#Oxford fabric

[whats-in-a-sentence]

I began graduate school at Oxford University in the fall of 1984, and within a few months the corridors were abuzz with talk of a revolution in physics.

"The Fabric of the Cosmos" - Brian Greene

[texhongyuan]

Oxford Cloth Military Camouflage Fabric

[zanyingnet]

Unveiling Quality and Style: Suzhou Zanying - Your Trusted Oxford Fabric Manufacturer

In the realm of textiles, where durability meets fashion, Suzhou Zanying Import And Export Trade Co., Ltd. stands tall as a renowned printed fabric manufacturer. Specializing in the production of high-quality Oxford fabric, this brand has seamlessly woven its way into the hearts of consumers worldwide.

Introduction

Suzhou Zanying, a prominent player in the textile industry, takes pride in its status as a reliable oxford fabric manufacturer. With a commitment to delivering excellence, the company has carved a niche for itself, earning accolades for its dedication to quality and innovation.

The Oxford Fabric Difference

Oxford fabric, known for its distinctive basketweave pattern, is a popular choice for various applications, from fashion to industrial use. Suzhou Zanying's expertise lies in harnessing the potential of this fabric, elevating it beyond conventional expectations. The company's commitment to using cutting-edge technology in the manufacturing process ensures that each product meets the highest standards of quality.

Unveiling Suzhou Zanying: The Printed Fabric Maestro

Suzhou Zanying isn't just an ordinary oxford fabric manufacturer; it is a maestro in the realm of printed fabrics. The brand's dedication to staying ahead of the curve is evident in its extensive range of printed fabrics, each telling a unique story through intricate designs and vibrant colors. Whether you're in search of fabrics for apparel, home decor, or accessories, Suzhou Zanying has you covered.

Why Choose Suzhou Zanying?

Unmatched Expertise: With years of experience in the industry, Suzhou Zanying has honed its expertise, making it a go-to choice for those seeking top-notch quality.

Innovative Designs: The company's commitment to staying on trend is reflected in its ever-evolving collection of printed fabrics. From classic motifs to avant-garde designs, Suzhou Zanying caters to diverse tastes.

Quality Assurance: When it comes to textiles, quality is non-negotiable. Suzhou Zanying takes pride in its stringent quality control measures, ensuring that each yard of fabric meets the highest standards.

Global Reach: As an import and export trade company, Suzhou Zanying has a global footprint, making its premium fabrics accessible to customers around the world.

Exploring Suzhou Zanying's Product Range

Fashion Fabrics: Suzhou Zanying's fashion fabrics redefine style. From casual wear to haute couture, the printed fabrics add a touch of sophistication to any design.

Home Decor Collection: Elevate your living space with Suzhou Zanying's home decor collection. Printed fabrics for curtains, upholstery, and more, bring a dash of personality to your surroundings.

Accessories Galore: Dive into a world of accessories crafted from Suzhou Zanying's printed fabrics. From bags to scarves, the options are as diverse as your imagination.

Suzhou Zanying: A Sustainable Approach

In an era where sustainability is paramount, Suzhou Zanying embraces eco-friendly practices. The company is committed to reducing its environmental footprint, incorporating sustainable materials and ethical manufacturing processes.

Conclusion As the curtain falls on our exploration of Suzhou Zanying Import And Export Trade Co., Ltd., one thing becomes abundantly clear – this is not just a brand; it is a symbol of quality, style, and innovation. Whether you're on the lookout for an esteemed oxford fabric manufacturer or a reliable source for captivating printed fabrics, Suzhou Zanying is the name that resonates with both trust and trendiness. Elevate your textile experience with Suzhou Zanying – where every fabric tells a story, and every creation is a masterpiece.

[wjtexhongyuan]

Oxford Cloth Camouflage Fabric

Oxford fabric camouflage fabric is a sort of textile generally used for army and outside packages. It is thought for its sturdiness and resistance to put on and tear. Oxford cloth is a sort of woven fabric that has a feature basket-weave structure. It is made by way of interlacing multiple yarns in a way that creates a textured and robust fabric. This construction gives the fabric strength and makes it appropriate for numerous makes use of.

[crazydiscostu]

Jsaux Steam Deck Shoulder Bag

The Jsaux Steam Deck Shoulder Bag has been designed for gamers on the go and has caught the attention of Steam Deck enthusiasts and handheld gaming aficionados alike. Its assertive promise of protecting the users valuable gaming consoles and accessories is certainly intriguing, but does it live up to the hype? Lets find out! Product supplied for review purposes Jsaux Shoulder Bag For Steam Deck…

[mariasont]

Give This Old Man a Heart Attack - A.H

a/n: incredibly self-indulgent per usual because i'm the biggest cry baby to ever exist

masterlist

₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader

summary: you make a mistake that almost gets you killed and hotch has a few choice words about it

warnings: slight angst, happy endings, established relationship, you're in trouble, suggestive ending nothing crazy, hotch is a sucker and gives in way too easily to you

wc: 0.9k

You were an idiot. You were so utterly stupid, and you could feel the heat coursing through you, prickling at your fingertips and scorching your ears. You had braced yourself for this moment all day, but the sheer anger in Hotch's eyes was something no amount of bracing could shield you from.

You were quite accustomed to his eerily tranquil expression, often misleading, like a wolf in sheep's clothing. Today though, you were the focus of that discerning stare. 

"Do you understand that gravity of your actions today?"

You were fighting every urge to cry. Confrontation had always been your Achillies' heel, a fact that seemed laughable given your line of work.

You weren't talking about the type of confrontation that came with gunning down unsubs or running into burning buildings. No, it was the intimate kind, the kind that involved the disappointment in the eyes of those you cared about, those you respected, especially him.

So here you stood, tears simmering at the edges of your vision, your hands fidgeting and folding over themselves, knuckles whitening with the pressure.

Your lips parted, ready to speak, to defend yourself, but the rising lump in your throat held the words captive. Silence seemed like the better choice, so you offered a nod instead.

Hotch's hand briefly obscured his face, thumb and middle finger pressing against the bridge of his nose, as he cast a handful of documents onto his desk. They landed haphazardly, a chaotic reflection of the mistakes you made on this case.

"You could've gotten killed." Each word was forced out between clenched teeth. Never a good sign. "In fact, you were this close."

You felt his assessment was inflated, but now was definitely not the right time to point that out. You swallowed the rising retort and cautiously shifted a fraction closer to the desk, eyes flicking to the closed door behind you.

"I'm sorry, Aaron," you said softly, voice betraying the slightest fracture. "It won't happen again."

The sound of your strained syllables caused his head to jerk up. Contrarily, you recoiled, bowing your head into your chest as you feigned interested in the carpet's intricate threads. It was an interesting color. 

You failed to register him circling the desk. Not until the space between you was nearly nonexistent. The toe of his shoes just within your field of view. They were semi-brogue oxfords. His favorite.

The accumulated emotions of the week finally broke through, your shoulders trembling as you frantically brushed away the mortifying tears with your sleeve, only to feel his hands on your shoulders, drawing you into his chest.

"No, no," you protested, but the resistance in your voice was absent in your actions, as you found yourself easily giving into the warmth of his chest. "Don't feel bad for me just because I'm crying."

He said nothing, just a faint hum that filled the space, the vibrations sending ripples across your cheek. 

"You—, you were reprimanding me," you paused to sniffle, "and I deserve to be reprimanded. I know what I did was stupid."

"It was." His hand lay on your back, thumb circling lightly through your dress shirt, nearly burning through the fabric. "But I'm not going to continue to berate you when I feel as though you've learned your lesson."

"You weren't berating me," you mumble against his shirt.

"I made you cry."

When you looked up, your saw the concern etched on his face, brows pinched, a frown marring his handsome face. His hands cradled your face, thumbs gently clearing the tears as you breathed out a sigh.

"I think you know me well enough to know that it doesn't take much to make me cry."

This was true. You kept your emotions were always close to the surface, whether from happiness, sadness, or sheer frustration. 

Once you had sobbed over the unequal lengths of your shoelace bows. Morgan then proceeded to ask if you had ever been tested for autism.

"It doesn't make it any more disheartening to see," he said, shifting his hands to rest on your shoulders. He looked tired and it made you want to cry all over again.

"Would you feel that way if I was Reid?" You asked. It was a loaded question. One you peppered him with often.

You had strived to draw clear lines between your professional and personal lives, but moments like this made it very difficult. 

He didn't even bother you with a response, and he didn't need to. You knew the answer.

Another quick look over your shoulder, and you pressed a swift kiss to his lips. There was a moment of hesitation from him, the stickler for rules that he is, but soon his restraint gave way, his hand seeking you with a desperate intensity.

He drew back just enough to study your face, like he was trying to commit every detail to memory, like he was making sure you were really there.

"You really scared me today," he confessed, your foreheads resting together as your eyes locked.

"I know."

"Please don't do that again," he implored, pausing only to plant another quick kiss on your upper lip. "This old man's heart can only take so much."

You beamed at him with a cheeky smile. "I can't make any guarantees."

As you headed for the door, he sent a quick slap to your ass, drawing out a bubbly giggle that vibrated through the room.

That old man's heart definitely might give out after what you had planned for tonight.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[kentoxo]

friction | you x crush!nanami pt. 1

pairing: reader (f) x crush!nanami

synopsis: [AU] you have always had a crush on nanami. since the day you were hired as his personal assistant, you've been right at his side combating numbers and making money within the finance department for the company you two worked for. but, things take a turn when nanami catches wind of your feelings, and rejects you. little did he know the weight of his mistake.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, sexual tension, jealousy (future smut)

a/n: first!! ever!! story-driven smut!!! im so excited! literally love this man sm and have yet to make any sort of fic on him. ahhh!! let me know if yall like this idea! i'll be releasing mini parts sporadically as my free time allows me to :)

December | Tokyo, Japan

Nanami relied on you, simply because you made it a point to become ever so reliable to him.

Monday through Friday, you would always arrive just a few minutes before him, feigning an earlier arrival with your coat stowed away, and your computer on with work tabs open on the monitor. This morning, like every morning, went exactly within your expectations. You’d know he arrived by the sea of ‘goodmorning, Mr. Nanami’ flooding the office. The firm steps of his Italian oxfords would always remind you to straighten your back and await him with his cup of coffee in hand. 

“Goodmorning, Nanami,” you hum, your words sliding off your tongue like butter. You don’t look at him, as you were busy basking in the privilege of long-dropped formalities. Although Nanami was very strict with work and coworker relationships, he only accepted you speaking to him informally. At least, in regards to his honorifics. 

“‘Mornin’,” Nanami huffs. He takes a seat beside you, stripping away his black peacoat. It was a heavy winter in Japan, so in the ocean of snow and winds were city workers and dwellers, draped in coats or inappropriate attire. You knew it was rude to stare, but you were always entranced from seeing his body in his usual beige suit. A veiny hand presents itself before you. 

You carefully fill his hand with his hot-brewed coffee, “just the way you like it. Your favorite barista was in today, finally. He was out with a cold, and took a few days off sick.” 

Nanami’s free hand frantically moves his mouse, impatiently waiting for his computer to illuminate on. “It’s unfortunate his counterparts cannot mimic his talent. We may have to poach him into our corporate cafe.” 

You begin to draft an email, the lingering warmth from his coffee resting in your hands. “I can draft an email for you if you’d like. You have a meeting with Mr. Takada at 2, so it could be opportune to mention it.” 

His eyes casually flicker over to the calendar pinned on the dividing cubicle wall, between both of your computers. It was organized in neat font thanks to you and your handwriting. Hazel eyes begin to scan the calendar, with Nanami lightly cupping his mouth. “And were you able to postpone the team meeting for today?” 

You nod, never missing a beat, “I’ve long sent the email, and made my rounds earlier today to remind them that we will not be gathering today. I’ve set up an alternative forum that works for everyone's schedule, including ours.” You reach over for a folder you had neatly sitting in your ‘complete’ basket. “I’ve already printed copies for the documents we’ll be going over, and booked conference room 3.” 

“My favorite,” Nanami breathed out between swigs of his bitter coffee. “Did you double check everything?” 

“All documents were revised 3 times for mathematical errors, grammar, and consumability. I’ve also prepared catering to be brought tomorrow, as the meeting would take place at the beginning of everybody's shift.” 

The blonde man stripped off his blazer, revealing his alluring, navy blue shirt. He neatly drapes it over the back of his seat and leans back once again. He crosses his arms over his chest, the bulge of his bicep evident under the fabric of his dress shirt. “Any new updates from Mr. Takada or the team?” You could hear the office quiet down, the sudden silence of keyboard tapping and casual conversation. 

“Mr. Takada has yet to send anything, so that is still pending. The team, however, has made quite the advance in their work. They’ve already predicted our numbers for the end of the year, with our solidified, confirmed numbers already calculated and organized in a shared Excel.” 

Nanami smirks mischievously, “I don’t believe it. How’d you manage to get that out of these loafers?” A few of the staff playfully complain, receiving a small chuckle from Nanami. You felt your cheeks warm up from his hidden dimple coming to the spotlight of his lips. 

They all go back to their work after exchanging light words and laughter. You lean over slightly towards Nanami, not giving him any sort of eye contact. “I let them choose the breakfast we will be catering for the meeting,” you whispered playfully. 

He leans as well, “you truly are a woman of trade, Y/N.” He quickly opens up a few documents on the screen while finishing the final drop of his coffee. His bottom lip glistened with coffee, having him casually drag his tongue to wipe it off. “How about our lunch for today? You and I, that is,” he made sure to clarify. 

You opened your drawer and fished out a menu. It was a menu from a seafood restaurant that opened close to the office. You slid it to him, opening it up to reveal his annotations when he initially looked through it. “I scheduled an order for both of the dishes that you had circled. Both options look delicious, so I figured we could sample from one another's plate.” 

Nanami turns to you, his lips hinting at a smile. He lightly tugs the bottom of his lip with his teeth, sending shots directly at your heart. “What are we drinking?” 

“I couldn’t find your favorite iced tea, but they have this pomegranate drink that I think you’d enjoy greatly,” you hum confidently, “it has yuzu in it.” 

Nanami’s lips finally curve into that saccharine sweet smile. “Why do I even clock in anymore?” Nanami jokes, “I can be on autopilot so long as I have you Y/N. Thank you for being so diligent.” He begins to rise from his chair, causing a few of your fellow coworkers to look over. “I’m off to the kitchen to grab some snacks. Would you like anything from the cafe?” 

You nod, “tell any of the baristas my name, they’ll know. They also have those apple pies you like today, so definitely grab one while they’re still available.” 

With an excited hum, Nanami walks away from you, your eyes glued to how good that blue skirt hugged his torso. Broad shoulders, sharper blades, and muscular. His scent wafted you when he left his seat, the notes of sandalwood and frankincense taking you over. But your thirsting thoughts simply had to be bursted by Yū Haibara. He temporarily took a seat in Nanami’s seat, and turned your chair over to face him. 

“Keep staring and maybe you might actually start drooling,” Haibara humors. Before you, Haibara was Nanami’s only right hand man. He is not as diligent as you are, but he keeps up with Nanami the way others can’t. “I thought you wanted to keep your crush a secret?” 

Before you could respond, your hand immediately cups around Haibara’s mouth. “I’ll punch the drool out of your mouth so we can twin– can you please not say that out loud, in the office?” You grit your teeth after your words, letting your hand fall to reveal a cheeky smile from the obsidian-haired man. 

“That is the most aggressive thing you’ve ever whispered to me,” Haibara whispered back, finally using his head voice. He was lucky his voice wasn’t too loud or else you would’ve mauled him. “That’s no way to speak to your manager.”

“If you were my manager, nothing would get done,” you teased, looking back at your computer to analyze some of the numbers Nanami sent you. “Did you need something, or are you just here to mess with me?” 

“Both!” Haibara hums. “I’m not messin with ya, rather I just want to keep my eye out for you. I’ve already told you about how Kento feels about dating. I would hate to see you–” 

“I know, I know,” you quickly shut down, waving your hand in his face. “I’m not trying to act delusional or anything. I already like him, so there’s nothing I can do.” Haibara stays quiet, not wanting to bother you. 

Haibara knows when to draw the line when he teases you. He reveals a paper from who knows where and offers it to you. It was a thank you letter from the Sales Department. “I visited them as soon as I came in today. They thanked you for helping them with a small project and asked to transfer you back.” 

You picked up the letter, your cheeks going warm again. You pucker out your bottom lip and hold the letter to your chest. “I miss my team so much! Ah, it felt so good to work with them again!” Your eyes then flicker at Nanami’s small name tag beside your desk. 

It wasn’t that Nanami was this amazing man, but he was wonderful. When you were transferred from the Sales Department to the Finance Department, you weren’t sure you were going to do well. Especially considering you were transferred specifically to be Nanami’s assistant. But on your first day, you noticed that Nanami joined you in the empty desk beside your own. His office was not big enough to host you and your needs, so he has refused to use his office since then. He told you it was necessary to work with one another, and that sacrifices on his end must be seen in order for work to get done. 

Since then, you have never let him down. 

“But I’d never leave this,” you say, the sentiment in your words striking Haibara. “Their words are kind, but Nanami’s words are heavy. I feel… appreciated by him.” 

Haibara scoffs enviously, crossing his arms over his chest, “wish that was me. Nanami never made me feel appreciated. He didn’t even congratulate me when I was promoted to Head Manager!” 

“And I still won’t,” a deep voice sounded from behind you. Turning around, a smile tickled your lips as Nanami came back. One hand occupied your drink, while the other held a steaming hot apple pie. He delicately places your drink on the corner of your desk before going to Haibara, lightly spinning the chair with a push from his knee. “Off.” 

“Am I nothing to you?” Haibara moans theatrically. “You’re commanding me like a dog on your couch.” 

Nanami assumes his seat after ripping Haibara off of it, “I’d still let a dog sit on my couch. Anyways, what did you need Ms. Y/L/N for?” 

Haibara quickly rushes to your side while playfully sticking his tongue out towards Nanami. “I was passing her a letter from the Sales team. They want to steal her back from us.” 

You quickly elbow his stomach from him not saying the whole truth. 

But it was too late. “Is that right?” Nanami murmurs. He moves his mouse to wake up the computer, immediately getting back to his workflow. “They can try, but it’ll never happen,” Nanami said simply, “I’d never approve it.” 

It was… a compliment? Well, that’s how it felt like to you. It felt like Nanami wanted you all to himself, but only in a work capacity. Despite this being platonic and strictly work related, it still sent waves of emotion to your heart. 

Haibara chuckles, “who knows? Maybe Y/N will go on her own accord.” You look back at Haibara, practically seething at his unthinkable words. Haibara quickly puts his arms over his stomach, protecting himself from another potential blow. 

Nanami quickly removes his hands from his keyboard and looks over at Haibara. His face was distasteful. “Move away from my assistant before you rub your stupid on her. While you’re at it…” Nanami reaches over to his rack of documents and pulls out a very thick folder with a label that reads ‘To Do.’ He eagerly holds it out to Haibara, who reluctantly takes it from him. “These are all the clients we need to look through. Pick out at least 20 that you think would be an asset to the company if we worked with them.” 

Haibara, without another word, drags his feet back to his office. You try to hide your smile as you excitedly pick up your iced drink. Taking a sip, you let out a satisfied sigh. “Thank you for getting me this, Nanami. I hope there wasn’t a line or anything.” 

“None at all,” Nanami hums. “I didn’t realize that you liked your drinks so sweet, Y/N. I could swear you usually get a different drink.” 

Your shoulders hang a bit from his words, but you were still quite upbeat, “it’s been the same since I was transferred to your department.” You made sure not to imbue your words with disappointment as you would hate to make him feel guilty. “It’ll be a year soon since I’ve joined the Finance Department.” You pointed to the day on the calendar, which was marked clearly with an X. 

Nanami looks over at you with a warm smile, “you have been a wonderful addition to the team. I’m glad that Mr. Takada knew what I needed, and recommended you.” 

Unable to contain your happiness from his flattery, you quickly glue yourself to your monitor. You tap away at your keyboard like a maniac, attempting to calm the quick beating of your heart. Your drink, in a way, was tasting a little sweeter than usual after his words. 

[gia-d]

Back in October last year, I started reading This is an Adjuration by @not-freyja.

By the time I had made it to chapter 5, I had already started typesetting this story as I read because I knew this would be one of those stories that I needed to have on my shelf.

When I finally caught up to the story at chapter 31, I begged the author to let me bind this when it was finished.

Nearly a year later, and what is probably the most important bind of my life is finally finished. Check out these glamour shots, and if you want to hear more about the actual binding process and about how this fic actually changed my life, see below.

So funny story, before I get into the technical side of this bind, but this fic actually changed my life. Not as in I was greatly emotionally moved by the story, though don't get me wrong I absolutely was, but genuinely this fic introduced me to some of the best people I have ever had to privilege of knowing (Hello Class, you know who you are 🩷), and also, it introduced me to Freyja, the incredibly talented author, who, as I type this, is curled up in bed next to me fast asleep after flying half way around the world to go on a two week long date with me.

Moral of the story folks is comment on the fics you like. You might accidentally meet the love of your life on, and I can't believe I'm saying this, AO3.

Anyways, about the bind!

This bind was a challenge from day 1. I had to do the typeset for this 300k word fic 4 times, and had to split it across 2 volumes. This was the longest fic I have ever attempted to bind, and it was so thick I couldn't get it in the paper trimmer.

To make this book as durable as possible, I attempted a few techniques. I secured it with 3 tapes, I made an Oxford hollow, I rounded the spine, I made a slipcase and I used 2.3mm boards where normally I use 1.8mm.

The slipcase is covered with embossed faux leather, buckram and plain ribbon, and lined with gold satin fabric. I've never made a slipcase before so this was an experience.

The books are covered with an emerald green silk finish bookcloth which really gave the books the luxury they deserved. I foiled custom end papers as well as every chapter title page using heat reactive transfer foil on toner ink (never again I am never doing that again omg it took days). Huge thank you to @la-sera for letting me use her artwork which helped inspire this fic!

The grey flashback chapters I had to use HTV for the border decoration and I'm very happy with how that turned out because it was so easy and straight forward, unfortunately it just wasn't viable for the whole book.

It feels weird to finally have these books done. They have my blood, sweat, tears and my heart poured into them, and I've been working on them for so long that it's odd to actually have them finished. I'm so proud of this bind, and feel like I've grown so much as a fanbinder by making these.

Anyways, if anyone has any questions about the process, please don't hesitate to ask!

(and if you are an Linked Universe fan and haven't read Adjuration yet, this is your sign!)

[sytoran]

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟎𝟎𝟑 — 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇-𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

kinktober day 003 | IW!wife!wanda x gn!reader

you've always loved writing stories since young, but the tale of you and your wife writes itself, and it ends with a sweet happy-ever-after.

cont. soft sex, established relationship, romance + fluff

word count. 1477

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

You’ve always had a thing for writing stories.

From the most devastating tragedies of a sapphic couple in medieval times, to the spiciest of female homoerotic tension during a zombie apocalypse, there were no words beyond the coaxing grasp of your vivid intelligence.

Encompassing was what it was, how the words flowed from the edge of your mindwires to the tips of your fingers, spilling onto page after page of literary beauty. You could get lost in it for days on end, spinning that marionette with a poetic dexterity, making her dance to your stories until her legs could take no more.

It was no secret that writing had been an extraordinary talent of yours, that would later take shape in the path of your future career. 

So there you were, sitting at your study desk on a lazy Saturday morning, nimble fingers flying over your keyboard in an intricate dance, each pausable breath, each rush of words that woved into the fabric of your story.

It’s quite picturesque, if you’re being frank; what with freshly brewed coffee in a steaming hot mug that read ‘Pride not Prejudice’ (Yes, there was an overload of rainbows decorating its surface,) and a breathtakingly idyllic view of the morning sky.

Of course, the skyline would never quite compare to the sight of your lady stepping out of the bedroom. The only causation to cease your words.

“Y/N?”

It’s a beautiful calling, tainted with a sleep-dragged croak of the throat. Brown doe eyes slowly blink to meet your gaze, soft feet making tentative contact with smooth marble.

“Hi, sweetheart,” you respond softly, eyes savouring the sight that is your wife in one of your cream Oxford shirts. Wanda's beauty is underlying and unsaid, beyond the boundaries of conventional and beyond your dictionaried words.

Certainly, Wanda has the traits of what define beauty: your shirt on her is partially unbuttoned to tease at a tantalizing cleavage, the hem of the clothing is high enough to show off the expanse of her porcelain legs.

But it's also the way the sunlight falls on Wanda's skin, like she's a descendant of the Gods that crafted the essence of light, like she was made to dance and roam in the beauty of the day.

It's the way the morning glow accidentally highlights her Grecian-sculpted cheekbones, and the way her light-brown freckles casually pop in that light. It's her collarbone scattered with your marks of violet hues, and that fading scar on her right thigh you never fail to kiss.

A sleepy sigh escapes from Wanda’s lips, and she runs a hand through her perfectly dishevelled hair. You don’t have to say anything, only nod your head in the slightest. The rest is second nature: Wanda slides herself into your lap, arms hooking around the back of your neck, head tucked into the crook of your neck.

Perhaps it was second nature, truthfully, because Wanda didn’t need control when she was around you. You were her control, her steadfast pillar, her rising sun. You were a constant in her ever-changing world, always by her side regardless of whatever insurmountable task might be in her way.

You let an imperceptible sigh of content slip through your lips, but you never stop typing for a second. Emotion was difficult for you to convey, paradoxically, considering the amount of feeling you could put into words. In actuality, it was hard for you to laugh carelessly or have an outburst of fury. Your emotion was quiet and unspoken, much like in the present moment.

Wanda, however, seemed to have other plans in mind.

It started off innocent, because you truthfully believed she was just being affectionate and physically in need of human warmth. And maybe it was, as your girlfriend eased into your lap, nuzzling adorably into your comforting scent.

But when Wanda’s hips begin moving unsubtly, breath growing more delicate on to the curve of your neck, you’re sure without a doubt that this is another one of those times Wanda sought a different kind of fulfillment, the kind that lay adjacent to her pretty thighs.

Your hands dance a little faster on the keyboard. Your eyes are still gazing over the top of Wanda’s head, firmly determined to complete this part of the novel you were working on. 

“Y/N…” Wanda says, reverently softly, pressing up into the warmth of your bodily heat. “Mhm?” you hum absent-mindedly, tucking your forearms in a little closer to entrap Wanda in your embrace.

You replace a comma with a fullstop just as Wanda shifts uncomfortably in your lap. Your wife’s legs fall open and slides her centre around the muscle of your right thigh. Something rises in your chest at the sensation of bare centre meeting your warm skin. 

She cranes her pale neck like a swan, pressing her warm mouth against your neck. You shift imperceptibly, switching a three-letter phrase into a subject-verb concord. When Wanda’s tongue pokes out between her ruby lips, when her sharp teeth scrape over the pulse point of your neck, when her curled hair brushes your exposed skin, an uncontrollable shudder runs through your body.

Backspace. Backspace. Backspace. Your spelling is becoming sloppy, almost like there’s a distraction.

Almost in retaliation, you jerk your knee up, the one that had been situated between Wanda’s thighs, and the mewl that leaves her mouth breaks her porcelain-doll composure. Satisfaction pools in your hips.

Words don’t need to be said between the two of you, as a slight shift in the atmosphere of the dining room sets itself. Wanda’s pants become shallower and quicker, the undulation of her hips speeding up, her legs clenching tighter around your thigh.

Your hands are flying over the keyboard now, your fingers twitching with bridled electricity, having need of some alleviation to express your ever-increasing libido. It’s a wonder how your eyes aren’t yet completely glazed over; yet, they’re moving in mechanical function to type, like you’re clinging on to a fragment of sanity. 

Because honestly, remaining sane while your wife let out the most pitiful whines into your ear certainly wasn’t an easy task. 

“Y/N,” Wanda cries, finally, emitting a sound as she clutches onto the soft fabric of your collared shirt. You can see, in your peripheral vision, the way Wanda’s face morphs into an expression of pleasure, the lines in nose-bridge forming a scrunch. 

Wanda is, without a doubt, the most breathtaking woman you’d ever laid your eyes upon. Reverent devotion bleeds from your mindwires and on to the page, staining it a crimson red as she nears her high. 

Your right thigh is moving in sync with each of Wanda’s humps, and she’s chasing that pleasure for all it’s worth: The clenching of your thigh muscles, the harsh jerks of your thigh as she struggles to ride it properly. 

Leaning down, your lips caress the shell of your wife’s ear, and from your mouth flows the words that are the final seal of acquiescence.

“Come for me, sweetheart.”

Just like that, something snaps inside Wanda, and the edge of your brainwaves fray like an old rope. In that moment, you know your words can take a rest. 

The movement of your fingers come to a halt. There was an unfinished story before you, the plot unfolding but not quite complete. But with Wanda by your side, she writes your story for you, carves the path towards a bittersweet ending. 

She takes the words from the deepest depths of your heart and lets it pour out her mouth, unashamedly, unapologetically, indescribable emotion overflowing from those blossomed lips into her trembling figure, her flushed cheeks.

“Y/N,” Wanda moans, and her sounds raise in pitch when you buck your hips up in a moment of your fractured composure. Her hips grind shamelessly onto the muscle of your thigh, chasing that stimulation.

It’s far from the most intense orgasms you’d brought Wanda to, because she can’t ever reach that level of ecstasy without your prodding fingers or your devil-tongued mouth. Perhaps that’s half of its beauty, though, that the two of you were incomplete without the other.

Wanda curls in your lap as she recovers from her high, enclosed within your forearms and the desk, face buried into your chest to engulf her senses in your scent. There’s sacred solace in the way you tilt your head down to press a fluttering kiss on her neck.

Your word document remains open but unfinished, the coffee in your mug grows cold. Sweet nothings and promised everythings are exchanged between the two of you until the sun has fully risen, hues of amber and gold painting the room.

The only story that mattered was the one before you, the one waiting to be explored.

You’ve had a thing for writing stories since young, and this particular one ends with a happy-ever-after.

this fic is really special to me. i think it's probably some of the best writing i've put out there, so i'd be incredibly grateful if you could give it a reblog ♥

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

[johnbrand]

Updated Employee Handbook

Ding! Ding!

Clark groaned. “Did you just get this email from Corporate?” 

“I think so,” Weston frowned. “‘Updated Employee Handbook’?”

“That’s the one,” Clark confirmed, the pair opening their respective emails. “Ever since this new CEO was confirmed, I feel like he’s been restarting and refreshing everything we do here.”

Weston scoffed, “We can’t even enjoy our 30 minute break outside the office without somehow getting looped back in. 

Click. Click.

“Are we sure we want to read this now?” Clark flicked a blond curl out of his face. “We could just enjoy the remaining minutes of our ignorant freedom.”

Weston chuckled, “I don’t know if we can, man. It’s flagged for mandatory reading, immediately.”

“I just hope they’re not revoking the jeans policy,” Clark commented. “I didn’t bring an extra set of clothes.”

Weston scratched at his man bun with an exaggerated sigh. “I did, but that’s because I knew I’d already be sweating through this shirt by now.”

Fwoosh. Fwoosh.

“Step by step confirmations?” Clark remarked. “This’ll be fun.”

“You know it,” Weston added.

Confirm. Confirm.

“‘The foundations of a man’s future are found in his wardrobe',” Clark began. “‘Traditional, full cut briefs are the center. Their stiff, starchy materials, blindingly white to showcase utter perfection, solidify the role of an employee. Their cotton fabric may appear inconsequential, yet they affirm that the employee is at the very core follwing instruction’.”

Confirm. Confirm.

Weston shifted his bottom uncomfortably. “‘A pristine button-down should expertly cover the upper body.  Depending on the weather, and the corporate setting, the following should either be a suitable pair of trousers or shorts. Trousers shall remain woolen and perched millimeters below the briefs and only be supported by braces. Shorts can be designed of lighter material, but must be of adequate length’.”

Confirm. Confirm.

“At least he’s letting our legs breathe,” Clark commented, itching at his own exposed limbs absentmindedly. “‘While the stiff shirt and particular cut of the trousers will keep the employee upright and tall, the jacket is designed for decorative purposes. The shape will reform the man as thick, strong, and uniform. Depending on the season, colors will remain modest. Blacks, grays, and blues for winter, with simple patterns and refined hues allowed for summer’.”

Confirm. Confirm.

Weston pulled at his striped lapel, thankful that his choice of attire today was not too exciting. “‘Accessories shall follow a similar suit. Silky black socks, generic yet tasteful tie, a handkerchief and or watch reflective of wealth, not personality. A highly polished pair of oxfords should represent every employee’s wardrobe; the gel holding his hair should represent how the employee is held to standards’.”

Confirm. Confirm.

“This better be the last page,” Clark moaned. “This is giving me more of a headache than refluffing my quiff.”

“It’s almost as agonizing as visiting an inexperienced tailor,” Weston quipped, to which both men laughed.

“Alright alright, I got this,” Clark finally said. “‘The foundations of a man are found in his wardrobe. Therefore, what is built upon that foundation should match. After all, the clothes do make the man’. There, that’s it.”

“Thank god that’s the last one,” Weston agreed.

Confirm. Confirm.

“Quite the peculiar update to our terms of service, wouldn’t you agree?” Clarence remarked.

“Well how so?” Wesley questioned. “I maintain that the boss’s wishes perfectly align with the standard workplace etiquette."

“My point exactly,” Clarence confirmed. “What is unordinary is how these quotations were not enforced before. The sense here is that I have already adorned this Cascade green jacket numerous times throughout these last two quarters alone.”

“And I with my own blazer showcasing these off-golden buttons,” Wesley added. “Perhaps our boss is tastefully solidifying our strong, traditional, classic values, even if we were already abiding.”

Meeting Invite for CLARENCE JOHNSTONBOROUGH, WESLEY LAUDER II 

“Bizarre how we appear to consistently be transported back to our duties, even while on intermission, is it not?” Clarence inquired.

“Indeed, it is bizarre,” Wesley replied.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Nik admires John.

cw: possessive Nikolai; sexual content at the end.

Nik didn't much like festive parties. He wasn't a fan of Christmas anyway; a wanton celebration of capitalist greed, he had mumbled at John as they had shaved shoulder to shoulder in the hotel bathroom. John had chuckled in that low, gravelly way he did, blue eyes crinkling, and Nik had decided he would make love to him when they got back. Dressed like penguins - John's words - they had headed out into the cold night, hailing a black cab to take them to the more auspicious centre of London to an entirely different hotel. Nik had offered to purchase a suite there for the night but John had balked at the cost.

The dinner had been uneventful, with small talk and a few side glances in Nik's direction, and now they mingled around a marquee erected on the back of the hotel's gardens. A small oasis in the center of a city once choked with black smoke and industry. Nik might have admired the beautiful orangery or spent some time looking at the various art pieces in the reception hall, but he simply couldn't tear his eyes away from John.

He was, truly, magnificent.

His tailored suit fit him perfectly despite his earlier derision, from the flare of his broad shoulders to his narrow waist, the fall of his trousers hanging in well-cut, straight lines to a pair of Oxfords, buffed and polished to within an inch of their lives. Nik would expect nothing less.

John wore his dinner suit with an understated class. Not like the vacuum tight monstrosities some of the other officers were walking around in; pinched jackets around athletic waists, slim fit shirts, trousers like drainpipes, stretched so tightly that the crease down the front was invisible. They showed off a distasteful amount around the crotch, calf and thigh, in Nik's opinion; the material snagging and pulling in all the wrong places.

Why spend thousands on a suit just to look cheap? Coiffed hair, too-white teeth, synthetic, clingy fabrics; the earmarks of superficiality. Perhaps he was biased, but not a single one of those bleach-toothed smiles held a candle to the crinkled blue eyes and charmingly crooked grin of his captain.

Nik stayed at the edges of the party, propping up the bar for the most part. He watched John drift from group to group, ticking off the list of people he wanted to talk to as well as the list of people he knew he should talk to. John hated politics, but he was good at it when he had to be; attentive, diplomatic, guarded and dangerous. Nik could see it in the way he moved across the room, his shoulders squared, his head up, his chest out; a predator plucked from the wild and placed among domesticated dogs.

John's hand nursed his whiskey glass, his little finger tucked beneath it, forefinger tap-tapping in the lull of conversation like it did against the side of his M4 when he was thinking. The same John, different hostile environment.

Because they were in an outside marquee, John could smoke to keep his hands occupied, and he placed his glass aside to light up the cigar he plucked from his dinner jacket. One of the Cohibas Nik had gifted him with as an early present. He was flexing. A subtle flex, but a flex none of the less. Nik shifted his thighs apart and sat his elbows back against the bar, quietly preening. He provided for what was his. John never went without.

He watched John's lips against the cap, the soft pink slightly chapped, and tried not to get lost in the memory of what they felt like against his. The anticipation of what they would taste like as they surrendered to him later. John exhaled grey smoke to the side, a few stray whisps curling from his mouth, like a dragon with embers in its chest. He settled it through the slant of his fingers beside his whiskey glass and took another sip, those kissable lips glistening, tongue gliding over the lower in search of the last drops and Nik had to adjust in his stool.

Nik couldn't help but love it when that mouth smiled, talked, laughed, and think about kissing it, sliding his fingers behind John's neck and cupping his strong jaw in the cradle of his palm. The way John would melt against him, so pliant when touched by a man who knows how to handle him, how to pluck his strings and tease out the sweetest notes.

Because John needed a firm hand, didn't he? No matter how cleverly he disguised his rough edges with smart suits and a comb. Tonight, John was perfectly groomed, so tidy. His beard trimmed, his hair cut and brushed into place, but there was one thing John couldn't buff, polish, trim or press out of himself.

The eyes.

Nik could see their light, their fire; he watched them darken with concentration, brighten with laughter, the lines at the corners distinct, distinguished. They glittered with that same intelligence that let him slip behind his current facade, but also with cunning, and a barely suppressed wildness simmering below the surface; fierce, uncontrollable. While John might think his judgments were discreet from others, Nik could see him weighing some of the men before him and finding them wanting. It was clear in the tilt of his shoulders, the press of his lips.

They were wanting. Both in what they lacked compared to their better standing before them, and in their desire to have him. Nik wasn't the only man in the room whose gaze had lingered, admired. Coveted. Nik wanted to gouge their eyes out every time he spotted one. How arrogant they were to think they were even worthy. Their hunger was palpable. There was one watching John now. Blond hair slicked back, his hand buried deep in his pocket as his hips tilted in John's direction.

As the lounge singer they had hired for the evening picked up his microphone for his first song, Nik watched the Blond try his hand. John greeted him affably, bouncing on his toes and toasting his drink. Nik watched as the Blond introduced himself and was pleased to see no recognition on John's face. They began to discuss a recent operation; the Blond started boasting. John was unimpressed, one eyebrow cocked, and Nik smirked.

They talked for a little longer, the singer lapsing from one song into another, and the Blond touched John's elbow. Nik watched a subtle tension roll across John's shoulders, his core tightening, his fingers turning whiter around his glass, and then, with practised self control, John forced himself to back down from high alert. For the first time, those blue eyes slid across to Nik, tracing down his body to the spread of his legs, heels of his shoes hooked on the bar stool. They lingered, clearly admiring, and Nik spread himself for appraisal.

Nik saw the moment John decided to play with him. A twitch at the corner of his lips, a flash of those cunning blue eyes before they turned back to the Blond. A dangerous game. The Blond that had now become John's prey. His body language changed subtly, shoulders and chest opening up from where they had been guarded, and then John returned the touch; a brush of the fingers across the elbow. Luring him in for the kill. The Blond leaned close to talk a little quieter and John tilted his head, watching through his eyebrows, listening with a faint smile.

The lounge singer changed songs; a slow, sultry version of 'You Put A Spell On Me'. Perfect, Nik thought wryly. Because John had cast a spell on every man in the room that was inclined towards another man in their bed. Nik watched The Blond touch John again, on the hip this time, and vaguely considered how easy it would be to bundle the arrogant shit into the back of a van and cut that hand off with a machete.

Nik finished his drink and slid from the bar stool. He made his way over slowly, adjusting his cufflinks as he approached his target from behind, looming large at his back. "Ah, Nik, this is Major Dustin Houghton, Royal Anglian," John said, and Houghton startled as he looked around to see Nik standing over him, six inches taller and several miles broader. "Major, this is Nikolai, my husband."

"Your...?" Houghton started, eyes dropping to Nik's left hand, where his silver wedding ring wrapped his finger.

"Da," Nik said flatly, watching as Houghton's offending hand retreated into his pocket. "And I have come to collect my husband for a dance."

"Urf, Nik, really? The Major and I were just discussin'--actually, what were yer proposin', Major? Somethin' ya wanted to show me in yer room..."

"Oh, uh, nothing. Absolutely nothing of import. You two, uhm, ahh, I think that's... Yes, that's Frank from the Mercian, you two have a lovely evening."

"Yeah, 'course." John watched him leave over the rim of his whiskey glass, content in his victory. Or so he believed.

Nik took John by the elbow to steer him towards the small floor before the singer. A few other couples were swaying together amongst the jumble of bodies, and Nik took John's glass and placed it on a nearby table, setting his cigar over the top before encircling him, hands finding his narrow hips and drawing them close.

John placed a hand on Nik's chest and the other on his arm, smirking, ready to gloat. "Did I make ya jealous?"

Nik cocked a brow and leaned in to John's neck. The kisses he placed beneath John's ear, slow, lingering, teased a soft noise from John's chest, his hips bumping forward to Nik's. "Nyet, John. Jealousy is for boys and weak men who do not know their own worth. He could not take you from me. He is not worthy of you."

Nik felt John coil with pleasure against him. He could imagine how his toes were curling in his shoes, the hairs on his arms standing on end, as Nik's voice passed over his skin like a caress.

"Naw, ya don't think so?"

"I do not need to think. I know."

"Olrigh', not jealousy, then what? Why the Russian 'itman act?"

"I am possessive," Nik murmured. "But you know this, which is why you sought to... antagonise me by misbehaving."

"Yeah?"

Nik felt John's smile against the side of his face and nuzzled a kiss into his neatly trimmed beard.

"I am tempted to reclaim you in front of them all."

"Right here, eh? Give 'em all somethin' to gossip about."

"Da. I would spread your legs right here, and make you scream my name, leave you fucked full of me, so they all know to who the great Captain John Price belongs to."

"Fuckin' filthy," John purred, his voice thick, fingers kneading in Nik's shirt as their bodies swayed together, the deep, sultry voice of the lounge singer a pleasant hum in the background. Nik's thumbs circled on John's hips, his nose tracing over the frantic, desperate pulse in the side of John's neck. Their touches were discreet, Nik's voice low, but the illicit nature only made their blood run hotter.

"You would like them to watch you take my cock, see how beautiful you are, knowing that they can never have you as I do."

"Bloody 'ell," John rasped, and Nik knew he had won their game. He simply needed to deliver the final blow and claim his prize.

"They would see how easily you surrender yourself to me," Nik whispered, running his open mouth over the line of John's beard to hover over his lips. "Just as you are now."

"Nik..." John whispered before Nik took his chin and kissed him, sweeping his other hand to the small of his back. Nik held John close as his tongue swept between his lips and claimed what was rightfully his. Tasted the cheeky tongue, the soft lips soaked in whiskey, taking possession of everything he had admired from afar.

Nik drank down the soft moan of pleasure, his own body warming as John gripped at him, trying to pull as close as possible. They moved together, so deeply tuned in to each shift of muscle, the slide of expensive wool and cotton beneath their hands, the heat of their bodies burning through as their hearts fluttered.

John liked being hunted, but he liked being possessed even more. To know that Nik would pursue him through whatever storm or trial until he was back where he belonged: in Nik's arms. And once there, to have Nik demonstrate exactly to whom he belonged. Nik needed it as much as he did it. The thrill of possessing the one thing in the world that no one else could ever. That no amount of money could ever buy; the most beautiful man to walk it.

Nik could feel the hum of want thrumming through the strong body in his arms, primed and eager, and he knew he would be purchasing that expensive hotel room after all. He drew back, sucking gently on John's lower lip, and admired those hazy blue eyes. The song has drawn to an end and faded into another. John was thoroughly at his mercy.

"Come, I am bored of this party."

John swallowed and managed a nod, his lips were red, kiss swollen and glistening and Nik needed them stretched around his prick.

Nik took his hand and pulled him from the hall to reception, where a quick flash of plastic bought them the expensive studio room with a sprawling king-sized bed and champagne in the fridge. Nik kissed John in the lift, sliding a hand beneath his shirt to feel the heat of his skin and made him stutter out tight gasps with sucking kisses on his neck, beneath his ear. The door to the room had barely clicked shut before their clothes were thrown off, and they tumbled into the bedroom.

John swallowed Nik down greedily once it had sprung free from his boxers, lips stretched impossibly wide around its girth, and Nik mussed that too neat hair until he found the untamed man that stalked battlegrounds at his side, thrusting slowly into John's spasming throat as he squirmed on the mattress.

When Nik turned him onto his back and spread his thighs, John arched, offering himself desperately, pleading in a low, husky rasp, cock drunk and needy. He fisted the sheets as Nik claimed him, Nik's name punching out of his chest in a low, gravelly moan that curled like molten heat in Nik's gut. Those same eyes that he had watched hunt the party now misty and soft, tamed a little by pleasure, but no less bright.

"Who do you belong to, John?" Nik whispered, dragging his thick cock in and out in slow, deep thrusts.

"You, Nik, fuck... you, please."

"Da... Me." Nik thrust in hard and licked the cry of ecstasy from John's mouth.

[lackadaisycats]

I tried to answer this succinctly, but it turned into an essay. (Sorry.)

The Princess and the Frog was not accurate, strictly speaking, but dinging it for that would be like criticizing the Lion King for not being a realistic wildlife documentary. Accuracy wasn't really the point. Given the fantastical elements and fictional nations like ���Maldonia”, I suppose we're meant to understand this as a bit removed from the real New Orleans. It's more a a jazz-flavored fairy tale than a historical fiction.

But for discussion's sake....

Is it fashion-accurate to its 1926 timeframe? Ehhh, sort of. It pays homage to 20s fashion trends with cloche hats, furs and feathery headpieces, but without fully committing to it. The waistline on almost all of Tiana's clothing is too high for the 20s, and the the shapes of her fancier costumes take a lot of liberties, or deviate wildly from the style of the period.

In the 20s, dresses (including workaday stuff) tended to have a straight up-and-down shape to it - kind of a low-waisted rectangle that de-emphasized curves instead of highlighting them. There are valid reasons to play fast and loose with that, though (something I’m definitely guilty of as well). One of those reasons is communication. 

For instance, speculatively, the filmmakers wrote Tiana as a hard-working waitress and wanted her to look the part, so they made the choice to clothe her in something familiar - that gingham dress of mid-century shape that we broadly associate with diner waitresses. Actual waitress uniforms of the 20s had a fair bit of overlap with maid uniforms at the time too, and I can see why they wouldn't want to risk the confusion. It's more important to communicate clearly with the larger audience than to appease a small faction of fashion nerds who'd notice or care about the precision.

I don't think it's a case of the designers failing to do their research - I'm sure they had piles of references, and maybe even consultants - but they also had to have priorities.

With her hat and coat on, she looks a lot more 1920s-shaped.

Pretty consistently, the indication of the characteristic 1920s drop waist is there, but the approach otherwise ignores the 20s silhouette. The clothes hug the body too much. This may be about appealing to a 2000s audience, visually speaking, but also could be an animation thing. Maybe both. For practical reasons, clothes in 2d animation are usually more a sort of second skin than something that wears or behaves like realistic fabric.

These are not in the 1920s ballpark at all. Tiana's blue gown looks like your basic Disney brand invention. Strapless things would have been extremely unusual and the overall shape is far out of step. Excusable, I guess, because it's a costume in context. Charlotte looks like she’s heading for a mimosa brunch in a modern maxi dress.

Charlotte's princess dress did seem to be calling back to the ultra-wide pannier side hoops of the 18th century - something that made a reappearance for part of the 20s, albeit in much milder form called robe de style. I'm not sure if the filmmakers were alluding to that at all, really, but either way, her dress is hilarious.

They only went about halfway with the cloche hats. The 1920s cloche really encapsulated the cranium, almost entirely covered bobbed hair, and obscured much of the face from certain angles, so it's easy to see why they've been somewhat reined in for the film. Still, it ends up looking more 1930s, where the hats started to recede away from the face, evolving in the direction of the pillbox.

Similarly, Tiana's hair is not very reminiscent of the bobbed, close-to-the-cranium style of the period, but I think that could legitimately be written off as characterization. She's not at all the type of person who'd fuss about going à la mode. Not everyone bobbed and finger-waved their hair.

The clothes Prince Naveen is introduced in are very 1920s collegiate in spirit - the wide-leg oxford bags, the sleeveless pullover sweater, the flat cap, and high, stiff collar. The ukulele and banjolele were pretty trendy instruments at the time too.

Definitely some Josephine Baker vibes here. Also, the look of this whole fantasy sequence was reportedly inspired by the works of Aaron Douglas, a luminary painter of the Harlem Renaissance known for his depictions of the lives of African-Americans. (The mural is in Topeka, Kansas.)

They pretty much nailed the Art Deco. It's gorgeous. Looks somewhat inspired by the interiors of some of the Ralph Walker-designed NYC architecture, plus some French Quarter balcony flair for the final manifestation of Tiana's Place. Her dress here does resemble some gauzy mid-1920s looks, too.

------------------------------------------------

Culturally speaking...

New Orleans is an unusual place. Because some of the colonial Spanish and French laws and conventions that New Orleans evolved under persisted even after its inception into the United States; because it was such a heterogeneous hub of indigenous and immigrant peoples; and because it had a considerable population of free people of color (mostly Creole), it did not function quite like the rest of the South leading up to the Civil War, nor for a while after. Its particular coalescence of cultures made it its own unique sort of culture within the country, within the region, within the state of Louisiana even. By the early 20th century, though, regardless of the not-very-binary nature of New Orleans, Jim Crow laws were enforcing a literal black-and-white distinction, and not an evenhanded one, by far. In that aspect, the city had begun to resemble the rest of the South.

The film nods at the wealth disparity, but goes on to paint a pretty rosy picture of race and class relations at the time. Still it's not unbelievable that some people were exceptions to the rules. You could probably find a few compartments of old New Orleans society that resisted segregation or certain prejudicial norms, preferring to do things their own way. That aside, the film wasn't trying to confront these topics. Not every piece of media should have to. Sometimes breaking away from miserable period piece stereotypes is refreshing. I'm not sure it could have handled that meaningfully given the running time, narrow story focus, and intended audience, anyhow. (But you could perhaps also make a case that family films habitually underestimate younger audiences in this way.)

------------------------------------------------

Raymond the firefly I guess is the film's Cajun representation. There's not much to say about it, except perhaps to note that Evangeline is a reference to the heroine of a Longfellow poem of the same name. The poem is an epic romance set during the expulsion of the Acadians from the eastern provinces of Canada and the northernmost reaches of the American colonies (now Maine) by the British in the mid-1700s. Many exiled Acadians gradually migrated south to francophone-friendly Louisiana, settling into the prairies and bayous, where 'Acadian' truncated into the pronunciation 'Cajun'. Evangeline - who is only finally reunited with her love when he’s on his deathbed - has become an emblem of the heartbreak, separation and faithful hope of that cultural history, and there are parishes, statues and other landmarks named after the her throughout Louisiana.

------------------------------------------------

Voodoo does have a very historical presence in New Orleans, having arrived both directly from West Africa and by way of the Haitian diaspora (where it would more properly be called Vodou). While I don't think Disney's treatment of it was especially sensitive or serious, it also wasn't the grotesquely off-base sort of thing that media of the past has been known to do. It was largely whittled down to a magical plot component, but it wasn't so fully repurposed that it didn't resemble Voodoo at all either - and that's mostly owing to the characters, because it does appear the writers pulled from history there.

It’s apparently widely held that Dr. Facilier is a Baron Samedi caricature - and likely that's true, in part - but I have the impression he's also influenced by Doctor John. Not the 20th century funk musician, but the antebellum “Voodoo King” of New Orleans. Doctor John (also called Bayou John, Jean La Ficelle, and other aliases) claimed to be a Senegalese prince. He became well known as a potion man and romance-focused prognosticator to people from all corners of society. Though highly celebrated and financially successful at his peak, he seems ultimately remembered as an exploitative villain.

To my recollection, the film sort of gingerly avoids referring to Facilier as a Voodoo practitioner directly (I think he's more generically called a witch doctor in the script?) but it does seem to imply his 'friends on the other side' are a consortium of loa. It's mostly abbreviated into nebulously evil-seeming special FX, glazing over any specificity or dimensionality, but it does also loop back around as a vehicle of moral justice. Loa are all very individualistic and multi-faceted, but they do have reciprocal rules for asking favors of them.

There's also the benevolent counterpart in Mama Odie's character. Her wearing ritual whites has a definite basis in Voodoo/Vodou practice, and her depiction as a fairy godmother-like figure isn't entirely out of step with how a mambo may have been perceived...in a very general sense. They were/are ceremonial leaders and community bastions who people would seek out for help, advice and spiritual guidance. More than just emanating matronly good vibes, though, some have wielded considerable political and economic power.

(Just my opinions here. I've done a lot of reading on the subject for research but I'm no authority with any special insider understanding of Voodoo, and I really shouldn't be relied upon as an arbiter of who has or hasn't done it justice in fiction.)

------------------------------------------------

In summary--

Culturally, I think the film is respectably informed but paints a superficially genteel picture. The set pieces are gorgeous, but the story mostly delivers a sort of veneer of New Orleanishness. And as for fashion, well, it’s the 1920s run through a Disney filter. It’s very pretty, but it’s only as proximally accurate as seemed practical.

I don’t know that any of that really matters so much as whether or not it achieved what it intended, though. As a charming yarn and as a tribute to New Orleans and the Jazz age, I think it’s mostly successful. It’s also really beautifully animated!

[texhongyuan]

Oxford Cloth Waterproof Fabric

[frederickkittens]

Sweet Lolita through the years

Part 1: Late 90s-2005 (ish) “Oldschool”

Oldschool sweet is the first truly recognizable form of sweet Lolita

Though during the Oldschool era the substyles had far more crossover and less individual traits I think there’s just enough that you still label coords from the time. When most people think of Oldschool they think of a solid color main piece with lace topped otks and a rectangle headdress… but Oldschool is so much more than that.

Oldschool in general was simpler, though some brands like Metamorphose Temps De Fille , Emily Temple Cute, and baby the stars shine bright were already making prints

Printed fabrics of fruits or florals were very common, but you did see a good amount of screen printed and appliquéd pieces coming out at the time too. Some very common sweet motifs in the oldschool era were:

•cats

•fruit

•alice in wonderland

•bunnies / rabbits

•bears

•alphabet / letter prints

•music notes

•hearts

The closer to the end of the identifiable oldschool era the more prints became popular! Though through most of the 2000’s prints would remain more minimal with the focus being on more structural elements like lace, bows, construction, and interesting fabric choices.

Due to the image limit on tumblr here’s a link to the correct sorting to see examples on lolibrary with examples of some early sweet prints and patterns. If you click the link on any of these items you’ll be able to view their lolibrary entries as well if available

Color balance wasn’t considered as highly as it is today, the overall vibe of Coords was more chaotic and experimental. A very make do attitude can be seen in many street snaps.

Patterned main pieces were another popular alternative to prints, things like gingham, stripes, tartan/plaid.

Bag choices were pretty varied, honestly in a lot of oldschool sweet coords people would use unique bags as the visual interest / focal point. You can already see that in someone of the coords above. Faux leather shaped bags like btssb’s heart bags weren’t very popular yet. A few brands had put out heart bags, such as milk, but they were much simpler and often real leather in limited colors. You also didn’t see usakumyas in their modern iteration until well into the 2000’s towards the 2010’s. Plush bags of the era did not have the same clean marketable look. Some common / popular bags were:

-basket / wicker purses

-plush animal bags

-tote bags

-matching fabric bags

-leather handbags

-designer handbags

Shoes at the time were much chunkier and much less cutesy even in sweet styles. Tea parties didn’t exist until a good deal past this time period- honestly most popular modern Lolita shoe styles weren’t really seen. Real leather was far more common, in a much more limited pallet. When you did see colored shoes they typically weren’t used to color balance a coord like we do now a days. A lot of different styles were worn though, including:

-Mary Jane’s

-Platforms

-Rocking horse shoes

-Boots

-Oxfords

-sandals

Socks are often overlooked in oldschool. I’ve seen so many people say printed socks weren’t worn even though they absolutely were and many brands made them. Sure, lace topped otks were the trend and the most popular option but simple motif printed socks absolutely existed and were worn!

Headpieces were one of the most varied category. So many different styles and kinds were worn.

-mini crowns

-hair ribbons

-hats

-bows

-canotiers

-mini hats

-lace headdresses

Jewelry / Accessories were one area that Oldschool definitely was simpler. However brands were absolutely making both jewelry and other accessories. Plain metal necklaces with various motifs were common, lace chokers, faux collars, capes, ties, and though extremely uncommon you do sometimes run across wrist cuffs. Hopefully there’s more of an effort to start documenting jewelry and accessories from this time since it’s quite lacking

Makeup and hair were something that like all eras of Lolita followed the over all cultural trends of the time. More minimal make or simple 90’s - early 2000’s makeup is seen often. As for hair there’s so many different styles that really it would be impossible to list them all. In older magazines there’s often sections with hair tutorials and makeup tutorials!

Common lace styles included Torchon, Cotton, Eyelet, and Raschel. Many different trims and such were used in addition to these.

Part 2 and part 3

Scan credits @obscuredesireofbourgeoisie

If you want to see more old magazine scans

Lolita history

Internet archive

[pervertedreams]

idk something abt farleigh and the ways he likes to tease fem!reader (afab)

one thing about farleigh, he’s ALWAYS got a rebuttal, he’s got a response for everything and for every situation. it’s rare when you find farleigh speechless.

i like the idea of you having a crush on farleigh and him knowing and teasing you for it. maybe everyone’s out indulging themselves in another pointless frat party. in the mist of brushing whatever knots that’s tangled up in your hair, you see farleigh barge in through the mirror. you don’t even bother to turn around, “does knocking even cross your mind?” your voice is flat and annoyed.

his tone as always is monotone and uninterested, he shrugs “the door was cracked.”

with a subtle roll of your eyes, you set your brush down to stand up from your so called vanity that’s not really a vanity but it’s a big mirror on a desk so you’re calling it that. “not for you.” when you stand you reveal your outfit, a pink dress you packed with you for oxford. farleigh hums, long legs stride your way. the bitter stench of his cigarette burns your nostrils and he grins at the way that you grimace. he thumbs at the hem of your dress, pretending to examine the quality of the fabric. “cute dress.. sears?” his burning cig wobbles between its lips as he subtly insults you. but you can’t help but like when he’s a little mean. in the grand scheme of things it’s harmless.

you swat him away swearing at him under your breath as you push past him, “with all the wealth you claim to have you out of all people should know it’s dior.” he’s eyeing the curve of your arch as you’re bending over to strap your heels on. “m’sorry baby, didn’t know that was in your price bracket.”

maybe there’s another time when you’re spending your summer in saltburn, and you’re having dinner with the henry’s. of course you’re sat in between felix and farleigh, and he’s been playing footsie with you the entire time just to add onto his teasing. when the conversations amongst the families are at its height and everyone’s most distracted you feel his knuckles lightly graze your skin. and you shoot him a glare that’s tells him ‘really? right now?’ but he blatantly ignores it.

it doesn’t take much for you to give in, almost instinctively spreading your thighs apart. you watch quietly as he starts a conversation with another household member, you don’t even bother to focus in on who it is. all too occupied with trying to keep yourself together when his slender digits inch closer and closer to your core. and when the tips of his fingers lightly press against your soaked, mushy lips he almost laughs. he pauses his conversation to whisper in your ear, “why must you make it so easy. you’re almost too easy.” and without warning his subtly and slowly rubbing his index and middle finger around your panty-clad clit.

brain fuzzy and focused on not looking obvious, you nearly screech when felix is asking you to pass him the salt.

“stop being so obvious.” farleigh’s voice is hushed, and a smirk creeps on his face when he watches your mouth open and close. “too afraid so speak? scared you might blow your cover?”

back at your dorm in oxford you have a childhood stuffed animal you packed with you, and you know he’s not letting you live that down.

he’s picking it up with a pinch, as if it’s too disgusting to touch. looking at you with a face of annoyance and amusement. “how old are you again?”

you suck your teeth when your try grabbing it from him but he snatches away. “ah ah.” he smiles when your childishly stomp your foot. he’s fully grabbing the toy this time, getting a good look at it. “it’s oddly endearing.” he cocks his head with an expression you can’t quite read.

“okay cool, please put him down.” your words come out rushed and you mentally cringe at your use of pronouns. he again turns to you with an even wider smile, “him?”

“you fucking suck.” you accept defeat, flopping at the edge of your bed.

he sits beside you, pressing the stuffed animal closer to his face, wiggling the toys arms with a high pitched voice. “farleigh is sorry, he’s just surprised a twenty something still owns stuffed toys.”

you’re finally able to snatch him away from farleigh, calling him a jerk and repositioning your stuffie in its rightful place at the top of your bed. he’s giving you a faux pout, reaching for your arm. “aw no, me and him were just getting along.”

[farleighlover]

farleigh angst is so a need like reader is his gf n he cant communicate well or express himself cause hes scared LIKEKEEE (this nga toxic but only cuz he dk how to love right 🫵🤣)

i was THINKIGNG farleigh who always uses sex as apologies getting into an argument with his gf (us !!) and shes so pissed that she says something about it, like “do you wanna fuck so you can stop—” wtv wtv, right? RIGHTTT? like something where she basically just shades his neediness for sex n everything… and he legit looks like a child getting scolded, saying no n everything, trying so hard to tell her that he wants her to hold him but he cant, so he just tried to tug at her hands and all </3

₊⊹ “numbingly obsessed.”

| farleigh start x fem!reader

w.c.: 2.6k

a/n: IM BACK thank you for this glorious request i love you !!!!!!!!! mwah mwah mwah nsbfjsjndjdjd sorry for not posting in sooooo long, i have pieces in the works so do not worry i also know i did mix up the request a little so sorry :(. and @firemenenthusiast take this

masterlist here …

you knew you and farleigh wouldn’t last.

you knew deep down your relationship with him went to shit. constantly arguing, yelling, just everything.

yet here you were, in his bed, sore from yesterday’s stupid decisions. it was like a never ending cycle. you and him get into an argument, he storms out of your dorm, then when it’s night you always hear the same knock and each thing leads to another, every time.

farleigh has already left a while ago, leaving no trace other than the drawer with his extra pack of cigarettes opened. he always left without leaving anything because at this time of age, you two don’t have the time for that anymore. or in other words, don’t care to make the effort for each other anymore.

you make your way to the courtyard where farleigh was with felix and some other popular jackass guys. the tension from the argument you two had yesterday was still heavy in the air as you both didn’t come to a conclusion with farleigh calling you a whore from how you dressed and “talked” to guys. you two went back and forth yesterday, and even now, it was obvious by his expression that he wasn’t going to drop it any time soon.

you went up to him. “hey.” you intertwined your fingers with his as he glanced down to see your face, then giving your fingers a little squeeze and kissing your head before he went back to talking. even the tiniest bit of affection still brought butterflies from the pit of your stomach.

it also reminds you of what you two had before farleigh turned into a second replica of himself, forgetting details of him when he turned popular. before, he was sweet and a loving person, and you know it’s basic words to describe him but it purely fit the old him. you two were secure and enveloped in love endlessly, always doing some cliché lovers thing, for example, you two wore stupid silly matching “bff” necklaces from claire’s because for the life of him, couldn’t find a girlfriend and boyfriend one. you teased him when he told you this, saying “it’s claire’s, baby. i wouldn’t be surprised.” he scoffed and laughed it off.

farleigh persuaded you to wear your part of the heart. he was so excited and so proud of himself as he made you drumroll and overdo it for the reveal, and when he finally pulled it out of the bag, he was all giggles and smiled as he went over to help put your necklace on. there were struggles here and there, farleigh cursing at the “stupid bitchy hook” he would call, but when he eventually got it on, he smiled and giggled before hugging and kissing you in joy.

because farleigh cherished you and paraded you around, showing everybody that you were his and he was yours, you two became the star couple of oxford from how in love you both were. he went heavy on displaying affection, peppering you kisses, holding your hand, always having to be close to you and touch a part of you, like the lace of your skirt or the fabric of your sleeve, to remind himself that you’re still there. one of your favorite times is halloween, because whenever farleigh needs a kiss mark for his costume, he’ll run to you with your signature lipstick (which must i add, had to be waterproof because he didn’t want it to come off from him sweating) and bend down to your level so your kiss mark was on his cheek. most times, he didn’t even need a kiss mark. he just wants a kiss from you displayed.

but the popularity got to him, and it’s like he was a different person. he stopped leaving you morning kisses, he stopped buying you flowers often, he just decided to stop caring as much. and now, farleigh constantly argued. always grumpy about something and he took it out on you. you know that farleigh has a hard time expressing how he feels, so the only way he apologizes his actions is through sex. you knew that farleigh feared losing you.

you snapped out of your thoughts as farleigh smushed his cigarette butt into the grass. you look up at him before hugging him a slight tighter. even after everything, you still loved him a lot. the feelings you have felt since the beginning have always stayed blooming alive in you. he gazed down before he kissed your head and gave you a pat on the shoulder.

you shared first period english with farleigh. you both always sat next and close to each other, no matter how upset you two were at each other. throughout class as you tried to focus on the professor, you could always sense farleigh staring at you and taking note of every inch and every nook of you. he has a small habit of doing that which makes your heart flutter every time, until farleigh gets yelled at. “mr. start, instead of analyzing your girlfriend so much, what about analyzing the text in your hands? just a suggestion.”

a few kids laughed quietly at the professor's remark which makes farleigh scoff and a thin rosy layer spreads across his cheeks. he always looked adorable when he got flustered. you let out a little giggle and pitched his arm, making the corners of his mouth tug into a sweet smile before swatting you away before the professor told you two to quit it. you both immediately stopped, and after a little, you and him glanced at each other and tried to hold in your laugh. in small moments like this, even after everything, you still knew that farleigh was the same lovestruck boy from the start.

it was later in the night. everybody was in the pub. you sat on farleigh’s lap with an arm around his neck as he kept you close with his hand on your hip, drawing little shapes on your bare skin. the tension still remained and worsened when farleigh got drunk.

“your girl’s showing a bit of skin, farleigh.” some guy shot out.

“i know. she’s being a bit of a whore lately.”

you immediately felt your cheeks flush as you glared at farleigh, widening your eyes as all he did was shrug his shoulders. what the fuck did he just call you? you scoffed in disbelief before pushing him off and made past people and leaving. why would he just embarrass you like that? your heels clicked against the concrete as you shoved open the doors.

the shock of coldness from outside hit you greatly. you hugged yourself, trying to create some warmth as you originally arrived to the pub with farleigh’s jacket, but fuck that. you didn’t truly need him, right? you two lost the spark the relationship held a long time ago. you were fed up with every ounce of bullshit he brought when he came over. every argument, every insult he said to you, the complaining, why would you take any more from him?

you sat in your dorm, reading a book as you tried to stop thinking about what he called you at the pub. the clock was about to strike the second hour you’ve been at your dorm, when a knock was at your door.

you already knew who it was. the farleigh start, coming to ask for “forgiveness" which the story always ended the same in bed. but now, you had enough of his shit.

you went and answered the door, obviously pissed. farleigh groaned and did a quick eye roll when he saw your expression. “listen baby, i’m sorry okay? is that what you wanted to hear?”

you scoffed. “i’m sorry my ass. you can do better.” farleigh got more impatient by the second. “can you let me in at least?” a small bite was present in his voice which somehow instead of making you feel small and the burn in your throat, you stood your ground. “farleigh, i fucking deserve an apology. you humiliated me in front of everybody. why the fuck would you do that?” the anger was shown in your voice.

farleigh glared, him getting increasingly annoyed. “so that’s what all of this is about? chill the fuck out, everybody was drunk. nobody will remember it tomorrow.” he let out a small sigh and crept his hands onto your hips, drawing himself closer to you. “baby c’mon… i’m sorry okay? let me show you…”

you instantly grabbed his hands away from your hips. “oh, you’re going to fuck me as your apology? like how you always do?” you were pissed. it felt like everything you kept in for months just snapped out.

farleigh’s eyes widened. he never seen you talk and act like this to him. “baby, i just—“ you immediately cut him off. “don’t fucking call me that! i’m not your “baby” farleigh, for fuck’s sake.” you spat.

“c’mon, i’m sorry okay?” his tone softened a little. farleigh always had a hard time expressing his feelings. he moved into your doorway, trying to get closer as you kept backing up. when both of you were in the dorm, he closed the door behind him, still keeping his eyes on you.

he took a deep breath before adding on. “i didn’t mean when i called you a whore, i was just mad from yesterday…” farleigh tried to hold your hand but you snatched it away. “i don’t fucking care! you always do this. you just come here and pick out a problem about me. you were never like that before. if you don’t want to be with me, then just say that!”

farleigh’s heart dropped and he was at a loss of words for a second at the thought of him losing you. “nononono, baby, c’mon—“ “no farleigh,” you snapped, the tone and sharpness in your voice made his eyes widened a little, not ever seeing you react like this. “you always pick out everything i do, having me under your grasp and forcing me to be all this and all that for you! for fuck’s sake, you don’t even have a true apology! what, “let me show you”? is that your excuse every time?”

farleigh sputtered out excuses, tears filling up his eyes. the guilt and shame burned heavy and deep into his chest. “no—! i’m sorry, please listen…” he started becoming more desperate, trying to hold your hand to feel the comfort you brought to him and also to try and get you to hear him out, but you’ve had enough. “no farleigh. you fucking listen!” he sits down in one of the chairs, trying to tug at your hands as he pouts a little and his eyes become glossy. “baby—“ you immediately cut him off. “don’t fucking call me that farleigh! i’ve had enough of your shit. you know, fuck this. we’re done. get out of my dorm.”

farleigh’s heart immediately broke. as you walked away, he stood up and went after you, a whimper leaving him. “n-no! please, can we just talk about this? i love you—“ you turned and faced him before shooting back. “no you don’t! you would’ve never treated me like this if you loved me farleigh! never!”

you could see in his eyes how his heart just crumbled from your words. he let out a sob, tears slipping down his cheeks. farleigh truly loved you and you knew that. but you knew that this isn’t what you deserved. it was like you trying to save a dying flame but farleigh kept blowing it out.

farleigh held your hand tightly, even though you tried to free yourself. he was scared that you’ll slip out of his grasp and he’ll lose you forever. he couldn’t let that happen. you were the only thing he loved in his life. he needed you. he wouldn’t know how he’d cope without you. he sobbed more, the tears flooding out of his eyes as he choked and coughed on his spit. “i’m sorry! i’m so sorry… i truly love you, i was just scared baby, please believe me…”

“bullshit farleigh! fucking bullshit!” tears filled your waterline, and soon they were slipping out of your eyes. farleigh couldn’t handle seeing you cry, the guilt and regret burning deeper and deeper into his chest. it hurt him to see you like this and the worst part was that he knew he was the whole reason behind it. “baby please… i’m sorry, i love you, i-i can’t lose you…” farleigh was losing it more and more, his tears and sobs becoming louder as he hiccuped and tried to keep you close. he could never commit. past then, he was so scared of you finding someone better or you getting annoyed of his clinginess, so he just kept pushing you away. but you were the thing he loved most. if he reached a low, you were always there and he always said the same thing, “i’m so lucky to have you.”

every moment was replaying in farleigh’s head. every single one. every english period with you, every date, even the arguments. he didn’t care if you were yelling at him, all he wanted was to be around you.

and now he was going to lose that forever. and that thought made him break. he was drowning in all the regret and shame that was weighing him down. he let out a wrecking sob before just shutting down. he couldn’t take it. all he wanted to do was make it up to you, for everything to stop and go back to what it was. every mistake, every time he hurt you, he only wished to take it back because in pure reality, you were genuinely the only person he had and trusted. but because of his stupidness, he wouldn’t have you anymore. he feared this day, and now his whole world was just coming down. you felt the grip on your hand slowly become looser as the crying just took over him. his hands covering his face as he whimpered and cried, trying to hide himself from everything that was happening. it honestly hurt you to see him like that. you’ve never seen him just crumble and that stung your heart.

he let go of your hand, trying to stop crying and find his words. he knew that no matter how much fighting or pleading he did, you would never take him back. he tried to make the last moments, well, last. he grasped out for your touch, just wanting you to hold him and just wanting to feel the warmth and comfort of your touch. “p-please…” he begged. his voice was hoarse and dry as he kept sobbing.

you never wanted more to just give in and hug him. to just forget about everything and only think about his heartbeat in your ear, or the feeling of you all wrapped up with him while you both fell asleep mid movie. but you couldn’t. you couldn’t just keep letting yourself go back to him. this was once and for all.

“no farleigh. leave my dorm now, please.” you could see how all hope drained from his face, but he knew that you’ve made your decision. he let out a quiet cry before whispering, “goodnight. i-i love you.” a small whine leaving his lips as he finished. he took a glimpse of you, just trying to remember you and the love you both once had. after a little, he went to your door and left, the quietness of the door clicking close, rather than all the times he slammed it after leaving your dorm with another argument. the sinking of the door and his presence gone left you with the silence and everything that just happened finally coming to your brain and heart. you just stared, a part of you just hoping he’ll come back and say something once more, just so you could hear him for the last time in a row, but it never came. you two were always and forever, going to be numbingly obsessed with each other.

.. taglist: @fuckshitslover @themoonchildwhofell @khxna @flipsconhelado @nataliesfirefly