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elane-in-the-shadows · 5 years ago

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Red Queen Fan Fiction - Red Huntress Chapter 9

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

Find this on Wattpad and on AO3

Giselle offered her to take a bath at her home. As eager as Diana was to agree, embarrassment rose in her like the colour to her cheeks. She’d neither bothered to change clothes since her arrival, nor about the impression she gave, travel-worn as she was.

Giselle chuckled as she read Diana’s awkward expression but showed no irritation herself. So, Diana took her up on it and never let go of Giselle during the walk to Giselle’s home, closing in and stepping aside again only to feel the pull of their linked hands.

Giselle and her family – her parents and a little brother – rented two attic rooms in a larger farm and were allowed to share bathroom and kitchen with the farmers.

“Usually, we share the hot water, going one after the other in the evening,” Giselle explained “It’ll only be a little earlier today.” She winked. “We have running water and an oven to heat it,” she went on, explaining the tabs and the luxury they offered. She took her time with that, lingering on instead of leaving Diana alone as water filled the tub.

Diana wasn’t sure if she wanted that. She craved for Giselle’s smile and hands and –

Then Giselle stood still in front of her. For the longest moment, they just looked at each other. When Giselle grasped her shoulder to urge Diana to sit down, Diana obeyed without thinking about anything else but the girl in front of her.

Giselle knelt down, lifting her eyes to Diana’s. She fumbled with the hems of Diana’s shirt. “We could wash your clothes, too,” she said, and Diana nodded.

There was nothing but Giselle’s green-brown eyes.

“Should I help you taking them off?” Giselle said, and Diana nodded again. She also whispered her agreement as her hands cupped Giselle’s concentrated face. She worked slowly, taking her time to open each button of Diana’s plaid shirt one after the other. Diana’s breathing slowed, quickened, and became a gasp when her shirt was finally unbuttoned and she felt a shiver going over her skin.

Diana pulled away to throw off the shirt and Giselle grinned up to her, just before she laid her hands on Diana’s waist, shoving up her chemise centimeter by centimeter.

Diana kissed her brow as Giselle rose to a crouch and snapped Diana’s bra open. Both the bra and the chemise were gone in one fluid motion and Diana stood, opening her belt and pushing off her trousers, to let Giselle look her over.

It was different from the many times they’d casually changed in front of each other. Intense. Intimate. Yet she felt no awkwardness, or rather just a tiny bit of it, which turned this into a strange kind of challenge she couldn’t withstand.

Giselle breathed audibly. She touched Diana’s neck, startling her. But Giselle only loosened Diana’s braid, letting the long yellow waves of her hair fall down.

As Giselle’s fingers played with Diana’s tresses, brushing the skin on her back and shoulders, they kissed again. “You’re so pretty,” Giselle whispered.

Diana took her face in her hands. “So are you,” she said, locking her eyes with Giselle’s.

Giselle blushed, casting her gaze down for a second. When she lifted her eyes, she smiled. “Yes,” she agreed, and opened the bodice of her dress. It fell down, the skirts forming a circle around her feet. “There’s place for two in the tub,” she said. “Can I join you?”

“Yes,” Diana breathed, and squeezed Giselle’s hands, wishing they’d never stop touching.

Wrapped in towels and hushing their giggles, they rushed up the stairs to Giselle’s room under the roof. She shared it with her little brother, but now, in the afternoon, no one was disturbing them in the whole house. They fell on Giselle’s narrow bed, Diana with her back to the slanted roof; Giselle facing her.

Diana made a record of the moment as it was – the place for them alone, filled with an orange shine from the sunlight beaming right through the window, Giselle mere centimeters away from her.

They’d splashed, cuddled, and kissed in the tub, yet every touch had felt new. She didn’t know what to make of this – where they girlfriends now? Or was this indeed only a birthday present, an experiment, never to be repeated?

Diana loosened her fingers clasped in Giselle’s, letting them glide over the other girl’s arm, to her neck. It was still as exciting, arousing, as before. She gulped, tucking a lock of Giselle’s hair behind her ear, back inside the towel around her head.

Diana prepared to speak, but then Giselle stirred, her lips brushing Diana’s cheek, and rose in a flash of motion.

She rubbed her body and hair dry a final time, then threw the towels over a chair. Diana swallowed, not knowing where to look. Were they back to casual undressing and changing among friends, although Diana sensed the same intimacy as before?

But then, Giselle was already in her underwear and producing more clothes from a cupboard. “I must have something that’ll fit you,” she muttered, and pulled a shift dress over herself. She grinned, brighter than the sunlight, and passed two pieces of underwear to Diana. “These, maybe?”

Diana was glad for the distraction, sat and tried to exchange the towels for the underwear as unperturbed as Giselle. When she was done, she found Giselle hugging something to her chest, slightly reluctant to speak and thus belying her lightness from seconds before.

“What is it?” Diana cocked her head, beckoning Giselle. The latter blushed and slowly came closer, sitting down beside Diana.

“My present,” she said. Diana raised her eyebrows, and Giselle gave her a friendly pat. “What? I am not … hmm, ungrateful for your … kiss” – her eyelids fluttered – “but I did prepare something lasting as well.” With that, she lowered the piece of fabric she held and unfolded it.

It was a shift dress or night gown, similar to the one Giselle wore, with red and blue embroidery at the hems.

As Diana studied the gown, Giselle played with the ends of Diana’s damp hair and shrugged. “You need something to wear while your clothes dry,” she said casually, but the way she glanced and brushed over the embroidery made clear how proud she was of it, her own work.

Heat rose to Diana’s face and she bit her lips. “Thank you,” she said, taking the dress. Truth was, she neither liked dresses under which to wear a shift like this, nor night gowns. But she loved it as Giselle’s present, as she loved to imagine Giselle stitching the pattern of red and blue while thinking of her.

Leaning over her shoulder, Giselle whispered, “put it on,” and Diana obeyed.

Giselle was very satisfied with her sight apparently, given her smug expression. “You’ve talked about doing needlework before,” Diana remarked. “But … “

“But I haven’t had time to spend on it before,” Giselle replied. “Yes.” She looked down. “You see, there have been changes in my life, as in yours. I’ve left school.”

“Oh.” Diana blinked.

“Yes,” Giselle repeated. “That shouldn’t shock you though. You’ve done the same?”

And still it did. Diana couldn’t say why. Because she felt her path was worth leaving school for, unlike Giselle’s? When in truth, they’d always complained about school, too, about not learning anything new that wasn’t about farming, nothing to bring anyone out of this village.

Giselle flattened wrinkles her skirt. “However, I’m enjoying this so far. I’m past my dreadful first attempts, and I tailor clothes as well. For myself, and my family mostly, but I hope I can sell my embroidered stuff a little, through the travelling vendors.” Giselle fell silent, and Diana wondered if she thought about the clothes Diana had to have seen in Trial – clothes for Silvers, richer far beyond everything Giselle could make.

“Bet soon the whole county will know your style,” Diana said to counter such thoughts, and indeed, the corners of Giselle’s mouth twitched.

“We have our own style,” she said. A Red style.

Diana swallowed, for once noticing the same desire for respect in Giselle as in herself. “The patterns aren’t the same,” she observed instead, pointing between her and Giselle.

Giselle nodded, “I’ve experimented a little, but I was inspired by my great-grandmother’s clothes.” She outstretched her arm. “She came from across the sea when she was our age, and I’ve always loved those clothes and patterns only she wore, when I was little.”

“They’re great,” said Diana, but this new information woke her curiosity. “Do you remember more from her, about the other continents?” She tried not to sound too eager.

Giselle shook her head. “My father might,” she said, her gaze moving around before it returned to Diana. She took her hand. “But what do you have to tell?” she asked. “About Trial?”

This time, Diana felt a readiness to speak she’d lacked among her family in the morning. While she still thought about how to structure her experience into words, Giselle added, “seen any boy or girl you liked?”

Diana startled, about to deny out of reflex, but she was also tempted by the chance to tease Giselle. She cocked her head and grinned over her whole face, asking instead, “and what about you, have you met any girl here?”

Giselle blinked, tried to smile, and failed. She squeezed Diana’s hand, interspersing their fingers. “I wondered if I would,” she murmured eventually. She lifted her eyes. “But there is no one but you.”

Diana wasn’t sure if she could handle that confession.

The light brought out new colours in her hair as Giselle shook her head. “I believed that we’re friends,” she continued. “That working side by side, a few hours here, some touch there – that that was enough. Like that was all we were.

“But then you were gone, and I felt like I missed a piece of myself.” The clasping of Diana’s hand became tighter as Giselle pulled their joined hands closer to her body.

Was this how I felt? Diana wondered. But she could not say. In fact, she’d missed home in Trial so intensely, she was unable to determine how much had been due exclusively to Giselle.

Giselle paused. Like she waited for Diana to reply. But what could that answer be, when her heart raced and felt like it was tangled?

Giselle took a breath and fixed Diana with her eyes. She loosened her grasp to caress Diana’s cheek. “I’ve decided I wouldn’t waste time anymore,” she said softly.

Diana gulped. “Yes, She Diana agreed in a husky voice. “I don’t want that either.”

Giselle smiled, a little exhausted, but also happily, and very, very relieved.

“So we’re together,” Diana said, a doubt still lingering in her voice.

“We are,” Giselle stated, and kissed her.

Diana required a few days to settle in, but eventually, she made the decision her mother had asked of her: Diana chose her profession, and would be a hunter like her father, by starting as his apprentice.

Once she’d stated this, no one seemed surprised. Had it been that obvious, when Diana herself was uncertain if it was what she wanted? Yet it felt right enough, and not only a feral part of her wished to master the skills of a hunter, to track and endure in the wild, to wait for prey with the weight of a weapon in her hands.

She didn’t yearn to kill, but preparing for when it was necessary, approaching it in an almost controlled manner, helped her deal with the kill she’d already committed. The panic began to ease rather than flow and the nightmares pulled back as Diana spent more and more time in the forest, often only accompanied by Lily, their hunting dog, learning her trade.

And there was much to learn. Although she’d followed her parents on their hunts before, assisting wasn’t the same as mastering it. There were still their fighting training sessions and her father’s hunts at dusk and dawn she took part in every day now, but also whole days on the outside to learn, search, and observe. Her father had floods of knowledge to pass on, about seasons, tracking, animal behaviour, but he taught Diana bit by bit, and then left her to put it to use on her own.

She enjoyed this, being alone in the woods and instead of lonely in a room, but she couldn’t deny she favoured the times when Giselle stumbled onto her paths, in breaks between her jobs and other duties.

Diana began to imagine it as a game, as if she was tracked by the girl she loved instead of being a tracker, and instead of looking out for animals, she searched for hints betraying when Giselle was near.

It was a short summer, cold and wet, giving way to autumn way too soon. People worried about the harvest and the winter to come already. Giselle, continuing with her embroidery designs, began to wear an extraordinary headscarf against the cold, and finished several pieces of wool she sold in the village or gave to Diana.

“Why are you even here during daylight?” Giselle asked once. She had a little common knowledge about hunting.

Diana shrugged. “Blood beginner that I am, I need the light to search for animals.” She stopped, turning to Giselle at her side. “And what’s your excuse today?” She smirked. “Mushrooms?”

Giselle lifted her basket. “Herbs.” She returned the smirk. “Want any?”

Diana craved the offer almost as much as for Giselle’s touch. Her girlfriend was divine when it came to spices and herbs, and especially when she could combine them for the best teas.

Indeed, Diana needed Giselle’s teas to warm her during a day in the forest, although she wasn’t sure if it was the tea or the girl herself she desired. When there wasn’t hot water left in her canteen, nor a fire could be made, it was the stray kiss on the neck, the hand shoving down a stocking to touch warm, naked skin, that protected Diana against the cold and kept her going, while also leaving her longing for more.

All too often, Giselle left quickly, returning to her duties, and Diana with her dreams. After Diana’s birthday, they simply didn’t have enough time and space alone together.

They could though, if they’d tried harder. They’d told their families about getting together, but neither was ready to discuss spending the night together with them, even more so as neither of them had a room of her own. Maybe they were also too shy to proceed in a rush, so made each step on its own, savouring their love. Because there were also some hours in the morning or the afternoon, when Giselle would stay a little longer and they had something of a pick nick, spreading snacks on a blanket Giselle has embroidered – though they often preferred to spread each other on it, too.

The autumn had its own magical qualities which Diana sensed the more she studied the forest. The air was crisper, and new scents arose around her, scents that mingled with the smells of Giselle, who herself looked like an embodiment of autumn, with her brown hair and tanned skin, and eyes that held all colours of the forest.

Silly, wasn’t it? Years ago, Diana had thought Giselle was like spring. Or the queen of summer. Not long, and Diana would call her the indestructible life hibernating in winter.

She was all that to Diana, who realized this had to be what love did with you.

Giselle unbraided Diana’s hair, brushed it loosely with her fingers, spread it over her back and shoulders. Otherwise, Diana didn’t like wearing her hair open but Giselle she let go on with it, for she loved to take in the sight of it, the yellow tresses falling over Diana’s shoulders and breasts, like her own brown hair fell over hers.

Not that they were bare in that moment; it was a rare sunny autumn day, but surely not warm enough to undress. Yet the idea was there, in their minds, until they’d re-braid each other’s hair.

They laid on a blanket in a clearing, thighs touching, bootless foot tangled for warmth.

Giselle giggled as Diana’s kiss tickled her skin, and with a turn of her head, she took the chance to meet Diana’s lips with her own.

It was moments like this when Diana wished they weren’t outside, but in a room of their own, to get further than kisses and hands slipped under clothes for a few breaths. But –

Giselle took hold of her own as Diana shifted her position. “So you’ll really become a huntress,” Giselle said and grinned. “I have to say, you’re quite sexy in that outfit, with all that equipment.”

Diana quirked an eyebrow. “Any interest in learning to shoot?” she asked playfully. “I could use a hand sometimes.” It wasn’t the first time she asked this. She made a joke of it, again, as Giselle always declined, but deep down, she wished Giselle said yes. She probably made too much if it and yet – her, the huntress, and her girlfriend as her assistant, her hunting partner – they would almost be like Diana’s parents who were like real soulmates, partners in all aspects, reliable parents at one moment and silly lovebirds the next.

Giselle shook her head, slightly, as if it was truly a joke and not a fantasy to her. If so; Giselle didn’t need to enjoy hunting – or butchering, or fighting, or rebellion – to be with Diana.

Diana intended to kiss Giselle’s nose but the hold on her face became firmer.

Giselle’s stare fixed her. “This is it, then?” she asked, suddenly serious. “You’ll stay here? No more trips to the town?”

Diana breathed in sharply –

After a while, she reported the events in Trial to her parents. Slowly at first, during a training session, withholding the most decisive matter only she knew about.

Her parents offered no comments, whether due to their general silence regarding the Scarlet Guard or truly at loss for words, she didn’t know. Either way, she’d had enough of that.

“Nothing to say?” Diana exclaimed. “Really?” At least that made them frown. “Or do you just know nothing either?”

“Diana …” her mother began.

“You know what I mean,” Diana went on, “you, we’ve done this for years. Lying, stealing, fighting, whatever, and what do we get?!” It felt so good to say it, finally.

Diana lowered her voice again, straightened her spine. “I was child back then. Eager to trust and dream, unquestioning. But now that I’ve seen it?

“They ask us to risk our lives for them, but do they even trust us in return?”

Mama gulped. “…what?” The quiet tone was so unusual for her, who had such a striking presence. Now she was almost gliding into the shadows of the trees.

Diana’s eyes traced her, then slid to her father. “I only want to know what I am used for, if I’m used,” Diana finished.

Her mother looked at Papa, her arms crossed. Would she give in, after all this time? But as Papa inclined his head, Mama crossed the clearing, squeezing Diana’s shoulder as she passed her on her way to the path home.

So there was only Papa to glare at. He sighed. “I understand you don’t want to wait any longer,” he conceded. “If you were a proper, oathed member …”

“I killed someone,” she confessed.

Papa stared at her, his face like stone.

“I didn’t tell the Guard,” she added, the weight of her words crushing her like a breaking wave. For the tears, she didn’t notice when Papa broke his freeze, rushing at her. As he hugged her, soothing her, she told him what happened.

“I know,” he whispered again and again, but he never elaborated. Just that – understanding.

Diana didn’t need more, not after a part of her had feared to be despised for it.

“You were right not to tell them,” he said eventually, and although she didn’t believe he was convinced of that, she accepted the relief he provided – and his promise: To be sworn into the Scarlet Guard very soon.

She breathed out, closing her eyes. She kissed Giselle’s brow and sat up, Giselle following suit.

Diana looked down, Giselle’s hands in hers. She struggled for words, wishing to trust Giselle with her other dreams, with the knowledge of the Guard. Despite her personal doubts, she couldn’t give them up, nor their aims.

“I’m not rooted to this place. Or this job,” she managed eventually. Nor to this system. She squeezed their hands, lifting her head. “I belong with the people I love. They’re what matters.” She wanted her gaze to burn with the message underlying her words.

I love you too.

Did Giselle understand? She smiled weakly, but instead of relief, Diana found a cool gentleness in them, a distant politeness.

“I see,” Giselle said, her lips brushing Diana’s cheek as a goodbye. “Work waits,” she whispered and rose, pinning her hair in a messy know instead of having Diana re-braid it. As if she had not a second to spare.

@elliemarchetti @maudthebookeater @mareshmallow @marecalrandomstuff @mvaen @olivegreenolives @neyrriz @lilyharvord @misslucyhutton @gamer670 @loveverygalaxybouquetstuff @yjlover @avid-author-activist @blairistired @mycopdreamerlamp @sxfik @shadykittentraveler @scxrletguardsdawn @onlycosmere @lil-taco-kid @brightfairyyy

#one chapter and an epilogue to go #and i mean it this time #red queen #red queen fanfiction #victoria aveyard #diana farley #farley #captain farley #broken throne spoilers #king's cage #shade x farley #lgbt+#red huntress #red huntress ch 9

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zehypocriticaloath · 6 years ago

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Teeny, tiny sweaters

(Challenge idea given by @redheadrecon. Thanks!)

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“Rrrk. Rrrk.”

“Now, now. Don’t be fussy. You don’t get to choose what I pick.”

“Rrrk! Rrr, rawk, rawk!”

“You know damn well that the color suits you. It accents your feathers, brings out the sheen in them. Don’t give me that sort of squawking tone.”

“Damn! Damn!”

“Insolent child!”

Aldous clicked his knitting needles together, creating a small little clacking noise that did bring the squabbling, spoiled raven to attention. He pinned the unruly member of his unkindness with a rather piercing, stern stare, mouth set in an austere frown.

Roderick. The little insolent asshole. Always had been, always would be. Worse than Poe! Poe had humor to his rascally ways. Roderick was an ass, outright and to be sure. And he was loud. Loud and annoying. Surely he would make the house fall down around them with his squawking and shrieking.

He watched the scolded raven duck behind his elder one, Poe, their leader in their so called corvid family. Poe looked a bit smug as Roderick took to preening his left wing, as if to sulkily make himself look better despite his bruised ego. Ah, and yes, the wing! It was popping out of an expertly knitted and fitted.... sweater.

Yes, a sweater. In fact, they were all sporting sweaters. Annabel, Lenore, Roderick and Poe-- they were all wearing nice, warm sweaters that Aldous had lovingly knit for them. Each one was fitted perfectly from the softest yarn he had on hand, with holes for their wings. And each one displayed a different color and semi-festive pattern, the designs varying depending on their personalities.

Roderick, of course, had the most garish one of them all, complete with the knitted visage of a tongue-waggling Krampus marching along the bands of color. But the strange color choice and chosen image was, more or less, punishment for his, as Aldous had put it, “insolent” ways. Still, the chosen colors did make his particular ashen-oily sheen of his feathers pop out. Aldous was a professional when it came to choosing colors to further enhance someone’s appearance. Abelärd may have been the master artist in the family but, by God, Aldous gave him a run for his money when it came to making clothing.

Not a lot of people knew that Aldous was fond of sewing and knitting. It was a hobby he didn’t speak of. Not a single soul on that base had bared witness to his hidden trove of goodies-- a trunk packed with yarns of varying softness, displaying a wide gamut of colors and hues. Tucked in along with the yarn were packs of sewing needles, swatches of fabric and knitting hooks; threads, and patches, and anything else one could imagine one hiding in an artsy-crafty trunk.

All in all, the reason for his love of sewing and his ability to create clothing was only due to the undying patience and love of his mother.

Long ago, the twins had watched their father languish in his long-term illness before he finally succumbed to his withering cancer. After a proper time of grieving, the household was thrown into a state of chaotic flux. The twins’ mother, Giselle, had taken on most of the chores, trying to keep up with everything in her life. When she came to the conclusion that she couldn’t balance the books and do everything around the house, she came up with an ingenious idea.

Giselle Haswell wanted to make sure that her boys would not go through life helpless.

She purposely taught them how to clean the house proper, sanitizing counters and scrubbing the tub to a spotless sheen. She taught them how to do their own laundry, going as far as teaching them how to make their own soap. She taught them how to make meals for the family (often making batches of food bigger than what the three could eat, just so they could donate the ‘leftovers’ to the poorer families on the street). She showed them how to can food for later, how to create a budget and a shopping list. Above all, she taught them the domestic side of life. Always a believer that one could make do and thrive if they truly applied themselves, she worked hard to help make her boys confident in their activities and tasks.

Of course... the twins varied in their strengths and weaknesses, and she doled out certain roles to each as a result. She wanted the boys to take on a set routine of chores, always allowing them to, yes, make mistakes, but to always ask questions on how to better do a task. She refused to hold their hands, but she was always there on the sidelines, ready to offer advice.

As a result, Aldous found his passion in patching up clothes and making clothes. He was an avid learner, picking up techniques on sewing and stitching faster than his younger twin. At such a young age he showed excellent technique and form with even the fancier side of stitching, enjoying the challenge of embroidery. As such, he was given the duty of patching worn out clothing and making things from time to time, in order to save the family much needed money.

All of his knowledge as a kid helped him many times in his life. From fixing up clothing that he didn’t want to throw out to quickly creating perfect, tightly secure stitching for his patient’s wounds, fresh from the smoke-strewn battlefields of the second war.

Now, of course, he put his skills to use... knitting tiny sweaters for his unkindness and, now, the rat named Amour.

Poe watched with amusement as Aldous fussed and grumbled over the rat’s measurements. Still smug from Roderick’s recent scolding, the large raven perched upon his favorite little spot, his claws hooked into the eye sockets of the skull residing, with a place of honor, on his master’s desk (it was the skull belonging to Aldous’ old friend, Rasputin). The raven was looking dashing in his particular sweater. It was a soft but respectable light gray, the yarn flecked with little specks of black. Quite nice. The softest Aldous had on hand. What really made the raven stand out was his given pattern. It was a rather comical lump of coal on the chest, with the back reading ‘I’m an asshole’ in German.

“I don’t...” Aldous ran a hand through his hair, his face screwed up in concentration. Before him sat the little white rat, its nose twitching in anticipation. Next to him was a little lump of brown yarn in the vague shape of an itty, bitty sweater. “I’m not sure this will work. Your measurements are so small. I am used to working with ravens.”

The rat, as if understanding, cocked its head at the strange man. It looked as if it were considering what the man was saying to him, trying to make sense of the complexity, if not absurdity, of a rat-sized sweater.

Gingerly picking up the small sweater, Aldous looked down at his handiwork. Yes, a brown yarn had been chosen, but it was rather nice. A milk chocolate brown, not at all dark. He even knitted a tiny little s’more on the back of the sweater. A little inside joke, he chuckled in his own amusement. A little white rat wrapped up in a tiny brown sweater, just like a little roasted marshmallow sandwiched between two graham crackers.

Rubbing his thumb over the material, he felt a bit better with what he was doing. It was soft. Really soft. And he was sure it would compliment the rat along with keeping it warm. He knew the infirmary was warm right now, but he also knew power outages did happen. He loved the little rat. He cared about it. And if the heat did happen to go out, or Amour got a little chilly in the middle of the night...

No, he didn’t want to think what would happen.

“Alright, Amour. Are you ready to try this on?”

The rat on his desk squeaked inquisitively as the man held the small sweater out to him. Nose twitching once more, it daintily sniffed at the material. Was it food? Was it some new plaything for it to chew through?

With care, Aldous began to slip the sweater over the little rat’s head. At first all seemed to go well. The endearing little rodent didn’t panic, and wasn’t squirming or moving all that much. It was well behaved, just standing there, trusting Aldous enough to do what he wanted to do.

It took a fair bit of wiggling the sweater onto his model’s furry body, but he managed to get it on. After a bit of adjustment, Aldous sat back in his chair, rather proud of himself.

The s’mores-sweatered rat looked absolutely adorable.

“Ah, look at you! ” A deranged smile spread across the man’s face as he rubbed his hands together, almost devious in his delight. “You look very warm! Very cute! Ver--- wait. Hold on.”

Panic must have set in, for the rat, once a perfect little model for the Medic, was now beginning to back up in a little circle. It kept reversing unto itself, bumping into anything and everything that happened to be on Aldous’ desk. Tiny little squeaks began to sound from the struggling rodent, its cries causing the Medic alarm.

Look what you’ve done.

Aldous hissed to himself, trying to block out the nasty, vile but all too familiar voice that rose up from the depths of his mind, like a serpent prepared to strike the finishing blow.

You’re going to kill it. Give it a heart attack. And then what will people think of you?

“Amour,” the Medic gasped out, gently trying to coax the rat into ceasing by scooping it up. It only wiggled out of his hand, returning to its frenzied thrashing. “Calm down-- calm down! Stop! You’re going to--!”

Oops, there goes its head. Amour pulled his head right through the hole for the neck, and now it was this awkward little furred lump with a sweater on it, reversing in a wobbly, wonky circle, without a visible head.

Aldous tried to calm the little rat, but his efforts were in vain. His unkindness cawing out in amusement only provoked the little rat’s panic further, causing the unholy squeaking to reach a grand crescendo.

“Stop! Stop, stop, STOP! You’re going to hurt yourself! I don’t want that! I want to keep you--”

Pop!

Aldous felt his stopped heart skip back to life as relief flooded over him. With a comical little vibe to it, the tiny rat had wiggled completely out of the sweater, shedding it like a snake would shed old skin. He let out the breath he had been holding in, and his tense shoulders beginning to loosen up.

“...A--Amour? Amour, ssh, it’s alright.” He reached out to touch the rat, but it didn’t seem to respond to physical contact. “I am so very sorry. I did not mean to scare you. I--”

Confused, Aldous halted his actions of picking up the rat. Instead he watched, with mounting curiosity, as the rat sniffed the shed sweater with a renewed sense of interest.

A minute passed as the rodent checked the sweater out before, carefully, stepping onto it. With a few well placed shuffling motions, the rat fluffed it up into just the right little pile... for a nest.

“...Huh.” A small, relieved smile began to drift along his face. Aldous shook his head. “Not what I had in mind but... it’ll do to keep you warm at night. Until I knit you a bigger one, that is.”

The sweater for the rat was a complete failure. But hey, it made a rather nice, plush bed for the rodent.

#November Challenge Drabble #ic #writing featuring Aldous #writing featuring Aldo

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yesshinypizzastudentthings-blog · 8 years ago

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DODO BAR OR Gadielle Dress

This eclectic dress Dodo bar or detail with a short fringe, rickrack and embroidered sheer grommets. Lace up half cut. Pockets on seam. Long sleeved. #xD &; & #xD; fabrics: damask. & #xD; 100 per cent cotton. & #xD; Dry cleaning. & #xD; imported, India. & #xD; & #xD; Measuring & #xD; length: 36.25 in/92 cm, shoulder & #xD; S size

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Off The Shoulder

Casual Informal Dresses

Mini Dresses

Knee Length Dresses

Little Black Dresses

EDUN Tartan Shirtdress

Derek Lam 10 Crosby Maxi Dress with Flutter Sleeves

The Kooples Crinkle Dress

Zac Posen ZAC Zac Posen Joni Dress

KENDALL + KYLIE Leather Dress

Lanston Surplice Long Sleeve Dress

Diane von Furstenberg Jamie Dress

Rachel Pally Romanni Dress

Giambattista Valli Long Sleeveless Dress

Free People Sparklette Mini Dress

Mugler Long Sleeve Leather Dress

No. 21 Sleeveless Dress

Flynn Skye Bella Maxi Dress

Ella Moss Rosamund Dress

Diane von Furstenberg Wylda Dress

Ministry of Style Moroccan Tunic Dress

Alexander Wang Asymmetrical Draped Gown

MEESH Day Dress

Halston Heritage Draped Metallic Dress

MINKPINK Two Faced Knit Dress

Jonathan Simkhai Mixed Embroidered Midi Dress

Line & Dot El Ray Color Block Maxi Dress

Parker Parker Black Sherri Dress

T by Alexander Wang Tank Maxi Dress

Enza Costa Cashmere Side Slit Dress

Herve Leger Noemi Maxi Dress

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CLAYTON Ronni Dress

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Joie Pima Dress

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Veronica Beard Century Baby Rib Short Dress

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Club Monaco Thirza Dress

Susana Monaco Natalie Dress

Zero + Maria Cornejo Eve Tevi Dress

bobi Off The Shoulder Dress

Versace Long Sleeve Dress

Needle & Thread Embroidery Rose Prom Dress

Cinq a Sept Phoenix Gown

Philosophy di Lorenzo Serafini Sleeved Long Dress

Chinti and Parker Breton Dress

Sea Embroidered Tee Dress

Zero + Maria Cornejo Triptych Dress

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Black Halo Hendricks Gown

Sea Embroidered Tee Dress

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Baja East Cutout Asymmetrical Hem Dress

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Baja East Cutout Asymmetrical Hem Dress

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Derek Lam 10 Crosby Godet Tank Dress

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Prabal Gurung Long Sleeve Printed Dress

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Thakoon Knotted Gown with Cutouts

Reem Acra Alia Strapless Lace Gown

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Preen By Thornton Bregazzi Gracie Dress

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Lela Rose Ruffle Skirt Dress

Rebecca Minkoff Leslie Double Breasted Dress

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ehabghoneem · 7 years ago

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@angelinajolieofficial @bellahadid @gisele So Elegant #pfw #parisfashionweek #lebanesedesigner #springsummer #newdress #stunningcollection #embroidery #streetstyle #streetfashion #ootd #likealways #blog #dresses #fashion #fashiongram #style #beautiful #currentlywearing #looklook #whatiworetoday #ootdshare #clothes #mylook #likeforlike #todayimwearing #instafashion

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contexts22-blog · 8 years ago

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MAGAZINE TASK

My research for the task...

History of jeans advertising

The first pair of women’s jeans were made in 1934 by Levi Strauss & Co. these jeans were marketed across the Western United States to the women working on the ranches.

Levi Strauss & Co. had been manufacturing men’s jeans since the 1870s so this was also a first for advertising women’s jeans.

In the 1940s Levi jeans became well known for its working clothes, in these adverts, which were aimed at a rural audience, they didn’t have many women in them, interestingly in these adverts only one of the women are wearing jeans, yet she’s facing away from the camera.

It wasn’t until the 1950s that jeans became leisure wear instead of working clothes, in this image, instead of looking away from the camera the female model is facing the viewer, it appears as if it’s more acceptable for her to be wearing jeans in this ad.

Youth culture became popular in the 1960s with Wrangler introducing their new Avondale fabric for womens jeans.

The fabric was meant to reduce the need of ironing the jeans as it was a lot smoother and softer.

A lot of denim designers decided to try shock advertising as this would attract more attention and controversy, an example of this was a campaign by a brand called Jesus Jeans, their advert got a lot of attention and became very memorable, although the company didn’t last long some companies decided to stick with their classic adverts in the 70s, after this young culture trend Lee jeans makes an ad to appeal to Americans wanting the whole American values back, so start introducing the typical picnic basket setup back into their ads.

In the 1980s Calvin Klein started making more provocative adverts, hiring Brooke Shields to star in their TV commercial who was only 14 at the time, Calvin jeans then went on to be the most popular brand of jeans of the decade.

In the 1980s a new style of jean became popular, the Jordache jeans were well known for being very tight fitted which wearers particularly liked for showing off their behind, with unique embroidery on the back pocket, this ad shows off the brands signature sexuality into a classic Western scene.

Levi’s jeans ad on the other hand wanted to reach out their audience as being timeless and dependable, this ad came out in 1983.

In the 1990s a model named Anna Nicole Smith ends up being the new Guess jeans model and makes sales rocket for the company, showing that using sex needs for advertising works.

Versace released a designer jeans line, using different models for a “sexy female fashion” ad campaign, featured in this ad Nadia Auermann and Claudia Schiffer show off their very impossibly long legs. In 2009 True religion jeans release an ad featuring supermodel Gisele Bundchen, the ad shows off attitude.

In 2010 a jackass style ad was released by Diesel, the slogan “be stupid” encourages users to live a “regret free life”.

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twenty6magazine · 8 years ago

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PFW AW17 - Day 5

Rahul Mishra

Rahul Mishra’s collections are frequently filled with innovative interpretations of iconic pieces of art, often with references to Pointillism – “the mother of pixels”. For his AW17 offering, Rahul Mishra has chosen to focus on his passion by taking references from some of Post-impressionism’s greats , including those painted by the likes of Vincent Van Gogh and Paul Signac. This collection was appropriately entitled Infinity.

“Instead of using paint and brush, we use a simple thread and needle, and try to replicate those beautiful dots. The human hand, what it can achieve, stretches to infinity.” - Rahul Mishra

The idea materialized while walking through the permanent collection of the Centre Pompidou. Standing in front of the canvases, he considered not just what artists do but how they think. This led to Mishra incorporating hand-woven techniques into the pieces, most of which were produced by Indian artisans.

Silhouettes fuse together to produce soft, sporty basics that have become his signature. Scrupulous attention was paid to detail with full sized dresses acting as fashion’s response to a canvas. Embroidered landscapes create tiered ruffle skirts and oversized palazzo pants were present in a magnitude of colours.

The show had a playful effervescence to it and some fun optical effects, and the occasional punk reference, quirky construction details enthralled the audience, one in particular revealing a stunning 3D floral embroidery sewn meticulously on the back of a bomber. The collection pays testament to Rahul Mishra as an artist in an authentic way that’s compelling enough to obssess over.

Andreas Kronthaler for Vivienne Westwood

Just because Vivienne Westwood is no longer the designer for her own brand, (she handed the role over to her husband, Andreas Kronthaler last year), it doesn’t mean the brands values and reputation went with her. Throughout her prestigious career, Vivienne Westwood has created the unique notion of Punk couture stemming from her own personal style, which is something that Kronthaler has perpetuated for his AW17 collection, his sophomore offering for Vivienne Westwood.

The AW17 collection rang true to Vivienne Westwood’s punk roots, showcasing a number of tartan pieces – in the way of textured capes and jackets. A bright teal sweatshirt reading "Punk" in bold block capitals, as well as the more elaborate, iridescent dresses gestured to Westwood's own creative vision. A new punk-rock angle was applied to the garments as they hosted a sprinkling of white and black paint splatters, as if someone had thoughtfully thrown paint over them. This was also done to purple jeans which sported blue and yellow splatter and, and blue and white striped denim look that came under attack from red, white, and blue paint. - an effect that is refreshingly liberating.

Kronthaler added his own spin to the collection, describing the assortment as a homage to Austria, his home country, and being inspired by the Viennese Modernism of the 1920s and 1930s, in part by the paintings of Gustav Klimt.

Despite Westwood’s step down, she’s still the iconic face of the label. She made her modelling debut at the show as she strutted down the runway several times wearing oversized, high-volume clothing - proving she is and always will be the star of the show.

Elie Saab

Elie Saab wowed with a glitzy, dark-spirited collection of evening dresses with hints of sporty and street-wear elements, all inspired by the romantic ballet Giselle. He added a twist of moody glamour to the collection by designing the pieces in a sombre colour palette of deep purples, inky black, and royal blue - a far cry from Gisele’s pristine white costume.

Elie Saab stayed true to the feminine silhouettes of the ballet; mostly evident through lace, embroidered or sheer billowing skirts inspired by tulle tutus. Corseted dresses with ribbon details and laced up backs also resembled ballerinas dresses. Purple dirndl’s boasted horizontal lace mesh panels and velvet ribbons framed the necks of those who wore dramatic maxi-gowns. Lilies were frequently seen in the collection, mainly in the way of gold studs on the back of leather jackets, adding a sense of edge as they adorned the clothing.

In total there were 65 looks that came down the catwalk during his show, each one more majestic than the next. The dresses resembled pieces of art rather than clothing made by lace, sheer, ruffles, and fur.

TWENTY6X

Words by: Alice Lamaison

#rahulmishra #vivienne westwood #paris fashion week #aw17 #collection #designer #catwalk #reviews #twenty6 magazine

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