. 

A little weirded out by his sudden change in demeanor, you fixed on your new peach tailored jacket, toying slightly with the white accents around the breasts pockets, running your hands over your matching skirt–maybe Minho would compliment your new clothes and then you could continue your day like usual? Maybe he would say you looked just as fabulous as Jackie? Just like usual?

You should have known, though; your life wasn’t bound to be usual.

“You’ve been promoted, Y/N.” Minho finally sighed sadly. Your heart fell in your chest. You wouldn’t be able to work with Minho anymore. After six whole years of seeing the Caribbean, South America, and Europe together, writing together, you would be promoted? You hadn’t seen this day coming, much less wanted this day to come. Minho continued on, losing the empathy in his voice with every word he said;

“Please pack your things, Ms. L/N, and take the elevator up to the top floor. There, you will meet your new boss. It was a pleasure working with you.”

The elevator doors opened with a sharp ‘pling’ and you hugged the box holding your things close to your chest as you stepped out into the vast space. The top floor was just one large office, and as you stepped out of the elevator you stepped out into a makeshift hallway with a large opening to the actual office. The office of the editor-in-chief.

You had never met the man, and the only thing you knew about him was that he was a man. And now you were about to become his assistant.

You didn’t knock on the wall to signal your presence, you figured the clicks of your high heels against the marble floor would be signal enough. You walked from the elevator, through the wide opening and into the large office room of the editor, eyes wide as they took in the large windows that were more or less the walls, overlooking the concrete jungle that was New York, and again after 7 years in the city, you felt intimidated yet again. The floor was black marble and the furniture was wooden and golden. The desktop was placed furthest away and before it was several sofa chairs and coffee tables lined with older issues of the travel magazine.

The man by the desktop had turned his chair so that you could only see his shoulders, his neck and the back of his head. He was dark haired and had beautifully tussled hair instead of the usual slicked-back look most men wore. He was seemingly clad in a normal black tux–not much of a fashionista, you internally mused. 

Just as you paused by his desk, the obnoxious clicks of your heels ceasing, the man turned. He was unexpectedly young with friendly brown eyes and his tussled hair that looked soft, begging for you to comb through it with your fingers. His facial features were God-given and he smiled up at you with pearly teeth.

“Welcome, Ms. L/N, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” He spoke, words flowing out into the room with a beautiful tone. “I see you’ve got your things, you can make yourself at home over there.” He points at the smaller desk to the right, facing the center of the room just as the editor’s did. You nodded and did as he said, sitting down in your new chair and placing your items around; your little pouch of makeup for touch-ups and sanitary items in a drawer, a small pile of documents in another and the framed picture of you and Minho in Rio on the dark desktop.

“My name is Junmyeon, by the way, Kim Junmyeon.” The man introduced himself, standing up and walking over to your desk. He smiled widely, reaching his hand out and taking yours, placing kisses on your knuckles. You couldn’t lie, you were enjoying Junmyeon so far. Maybe being promoted wouldn’t be so bad after all, nothing bad with a little bit more money either.

You smiled and nodded dismissively as you continue settling in only to drop the item you were holding on the floor. As you bent down to pick it up, you were unaware of the calloused, jealous hands picking the framed photo up and taking it, throwing it away later that day.

New York City, USA, 1965 

The elevator doors opened with the same sharp ‘pling’ and you stepped out, your heels clicking against the marble floor as you made your way into the office, quickly dumping your small purse at your desktop before hurrying over to the windows. You peered out into the gray, stormy clouds of the sky before looking down to the sidewalks where small crowds of protesters rioted before the storm arrived. You stared intently, only looking away when arms enveloped around your waist and a chin rested on top of your shoulder. 

“They’re protesting again,” You clarified to your fiance. “against the war.”

Junmyeon hummed, and lifted his arms into the air, grinning lightheartedly at you. “As long as it’s not me they’re protesting against, they can do whatever they want.” He then kissed you on the lips, shortly, before walking over to his own desktop. You shot the crowd underneath you, far down there on the sidewalk, a last look before sitting down as well.

“What do you think about the war, baby?”

Junmyeon frowned. “About the war?” He fished out a cigarette and his lighter out of the pocket in his gray tweed blazer. He hummed as he placed the cigarette between his lips and lit it. Huffing the smoke out and moving the petite cigarette between his fingers, he answered with confidence;

“I don’t like it. Don’t like it at all.”

You frowned, growling under your breath as your fiance smoked his cigarette, the toxic gray clouds mingling with his actual breath. Just for a split second, Junmyeon looked like Yixing. You shook your head and rubbed your eyes while stilling minding your eyeliner and false lashes.

“Jun,” You warned. “you need to stop.”

He smiled sadly. “I can’t stop.”

You divert your eyes off him, and down to scan the latest issue in your hand, the paper still fresh in your palms. Two years ago, you had been promoted to become the editor-in-chief’s assistant. A few months into it, you had been promoted from assistant to girlfriend. Three months ago, you had been promoted from girlfriend to fiance as he dropped to his knees and asked for your hand in marriage. You would have been a fool to say no. Alongside Junmyeon, your life would be comfortable, exotic and luxurious.

How could you say no?

Huffing, Junmyeon sat back comfortably in his tall-back, army green chair. “Does it look good?”

You skimmed the pages of the issue. “It does.” 

“What about the next issue? Do you have any ideas, any thoughts? The creative corner is really running out of ideas, I mean-”


The office became filled with his gray coughs. Whether it was the shock of your words or the smoke that did it, you didn’t know. “Vietnam?” He croaked out between coughs. You nodded sternly at your fiance, and once he was done coughing his lungs out, he stared dumbly at you.

“Baby, are you telling me to send travel-writers down to Vietnam right now to take pictures?”

“No, alright, listen; you were in Saigon in ‘53, right? With your father before he resigned?” You stood up, tugged down your miniskirt and moved over to his desktop, falling to your knees by his archive-drawer. You quickly found the issue you were thinking about–the August ‘53 issue, with the headline;

“Forget Havana, take the longer route to Saigon and discover a new pearl before anyone else!”

“Let’s revamp this issue; recycle the pictures, rewrite the articles…” You suggest and watch as Junmyeon’s eyes widened with every word you say. He grins, stomping the cigarette in the ash tray in front of him before scooping you up into his embrace, placing you onto his lap. “My baby girl is the smartest,” He chuckled, before placing his lips against yours. “really the smartest. Let’s do that.”

A satisfied groan leaves Junmyeon and you press your hands against your warm cheeks. “I can’t wait to make you my wife!”

New York City, USA, 1967

You were drowning in lace. Layers upon layers upon layers of lace and other silky white material–you didn’t even know or care. It covered the floor behind you, before you and you wanted to rip it apart. You were suffocating. 

33 years later and you had finally gotten that white dress, that white wedding gown, but you weren’t happy. Four lovers later, four men promising you their name behind yours and you were finally getting what you wanted. But you weren’t happy.

Your maid of honor, Harriet, was just a random girl from the office whom Junmyeon had picked out, given that you had no friends except for Minho. Harriet wasn’t the most beautiful, her brown hair falling flat and lifelessly against her shoulders but she had a warm smile and even warmer brown eyes. She flashed you a short smile, noticing your nervous gulps and wavering eyes.

“Nervous?” She asked, and fixed on her peach colored dress before fixing her sole attention back on you, the bride. Junmyeon’s bride. 

“Yes,” You tried to smile. “very.” Your heart was beating so fast, it was soon ripping itself free from the confines of your chest. You were suffocating. No way could you be able to marry Junmyeon–what had you been thinking? You didn’t need his money, and you especially didn’t need his power. 

What if when ten years had gone by, and Junmyeon would be turning 40 and you would be turning 43 years but in reality, you would be turning 63 years old. Even worse was it twenty years ahead. 73 years old and not looking a day older than 20. The thought sickened you, and you bent your head, signaling for Harriet to get a bucket as you felt immobile in the middle of this sea of lace. Poor, confused Harriet hurried out into the en suite and returned with a small bucket, lining it up to your mouth with wide, terrified eyes. You emptied your stomach and thanked Harriet as she gave wiped your mouth.

Marrying Junmyeon would only be one big lie. You were only one big lie.

“Oh my Lord,” She sighed. “are you alright, Y/N? Maybe you need to sit down.” You waved her off, wiping the tears off your makeup covered cheeks with uncareful hands. Quickly, you moved your hands behind you to pull down the zipper of your dress. You were suffocating and your heart was tearing asunder your chest. “Help me out of this, won’t you, Harriet?” You spoke slowly as if you had everything out of control, despite it not looking quite like that. Your hair was sticking to every direction and your lipstick was smeared.

Harriet, the soft soul, did as you asked her and pulled down the zipper, freeing you of the lace. You stumbled to a small love seat by the window of your hotel room, sweat running down your bare back as you plopped down. Your face contorted in the ‘pain’ that spread out throughout your body and you bent over for further measure. “Harriet,” You wheezed out to the poor, confused girl. “go down and tell the groom I might be a little late. I’m feeling a little…” You trailed off when Harriet nodded repeatedly, already making her way out of the hotel room and down the stairs.

Once she was gone, you sighed out in relief, placing your face in your hands. “Am I really doing this?” You groaned, standing up and finding the bag that had held your shoes, stuffing your jewelry, makeup, and your wallet inside it before pulling the thread and closing it. You spotted Harriet’s colorful, collared dress and picked it up. It didn’t take the many seconds before you had jumped into the small dress and scanned the room, looking for any exit. This had been easier in 1956, given the stairs that had made it an easy flee.

After a while, you realized that the only option was the actual door.

Once out into the hallway, you slung the shoe bag over your shoulder and started running in your white, jewelry lined high heels over the thick green carpets that lined the hallway floors. Miraculous enough, you made it out of the hotel without Harriet, Junmyeon, or your suspicious ex-family-in-law noticing you. You hailed a cab, went home and packed only your necessities and your now large amount of saved money.

The same day you were supposed to become Y/N Kim, you took the first plane back to Beijing.

“Sensitive Bore” jacket patch, a la Joanna Newsom

Total time: approx. 5 hrs

My first embroidery project is finished! My own patch was inspired by the merit badges made by Tumblr user milklake (whose blog seems to have been taken over by a spambot, otherwise I would link). I had a great time and made the thing all in one go!

anonymous asked:

hey, love this blog!!! you guys are amazing! i was reading a fic on tumblr and i had to close it and now i can't fine it again. phil wore a varsity jacket and like teased dan a lot. they ended up making out at a party. it was called Varsity Jackets and Peaches or something like that. thanks ☺️

Varsity Jackets and Peaches. -  Dan Howell hates him. He hates that black haired boy that wears a varsity jacket and smells like peaches and oh goes by the name Phil Lester. He takes joy out of ruining Dan’s life and he hates him. Well he hates him until a round of spin the bottle commences.

- Tori