“I think the piece of pizza might possibly be my
favorite so far.” Shirayuki pushed the cheap wig out of her eyes and tried to
readjust the bobby pins that were holding it in place, but it kept sagging over
her forehead. Obi could tell her head was hot and itchy, and she had been
scratching at it all night, but all of this was for the kids. And he secretly
thought she kind of liked dressing up in matching costumes.
COMME des GARÇONS par Rei Kawakubo, printemps-été 1997
COLLECTION “BUMP”/“BODY MEETS DRESS” ROBE SCULPTURE EN JERSEY VICHY STRETCH BLEU COMME DES GARCONS BY REI KAWAKUBO ‘BODY MEETS DRESS’ OR ‘BUMP’ COLLECTION, S/S 1997 A TURQUOISE AND GINGHAM POLYESTER JERSEY DRESS WITH NUMEROUS ‘BUMPS’ FRONT AND BACK
“Hey,” you call over to the boys, your hands grasping for your dress zipper.
Sam looks up from the bed where he’s tying his shoes, and Dean looks at you through the mirror he’s using to straighten his tie.
You we’re currently on case, and Sam was heading down to the morgue and you and Dean were headed to the police station.
“Can one of you help me?”
You were getting ready to play your part of Agent Nicks, and the occasion called for a black polyester dressed that fell to your knees with a think belt around your waist, finished off with a white blazer that matched your kitten heels.
Dean clears his throats and steps away from the mirror, his feet shuffling across the once pink carpets until he brushes up behind you.
“What happened to your suit?” He asks as he pulls up the gold zipper, his fingers gliding up your back as he closes the sliver of back that had been showing.
“Felt like something new,” you shrug, pushing your hair off your shoulder and behind your back once the zipper is all the way up.
You turn around, your eyes only meeting the knot of Dean’s tie, even with the few extra inches from your shoes.
You look at the crooked knot and huff.
“You’re tie still isn’t straight.” Your fingers come up to his collar, his throat tightening as you tug on the emerald fabric–your favorite, which has you’ve noticed has been making a regular appearance since you mentioned that it to Dean a few months ago–shimming it back and forth until it’s perfectly aligned.
“Perfect.” You smile at your work, your hand resting on the lapel of his black suit. You look up at him, your smile still bright.
He stares down at you, his green eyes studying you from the arch of your eyebrows to the curve of your jaw.
“Ready?” Sam calls, his hands sliding up from his knees as he stands.
You take a step back from Dean, your hand falling away from his chest as you look over his shoulder and smile at Sam.
“I’m surprised they called the Feds in for this one. It seems like a simple murder, suicide.” They young cop you’ve been working with, Officer Brown, comments as he hands you the case file, his hand lingering on yours a bit longer than necessary, causing Dean to frown.
“Well,” Dean says loudly, pulling Officer Brown’s eyes away from yours. “You know us. Just want to double check.” Dean smirks tightly at him.
“Anyways,” Officer Brown turns away from Dean, facing you again. “It looks like Mr. Moore came home after work from his construction sight around 7pm, and about 7:15 is when neighbors reported hearing gunshots. By the time we got there, both him and Mrs. Moore were dead.”
You nod at him, frowning at the lack of new information he was (or more accurately wasn’t) providing.
“Can you think of anything else? Anything that seemed strange, out of place? Something you didn’t put in your report but something that just seemed off about the whole situation?” You ask, hoping he might mention cold spots or sulfur.
He shakes his head. “Not that I can think of. But Officer Grant was the first on the scene. You can try asking him.” He points to a middle-aged man with a buzzcut and surprisingly nice physique.
“I will, thanks.” You smile and turn to walk to Officer Grant’s desk. Dean stays behind, waiting for the victims’ background information to print.
As you walk away, Officer Brown’s head leans to the side, watching the sway in your hips as you go.
Dean frowns and his face scrunches up at Officer Brown’s eyes continue to follow you.
With a harsh whistle, Dean captures Officer Brown’s attention, breaking his gaze from you.
“Hey!” Dean scowls. “How ‘bout you go check on those documents?” Dean’s eyebrows raise, as if he’s daring the smaller officer to challenge him.
“Right.” Officer Brown ducks his head and runs off to see if the documents have printed yet.
Dean huffs and rolls his eyes as he walks over to you and Officer Grant, your hip leaning against his desk as he fills you in.
“Anything?” He asks, his lips tickling your ear.
You turn your head slightly, your eyes catching his out of your peripherals.
“Hold on,” you whisper back, and both of you turn your attention back to Officer Grant.
“Never had something like that happen here before.” Grant shakes his head and sighs. “And I swear, I’ve never been in a house so cold before.” Your eyebrows perk up and you look over to Dean. “As soon as I walked in, before I even found them, I could feel the chill in my bones.”
“Thank you so much, for your help Officer Grant.” Grant nods and turns back to his computer.
“Agent Plant,” Officer Brown sheepishly appears behind the two of you. “I’ve got the documents you asked for.” Dean smiles down smugly at him as Brown carefully avoids your eyes, causing a frown to appear on your lips.
“Thanks.” Dean nods and heads for the door. You throw a “thanks” over your shoulder as you rush out behind Dean, suddenly confused as to what just happened.
“What the hell was that?” You call out to Dean who is already at the Impala as you try to jog across the parking lot in your heels.
“What was what?” He asks innocently, and you glare at him, knowing he knows exactly what you’re talking out. “Hurry your ass in here. Sam’s got something!” He waves at you as he disappears into the Impala.
You huff, annoyed that he’s keeping secrets, but hurry over to Baby and hop in.
“You know what.” You mutter under your breath as you cross your arms. Dean pretends he didn’t hear you and speeds out of the parking lot towards Sam.
Turns out, Sam had found some ectoplasm in the dead husband’s ears, so you figured that you had to be dealing with a vengeful spirit.
There wasn’t anything you could find in the local articles about any violent deaths or murders in the couple’s house, so you decided to hit up some locals to see what you could figure out.
The three of you were currently at the local historian/antiques shop. The guy who ran it was almost eighty years old and couldn’t hear anymore, and his grandson was currently keeping the shop up for him.
“Not my first choice for a line of work, but family business. Ya know?” He shrugged as he smiled at you. Oh, you know.
“So what can you tell me about the Moore’s house?” You ask him quietly.
The dusty shop gave off a library feel, and so you and James were sitting at an old tea table while Sam and Dean wandered around the shop. James seemed to take a liking to you the moment you walked through the door, so you thought it best to ask him some questions one-on-one.
Not that you minded at all; his blue eyes and sharp jawline had you smiling at him non-stop. He reminded you of that kid Jake you had a crush on in high school, except James had an all-American air about him that was a pleasant change from all the grungy barflies you usually met.
“Not too much.” He pulls some papers out. “The house is fairly new, built in the seventies. There was only one owner before the Moore’s, and nothing exciting happened while they were living there.”
You take a deep breath and sigh as you hit a dead end.
Dean’s head peeks around the corner, his eyes watching the two of you. You frown at him and suddenly his eyes go above your head, like he was looking at something else before he steps back behind the bookshelf.
“What about the property? Anything weird about the property?” You ask hopeful.
James flips through some more pages, his lips puckering and twisting to the side as he eyes glance through the documents. You can’t help but smile at the cute action.
Dean scoffs and rolls his eyes, watching the two of you through the partings of the book shelves.
“She knows what she’s doing. You don’t have to spy, Dean.” Sam calls his brother out as he watches him peek through the cracks of the books.
Dean straightens up and looks at his brother, offended by his comment.
“I wasn’t spying.” Dean objects. “I was checking out this,” Dean’s eyes squint at the closest book cover. “Castrations, the Advantages and Disadvantages.” Dean frowns at his unfortunate book choice.
“Sure, Dean.” Sam smiles and rolls his eyes as he walks away, taking in the nearby antique gun case.
“Shut up.” Dean calls after him.
“What?” You ask him, confused to what you walked into.
Dean spins on his heel, smiling his shit-eating grin at you.
“Not you,” he points over his shoulder. Your eyebrows raise in understanding, and you look over to Sam who is staring into some glass case.
“Anyways, I got something.” You hold up a file, eyes bright with excitement that you finally caught a break in the case.
“What did that cost you?” Dean insinuates as he crosses his arms.
You frown. “What the hell does that mean?” You growl, copying his stance.
“It means Mr. Happy-go-lucky over there,” Dean throws his heads towards the bookcase where the two of you had sat behind, chatting. “Was more than happy to help.”
Your jaw clenches as you internally count to ten so that you don’t stride over there and bite Dean’s head off.
Instead, you stomp over to him, slapping the file to his chest before storming out of the shop, your fingers itching for the gun hiding in your waistband.
“Bastard.” You snarl as you throw open the door to the backseat of the Impala and slam it shut as hard as you possibly can, hoping you hurt something in the process.
Dean and Sam follow you out, not saying anything as the climb in and drive back to the motel.
In the end it was a fairly simple salt and burn, though you would have some nice bruises the next day.
You discovered through the files that James had given you that the property was once a private cemetery to a wealthy family, and that one of the patriarchies had killed his wife who had been having an affair, then himself. The reason that the spirit hadn’t bothered the past owners was because the first family was a widowed mother of three, and the Moore’s were the first couple to live in the house.
The three of you were out back digging up the grave when it appeared. It threw you across the yard before you could hit it with rock salt. Once you got back to your feet and back over to the boys, you ended up being the distraction while Sam and Dean finished unburying him and burning the bones.
But now you were out celebrating, in some backroad bar you found while on you way back to the bunker. You decided to make a pitstop for the night, then head home in the morning.
The place was surprisingly packed, and you had to wait ten minutes just for three seats at the bar. But finally you were two drinks in some guy named Ben was hanging by your side, leaning against the bar with a beer in hand as he told you about his work as an oil rig operator.
It wasn’t very interesting, but he was tall with strapping shoulders and deep brown eyes within his striking features, and that was enough to capture your attention.
Dean watched from a seat over with a tight jaw and a death grip on his beer bottle.
You got hit on all the time, it was bound to happen with your big Y/E/C eyes and beautiful body that seemed to curve in all the right places. Guys looked at you wherever you went. And it use to be fine.
But that was before, when he could fall asleep because you weren’t on his mind, replaying the touch of your lips on his cheek as you bid him goodnight, before he found himself unable to tear his eyes away from you every time you were in a room together, before Dean could look at you without finally seeing something more in his life than just hunting.
But now, as you giggle at some random dude, your hand ghosting over his chest, Dean couldn’t do it, not anymore.
He brings the bottle to his lips, chugging the alcohol down in one swift gulp. As the last drop hits his throat, he slams the bottle onto the bar, whipping out his wallet and dropping enough to cover all of your drinks, plus tip.
“We’re going.” Dean growls, his voice leaving no room for discussion. Sam quickly downs his drinks and follows, confused at to what just pissed off his brother so much.
“Y/N, let’s go!” Dean calls back for you when you don’t move.
You lower, your anger from this afternoon returning again.
“Why?” You challenge.
Ben’s eyes glance between you and Dean, looking more nervous that confused by the interaction.
“Is everything okay?” Ben tries tentatively.
“Everything’s fine, and she’s going.” Dean strides back to you, coming to your side.
“No, she’s not.” Your voice rises as you stand from your chair, coming chest to chest with Dean, your lips and nose pulling back in a snarl.
You were sick of whatever the hell was up Dean’s ass this past day, and you’d be damned if he was going to ruin the fun time you earned.
“Well unless lover boy over here wants to drive your pain in the ass all the way back to Kansas, then be my guest.” Dean finishes with a smug smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling before he turns on his heel and strides out the door.
You can feel the blood boiling inside you as you grab your jacket from the back of your chair and chase after him, ignoring Ben calling after you.
“What the hell is your issue?” You scream across the parking lot as Dean stomps to the car where Sam’s already waiting.
Dean turns around and glares at you.
“My issue? I have no issue. I’m great!” Dean yells back.
“You’ve had an issue since the moment this hunt began. And even after it’s over you’re still being a pain in the ass.” You shout. “Now what the hell is your problem, Winchester?”
Dean shakes his head, his hand running down his face.
“You really want to know my problem, Y/N?” Your arms go wide, obviously wanting to know exactly what his issue is.
“You! You’re my issue.”
“What the hell did I do?” You yell in defense. You had done nothing to him. No pranks, no jabs, nothing.
“Everything! Every damn time you look my way, or laugh at my stupid jokes. Every time you walk around the bunker humming my favorite songs or run your fingers across my back as you walk by. Everything you do, Y/N. It drives me insane.” Dean’s chest heaves, his words shouted through the empty parking lot.
Your shoulders slump as his words assault you, you try to open your mouth, to say anything to him, but you can’t. You can barely think.
All those things, you had only ever done them because it made you feel connected to him. You liked humming to all those classic songs. He played them so much they got stuck in your head. And as stupid as his jokes were, you like stupid jokes. You liked how after everything, he could get so excited over a samurai sword. They were things you just did because you really didn’t know what else to do. Dean wasn’t really a “relationship” type of guy, so you figured you’d do the best you could with the little you were given.
“You wanted to know my problem, there ya go!” Dean’s voice brings you back as he sighs in exasperation, his arms slapping against his legs as he finishes.
You stare up at him, his eyes looking to the sky as he shakes himself at himself for letting himself lose control like that.
With his words still ringing through your eyes, you push yourself forward, striding across the parking lot until your close enough to grab onto his jacket and pull him to you as you crash your lips to his. Your mouth moves against his, fervent and eager, the taste of beer still lingering on his tongue, as his hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him as he leans into you, deepening the kiss, until you pull away, panting and breathless.
Dean stares down at you, his eyes shining in the street lights as a ghost of a smile appears on his face.
“Sam!” Dean calls over his shoulder. “You’re in the back.”
Before posting project photos of this piece I thought I’d share a sketch of what i’m making! This is my first attempt at making something from the late 19th century, and it’s based on fashion plates and advertisements from the 1890s.
It was supposed to be pretty simple but i’ve complicated it a bit (as I always do). The ensemble has three pieces - A skirt, a blouse (made like a corset cover), and a huge hat. But I also plan to make a full length coat to pair with it, which is inspired by the one Edith wore in Crimson Peaks.
I bought a two tone polyester taffeta for the dress. I think the color is gorgeous and it’s stiff enough to support the pleats in the skirt and massive sleeves. Plus it’s really cheap (thirty two dollars for the eight yards).
Going to trim it with some vintage lace, fake pearls, and gold buttons!