#posting this from my drafts whilst i actually work on a piece i’m looking forward to

[irregularm4ngo]

scrapped drawing cuz i dont like the way i drew his eyes

[zimms]

an olliewicks flower shop au to soothe the soul! this is somewhat based on mine and @tingo-tango’s tags on this post. 

fields of flowers, soft beneath my heels

Ollie’s wrist-deep in a pot of soil, sweat rolling down his cheeks and sunlight streaming through the windows of Faber’s Flowers, when the shop’s bell rings and a new customer stumbles through the door. Ollie frowns slightly and hastily wipes the beads of sweat off his chin with the corner of his shirt, before plastering on his best customer service smile to greet whoever needs flowers at 7:30 am on a Tuesday morning. He mentally catalogues the possibilities; maybe they’ve forgotten their spouse’s birthday? Or maybe it’s a gift for someone at work? Maybe it’s an apology present because they accidentally cycled into a fruit stall and ruined a fresh batch of melons? 

(Okay, maybe not, but it would be a refreshing change in the cycle of constant businessmen grovelling for their partner’s forgiveness)

Ollie shakes himself from his thoughts and grins across the counter at the customer, who’s sporting a baseball cap and a t-shirt that sits just right across his broad shoulders. Ollie’s eyes track down the guy’s biceps which are a tad too big for the sleeves. Ollie consciously shut his mouth to stop himself from gaping; this guy was hot. As Ollie’s gaze roams across the customer’s face to meet his eyes, he realises three things. Number one is that he definitely shouldn’t be ogling a customer like he’s a piece of meat. Number two is that he hasn’t said anything to this guy yet. Number three is that at least a minute of awkward silence and staring has passed since the customer entered the shop. 

Ollie rips his eyes away from the customer’s face to stare at a spot slightly behind his left shoulder. “Hi! What can I help you with today?”

The guy shifts on the balls of his feet, scanning the shelves of bouquets and individual flowers. “Erm, I’m looking for a bouquet of flowers for my mom?” His voice raises at the end of his sentence, which is kind of cute, if Ollie does say so. He rubs the back of his neck and his checks flush pink. “I kinda need to apologise to her.”

Ah, a classic apology scenario. Got it. 

“What’s the apology for?” Ollie asks as he turns to the sink behind the counter to wash his hands. “Not that you have to tell me that is; it just might help as we make the bouquet.” He unravels the roll of tissue paper and cuts off a square to package the flowers in. 

Hot Guy winces. “Ah,” he says, “I kinda got into a fight in front of her the other night. She was not happy to say the least, so I figured I might as well get her some flowers to apologise for it.” 

“Cool, cool.” Ollie grins at him. “What kinda flowers do you want for her?” He gestured to the whole shop, where various buckets of flowers lined the walls, each displaying a different species. “We can get her just a plain old bunch that’s all just the same type of flower, or we could mix and match, create a nice piece of artwork that she’ll admire rather than a bunch that’s boring and all the same.”

Hot Guy’s eyes flick up from the counter and meet Ollie’s own, moving slowly up his body. If Ollie was feeling particularly optimistic, he’d say the guy was checking him out, but he pushes that thought to the corner of his mind because he’s made way too many faux-pas in the past by asking out guys that have come into the shop just for all of them to be straight. Hot Guy clears his throat. “Yeah, a mixture sounds good. I know her favourite flowers are hyacinths if that helps?”

“That’s perfect.” Ollie shoots him the most reassuring smile he can think of, eyes softening. He grabs the bucket of blue hyacinths that sit behind him. “These alright?” 

“Yeah, those are great,” Hot Guy says a little hoarsely, squinting at Ollie’s name tag, “Ollie.” Something settles in Hot Guy’s voice and he seems a bit more comfortable. 

“So, why'd you get into a fight in front of your mom?” Ollie reaches for the bucket of Narcissus behind him and waves a bunch at Hot Guy for affirmation. He nods in return. “Doesn’t seem like the best idea to me-” Ollie trails off, hoping that Hot Guy might get the hint and finally introduce himself. 

“Oh, uh, Pacer.” He coughs and the remaining tension leaks out of his posture. “Nah, a guy said something about Ma, and you know, I had to rush to defend her like the rash idiot I am.” 

Ollie laughs. “At least, it’s one of the more noble reasons to get into a fight. There’s a bit more chance of forgiveness, then.”

Pacer nods and his gaze wanders away from where Ollie is deftly making the bouquet to settle on the purple Clematis. 

“You like them?” Ollie makes a ‘gimme’ motion with his hands and Pacer passes the bucket over to him. Their hands briefly brush each other during the exchange and Ollie does everything in his power to ignore the jolt that goes through him at that brief skin to skin contact. “You’ve got a good eye; I was just about to grab them myself.”

“Yeah, my mom loves blue and yello-” Pacer cuts himself off with a sneeze. “Also, aren’t they the colours of the local hockey team around here? The Falcons?” Although he has a completely clueless tone to his voice, Pacer is studying Ollie’s reaction as if it might reveal the secrets of the universe. 

“Yeah, the Falcs! I only get to see them every so often, but they’re great,” Ollie says, doing his level best to ignore Pacer’s sudden intensity. “I was actually on the same team as Jack Zimmermann in college, which was pretty cool.”

“Really?” Pacer’s enigmatic expression becomes even more indecipherable. “That is pretty cool.” He looks slightly over his shoulder towards the street before meeting Ollie’s eyes and flashing a genuine smile at him. “I actually played a bit of hockey myself, you know.”

Ollie tries to convince himself that the bubble of excitement that rushes through him is because Pacer is such a good conversationalist and not for any other reason, like the fact that they have a couple of things in common, or that Pacer is one of the hottest guys he’s ever seen. 

(He fails.)

_X_

Pacer leaves about forty minutes later, with a bouquet and handwritten note in hand and a smile fixed firmly on his face. When Ollie goes to scrub down the counter and start repotting the plant he’d abandoned when Pacer had arrived, he spots a scrap of paper that definitely hadn’t been there before. The note is pretty cute; it’s a string of numbers and a smiley face, accompanied by a couple of lines from Pacer.

Would you like to go I would have asked you out earlier, but my tea friend always says it’s bad form to hit on workers whilst they’re on shift. Anyway, here’s my number if you want to go out some time? Call m Don’t worry if you don’t though!

- Pacer 

Ollie grins as he opens up his phone to add the number to his contacts, but pauses as he sees a Google Alert come through that he’s set up for the Falcs. The text reads, Providence Falconers acquire forward Pacer Wicks from Colorado Avalanche in exchange for a second round pick in the 2022 NHL Draft, and immediately underneath the caption, Pacer’s smiling face stares out at him. 

Pacer’s voice echoes in his mind. “I actually played a bit of hockey myself.”

Played a bit of hockey himself? Ollie cannot believe this guy. He plays in the fucking NHL and all he says is “I actually played a bit of hockey myself.” 

However, Ollie thinks as he opens up the article to see a picture of a bruised Pacer from his last game with the Avs, it would explain why he needed to apologise for fighting in front of his mom. 

_X_

Now that Ollie is aware of Pacer Wicks’ existence, he seems to follow him everywhere. Well, not Pacer exactly, but his name. 

It begins, like many things, at the grocery store. 

“Excuse me?” the cashier asks, as she’s scanning his groceries two days after Pacer first came into the florist’s. “Are you that hockey player? Pacer Wicks?” 

Ollie furrows his eyebrows. He doesn’t think that him and Pacer look that similar, but then again, Pacer’s only been in Providence a couple of days, so people don’t exactly know what he looks like yet. “No, sorry.”

The cashier purses her lips, taking a moment to study him again before ringing him up. “Huh, sorry! You guys just look really alike is all.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Ollie gathers up his groceries. “These things happen sometimes.”

(He almost texts Pacer to tell him about it, but, as Ollie looks at the clock on his phone, he realises that Pacer probably isn’t going to want to receive a message about how someone thought they looked similar mid-way through his game against the Pens.

Also, he’d have to wish him luck and honestly, as much as Ollie loves the Falcs, he wouldn’t wish them too much luck against his hometown team.)

_X_

ollie

hey! i’ve finished off that other apology bouquet for your ma!

let me know when you want to swing by and pick it up!

also i was watching the game tonight; do you need me to make up another identical one for your ma, or do you wanna come into the shop to choose this one?

pacer

thanks ol! i’ll probably swing by to pick it up tomorrow and then help make the next one at the same time?

ollie

sounds like a plan!!

_X_

When he said these things happen sometimes to that cashier in the grocery store, he didn’t expect them to happen all the goddamn time. Be it at his favourite café, on the street, or on the commuter rail, someone always, always, asks if he’s Pacer Wicks. 

_X_

ollie

oof that hit from eriksen looks like it’s gonna leave a mark

pacer

yeah, half my face is swollen

ollie

yikes

pacer

i assume we’re still on for dinner in a couple of days right?

even if my stunning visage has been marred by the fists of a schooner

ollie

that was a very weird way of putting it

but yeah, i still wanna go out with you even if your face looks like a dodgeball

_X_

A girl taps him on the shoulder at Bitty’s Bites downtown. “Excuse me, are you Pacer Wicks?”

Ollie smiles sheepishly at her, brandishing his coffee cup with a scrawled Oily on it as if it might keep the Pacer Wicks fans away. “Sorry, you’ve got the wrong dude.”

He hurries out of there as quickly as his legs can take him after that, hands fumbling for his phone so that he can text Pacer about it.

ollie

jdshjkdsjh a girl just asked if i was you

pacer

oh?

ollie

yeah, i don’t really know why so many people ask if i’m you

especially as they usually ask when you’re on a roadie??

so i don’t get why they know who you are without knowing the falcs’ schedules

pacer

maybe they’re a fan of my dashing good looks rather than my hockey?

isn’t that why you agreed to go out with me after all?

Ollie grins to himself before sending back three words.

don’t push it

_X_

He’s less generous to the guy on the commuter rail, but in fairness that’s mainly because he stole the last seat just before Ollie could get there and it’s 6:30 in the morning. 

“Hey, aren’t you that hockey pl-?”

Ollie barely looks up from his phone before cutting him off with a sharp “No.”

_X_

Today, someone even asks him at the flower shop.

“No,” he says, heaving the deepest sigh he can whilst still remaining in customer service mode, “I think Pacer Wicks might have other things to do on a Saturday afternoon than work the till at a flower shop.” He shuts the cash drawer on the register with a bang and hands the customer their change and bouquet as quickly as he can. “Thank you for shopping with us! Enjoy your day!” 

He collapses back onto the wooden stool that he keeps behind the counter, taking a breather for approximately five seconds before a laugh echoes through the shop. Ollie jumps half a foot in the air before locating Pacer, who’s stood in the corner of the shop inspecting a piece of sea holly. 

He’s dressed up pretty nicely considering hockey players’ notoriously bad fashion sense, wearing a button-up, a nice pair of jeans that do all the right things for his hockey butt, and his ever-present baseball cap, but this time, unlike his first visit to the shop, it’s sat backwards on his head. He spins around to face the back of the shop, grinning his face off. “I’m impressed by the fact that she asked you that whilst I was standing in the shop and she still didn’t notice me.” He laughs, smirking across at Ollie. “Does that happen often?”

“Yeah, some people are surprisingly oblivious sometimes,” he says, “but also, I don’t look that much like you?” He pauses, trying to work out what Pacer’s face means. He places his hands on his hips and jokingly rounds on Pacer. “Do I?” 

Pacer chuckles, taking a few steps closer so that he’s leaning against the counter. “Not that much, but would it be so bad if you looked like me?” A mock-wounded expression plays across his features as he presses his hand to his chest. 

Ollie takes off his apron and hangs it up behind the counter. “Nope, because you are extremely hot.” He threads his fingers through the hockey player’s belt loops to pull him closer, feeling emboldened by Pacer’s flirting. “And if that means that people are inadvertently calling me hot whilst asking if I’m you?” He shrugs. “I can live with it.”

Pacer has to lower his gaze to meet Ollie’s eyes, the two inch height difference between them clearly obvious, even if Ollie is six foot, thank you very much. “You were right about something though,” Pacer murmurs, “I do have better things to do than stand in a flower shop on a Saturday afternoon.”

“Like what?” Ollie raises an eyebrow.

Pacer smiles softly down at him, taking his hand and interlacing his fingers with Ollie’s. “Like taking the cute florist that works there on a date for starters.” Pacer starts to move them towards the shop’s entrance. “There’s this lit-” He sneezes abruptly.

Ollie tilts Pacer’s head downwards. “That’s like the fourth time you’ve sneezed in the shop.” He rubs his thumb over his cheek, frowning when he sees that Pacer’s eyes are slightly red. “Are you okay?”

Pacer waves him off. “Yeah, it’s fine; my antihistamines just wore off.”

His-? Ollie furrows his eyebrows before leading his date out of the shop. “Pacer, are you allergic to flowers?” 

“No?” Pacer’s sheepish and slightly bunged up reply says everything that Ollie needs to know.

“Fuck, Pace, why have you been coming to the shop so much if you’re allergic? Surely you don’t like the aesthetics of flowers that much that you need to torture your sinuses every spare minute of the day.” Ollie pinches the bridge of his nose, voice full of exasperation.

Pacer holds his hands up in surrender. “In my defence, the first few times were because I did need to buy Ma flowers, but I didn’t keep coming back because the flowers were pretty.” He pulls Ollie close and frames his face with his hands. “I came back because the florist was.”

_X_

The final time Ollie is mistaken for Pacer is five years later as he’s heading towards the arena for Pacer’s final game of the season. In fairness, dressed in a Wicks jersey and a Falcs snapback, he probably looks more like Pacer now than he has at any time since he first got mistaken for him in the grocery store. 

“Excuse me?” A teenager taps him on the shoulder, their arm slung around a friend. “Are you Pacer Wicks?”

Ollie grins at the kid. “Nope,” he says, trying not to take too much joy in the hope fading from the fan’s eyes before he drops the bombshell, “I am his husband though.”

“Really?” The teenager’s eyes light up. “You’re not kidding, right?”

“Nope.” Ollie holds up his phone screen to show the kid a photo of Pacer kissing his cheek, just so that they know he’s not lying. “D’you wanna meet him after the game?” He smirks at them. “After all, I do know a guy.”

[rosebloodcat]

Toonkind Storyline Idea

Not too long ago, I got an interesting idea for a DnD storyline thanks to some interesting spells I found in the Player’s Handbook. I’ve also been listening to the Toonkind DnD recordings as well. So, as one would expect, the two have been slowly melding together into (what I think) is a fun/interesting story that could be played.

The only awkward thing about it is that I’m not actually in the Toonkind Discord (I’ve got my eye out for the next invite link and I’m praying I’ll be online and aware enough to join in then), so I can’t really share the idea and see if anyone would be up for it. This awkwardness is only increased by the fact that a character I want to see/use for it is one that isn’t mine.

Because of that, this idea has just been festering in the back of my head for several days now and I just- Need to talk about it now.

Like, the fear of possible embarrassment is being replaced by the pure need to talk about this. It’ll probably just sit in my posts/notes forever and not get used, but I want to have it down and out there. (Keeping hopes/expectations low on that front.) I mean, what are the chances that, even if I At’d the players here on Tumblr, they would actually read through the idea? Or want to talk with me about it? Pretty low as far as I can tell.

So honestly, there’s nothing actually stopping me from just rambling into the aether about this. Might as well go for it.

Anyways, let’s get into the meat of this.

I’ll start off by telling people that I had been curious about spells to revive/bring back the dead because I was curious about how many there actually were. 

Unsurprisingly, I found four spells that involved reviving/bringing back the dead.

Surprisingly, though, only three of those spells were necromancy spells! (Revivify, Resurrection, and True Resurrection.)

The Fourth spell was called Reincarnate and was a transmutation spell used/learnable by Druids. (If you’re curious about it, you can check out the exact details here! https://www.dndbeyond.com/spells/reincarnate )

A quick summary of it goes like this: If someone has been dead for less than 10 days, you can touch them (or a piece of them) and create a new body for that person and call their soul to it. The spell causes their race/subrace to change, and the new one can be decided by the DM or via Dice Roll. All their abilities and memories stay the same, but their racial stats/abilities are exchanged for ones matching their new race/subrace.

And I thought, “What if this spell (or a variant of it) was used on a character that died in one of the Toonkind games?”

(Also, I realize I should mention this before continuing, Spoiler Warning for anyone who’s never listened to the Taffy Train Saga and the Coup De Blues games? This involves characters from those.)

I can’t think of too many toonkind characters who are actually Dead-Dead, but I do have one that I have a little bit of a soft spot for. One who was killed in the very same game he was introduced in.

Victor Tim, the (very dead) accountant for Dodo Studios.

(Who has been played by both @modmad and @snailcomicz and I’m not sure which of them he actually belongs to, so I guess he just goes to both for now. I know he was presented as a tool/not very liked character, but I just found him weirdly charming. I can’t explain it if I tried.)

Thus, the seed of an idea was planted in my brain.

What if Victor Tim was brought back from the dead by someone using a variation of this spell? Either as someone experimenting with magic or something. Heck, it could even be done with a machine instead of a spellcaster. (I’m not opposed to the “Illegal or at least Unethical Science” route for a villain. Seeing if they can expand the limit for how soon the spell can be used.)

I mean, considering the chaos brought by Dora Z Scale after the Taffy Train, would it really be so crazy to say that someone took advantage of it?

Someone could have noticed Dora robbing graveyards, seeing that the reports on it were few and far between, and decided to piggyback off her and snatch up remains in her wake. Get some free test subjects that didn’t need to sign waivers whilst everyone was focused on the Engineer and later Dora drama in the papers. Of course, they could have also been a bit more careful and waited until after Dora was captured/arrested before starting their experiments. To give more time for people to forget about them (if they had been spotted during that time) and let their focus be taken up by the former actress instead.

And it probably took a while before they got around to Vic, likely from how little they had of him due to Dora drinking a large portion of him. The Perp probably took their time refining their materials/process since they didn’t want to lose what little they had of him.

All things considered, the extra grave robber probably wasn’t noticed for a long time thanks to the sorting that needed to be done with Dora’s undead army. After figuring out who came from where and sending them back to their proper graves, I’m sure the police were very surprised to find that there were still a number of graves that remained empty.

That lovely little problem was probably kept buried to prevent the public from panicking/getting the police in even more trouble. Especially if The Engineer or Mrs. Tim found out that Vic’s remains were among those missing.

(Not to mention the field day the press would have about it. Like that one, very intrepid young reporter. The one with the dog, you know who.)

I’d say that Vic, when brought back, is still a toonkind but probably a different subrace. (Maybe a Frankenalie? Or a Warne? Unless Mod or Snail see this and think of something that would be more fun/interesting.)

He also probably has no idea what’s going on. Just that he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to be dead but somehow he’s not and he’s stuck somewhere he doesn’t recognize and are both his eyes facing forward? And “Oh no this is bad. I’m pretty sure there is a bad thing happening and I’m alone with no help, oh no, oh no, oh no.”

Because definitely not-okay, illegal/unethical experiments tend to mean the “Subjects” are basically captives/prisoners of the person responsible and need to either be rescued or find a way to escape.

Both routes could go in fun/interesting directions.

Cause, on one hand, there’s the possibility of getting the info out and having Engie pulling/being part of a rescue mission, or at least someone from the studio/Taffy Train may want to check it out. (I mean, who fakes being a dead guy? That’s weird enough that someone would want to look into it.)

On the other hand, there’s also the fun of Vic managing to bust out with the help of other victims in the same situation. Which could actually be a cool set of stories/games to be played. (I’d- I’d actually love to make a character to play that out if I’m being completely honest here. I may have one slowly being drafted out in my head as I type this.)

There’s also the potential hitch of Vic having to try and convince people/prove that he really is Victor Tim, the guy who was murdered by Dora Z Scale. Or that Vic’s note/message really was from him. Even more so if Vic’s talking to people who actually knew him before. (Powerful potential Angst and feels right there if they don’t believe him. Or it could be really funny, depending on how it’s played.)

There are also some fun shenanigans that could happen too. Mostly from Vic trying to figure out how his new race/abilities work. Like (if he was a warne)  accidentally using Expeditious Retreat and yeeting himself into a wall. Or (if he was a frankenalie) getting into a heated argument with an animal via Speak With Animals but not knowing it.

(“Uh, Vic?” “Wha- Oh! Sorry,  I was caught up talking with this guy-” “Vic, you’re talking to a dog.” “...Oh. Suddenly this makes a lot more sense.”)

But- yeah. That’s my idea for a potential storyline for Toonkind DnD, Victor Tim brought back from the dead but not as a Yupyaen and all the possible chaos that could entail. 

Honestly, I have more thoughts on the story, but it’s one of those things that would probably go better if I was able to talk with others about it.

This will probably sit in my posts for who knows how long and never actually get used/played, but I have said my piece now. Who knows, maybe I’ll use the initial idea in something and just remove Vic from the equation.

(... It would be cool if I actually got to use/play this in Toonkind though.)

[amphtaminedreams]

Spring/Summer & Haute Couture Week 2021: Whoops, I’ve Missed a Loooot (Part 2)

Hey to anyone reading,

I’m so sorry for the gap between the last fashion week review post and this one! Argh. I had no idea I posted it as long ago as the beginning of March but I think we can all agree that lockdown has fucked with our perceptions of time completely. I wish I could say the delay in posting was as simple as me being busy but I’ve also started to reflect on whether or not I want to carry on this format of posts for the time being; on the scale of problems, this one is wayyy down there in the very lower quartile of the first world region, but my motivation to carry on this kind of content in the form of long-winded text posts is...meh...not so much there anymore. At first I was thinking the issue was that working on these was my last priority on my daily to-do lists but as I’ve got back into writing fiction, it’s kind of occurred to me that the fact I was putting these posts on my to-do lists in the first place along with things like doing the ironing and contacting student finance speaks volumes. When I’m back from work or winding down, opening up Tumblr and coming back to this draft isn’t something that I think of as a fun stress reliever in the way drafting stories is. It doesn’t feel like I’m using my imagination or my creativity or expressing myself in any way and it’s not much of an escape from day to day life in the way that writing dialogue or exploring characters is. Maybe it’s because I’ve done quite a few of these posts now but I just tend to feel like I’m repeating myself, you know kinda like when you’re writing an essay and trying to fill up a word count; of course there are collections that I do have a lot of opinions on but by and large, sometimes it boils down to THESE CLOTHES ARE JUST FUCKING PRETTY, OKAY?! There’s only so many things you can say about a tulle skirt or an exaggerated collar before you want to strangle yourself with said tulle. I used to think iF VoGUe RuNwaY wRitErs CaN dO iT WhAT's MY exCusE until I realised that 1). Vogue Runway writers actually get paid and 2). for the most part all they do is explain the designer's intentions behind the collections verbatim without giving a critical opinion anyway.

I think a lot of the pressure I feel to justify what are in reality quite simple observations and opinions goes back to some of the feelings I explained in my first ever fashion week review where people who know more about fashion and have a formal education in the subject tend to be kind of gatekeep-y and elitist. It can never be that you appreciate different things about a collection but rather than one of you has taste and the other doesn’t and if it wasn’t obvious, the taste level assigned to you by the powers that be tend to positively correlate with the amount of money you have available to spend on a degree that has a reputation for failing to provide a steady income, which for most makes it an unrealistic avenue to pursue. I know, I know, the pressure is totally self-inflicted and wholly imagined seeing as I have under 500 followers on here and those who do interact with these posts most likely do so for the pictures but I still feel it, and given that I’m going to have enough external pressure to write essays when I return to uni in September, why on earth am I wasting time putting it on myself? When just posting photosets of my favourite looks is not only actually enjoyable for me but is also what other people WANT to see too? Nobody wants to read a self-indulgent paragraph like this when they’re here for the clothes and to be honest, for the most part I don’t want to write them anyway unless it’s something I have strong feelings about or if a collection can only be properly appreciated with analysis. I think I’ve made pretty clear which designers I’m a fan of, do you really need to hear me raving about Gucci or Zimmerman or Miu Miu or Balenciaga again? Is there gonna be anything revolutionary in yet another rant about Maria Grazia? Course not. I mean, if you are reading, you might have to witness those things one last time because I do intend to finish off this season’s review in this format for consistency purposes and because I’ve already got all the notes now but on the whole, I doubt anyone will miss my rambles.

So, with all that in mind, I think after I finish my S/S21 posts I am gonna start just uploading these posts without the written part. I mean, for one, the simplicity of doing this means I’m much less likely to procrastinate making them which in turn means I’ll be able to get them out right after the shows as a kind of summary as opposed to months later when they’re no longer as relevant. This will also give me more time to work on the writing I actually enjoy. Right now I’m going through and editing my 17 year old self’s “grown-up” take on the Pretty Little Liars blackmail murder mystery style plot line which I wrote back when I was completely and utterly obsessed with the show and bitterly disappointed by the last couple of seasons. The writing is pretty mediocre and often hugely cringey to read back now but I am still a fan of the basic plot and I’m genuinely motivated to see if I can make it something actually worth reading, and to get onto that ASAP; this feels especially important right now given that the HBO version of the series’ apparent upcoming release has sent that ever-present writer’s fear of seeing-your-same-storyline-done-better-by-somebody-else-thus-forever-relegating-your-version-to-being-the-poor-imitation-so-you-gotta-get-there-first into overdrive (or maybe that’s just me and my neuroses). Again, it’s a totally unfounded fear based on the fact that the HBO show will probs get millions of viewers whilst I will be doing little more than shouting into the void but anybody who’s used Turnitin to submit an essay that ultimately counts for little more than like 1% of your grade or degree will know that no matter how irrelevant your work is, the concept of failing a plagiarism check, be it via a computer algorithm or one random stranger on the internet’s assessment, is enough to conjure visions of the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse galloping towards you screaming “START THE WHOLE THING AGAIN” before releasing a hoarde of 2015 Chanel vs. Walmart style comparison memes.

Now, speaking of Chanel, I should probably get back into the reviewing. 

So for the last time for a little while, here’s Christian Siriano:

Siriano’s designs are a great example of work I feel guilty enjoying. I know that when it comes to quality, the high fashion community have a lot of (negative) things to say and I really can’t speak to that because quite honestly, I know very little about textile manufacturing. Solely from my own point of view though, I do like his work a lot. I wouldn’t claim for a minute that he’s a pioneer in terms of his creations but I would 100% love to wear them and I DO hugely admire his commitment to putting women of all sizes on the runway and designing pieces that don’t simply cater to straight up and down types which is more than can be said for most brands. I get that his collections are pretty formulaic, taking what has worked for the likes of Chanel and Alessandra Rich, De La Renta and Carolina Herrera, Michael Kors too (who is kind of guilty of the same thing himself), but that’s not to say his work is bad. Let’s be real, we’ve been on this planet thousands of years, we’re all taking inspiration from someone, and maybe figures like Kors and Siriano could wait a *little* longer before taking said inspiration but their aim at the end of the day is to sell clothes, not break barriers, a task which although often left to the big name brands, they too often fail at. I’m not going to lie, I’m feeling this whimsical mid-century tea party vibe, it’s elegant and it’s cutesy and My Fair Lady-esque, and you bet your arse I would be absolutely thrilled to wear one of these looks on a summer red carpet. I just can’t say no to anything tulle-maybe it’s that I was on Toddlers & Tiaras in a past life or maybe it’s that I watched too many Barbie Princess films growing up, but I like pretty much everything going on here, especially Siriano is giving us matching fedoras too. Plus, can we take a moment to praise Siriano for his COVID relief efforts? Near the beginning of the pandemic, he turned his studio into a mask manufacturing factory in order to send them out as donations, and I think that is very cool.

Then there’s Christopher Kane who once again came through with the most insanely gorgeous prints:

I mean, paint splattering is hardly a new technique but I haven’t seen it done as a print so tastefully before-it eats the Moschino biro scribble print (which apparently was copied too speaking of the tendencies of designers to “borrow” inspiration) for breakfast. It’s shit because there weren’t many looks in this collection and they weren’t really shot in a way that does them any justice but I thought I’d include the few I saved.

Comme Des Garcons is a fave of the high fashion community and one I look forward to seeing at fashion week but can never quite get behind. I appreciate the what-the-fuckery of it all with this show totally being able to pass as a run-through of some kind of nuclear waste themed scare house at one of Thorpe Park’s fright nights. I assume given that and the plastic Mickey Mouse print it’s supposed to be some kind of reference to the part late-stage capitalism has played in the hellish landscape we find ourselves in today? Or something all intellectual? In which case I made my interpretation with farrrr too much confidence. But Anyway! Who knows! I’ll leave the analysis to the fashion students, and give it one word: trippy.

Onto Dion Lee, a brand I truly do get excited to talk about because it’s rare that I don’t LOVE his work.

Without fail, Lee manages to be confidently ahead of the curve without going out of his way to announce it and his genius to everyone with flamboyant shows and exaggerated designs and extortionate prices. He is very much an underdog in the fashion world in terms of big names but you’ll be hard pressed to find anyone who doesn’t love his collections. His S/S21 collection is one of my favourites of the bunch. I love seeing something I’ve never seen before and the palm leaf breast plate is so odd but so cool and so perfectly Dion Lee at the same time; we’ve seen jungle/tropical inspired collections sooo many times *cough cough D&G cough cough* and THIS is how you make them fresh and unique. I mean, never in a million years did I think I’d get behind the resurgence of the gladiator sandal trend but Lee has me changing my mind. This is one of the very rare times you will ever see me using this meme to praise a man but:

I mean, he has Fernanda Ly modelling for him, that the man has taste goes without saying.

Now for a bit of a full circle moment, given that I did actually praise Dior’s haute couture collection in my first ever post; Maria Grazia did GOOD. Well, with haute couture at least.

She’s always pretty hamfisted with her references, there’s no denying, with that Grecian Goddess style RTW collection typifying that statement completely, but luckily she struck gold this time round; as someone who studied the Tudors for A-level history, seeing a modern take on the exaggeratedly feminine renaissance silhouettes with the baroque prints and the deep jewell tones got me super excited especially when you throw in the dreamy tarot theming and the nods to the mystical and arcane. Seeing as the Heavenly Bodies Met Gala (I know, I know, I need to move on) was some time ago now and Cersei Lannister’s *SPOILER* been crushed by a rock (could also be seen as a metaphor for the irrelevancy David Benioff and D.B Wise condemned GoT to when they aired that shitty ending tehe) and so probably won’t be getting a collection based on her costumes any time soon, this is the only fashion take on this kind of period dress I’m going to get…and you know what? I’m okay with that. Thanks Maria, I guess?

Her RTW collection wasn’t absolutely awful either, and slightly better than the past few collections at least. Put a monkey in a room with a typewriter (or show it enough similar well-received collections) and it will eventually write something that makes sense, don’t they say? I like the nomadic feel of a lot of the looks and there’s beautiful layering going on but the aura of exotic opulence unsurprisingly didn’t stick around for long and I found that there was a decline in quality in the midsection of the show that landed a lot of the outfits in either awkward mother of the bride at a beach wedding or The Only Way is Essex Ocean Beach PLT sponsored poolside party territory. The looks picked back up a bit towards the end stretch of the show but I wasn’t a fan of the Gucci style oversized glasses which were so out of place with the rest of the theming that if anything they seemed like a cheap grab at relevancy. So yeah, a middling, subpar Etro-esque collection which is better than usual for Dior I suppose.

Next, Elie Saab, whose S/S21 collection was kinda disappointing, tbh. Oh how the turns have tabled given that positive Dior review and my usual love of Saab’s collections.

I know his dresses lose some of their appeal when we can’t see them in motion but even ON the runway I can’t see myself being dazzled by any of these pieces the way I usually am. They’re lacking the level of detail and craftsmanship I associate with the brand seemingly in favour of block colours and suits and the issue is that the whole Disney Princess fantasy has always been the appeal for me because the silhouettes aren’t interesting enough on their own. They’re not ugly pieces, they’re nice, but does nice really have a place in high fashion when the pieces are so basic in both their design and presentation that the shots could pass as ripped from a catalogue? The strongest parts of the collection were when it did go down the more delicate route with the muted blue suits and the white feather trimmed dresses, the small, ornamental gold details reminding me of a very toned down nod to Schiaparelli’s hardware, but with regards to the bright coloured pieces, I can’t lie-they did look like something you could find in the M&S Per Una holiday section. Then you’ve got the weakest parts, which were just flat out ugly: sheer giraffe print, sweat band style elasticated waits, and long chiffon shirts that I hate to admit read as frumpy. There are times where I’ve not been particularly excited by an Elie Saab collection in the past, but I do think this is the first time I’ve actively disliked parts of it.

Conversely, Erdem’s S/S21 collection was super strong, and solidified the brand’s place in my mind as a dependable source of kooky maximalism, this time round giving us  Anya Taylor Joy’s Emma wardrobe on speed. You could tell me Erdem Moralıoğlu had just raided the Bridgerton set’s fitting rooms and put it on a runway and I would 100% believe you and I mean that in a positive way because to give my unpopular opinion, the clothes were the only good thing about that show. The endearingly florid details of exaggerated bows and clashing florals were still there but this time in a way that felt more subtle and self-assured, as if the calming influence of the wooded set’d had a direct hand in the designs, giving the rugged, ethereal feel to the collection I associate with brands like Brock and Simone Rocha, all whilst keeping the parts of Erdem I’m so fond of.

Is it really much of a shock that I included pretty much every look from the Etro S/S21 show?  Like, you know that Christian idea of God, like, (the voice in my head is very much taking on the dumb valley girl voice that anybody who reads this is most probably getting too) knowing our souls? I think Veronica Etro knows mine. So no, no surprise. Though there were a few unconventional touches thrown into these looks (the campier prints and nautical theming we see with the 80s beach towel print, for example, reminded me a bit of Versace) the mystical bohemian it girl that Etro designs for would still be highly satisfied. Sure, it might be a wardrobe fit for a holiday less adventurous than backpacking but if she wanted a tropical poolside holiday, this collection is the one, the paisley print chiffon mini and maxi dresses especially. I’m just gonna pretend I don’t see the monstrosity that is leggings worn as trousers-it’s a fashion rule I refuse to abandon-because they are the only stain on an otherwise expectedly gorgeous collection.

Next, an unusually reserved RTW collection from Fendi:

More in line with the wardrobe of a European fashion editor than the glamorous trophy wife (who let’s say uses that facade as a guise to ruthlessly run her husband’s whole business empire from behind the scenes because in this house we do complex female characters only), these pieces are lot “smarter” and more professional looking than Fendi’s typical offerings; where I feel Fendi usually designs for the society girl who wouldn’t mind a front page scandal, these are the kind of outfits a young member of Monaco’s royal family would wear for a positively received but business-as-usual press tour. I know, Fendi is an Italian brand, but this is more Southern France to me. We’re talking some 2nd page shots of a Kate Middleton type on a yacht on the Riviera smiling and waving as her PR team’s ideal scenario. Still, whilst fewer exaggerated silhouettes, animal prints and overtly luxurious fabrics (real leathers, silks and furs for example) mean that the drama’s a little toned down, it’s all still very expensive looking and combines the classically feminine glamour of the past and the minimalism of modernity in the artful manner that we’re used to. Maybe it’s me being a basic bitch but I always love seeing Ashley Graham on the runway too, even if brands to tend to use her as their single token plus size model.

Kim Jones’ debut haute couture collection for Fendi, however, wasn’t a very well received one. I don’t hate it personally but I can see where the criticisms are coming from. Whilst it’s closer to the version of Fendi I’ve come to expect and there were some stunning pieces which completely encapsulated that distinctive aura of luxe and glamour, there were quite a few lazy pieces which could’ve been from any designer. I also felt the collection was a bit upstaged by what seemed to be a who’s who of the modelling world; having Bella, Cara, Kate and Naomi ALL walk in one show was a bit distracting and took the focus off the clothes completely.

Giambattista Valli’s RTW collection was gorgeous as ever; the man has undeniably mastered the art of delivering classic, objective elegance, the kind of designs I feel would make you light on your feet and smell like strawberries and cream the minute you put one on. Whilst as a brand his RTW shows are rarely trendsetting, they reliably produce a plethora of unfailingly graceful and demure pieces, as appealing to your mum and your grandma as they are to young women and little girls, and this collection is another victory lap for Valli when it comes to upholding his signature tea party and artisan cupcake making and rose garden strolling and bottomless rosé brunch appropriate aesthetic. There were a lot of outfits that were bordering on overly juvenile, with structures a little too basic to justify the amount of sequins thrown on, but when it’s good, it’s so sweet that regardless of how to formula it is, I can’t help but fall in love.

Valli’s haute couture collection was stunning too and for sure a more exciting offering than the RTW. There was of course a lot of the signature tulle but it was head-turning, over the top in a way that leant far more towards the experimental than I expected. The photos themselves are 100% believable as a some kind of Vogue behind the scenes editorial shoot on the set of live action Disney princess movie (in between takes of the climactic ball scene if you wanna get specific with the vision); if you are looking for a prettier alternative to the primary colours and disruptive shapes of a Molly Goddard collection, this is the one. It’s giving the themes of excess and abundance I associate with that of the Hunger Games Capitol but through the softer lens of a Sofia Coppola movie, and being the typical cinema loving white girl I am, I’m obviously on board with that vibe.

I did SUCH a 180 on Givency’s S/S21 collection from when I first saw it to writing a review. My initial reaction was one of disappointment, I guess simply because Givenchy has given us so many bold pieces and presentations over the last few years whereas this is more low-key. After properly considering it though as I would any other brand, I came to the conclusion that I do actually really like it. It’s still got the strange, androgynous silhouettes popping up throughout and the futuristic space-age details but with a more down-to-earth, streetwear feel, albeit a very slick, glossy spin on the trends of the rabble (that’s us guys) of course before we go believing it’s achievable. On the one hand, the devil horn accents are a touch Claire’s accessories halloween range but at the same time, done with confidence they’re kind of cool and bring something new and fun to the table in line with the dark theatre of Givenchy’s last few shows.

Now for Gucci, which for the first time I have to say, if I'm attempting objectivity, is not a standout. 

Like, can I just start by saying though the format it’s presented in is cute, it’s not ideal as a way of actually showing the collection. I get that the vintage shop bin vibe is a huge part of Gucci’s brand but polaroids make it SO hard to actually see the clothes, and that’s what we’re here for right? I don’t want to give the impression that I don’t like what I see here-the clothes are gorgeous, an idyllic ode to the off-duty wardrobes of Studio 54-ers, bohemian style icons like Charlotte Rampling and young Olivia Newton-John, psychedelic rock guitarists and the inhabitants of San Fransisco’s Haight during the late 60s and early 70s, Alessandro Michele’s favourite period of reference. I can’t pretend otherwise, or act like I wouldn’t want to wear the shit out of this collection. Buut, for Gucci? It’s a little underwhelming. These are the kind of filler looks we get in a typical Gucci show to go alongside the more statement pieces, which this collection is lacking. It’s just that these are designs which usually gets people talking and these pieces don’t do that. It sucks because for most other brands this would be a stand out collection, an immersive, luscious vignette of what people tend to think of as a cultural golden era, but when you’ve had a show that involved models carrying replicas of their own decapitated heads down the runway in the last 5 years, of course something more toned down like this is gonna generate a lot of “is that it?”s.

I owe Hermes an apology. Looking back, I have disliked all their previous collections for the same reason that I now really like this one; maybe it’s in part down to the frustration of still having to whack out the winter coat on occasion in May (fuck British weather and climate change), but suddenly I really appreciate the value of some good quality, versatile outerwear. Hermes is giving us that in spades here and for that, I bow down to them. The pieces on offer are clearly well-made and genuinely practical, and through the minimalist approach manage to retain both an air of timeless sophistication whilst also being youthful and on trend. The leather tactical vest co-ord I can easily see edged up and taking centre stage on one of those insane Seoul street style slow-mo TikToks that were big a couple of months ago and there are several pieces that could tie together a grunge influenced k-style look just as well as they could exist for years on end as the wardrobe staple of a high-powered businesswoman. Designer Nadège Vanhee-Cybulski’s strengths really come through with the simpler looks and it’s the patterned pieces that drag down an otherwise flawless collection; I guess because the aesthetic is very minimalist, the patterns can’t be anything overly decorative but unfortunately this has a bit of a dowdy effect when you pair it with such modest silhouettes. Disregarding those elements of the collection though, it was super good.

It goes without saying that Iris Van Herpen’s haute couture collection was breathtaking; if the fashion community can agree on anything, it’s that this woman’s work is consistently awe-inspiring. She captures the wonder of the universe, the biological structures and kaleidoscopic colours we don’t even register, through fashion in a way that others can only imitate, to mesmerising, truly transcendent effect; I can only assume Van Herpen has mother nature whispering into her ear because how the hell else do you explain her ability to take the kind of microscopic organisms they show you images of in an outdated GCSE science powerpoint and make a dress that resembles one so stunning? Care to explain, Iris? Because if there is some kind of line of communication between the two of you can you please tell the bitch I’m over this weather and that I have cute summer outfits I’m waiting to wear so can she pack this torrential rain shit in? K, thanks xoxo

See it seems shady as fuck to go from IVH to Isabel Marant like this because we are talking 2 designers with totallyyyy different approaches to fashion; Iris Van Herpen is haute couture for starters whereas Marant is commercial, and that’s her thing, but unfair comparisons aside this collection is still a bit of a let down. This is considering I do usually really like Isabel Marant collections based on whether or not I’d wear the pieces, which seems a more appropriate barometer to use to come to a quality verdict. Whilst there were a few of the elegant bohemian pieces my mind goes to when it comes to her brand, the steps outside of that comfort zone didn’t pay off; graffiti print (can be cool if done with some subtlety which apart from a few exceptions was not the case here), cheap looking reflective fabric, and MC Hammer style dungarees, it seems to be an attempt to merge 80s trends with modern urban culture, and an attempt that at times verged on the disastrous. It’s good for a brand to experiment, of course, and appeal to a wider client base than usual, but when it’s bad the unfortunate take away is that the design team don’t have the chops to pull off straying from familiar territory; designers wouldn’t be showing at fashion week if this was truly the case because disregarding the influence of nepotism, fashion is an area you need real talent, perseverance and business smarts to excel in, and so it doesn’t do a team justice when they do fail.

J.W Anderson, on the other hand, really put his best foot forward this season and presented this work in a really cool way too which only added to the positives; whilst the way the shots were edited was funky af, it didn’t detract from the actual outfits, and if we are to see the same limitations when it comes to the F/W collections being released, this is something a lot of designers and editing teams should take note of. The idiosyncratic exaggerated shapes that we see as a recurring feature of Anderon’s collections were still on show but this time round with added femininity, billowing skirts and trailing jewellery that channel the stage looks of Stevie Nicks in a way that’s modern and functional and maybe even fit for the office if you were to work in a more creative industry with a chill boss. Could also work for a coven of witches who practice meditation by bonfires in the moonlight and burn the letters of men who wronged them in some Arizonian desert, so like I said, functional! Who doesn’t like versatility? The only thing I’m not too keen on is the shoes but they’re not so bad that it affects my opinion of the collection and they look comfy I guess.

Lastly, we’ve got to talk about Jacquemus, one of the most influential names in fashion at the moment. And yes, this time round, I’m doing it: I’m buying into the hype.

This collection is gorgeousss! I can see already that a lot of the recurring elements of the show are going to be big summer trends for this year (the cut outs and strappy details on the blouses are everywhere already) even though it isn’t hot enough to have collectively decided the time to start dressing for heat is upon us yet, and that’s always a good indicator of how successful the designer was in their vision and attempts to assess the needs and wants of fashion enthusiasts; whether I’m as big a fan of his work as everyone else seems to be, there’s no denying Simon Porte Jacquemus has always excelled at this practice if the buzz around him is anything to go by. It makes sense given the last year of us all being stuck in and suppressed that a lot of us are already romanticising the summer ahead, anticipating picnics and beach days and general Theresa May running through wheat fields type shenanigans galore, in spite of how dubious an assumption it is to make that British weather will allow for this; Porte Jacquemus has very much catered to this wishful thinking and the popularity of the whole escapist “cottage core” aesthetic, sexing it up a little bit with pieces that hug the body in ways only Mugler knows how whilst being lightweight and relaxed enough to look good with windswept, sandy hair and a little dose of sunburn. I’m talking enough to give you some cutesy freckles and rosy cheeks not PSA on the importance of suncream territory, guys, what is it with those of us on the gen Z/millennial cusp not taking sun damage seriously!? Why do I have to beg so many of my friends to wear it!? Does nobody else remember those photos they’d show you in PSHE in English primary schools of burnt people’s skin under UV lights? Or is that just me being weird and only having such a vivid memory of the images because teachers told us we had to wait until year 6 to see them due they to their “graphic” nature only for my gore-loving self to be extremely underwhelmed when we finally did get that lesson? They showed us a woman giving birth in year 4 for fuck’s sake. THAT was traumatising.

Back to the actual point anyway, with just a couple of negatives, the first of which being that the pieces are very similar to those feminine looks we saw dotted about the Jacquemus menswear collection from last year that were all over fashion Twitter. In Simon Porte Jacquemus’ defence though, it makes sense that those tones and silhouettes would be revisited in a full womenswear collection for that very reason; considering they went down so well and that lockdown gave us a bit of a half-baked summer in 2020, expanding on those elements enough for a whole new collection makes good business sense. We did get some cool additions too, mainly in the form of accessories, with the hardware details on the belts similar to those included in the Givenchy collection and the abstract hair slides being standouts for me. It was all exquisite-the shoes, the jewellery, the styling, everything 10/10. My other nitpick, and I say nitpick not because it’s not important but because it’s an issue that’s hardly restricted to Jacquemus (this casting team are far from the worst offenders, Saint Laurent I’m looking at you), is that I WISH we’d see more diversity with the models. Despite what my body dysmorphia yells at me, I am small, and yet seeing all those fucking minuscule waists made me die a little inside; it’s crazy to me that in 2020 the lack of variety in body types on the runway is still such a problem.

I must have said this a million times but I don’t want to end on a negative note so let me reiterate: this collection was STUN. NING. Plus there were some others I’ve talked about in this post that I’m sure will make it into my top 20 in the final part, Jacquemus, Dion Lee and Etro for sure; we even got some gorgeous pieces from Maria Grazia which I thought was a sentence I’d never type out. Have I said enough to not leave a bad taste in the mouth of anyone who read to the end of this post? I hope so, lol! TBH, it’s impressive given everything that’s going on that the majority of designers did roll out collections in September as usual so serious respect to them and their design teams for that.

In the next post, I’ll fingers crossed be able to include everything from Kim Shui (exciting!) through to at least Off-White (actually pretty good this time?!) and make this whole thing a 4 parter before getting straight on top of the photo posts I’m thinking about doing for the time being for the F/W21 shows. So as usual, if you did read to the end thank you so much and I respect the perseverance you must have to get through all my rambling, lmao. Hope everyone is well and coping okay and again, my inbox is always open for any post suggestions, constructive criticism, or just a chat for anyone who needs a listening ear.

Big love and thank you again!

Lauren x

[edelwoodsouls]

maybe in another universe - ch. 1 [fic]

Jon isn’t expecting anything good when he’s evacuated to the countryside. Living with his crush rival he can just about handle. The secret magical world in the upstairs wardrobe, on the other hand, might just break him.

AKA: Narnia AU

Word Count: 2,707 | Also on Ao3 | Other Chapters: 2,

chapter one: the train to everywhere

As the train leaves the station, Jon doesn't look back.

The corridors outside his carriage are filled with other kids, craning their necks out of the windows to wave at their parents, tears streaming down their faces. It's a mess of loud noise and emotion that makes Jon wholly uncomfortable.

There's no one for him to look back to, no one to share tears with. No one to yell at him, you'll be home before you know it! and have fun, dear! it's okay!

He curls his arms around his suitcase and stares out the opposite window, at the vanishing buildings. Smoke shimmers over the horizon, mixing with the clouds, and Jon tries to imagine the view from above. When the planes fly overhead, do they recognise the smothered lights flickering below? Do they spare a thought for the bodies on the other side of the flames?

The corners of his suitcase begin to dig painfully into his skin.

Before he can spiral any further, the door to the compartment rattles open with a sudden gunshot sound that sets every nerve in his body alight.

He flinches and turns to see a girl roughly his own age, head swathed in a dark blue hijab, pressing her lips in an apologetic line.

"Sorry," she shrugs noncommittally, inclining her head. "Is that seat taken?"

"Uh, no."

"So I can take it?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks." She shoulders her way into the room, heaving her own suitcase up onto the rack above their heads with an easy movement. Jon grips his own sheepishly - several blows to the head have taught him that he is nowhere near strong enough to haul it up that high.

The girl settles into the seat opposite him, retrieves a book from the recesses of her thick navy trench coat. It's a weathered copy of The Iliad, well-thumbed and annotated.

He's leaning forward curiously before he can help himself.

The girl looks up with raised eyebrows. "Nosy much?"

"Sorry," he shrinks back behind the large bulk in his lap. "I just- I used to have that same copy. Before..."

The girl's face softens, infinitessimly. "It's one of my favourites," she offers, almost apologetically. "I started keeping all my books in the shelter a few months ago. It's the only reason this survived."

Jon says nothing - there's nothing he can really say. In this moment, they are just two strangers, sharing a burning world.

"I'm Basira," the girl says, with a decisive look. "I'm from Finchley, being evacuated to Dorset. You?"

"Uh- same," Jon blinks, surprised. "I'm Jon. I've- I've never seen you before?"

"I mean, I imagine you go to the boys' school."

"Not until last year."

"Oh."

Jon glances down at his hands, hoping Basira can't see the way his fingers are white-knuckled against his suitcase.

"Well, I was new before-" she waves her arms vaguely, "all this. Home-schooled. So not really surprising."

"Oh." Slowly, one by one, Jon allows his muscles to relax. "That must've been nice. Quiet."

"That's one word for it," Basira mutters in a way that implies a hundred other meanings than nice. "I was really looking forward to actually getting to know people, y'know? New people, my own age."

"Well, you know me now?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do."

Jon tries for a smile, but it comes out as something more of a grimace. All the same, Basira seems to get the sentiment, and returns it.

~/~/~/~

Martin hates trains.

In theory, they're the perfect vessel. Hours of uninterrupted time, the world moving beneath your feet as you curl into a seat with a hot cup of tea and your favourite paperback.

But he hasn't been on a train since his mother sent him away to London, and that sort of memory tends to leave one with a distaste by association.

Now here he is, only a few years later, being sent away again.

He's just glad his mother refused to take him in. He's not sure he could bear going back to that house, potentially indefintiely.

All the same, he's trying to make the best out of the journey that he can. He's heard horror stories of other evacuees, forced to work on farms or taken in only to be used for their ration cards. If that's the sort of fate he's headed for, he'll take the luxury of a nice cuppa and the drafting of a few poems whilst it's still there.

And he really is in the perfect place for it. The smouldering London skyline behind him, the fathomless countryside ahead. A world in flux and chaos, defined in fire and water.

He notes that down in his journal.

"Any good thoughts?" Melanie asks through a mouthful of sandwich.

Martin blinks up at the girl sharing his compartment, an embodiment of chaos if ever he's seen one. She's lying across the seats opposite him, her suitcase open and contents strewn everywhere - she'd been digging through it to find something inane which turned out to be in her pocket the whole time, and hasn't bothered to pack it up again.

Martin's hands itch to tidy the space - instead he grips his pen a little too hard and settles for a quzzical smile.

"Your writing," she points with the corner of her sandwich. "You look very deep in concentration and dramatic. Any good thoughts?"

"I suppose," he shrugs, retreating somewhat under Melanie's energetic gaze. "Something about dichotomies. Peace and war, fire and water. City and country."

"Men and women, nurse and soldier. Alive and dead."

Martin raises an eyebrow. "I guess."

"Hey- if there's any time to be morbid, it's during a war, dontcha think?"

"True. Do you write?"

"Nope. I do photography, though."

Martin can feel himself getting interested despite himself. "Really? Do you have a camera?"

Melanie nudges at the pile of clothes somehow still heaped in the boundaries of her suitcase, revealing the packaging of a beautiful, sleek camera piece that makes Martin fall a little in love with this stranger instantly.

"Is that a Retina I?" he asks, unable to quite keep the awe out of his voice.

"You really know your tech," Melanie says approvingly. "Yeah, it is. I'm going to be a supernaturalist."

"A what?"

"A supernaturalist, Martin. I'm going to be the first person to prove that ghosts exist. I'm going to get one on film."

"Huh."

Martin deliberately avoids Melanie's eyes. To believe in the supernatural is not generally approved of, let alone to talk about it with the sudden reverence and conviction that have crept into Melanie's voice.

He's gotten very used to pretending he's never seen anything out of the ordinary. The smoke that follows him around like a shadow, the spiders that seem to understand him just a little too intelligently - they all have mundane explanations.

He's never met someone so open about such things.

He lasts a matter of seconds before his tongue gets the better of him. "What've you seen?"

Melanie grins, as if she's been waiting from the moment they met just for him to ask. "I got shot by a ghost."

Martin almost knocks over his tea. "I'm sorry?"

"I got shot by a ghost."

"Yeah, you said that already. What I meant to say was, what the fuck?"

Melanie looks delighted to have his attention. She reaches down and rolls her sock to her ankle, revealing a garish red scar screaming across her leg. "London's full of ghosts, if you hadn't noticed. They just love the chaos that's going on right now, always wandering all over the place when the streets are empty and everyone's hidden in their shelters."

"I'm guessing you're not one for shelters," Martin says dryly, attempting to smother the sheer confusion and excitement doing battle in his brain.

"Of course not," Melanie scoffs. "They won't let me enlist because I'm a girl, but, I mean, have you seen some of the boys in charge of Finchley's bomb clearance?"

"A lot of them were in the year above me at school," Martin nods. He could say far more bitter things, but he keeps his mouth shut.

"They're kids, just like us," Melanie nods, a furious look in her eyes. "I wouldn't trust them to protect me from a particularly vicious duck, let alone the end of days raining from the sky."

Martin grins in agreement. Despite initial perceptions, he's starting to like Melanie a lot.

A shame they'll only get to know each other for this one train ride, likely never to hear from each other again. Unless Melanie does actually become famous for photographing ghosts, and he becomes famous for his poetry, and maybe they'll meet at a gala sixty years from now and not recognise each other at all.

Martin mentally kicks himself out of that particular spiral. He's always had a problem with melancholy, and the world being on fire has hardly done anything to improve him.

He's convinced it's what makes him a good poet.

"Hey," he says, to distract himself. "Where are you being sent to?"

"Some professor," Melanie shrugs. "Probably a stuffy old bat who'll put you to work if she finds a single fingerprint in the dust. Academics are all the same, from what I've seen."

Martin looks down at his own tag, brown paper tied with fraying string, looped around his neck by a disinterested attendant at the posting office. He hasn't actually had the nerve to read the name yet.

His heart picks up. "Melanie... it's not Professor Gertrude Robinson, is it?"

~/~/~/~/~

"...But Patroclus called to his comrades with a loud shout: “Myrmidons, ye comrades of Achilles, son of Peleus, be men, my friends, and bethink you of furious valour, to the end that we may win honour for the son of Peleus, that is far the best of the Argives by the ships, himself and his squires that fight in close combat; and that the son of Atreus, wide-ruling Agamemnon, may know his blindness in that he honoured not at all the best of the Achaeans-"

"Achilles is such an idiot," Basira interrupts, rolling her eyes and flipping the coin in her palm in absent, distracted movements.

Jon raises an eyebrow and lowers the book. "I can stop, if you'd prefer."

"No, no, you're okay. You've got a surprisingly good voice for this stuff. I'm glad you suggested it."

They've been taking turns reading aloud, switching out every few pages to pass the time, since Jon has no books of his own. But Basira seems to have quickly decided that Jon is a born narrator and delegated all further reading to him.

He's been glowing faintly from the praise ever since.

The journey has flown by - as time often does when Jon's hyperfixations make an appearance - but for once he doesn't feel guilty about indulging it. Basira seems just as fascinated, somehow, and he greatly enjoys her interruptions.

"You don't think Achilles is an idiot?" she asks, crossing her legs and leaning forward intently.

"No, I definitely do- he sends his boyfriend out to fight a war he isn't prepared for just because of a grudge and then throws a tantrum when that hubris gets him killed. He's definitely an idiot."

"Oh good," Basira says, visibly relieved. "For a moment there I thought we were going to have to argue."

Jon laughs, and the sound comes easier than it has in a while. This realisation crawls under his skin, cutting the sound short. He looks out of the window for some semblance of escape-

"Hey! Look!" He points out at the approaching train station, a quaint thing, barely more than a slab of stone emerging from a field. But the sign, rusted as it is, reads the same as the looping handwriting on the label around his neck does.

"Oh joy," Basira sighs. "Countryside air and a new family who'll probably hate me."

"Where are you being sent?" Jon asks, more hopeful than he's willing to admit. "Maybe we'll be neighbours."

"The household of Professor Gertrude Robinson," she reads from her own label.

"So am I!" Jon's heart leaps high in his chest despite himself. "You know, if we're with a professor, she might- I mean, she probably isn't a rough work kind of person- so maybe... this won't be so awful after all?"

Of course, Jon has always had a habit of speaking too soon.

~/~/~/~/~

Gathering Melanie's discarded belongings is a predictably chaotic affair, but she executes it with the practiced air of someone who lives that way every day.

Martin can't decide whether he's excited or dreading living with this girl.

As soon as they sprawl out onto the platform with seconds to spare, Martin realises that Melanie's mess is the least of his worries.

Because perched on the station's only bench, face knitted into his iconic perpetual frown, eyes squinting against the sun, is Jonathan fucking Sims.

Next to his suitcase, and wearing a knitted jumper several sizes too big, he looks tiny. The tall hijabi girl standing on top of the bench, looking searchingly into the distant fields, only serves to exaggerate this.

Melanie notices the sudden drain in his skin immediately, and follows his gaze. "For fucks sake."

"You know him?" Martin asks faintly, resisting the urge to brush his hands through his hair, or smooth his clothes. Jon doesn't care what he looks like, doesn't care about him. He should've learnt back in primary school that being rivals isn't something to be romanticised.

But his heart doesn't seem to get the message as a stray gust of wind dances in Jon's dark hair, and it skips a beat.

"Do I know Jonathan fucking Sims?" Melanie grits out, heaving her suitcase roughly over one shoulder. "That guy is such a wanker. 'Ghosts are for idiots, Melanie. Just a romantic ideal made up by delusional people afraid of the dark.'"

"He's not that bad," Martin begins to protest before he can stop himself, "he's just been through a lot."

"Doesn't excuse him being a dick," Melanie grumbles. "Not to mention he used to date my girlfriend. Always having a disaster and blazing back into her life. What I wouldn't give for five minutes one on one, I'd teach him..."

Melanie goes on muttering under her breath, but Martin barely hears, because Jon has just met his eyes and nothing else in the world matters. There's surprise, then panic, before his expression settles back into a frown.

Martin sighs. It's not as if he should've expected anything else.

"Come on," he says to Melanie, picking up his suitcase. "We'd better get it over with."

The walk to close their distance seems to take hours, and somehow no time at all.

"Martin," Jon greets him with a clipped, emotionless tone.

"Hey, Jon," Martin smiles, refusing to let the other boy's walls get him down. "And you are?"

"Basira," the girl nods, still standing high above them and glancing distractedly towards the dirt path, likely looking for whoever will be along to pick up evacuees. "I guess you guys already know each other?"

"They go to school together," Melanie brushes off the explanation, before introducing herself, too. "Now we're all acquainted, how long before we never have to see each other again?"

Basira's eyes flick silently between the three of them, clearly noting the tension, but saying nothing.

"We're in the same house," Jon says stiffly. "I don't know about you two. I'm sure there are other benches you can loiter at."

"Well we're in the same house," Melanie shoots back, linking her arm with Martin and holding tight. She's a lot stronger than she looks.

An awful thought dawns on Martin, quickly encompassing and eclipsing anything else. "Where..." he swallows around his dry throat, "who are you guys with?"

Martin watches as Jon's eyes widen. Glance down at his own label, across at theirs, and back.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Martin wants to burrow into the ground and hide somewhere his blushing cheeks could never be seen. He shouldn't be surprised, really. This summer was already looking down, being far from London, living with strangers, adjusting to pretending to be whatever fit in most.

Living with the crush who hates his guts is somehow the only escalation that makes sense.

[smolbeandrabbles]

Try It On, Take It Off - Orson Krennic x Reader (Rogue One)

100 Sentence Challenge Request

Orson Krennic + 95 -  “Have I mentioned, I fucking hate Halloween.” Requested by @mysticaltimemachinewench

Author’s Note: Roll with the idea of Halloween and October 31st being things in the Star Wars universe just for this fic, please! This boy is so whiny, I spent all week writing for him last week and he’s still like “write more!” so, I thought I’d post one. It’s because he’s all the bottom of my drafts now I’m sure of it. Boots & Boys - Kesha  Okay, so I was looking for songs to do with dressing up. And I found a bunch of cute love songs about wearing your SOs clothing, but... This one is fun and I needed fun for the premise-!

Disclaimer: Rogue One Characters/SW Universe not mine. / Requested  premise / lyrics & gifs not mine.

Premise: Every Halloween it’s the same thing, and Krennic is sick of people dressing like him. This year he’s determined to get to the bottom of things...

Words: 2010

Warnings: Swearing / Sexual connotations/Pre-Amble

_____

Think it's time that I mention I've got myself an obsession For the smell, for the touch I know I've got myself a habit But I gotta have it now I don't care where, work it out Let me break it down I try it on, I take it off So what you got? Something 'bout boots and boys They bring me so much joy I gotta say I wear 'em both so pretty as I walk in the city Give me boots and boys I'm keeping quite the collection Take nothing less than perfection My men drop beats like a bomb Wind me up, spin me round Oh, lookie what I found (ooh!) I'm crazy for you, crazy for you Hey hey, whatcha looking at? Hey hey, something you can't have They've got me looking rad You feeling that?

---

October 31st was always a date Krennic hated seeing in his calendar. The Death Star had not been a project spanning months by any stretch of the imagination. Orson was many, many years into this – and he was now accustomed to his workers Halloween traditions. He couldn’t say it wasn’t one of the reasons he was glad that it was nearing completion. That, and he might finally get the recognition he deserved. At least for now he had you. Given, you were relatively new to the project when he looked at the timeline as a whole, but you were certainly a necessary piece – and Krennic actually liked you. A lot of the other employees, if he were honest with himself, he actually could have done without. Which is probably why you’d grown close – and then maybe a little too close. But Orson wasn’t going back on that now. This was the day Krennic didn’t want to leave his office – inevitably, it was also the day that everyone would have him chasing all over the structure. Why? Oh, because they all knew how much he hated today too! So as soon as the email pinged in from the other side of the Death Star, Krennic tried everything he could to get them to come to him, or to send him documents, pictures, anything that meant he didn’t have to go on an annoyingly long walk. Orson used practically every persuasive trick in the book, to no avail. Eventually he had to concede rising from his desk, sighing angrily, and gathering his things to head to the problem. Almost immediately he was assaulted with the kind of visuals he’d become accustomed to. It seemed every other person on this damned vessel took today to dress up as him. Now, whilst dressing in the full white Intelligence Bureau tunic would have been against protocol and would have meant he could reprimand them, everyone decided to wear capes of various different colours instead. Some, like his, matched their uniforms – and if it wasn’t also for the fact they copied the way he walked and carried himself, with an unconvincing attempt at his accent and speech patterns, he’d find it quite tasteful. Krennic would almost be flattered, he supposed - perhaps even feel like a trend setter – had the crew not being doing it for any other reason than to mock him. God forbid any of them attempt Lexrulian; one day it was going to make his ears bleed. Others decided to wear their ‘capes’ in the gaudiest colours imaginable, and sometimes Orson felt like he was going to be physically ill just staring at them.

Still, technically all of this was against regulation – and although he probably couldn’t take on the entire staff and win, he took pleasure in chastising those he disliked most. “Isn’t that a little against your uniform regulation?” “Take that off now – before I have you reported.” “Next time I catch you in something like this, you’re off the project.” Annoyingly, he could never keep how irked he was out of his voice – and they took great joy out of that, and never bothered hiding it. When they did take these ridiculous attempts at mocking him off (Though it worked. He supposed.), Krennic knew they’d be pulled back on before he rounded the next corner – but for now at least, Orson could be smug in his little bit of power. The fact he could actually force the crew to remove them. He often pondered how this started. Tarkin, he had no doubt. Krennic wasn’t going to blame himself after all, he knew his uniform looked damn good. He just wasn’t fool enough to think this was respectful admiration. Eventually he reached the person who emailed him and, as predicted, it was an easy fix that Krennic could have done in less than five minutes on his tablet back in his office. The Director almost punished them on the spot for that, but by this time was already too pissed off with the situation to trust himself not to lose complete control. Not that that didn’t happen a lot, especially when everything was stalling – but today that was what everyone wanted. ‘If I see another bad attempt at ridiculing my uniform I’ll scream…’  Orson’s jaw was beginning to ache with the way he was tightening it. Half way back to his office, Krennic took a detour. By now he really was yelling at people – Orson was this close to drawing weapons and kicking them off the station, Project Stardust be damned. Desperately seeking respite, he wandered back to his quarters and as the corridors began to quieten, scuffled along in his boots, sulking. ‘What did I ever do to deserve this-!?’ Reaching the door to his room, Krennic gave a small smile – he would receive relief in here. Well at least she will be sweet... I can tell her my frustrations and she’ll sympathize… As Krennic keyed himself in and the door slid open, he realised just how wrong he could be. You were walking up and down the main room and studying yourself in about every reflective surface you could find. If this wasn’t you, Krennic would have blown it, and immediately all his irritations came flooding back. You were, of course – with access to his wardrobe - pacing around in his uniform. Full Intelligence white, rank bar included. Sure, the sleeves were rolled up – which pained him because it’d take an age to get those creases out - and the cape was a little long for you, but, you had the whole thing on, right down to the boots. Usually Krennic might smirk and call you out on wearing his clothes, after all you did look good in his tailored shirts. Any other day of the week he’d probably be pretty turned on right now. But NOT today. As the door slid closed behind him and beeped locked, you whirled around. The cape moved with you and your eyes fell to it; immediately distracted. Krennic’s uniform was gorgeous on him, but the feeling of power you got when wearing it for yourself was indescribable. You liked running your hands over it – the feeling of the fabric between your fingers very nearly bordering obsessive with your need to do it at every chance you could; it was so perfectly weighted that, in all honesty, the tailoring was a marvel to you. You always made a mental note to thank the designers and sewers for their impeccable work. (On Orson’s entire wardrobe, actually.) “Director.” You presented yourself and looked back to him, “What do you think?” Orson very nearly shivered, and if he wasn’t so pissed he’d probably have let himself. That was Lexrulian – and compared to everything else he’d heard today, was very nearly music to his ears. “What are you doing-!?” There was a snap in the undertone of his voice – agitated, to match the way his jaw tightened. You answered cheerily, nonetheless. “It’s Halloween. So, I’m you! I mean you could be me if you wanted, but I’m not sure the uniform would fit-!” You giggled slightly at the mental image of him in your tight black jacket – no, maybe it wouldn’t fit properly, but it might look really good. If only for a second. Although Krennic was glaring at you by now. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, is all this YOUR idea-!?” For a moment you looked innocent, “No! You mean the fact everyone else does it? I didn’t start it, but I felt I could damn well finish it. Besides, LOOK!, I can do it better than everyone else!” “No! No! Y/N-!” You scrambled up onto the table, and cleared your throat. It was clear to Krennic you’d been practicing, because you had his stance down and his mannerisms almost perfect. He was almost impressed. “The POWER we are dealing with here is immeasurable! Single reactor ignition would be just an inkling of it’s true destructive potential! And I will not fail!” He blinked slowly, thinking you were mixing up at least three of his previous conversations there. There was a long pause before Krennic stepped forward, pointing at you. “GET. DOWN! Do you have any idea how expensive that table was-!?” “Awwww, Orson, c’mon!!” “I’m NOT impressed, GET DOWN!” “Baaabe.” “Don’t whine..!” You backed up just out of his reach, even your best innocent eyes weren’t saving you today – he must have been furious. “But it took me so long, I’ve tried on all the variants, I tried on your dress uniform even-! And it isn’t complete without the cape, and the rain one doesn’t have a patch on the glory of this one!! I thought it wouldn’t drag if I put on my heeled boots, but that didn’t get the look right either! And it’s you – so, it had to be perfect…” Your eyes glittered gently as you tried to plead with him, “I thought if I did it properly, it might make you smile. That it might be more… respectful. I dunno I-” He cut you off, demanding, “OFF. THE. TABLE.” “Well, what are you gonna do-!?!” Krennic was quick on his feet, and even though you’d backed yourself up he still managed to grab your wrist and drag you down. You might have been in his uniform, but you were nowhere near his height; and you might have had his traits down, but you didn’t have his strength either. Meaning within seconds he had you shoved up against a wall – with a squeak – before his lips were on yours, wrists pinned by your sides. He might have been angry, but that only made this kiss hotter, and you practically melted into him. Orson was showing you absolutely no mercy – and you weren’t sure if you really deserved it, but you were at least a little glad of it. Eventually he pulled away from you; leaving you gasping and panting for breath. But you whined, wanting more from him. “Have I mentioned, I fucking hate Halloween.” Krennic had, many a time. Which is one of the reasons you wanted to do this, because he might feel a little better if you were doing it right. Clearly you were in the wrong ballpark. You thought about nodding in admittance, but thought maybe continuing to be playful would get you what you wanted. “Don’t think you did – maybe you did. You should remind me.” “Oh, I think I will.” His smirk was back as you let him run his hands through the fastenings of the tunic and unzip your pants. Oh, yeah, he wanted this uniform off bad. You bit your lip, “It does look sexy on you though, is it surprising everyone wants to copy it? I mean I like trying it on and taking it off.” Orson nipped your neck, eliciting a gasp from you; “Evidently I might too.” Then he chuckled at your sigh, running his hands over your warm skin, “That doesn’t make me hate today any less. I mean it’s hardly tribute, is it?” You tipped your head, “I mean, I tried.” “Oh, don’t think I didn’t hear that mocking tone.” He grazed his lips to yours, and it was hardly rewarding, you pined for more but he held you away from him – still immobilized against the wall, “Still, I’ll admit so much… you do look very pretty in white.” You did very nearly blush, but knew that his mind wouldn’t be going to something as virtuous as weddings or dresses; probably a different kind of white lace altogether. “Can I keep the cape at least?” Maybe he’d enjoy you wearing that and very little else. That would be like a ‘sexy’ Halloween costume, would it not? Even if it was just for him. Maybe that’s what Krennic needed if he detested today so much. He growled, kissing you again before you let him slide the jacket from your shoulders and it fell to the floor; “If you’re good, we’ll see.”

--- Thank you very much for reading! It’s been a while since Krennic has been posted too, I’ll admit! 🙏❤

2/16 down!

[benmcm18]

Breadsticks & Staplers Reflection

This is a reflection on the recent Independent Project I did for Film Narrative 2.

I just want to say I’d recommend looking at a previous post of mine for context on the work I contributed to this project. Here is the post I believe: Group 7 Independent Project!

- your contextual research - your influences and inspiration. 

I began my research into our project by playing a video game titled, “What Remains Of Edith Finch.” It is a collection of strange tales about a family in Washington state. One member of this family is named “Lewis” and his story about being consumed by his maindane life and escaping to this imaginary world played a major influence in the creation of this film. We wanted to separate the imaginary world with reality as much as possible and planned for it all to be animation so we looked at animated films that could serve as inspiration. Films like “Fantastic Mr Fox” and “Spirited Away” really stood out to me as their locations and tone were very much what I was thinking for the project. We began to look at cinematography and Bonnie was particularly drawn to Wes Anderson because of his perfectly symmetrical worlds he creates so we looked at his film “Moonrise Kingdom” You can see the inspiration in the shots of the film and in the storyboard. Additionally, for the costume one of my major inspirations was “Big Fish” starring Ewan MacGregor. His costume was perfect for what we initially planned David to wear however as we progressed we realised we didn’t have a bright blue suit so we had to cut down his outfit to still get the feel we wanted but just with different clothes.

- Your process - What was your contribution? Which elements of the group submission did you author? Which did you contribute to?

My role within the project was Production Designer, however, I did the VFX for the film as well as shoot the film as well. Firstly, I wanted to produce as much work as possible so I could be as prepared when going onto set. So I worked on three areas: Mood boards, costume and set design. The mood boards for me had to capture the tone and atmosphere of both settings and I worked with the group to make sure we all agreed with it. The dream realm is light and colourful with a whole load of colours whilst the office space is very desaturated and absent of colour. When it came to the costume I worked with both actors to get a costume they felt comfortable wearing and suited them best for the part. I sat in video calls with them looking at different outfits to see which one worked and didn’t. I wanted Kady to have an outfit that screamed untouchable. With her large amounts of accessories it feels distant from standard, everyday clothes and I think it worked very well. In regards to David, I had a challenge, we had to find a costume that was what the group wanted (blue suit) however, do that without a blue suit. We ended up cutting away from the actual suit and instead tried to have him look similar to his office self with some extravagant changes like the bold coloured tie and no glasses. Finally, with set design I prepared weeks in advance by setting up the picnic and then also setting up the office space (which is actually blocked off by two ping pong tables) This meant I would take photos of both pre-made sets and then send them to the group for changes and confirmation. I really enjoyed setting up the scenes. I got the idea from Andrew (my teacher) who suggested going to locations before filming and taking photos similar to the ones you would film on the day. It’s the same principal but just for set design and I’m glad I did it. 

I did VFX as well. This was a challenge as I hadn’t prepared for doing them as we didn’t realise how heavily involved they were gonna be in the final product but I’m glad I took the time to work on them. The match cuts were fairly simple however the shot that transitions through the image was challenging. I was 70% sure it was going to work so when it did I was very happy. It took a couple of drafts and I got Jack to give me feedback so overall it went very well.

Finally, I shot the film as well alongside Jack as director. He would inform me of the shots we had to do that were provided by Bonnie and then shoot them. We used my GH5 and I used my Rode Video mic Pro to record audio for Tom to work on sound with.

- What feedback have you received along the way, on your script and in the crit. What made sense? What didn't? Would you do anything differently?

The most important feedback we received throughout the whole process was on sound design. We were very much focused on the visual aspects of our film and whilst I’m very happy with the work Tom did on the sound for the film I do believe we should have spent more time on it. One thing that was mentioned to us was layering, when it comes to the later half of the film I do believe we achieved a really good amount of visual and audio harmony, however at the beginning of the film it should have been more layered. Jack was certain that we didn’t need music for the film and even though I did think it would be better with music, I agreed with him. I believe we were right to go with the no music approach due to the fact we have been taught not to rely on music to carry a scene and it challenged us to create a detailed amount of sound design for the project but it was suggested to add music to give the film a more Disney feel which I can also understand.

We also received feedback on the editing. Overall people who watched the film were pretty happy, however, we discussed a lot within the group the opening shots of the film. For me it didn’t flow particularly well as it went from wides to close ups for no real reason but after discussing it with the group we found the best shots to move forward with and received excellent feedback in the final crit. 

In regards to animation, just before the final crit we showed the film to a friend who said that the animation didn’t add anything to the scene. We understood his point, however, it has been an important piece of the film since the start. We took the feedback on board and scrutinised each bit of animation trying to see if it improved the film and in the end I’m glad we kept it in.

- In what ways did your group work well? In what ways could it have been better?

I feel compared to the first time we were in this group this item has been a lot more collaborative. Even though the first time we were bouncing ideas off one another I believe this time our roles worked better. We all worked as a team and came out with a film I’m proud of making. We made sure we improved off the fiction project by having more meetings, creating sharper deadlines and always offering each other's help. I just felt we improved overall so much compared to the first time. My only gripe this time was that as we finished the shooting of the film I didn’t feel as if we were as focused compared to pre production. It took a bit of time to get the ball rolling and therefore this caused us to rush at the end. Next time I would try to keep up the momentum of production and get it finished as soon as possible so there is plenty of time to make changes.  

Conclusion

Overall, I think we did very well on this project. From the feedback we gathered people seemed pretty happy with the film. There is something to be desired in the sound and I will make sure I try to emphasise sound as much as visuals next time (especially as this task asked them to go hand in hand) I do feel we really tried to experiment with this project and that has been notices with the feedback given to us in the final crit. It was a pleasure working with everyone in the group and hope I can again!

[mashtonasfuck]

(Moodboard by @pxrxmoore, title card by me!)

This is part of the writers collab organised by @maluminspace and @h0tsos! The entire masterlist of everyone’s work can be found here. 

Pairing: Luke Hemmings x Ashton Irwin

Prompts: 

Lashton Coffee Shop

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have no idea what I’m doing. I almost never do.”

Warnings: references to mental illness, sexual references

Word Count: 2.3K

A note from Lucy: This piece was largely inspired by this post that Beth sent me. A big thank you to the writers GC for helping me when I got stuck. Shout out to Beth for reading every draft, and helping me work out where I was going with this piece.

My masterlist can be found here

This work must not be reposted anywhere - I do not give my permission for it to appear anywhere other than on my blog, or on my ao3 page.

——————————————————————————

Luke’s phone pinged, drawing his attention away from the cooking show he was watching.

> Wanna go and grab a coffee?

> Sure :) Alfred’s?

> Meet you there in 20?

> :)

Luke pulled himself off the sofa, humming quietly as he gathered his wallet and keys. A coffee message from Ashton usually meant that something was bothering him, even if he didn’t know it yet. Luke’s phone pinging again broke him out of his musings - Ashton had tagged him in a post on Instagram. Swiping the notification open, Luke was met with a photo of the two of them, smiling as he tapped the like button. His eyes drifted down to the caption, smile turning into a frown:

Today I am feeling nostalgic about how much time I spent picking this man's brain whilst making Youngblood. We nurtured each other out of a very lonely and dark place. I am happy we made it out of those times. Love you @Luke5SOS. We are fighters.

There was definitely something bothering Ashton, and Luke was determined to find out what it was.

—

Luke saw Ashton sat outside as he approached the coffee shop, fingers drumming on the tabletop, leg bouncing. His stomach twisted uncomfortably as he took in the sight of the other man - Ashton was anxious about something. Luke slid into the seat opposite him, but the older man didn’t even notice his presence. He cleared his throat and Ashton looked up at him startled. 

“You okay there, Ash?” 

The older man chuckled quietly pushing Luke’s coffee towards him.

“Was lost in my thoughts, sorry man. How are you?”

Luke took the lid off the coffee cup and looked at Ashton. The older man looked tired, his smile not quite meeting his eyes. Luke took a sip of his coffee before replying,

“Cut the crap, Ash, what’s wrong?”

“What d’you -”

Luke cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“Ash, I’ve known you long enough to know that something is bothering you. You only message me about coffee if there’s something you want to talk about, but don’t want Calum to know.” Luke ran a hand through his hair before continuing, “After everything we’ve both been through, you don’t have to keep up appearances for me. Just tell me what’s wrong, please.”

Ashton let out a breath and brought his coffee up to his lips, avoiding Luke’s gaze. The younger man was right - there was something bothering him - he just didn’t know how to tell him. Ashton knew he was being ridiculous. The last year and a half had really strengthened his bond with the blonde man, and Luke knew things about him that Michael and Calum still didn’t. They’d pull each other up when the other was falling, both seeing each other at some of their lowest moments. Ashton was grateful for Luke’s presence in his life - he was grateful for all three of his bandmates - but his relationship with Luke had shifted whilst they were writing Youngblood. Ashton knew that Luke had saved him from making some stupid life-choices, and he knew that Luke felt the same. He looked up at Luke, the younger man watching him patiently, blue eyes full of concern. Ashton sucked in a breath, it was now or never.

“Luke, I -” movement behind Luke’s left shoulder cut him off, gaze landing on the paparazzo that was making his way towards them. Ashton swore - why could they never leave them the fuck alone? He sighed heavily, motioning for a bemused Luke to stand and follow him into the safety of the coffee shop. Ashton scanned the room for an empty table, groaning when he couldn’t find one. Why was the universe playing him like this today?

“Hey, Ashton?” His gaze fell on one of the girls behind the counter, “We have an upstairs that I can open up for you if you want?” 

He opened his mouth to reply, Luke cutting him off - 

“That would be great, Kasey, thank you.” 

Ashton raised an eyebrow at Luke being on first name terms with the barista, the younger man just shaking his head and pushing past Ashton to follow her up the stairs. 

—

“You gonna tell me what that was about?” Luke asked Ashton once they’d sat themselves down in one of the booths.

“Paps,” Ashton muttered. 

Luke huffed in annoyance before resting his elbows on the table, waiting for Ashton to speak. He knew better than to push him to talk - the older man sometimes struggled to articulate his feelings, and Luke could tell that this was one of those times. He rested his chin on his left hand, bringing his coffee up to take a sip. The flavour danced on his tongue and he hummed quietly at the vanilla coming through against the bitter coffee. He met Ashton’s gaze as he lowered the cup, the older man looking at him with a soft smile on his face. Luke stuck his tongue out at Ashton, earning a chuckle from the other man. 

“I love you, Luke.” The younger man smirked at Ashton’s words and rolled his eyes.

“Love you too, Ash, you know that.” 

Ashton shifted in his seat, looking at the blonde man in front of him. Why was this so hard?

“No, Lu, I -” Ashton sucked in a breath, here goes nothing, “I think I’m in love with you.”

Ashton’s voice was barely a whisper, but he knew that Luke had heard him from the way his eyes widened at his confession. It hung in the air between them, and Ashton wondered if he should have just kept it to himself. He looked away from Luke, closing his eyes and bringing his hands up to rub his temples. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything, and now Luke was going to hate him, and it was going to ruin the band, and - 

“Well, that’s good considering I think I’m in love with you too.” Ashton’s eyes flew open and he looked up at Luke. The younger man smiled at him lazily before continuing, “Mike kept saying that I should just tell you, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Cal said the same thing when I told him how I felt about you.” Ashton admitted, a smile on his face.

“Those assholes, they clearly spoke to each other.” 

Ashton laughed at Luke’s outburst, making a mental note to pull them up on it later. He moved his hand across the table towards Luke, the younger man entwining their fingers eagerly. They sat in comfortable silence as they finished their drinks, Luke absentmindedly rubbing small circles on the side of Ashton’s thumb, earning him a hum of appreciation from the drummer. Luke blushed, glancing at the man opposite - Ashton was looking at him intently. 

“Hey, um, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have no idea what I’m doing. I almost never do.” 

Luke frowned at Ashton’s words, the older man continuing quickly as he sensed Luke’s confusion. 

“What I mean is - fuck, why is this so hard?” Ashton ran a hand through his hair as he looked at Luke, “you know me better than anyone else, Lu, and I really don’t want to mess this up. You’ve seen me at my worst, and somehow you’re still sticking around and I have no idea why.”

“Ash, it’s because I know all those things about you.” Luke smiled softly at the frown that appeared on the drummer’s face. “You were there for me too, remember? I basically had a breakdown, Ash, and you were there through it all. You saved me. You’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.”

Ashton squeezed Luke’s hand, the singer laughing quietly and squeezing back. He knew that he didn’t have to use words for Luke to know how he felt. The drummer leaned across the table and tucked a strand of Luke’s hair behind his ear, the younger man leaning into his touch. Ashton hummed quietly as he rubbed the side of Luke’s jaw, eyes glancing down at the other man’s lips. Luke smiled softly, shifting forward on his chair to bring his face closer to Ashton’s. Ashton swallowed the lump in his throat, wetting his lips as Luke moved to close the gap between them.

Ashton’s phone vibrated loudly on the table, causing both men to jump back from each other in shock. Ashton swore quietly, Calum’s face showing up on the screen as the phone continued vibrating on the tabletop. He sighed, shooting Luke an apologetic glance before picking it up and swiping to answer the call.

“Hey Cal, what’s up?”

Luke could vaguely hear Calum saying something about taking Duke out and Ashton groaned.

“Sorry man, I totally forgot - m’actually out with Luke at the moment.” Ashton gave Luke a soft smile, reaching back across the table to thread their fingers together.

“Yeah, we just grabbed a coffee, we’re at Alfred’s. Wha- hang on a minute Cal.”

Michael’s ringtone blared out of Luke’s pocket, the singer pulling his hand out of Ashton’s to grab the phone before bringing it up to his ear.

“Hi Mike. M’out with Ash at the moment, can I call you back?” Ashton shook his head furiously at Luke’s words, the younger man raising an eyebrow as Ashton smirked. “Actually Mike, hold on a sec.”

“Cal, I’m just gonna put you on speaker for a bit - Luke has Michael on the phone, and we need to talk to you about something.” Ashton grinned at Luke as he put Calum on speaker, the blonde man frowning slightly as he did the same with Michael. 

“You’re on speaker with Ash and Cal, Mike.”

“We need to talk to you both.” Ashton explained, the grin on his face growing wider at the confused look on Luke’s face. 

Calum and Michael both said that they were listening, Ashton smirking at Luke before speaking.

“So, Luke and I discovered something very interesting just now. It seems like you’ve both been speaking to each other about us behind our backs - anything to say?”

There was silence from both phones for a second, before Michael finally spoke.

“It was Calum’s fault!”

“Michael what the fuck, man?!”

“Shut up Cal - look guys, Calum told me that Ashton had been talking to him about something, and all I said was that hypothetically you’d said something similar Luke, so I didn’t tell him exactly -” Calum started to protest, Luke and Ashton glancing at each other in amusement.

“Boys, please!” Ashton spoke over them both, the phones going silent again. “Luke and I talked and… well we decided we’re just better off as friends.” 

The singer’s mouth fell open at Ashton’s words, the drummer just rolling his eyes and intertwining their fingers again. Luke looked down at their joined hands, then back at Ashton, understanding finally hitting him. He stuck his tongue out at Ashton before speaking.

“Yeah, we don’t think it’ll work out honestly.”

The silence from both phones made Ashton check they were both still connected, both clearly trying to process what had just been said.

Calum was the first to speak, expressing his disappointment, but if they’d decided it was best then he supported them either way. Michael agreed with the bassist, telling Luke he’d call him later before they both disconnected their calls. 

Luke burst out laughing after both phones disconnected, tugging Ashton back across the table towards him and finally pressing their lips together. Ashton hummed quietly, threading his fingers in the singer’s hair as they broke apart, resting their foreheads together as he spoke quietly.

“Wanna come back to mine?” 

Luke hummed in response, before pulling himself out of Ashton’s hold and placing his phone back in his pocket.

“I need to go and let Petunia out first, that okay?” 

Ashton nodded, standing up from his chair and gathering their empty coffee cups. 

“Let’s go and let that giant dog of yours out, and then we can order food for dinner maybe?”

“Sounds like a plan, Ash.”

—

Calum let himself into Ashton’s house, dinner in one arm and Duke in the other - he figured that Ashton would probably want company after an awkward conversation with Luke. He walked into the kitchen placing the food on the side and made his way towards the living room with Duke whining to get free from his hold.

“In a sec, Duke, just wanna check -”

Calum stopped dead in the doorway, taking in the sight on the couch before him.

“Are you kidding me?!”

Luke yelped as he heard Calum’s voice, pushing Ashton off him and scrambling to pull the blanket off the back of the couch.

“Lu, what -” Ashton saw Calum standing in the doorway and he groaned. “Uh, hi Cal - what’re you doing here?”

Calum smirked at his bandmates before pulling his phone out of his pocket and pressing it to his ear, letting Duke out into the garden as he waited for the call to connect.

“Hey Mike - you owe me $200.”

Luke groaned at Calum’s words, hiding his face in Ashton’s shoulder. Ashton pressed his lips to the top of Luke’s head as Calum continued speaking to Michael.

“Mmhmm, I just walked into the living room and Ashton had Luke’s dick down his throat. Was kinda hot actually - never thought Ash was a bottom.”

Ashton grabbed the TV remote off the coffee table and launched it at Calum.

——————————————————————————

Any questions, advice or constructive criticism? Shoot me a message here 

Taglist: @pxrxmoore​, @queer-5sos​, @irwinkitten​, @kindahoping4forever​, @5sosnsfw​, @loveroflrh​, @mysticalhood​, @adoringlrh​, @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles​, @koalacal​, @maluminspace​, @calumsmermaid, @punkrockpreferences

If you’d like to be added to my taglist, please fill in the form here

[orderuponthe99prettygrimmdiaries]

Road to Recovery 👣

Well, this is gonna be a long ass one. Also, this has been kinda drafted over the past... week? So it’s gonna be a real rollercoaster of a ride. 

Had just binged Lucifer’s new season and was on reddit, looking at comments of redditors yelling at Luci to enjoy whilst he was finding stuff to freak out about. 

Like him, I should have just been in the moment. Appreciated it. Instead of worrying about the next. 

The past week has been.. emotional. Have been getting used to the fact that I might never speak or hear or see him again. Been also trying to focus on the bad to kinda ease the pain. At least it hurts a little less, less crying too. But it’s also like one day you do great, no crying, not much of missing and pain, but then the next, everything creeps in altogether and you fall apart. 

The thing is... why does it hurt so bad? Things had been weird for months. I mean, I was the one who was always preparing myself for him to leave, I was the one who told myself I’d be okay even if we never went on the date. And I guess it just boils back to... expectations. 

I expected him to care more, I didn’t expect that he’d be able to leave just like this. From regular convos to nothing in a week, now almost 2 weeks. I mean, we’ve had breaks. 1 day, 5 days, 10 days... It’s kinda strange if we were actually interested in the other. Maybe he wasn’t much of a texter and wanted to talk when we met. But did we really share much when we met? It’s odd... He doesn’t reply properly to texts, he disappears, he doesn’t really care much at times, but for some reason, I seem to remember the good more. It seemed like he does listen (at times), there were moments when I felt like he cared. A part of me still trusts him or sees the best in him. 

Initially, I was trying to avoid talking about him so I would also stop thinking about him and I could move on. But I think talking about it also helps. Did also google about moving on from crushes, and that is a major point. Maybe I’ll never figure out what really went wrong, but maybe I could still give myself some sorta closure.  Though reminiscing does hurt too. Going back to the place where we met, which is basically my workplace which I’ve to be at almost every day... The memories flooding in about the conversations we had. But it also helps me to acknowledge my feelings and fears, stuff that I suppose I didn’t acknowledge then. Maybe if I had been less afraid and tried harder, especially during the times we were both around considering how hard it was to get our schedules together. He probably thought I wasn’t that interested and moved on. Guys fall fast, but they seem to move on pretty quick too.

Ended up dreaming about him last night... It was really nice. There was a shipment, I didn’t let myself have hope that it would have been him. And he turned around, and it was him. I said hey and touched his arm. I headed off downstairs talking to the other guys, one of them was teasing me for giving him my number. He came down too. We sat there for a bit, and I asked if I could lean on his shoulder, and we ended up hugging too. That was just wonderful, but it’s sad to know it’d never be reality. 

And I guess all those breaks we had throughout the months still gives me the slightest bit of hope that he might return... But now, 2 whole weeks of not speaking. The glimmer of hope fades as each day passes. Maybe, distance is just what we need, I tell myself. 

But now, there’s also a new guy. So I’m guessing the likelihood of seeing him ever again is almost impossible. But is it really so bad if we never spoke or see each other again? Did he even really care? What were we? 

Feels like history is repeating itself, and honestly, after re-reading old posts, maybe it is. Okay, but this time was slightly different. I fought harder. I should be proud that I got his number, or well, convinced him to get mine. I should be proud for initiating those texts, for finally picking up that video call, for asking him out. 

I do wonder at times if it would have been better if I was just honest from the start, that I was interested and I felt there’s something special, different, but not entirely sure what it was. I had friends tell me that I shouldn’t be too emotional about too much, especially at the start. I mean, I did do this the last time, granted they were all online friends, and now we’re still friends. Maybe it’s different being online vs irl. 

Should I continue fighting for him or just let this be another regret/what if? I guess I chose the latter. I was still too afraid to make a move, I was still too afraid to admit my feelings. I wanted to tell him, I wanted to give him the choice. But I was afraid, what if he only says he feels the same because knowing what I felt? I couldn’t take the leap. 

And the more I thought, the less I knew. What did I ever really know about you? What did I like about you? I guess I didn’t listen to myself enough, or to the rational part at least. The closer you look, the less you see. By the time I remember this, it was a little too late... 

I guess I need to stop trying to define everything. Some questions don’t have answers. Some stories won’t get closures. Not all friendships require daily talking. Why aren’t I okay with this? Am I just too attached to everyone? Does my life just basically revolve around people? Who the fuck am I?

I had been looking back at my old posts, all the way back to 2015, the darkest period of my life. I wanted to see what I did then, how did I handle it and pushed myself through. How the heck did I move on? Sure, it took me like... at least 2 years of moping around, then finally actually properly reaching out to get the help I needed. A couple months of counselling, pushing the focus back on myself, on self love and self care.

And all this unravelled within a couple months.

Granted, I think it was already starting to unravel early this year. All these work and personnel changes really fucked things up, with Covid just adding to it. And then comes those unexpected feelings, not knowing how to deal with it, worrying about how I’m gonna fuck it up, and in turn, fucking it up. Also, not giving myself a break when I truly needed it. I was afraid that if I took a break from texting him (okay I wasn’t really obsessively staring at my phone and replying immediately either, but I could have taken a proper break), I might have ended up losing him, and now, I’ve lost myself, I’ve lost him. 

So yep, losing myself... this time, I don’t think I was able to keep it as contained as I did previously. Loss of appetite, exhaustion... I guess at least I don’t exactly sigh as much as I did during the start of the year? But I guess now with Covid and mom at home, she’s noticed the symptoms too. And I guess how I tend to stay cooped in my room, retreat back after meals etc, not really making as much convos with my parents too... Maybe even agitation or irritation as my mom noticed too... 

She thinks it’s more physical, with my abnormal periods and stuff, like maybe I’m anaemic. Oof, and that one day she asked if I was alright because I didn’t seem happy. I literally broke down when I went back to my room. I try so hard to mask it all because I don’t want people to worry, and I want people to still be able to count on me when they need to. Though I’m pretty sure my colleagues noticed too. So I push myself. Sometimes I guess I pretend to be alright, cope with humour as my defence mechanism (self preservation through dissociation, amirite?), but then it comes crashing down the next day or next minute. 

I’m just human. I need to allow myself to feel. I need to embrace that I feel a lot, sometimes a little too much. I shouldn’t hate myself for caring too much, for feeling too much. I need to remember to allow myself to rest, or else this burnt out and exhaustion won’t do me or anyone any good. Yes, I want to be there for others, but sometimes you need to save yourself first. 

I’ve got one life to live, so I gotta live it. Right now it feels like I’m just surviving, otherwise basically floating through time and space. But it’s time to really live. it’s time to stop trying to keep everything under control. Sometimes a mistake is a destiny and sometimes we mess things up for the better. Stop comparing your progress and path to others. 

Recovery isn’t a straight line. You’re gonna feel good and then bad. You’re gonna feel like a bad-ass bitch who needs no one, but then the next you might be crying from the pain of missing him. Sometimes it will just get worse before it gets better. Real growth isn’t linear, it’s a step forward and 20 steps back. You’re gonna be tempted to text him, to hear his voice, to try one more time, but then you also gotta remember all the progress you’ve made. People are hard to forget and change takes time. 

Like Chandler and Joey were nudging Ross to move on from Rachel back in Season 1, maybe your friends had nudged you to move on too. My friends have been. Maybe our happiness just aren’t meant to be with each other. But I would love for you to be happy, even if it’s without me. 

So, I guess imma do a separate post about all the lessons I’ve re-learnt. It was a real headache trying to write this piece already. Thanks to anyone who’s actually taken the time to read this. Take care everyone! 

X

[onegirlatelier]

Yellow floral blouse, June 2019

(This post is the longest I’ve written for this blog. No one is obliged to read it except me. Apparently, I am required to read and re-read it and, well, think.)

Guess who just finished her very, very first standard shirt, with cuff plackets and collar stands and all?

I am so happy, and relieved! No matter how badly the first one was made, it is a starting point after all. I am definitely planning to sew more since I enjoy both wearing a proper shirt and trying my best to properly make one.

Shirts are so common and ‘basic’, which makes the quality of patternmaking extra obvious. I prefer my shirt to be sleek and practical, with a touch of femininity. It means that whilst the cut should be smooth and fitted, it must not impair with everyday motions such as doing my hair or reaching for a book across the table. Preferably also taking a nap at the desk. The pattern pieces also need to be designed in such a way that when they are sewn together, the stress seams can actually hold some stress—which I interpret to be the reasonable use of grainline and a good set of stitching techniques.

Since I’m only at the beginning of this quest and there is still much to learn, this post is going to be a reflection, highlighting the adjustments that has worked for me and attempting to offer solutions to the current issues.

But first, let me start with the basic information for my shirt 1.0.

 Fabric

Cotton, with a very lovely yellow floral print. I have no idea if it is poplin, or lawn, or quilting cotton, or just the plainest plain weave. My local fabric stores often don’t have such labels, and even if there are, they might not be accurate. My grandma has never cared about the name of a fabric, and yet she made me dresses, trousers, and shoes that I wore one day after another until she decided that the fabric had suffered way too much friction to be mended. Sometimes it’s just an instinct when you roll out the fabric and feel it with your hands.

It feels like a good shirting fabric to me—medium weight, durable, and crisp. It was so badly off-grain when I prepared it for this project, but that was probably because it’d been carelessly thrown into a washing machine twice.

It was reclaimed from the very first piece of clothing I made (well, I cut it, my grandma sewed it), a robe à la française. Yep. That was such a wise choice for a first garment.

Anyways, I really love the fabric. Besides, it has been there so long, it properly smells like me.

I would like to also mention that the thread is cotton-wrapped polyester, in white.

 Design

I wanted to have all the usual details of a shirt to make sure that I would get the basics right. At the same time, I also wanted to taper those details to be the most flattering base. Basic but flattering. Strangely, it does make sense.

Here is a list of elements that I decided to include in my shirt:

Loosely fitted waist but not too roomy, especially in the back.

Moderately tight collar with a collar stand (cut in separate pieces).

One-piece button band for the right front piece, rolled edge+invisible stitching for the left front piece.

Six buttons, with the third (from the top) situated on the horizontal line connecting BPs. One extra button on the collar stand.

Two pleats per sleeve and a placket. Only one button for the cuff and no button on the placket.

One very slanted bust dart at each side, from the BP to the side seam.

Back yoke with self-fabric facing.

One inverted box pleat at CB.

Back hem ends lower than the front hem, with an overall soft curve.

Only topstitching when it’s absolutely needed, so one line on the back yoke seam and one line on each cuff.

 …And here we go. The actual patternmaking details (and adjusting, and adjusting, and adjusting…) I will write in the same order as the sewing process, which is like this:

Bust darts

Back yoke and shoulder seams, using the burrito method

Side seams

Sleeves and cuffs

Sleeve seams

Armscye seams (set-in sleeves)

Button band, both sides

Collar ad collar stand

Hem

Buttonholes and buttons

 (I start with a basic bodice block that fitted me okay but not perfect. My use of terms can be inconsistent and I apologise for that.)

 Bust darts

My original block has two dust darts per side: one towards the shoulder and one towards the hem. I ignored the one towards the hem for that moderately loose fit at the waist. Then I cut open the dart towards the shoulder, and rotated it to the side. It slanted down instead of hanging almost horizontally. The angled darts were longer and probably less stable, but I liked that it sort of made my lines flow smoother.

I forgot to add an ‘angle’ so the edge of my finish dart did not line up with the side seam. I couldn’t hide the raw edge in the French seam when doing the side seams. Stupid, stupid mistake. Fortunately the edge of the dart was cut on bias so it wouldn’t fray, but it certainly could’ve been more stable.

 Back yoke

(I did most alterations of the armscye before separating the back piece into two for the yoke design. My take on armscye fitting is described after the sleeve section below.)

I drew a horizontal line across the back to separate the back for the yoke, and it approximately connected the midpoints of the two armscye depth lines. My shoulder blades still feel somewhat restricted when I move my arms forward, so next time I will move this yoke seam higher up to make sure the protruding areas of the shoulder blades are below the yoke.

For the yoke, there was an inverted box pleat at the centre back. I pleated away 8cm for this. I have noticed that it won’t need to be this much if I widen the bodice (especially at the hem), but I’m not sure if I want to do that.

 Shoulder seams

I followed the block and just extended about 1cm towards the CF and the CB, so that the neckline sat closer to my neck. I don’t normally like such tight necklines, but since this shirt has a collar and I don’t have to button it all the way up, it’s okay.

When I tried on the toile things seemed fine, but when I wear the finished shirt, I can see that the seams are placed too far backwards, which partially has to do with my forward-tilting shoulders. I do believe that the first step to solve this problem is to correct my posture, but next time I will bring the seam just a bit forward. Given the tightness in the shoulder area, I may only need to lengthen the back piece and let the front piece stay as it is.

 Side seams

As I’ve written, I made the side seam on the front bodice almost vertical. It slanted a tiny bit outwards. Then I made the side seam on the back slant at the same angle. I would’ve preferred to have at least one side on grain, but I did have to accommodate the hip.

 Sleeves and cuffs

I can’t believe that it didn’t even come to me that Claire B. Shaeffer wrote about shirt sleeves in her brilliant book Couture Sewing Techniques. As a result, foolish mistakes were made.

I drafted the sleeve myself. That is, I had a vague idea of what a sleeve shirt should look like and read a few tutorials on sleeve drafting, but none of them made enough sense for me to follow entirely.

The first thing is that I don’t understand why the sleeve centre (the grainline) needed to be, well, in the centre. I simply couldn’t get the grainline to divide the bicep line evenly. The forearm section was shorter than the back section because

the entire back half needed to be roomier so that I can bend my arm

the back part of the armscye had a deeper curve and thus was longer

the sleeve had two pleats at the back of the wrist seamline and the centre line should hang straight instead of twisting towards the back

my shoulder tilts forward so the centre line needed to be moved forward too

I think reasons #1, #3, and #4 are pretty solid, so I stand by my unevenly divided bicep line. Reason #2 does have some problem, and together with an exaggerated convex curve on the back of the sleeve curve it resulted in a slight dragline on the back of the sleeve. To solve this problem, I will have to adjust the armscye first and I will write more about it in the next section (armscye).

I made the wrist seamline straight and horizontal to the bicep line, without even a shallow curve. This was so wrong. The sleeve needed extra length where I pleated it, because pleats shortened the sleeve and also more length would allow me to bend my arm more comfortably. Next time, the wrist seamline will have a nice, rounded S-curve. The convex point will be where the back line hits the wrist, and the concave point will be where the forearm line hits the wrist.

I also included 1cm of ease for the entire wrist seamline. I realised that the distribution of this 1cm mattered a lot. In my first trial, I distributed it entirely in the front section of the seam, and as a result, the sleeve seam was pulled forward instead of staying in place on the inside of my wrist. In the second trial, I distributed the ease mainly in the back section with just a little in the front. It worked out much better. The back section ended up a little shorter than the front, which may have contributed to the slight twisting of the centre line (towards the back), though the sleeve seam stayed in place. Next time I will add more width to the back wrist seam to make sure the back and front sections can both have some ease and end up having the same length.

I need to widen the section from the elbow to the wrist in general. Currently I can write or read a book fine, but I must sit upright and I cannot take a nap at the desk at all (my ultimate standard).

If I keep my arm straight, I can raise it to form an approx. 80 degree angle with the side of my body without pulling up the shirt, so the width at bicep line is pretty good. I am not sure if how much extra underarm bulk there will be if I lengthen the bicep line some more.

 Armscye

The most evil of all: the armscye. I don’t even know why it is so hard to fit armscye. The front section was fine, but the back section gave me a headache. It was so annoying to fit the back section because my very human body was not built in such a way that I could turn my head like an owl and inspect how everything hanged on my back. Anytime I did it for more than 30 seconds, I got dizzy as if I had had a carsickness.

There were two main problems: the first was that the mid-back section (where the yoke seam ended) had a gaping problem. I think it was partially due to my forward-tilting shoulders as well. I rotated the back shoulder dart to the yoke seam; this resulted in a little curve at either end of the yoke piece. I didn’t want to cut a curve on the back piece too since I preferred to keep the top edge of the back piece on cross grain. I thought my adjustment would be enough, but apparently the ‘dart’ could be a bit larger since the gap didn’t completely go away.

The second problem was that there was some wrinkles in the lower back section of the armscye. This problem remains unsolved and I’m a bit at a loss. It usually means I have made the armscye too snug, but I don’t feel like it’s too snug when I wear the shirt. (But to be honest the weather’s hot and humid, and my underarm area is currently sensitive due to hair removal treatments, so I am confused about whether the armscye is indeed too tight.) I have already made the lower-back curve quite a bit deeper than the original curve which I started with, so this might not be the problem. Maybe it can be solved when I solve problem #1, since the widened dart will pull the back piece upwards and thus eliminate the excess fabric which creates the wrinkles.

I think my back armhole might be curving too deep into the body. I couldn’t see my back so I don’t know the exact situation, but I think the upper part of the curve can be shallower, so it’s more like an L-shape than a C-shape. This way the arm movement is less restricted. I can maybe then make the convex curve on the sleeve less exaggerated and shorten the back curve a bit.

There is no wrinkle at the very bottom of the armscye, though, which means the armscye depth is enough. It’s just the shape that needs some more adjustment. I would like to keep the armscye depth as it is now to maximize the range of movement for the arm.

What I think I will do next time is that I will finish the whole bodice sans sleeves first (I have neither time nor material to bother with yet another toile), and see if my adjustments works out. I will adjust until it does, and add sleeves later.

Here is the back view, which illustrates the massive problems on the armscyes and sleeves:

I understand that sleeves can twist when they are hung like this. However, the two sleeves aren’t twisting in the same direction, which means there must be some kind of asymmetry. It might be a tiny error, but the effect is obvious. My assumption is that when the fabric is tauter in the front than in the back, the sleeve twists forwards. If it’s tauter in the back, the sleeve twists backwards. This means there is a difference of ease distribution between the two sleeves.

The back of the armscye cuts into the bodice. I don’t think the curve needs to be this deep.

The shape of the bottom of the armscye and the corresponding part of the sleeve curve can use some adjustment.

Button band

I cut the buttonhole band in one piece with the right front bodice. After some calculation, I pretty much just added a 5.5cm-wide rectangle to the CF of the right front piece.

Because I sewed the shirt by hand, I was able to work with very accurate measurements and narrow allowances. I managed to increase the width of the front bodice by 1cm, by adding 0.5cm towards the CF on either side. It fitted well. I will keep this in mind.

The button side was done like a wider two-time folded edge, as usual.

 Collar and collar stand

I read some tutorials and made my own adjustments. It worked out fine. When sewing the two pieces of the collar together, I tried using a tailor’s hem and my left hand to hold the two pieces in such a way that the undercollar was tauter than the uppercollar. This way the finished collar piece would naturally curve without wrinkling on the underside, and the seam wouldn’t be visible because the edge of the collar would be curving towards the body.

It is not enough to just use my hand to manipulate the fabric. I actually do need to cut the undercollar a tiny bit shorter than the uppercollar.

The same thing goes for the collar stand—the facing needs to be cut a little shorter than the outer layer for it to naturally curve around my neck. The problem is illustrated in the first photo of this post.

 Hem

I was being tight on fabric, so I had only 1cm of allowance for the hem and did a narrow invisible hem by hand.

I usually tuck my shirt hem into a skirt or a pair of trousers, so a shorter hem is fine as long as it can be secured tucked in. However, I would like to have a slightly longer hem next time

 Buttonholes and buttons

I followed the normal way of placing buttons. I had noticed that many shirts did not have a button where it was most likely to gap and result in awkward situations for a lady, so I placed a button there.

Overall, this is far from a perfect shirt worthy of the time spent on hand-sewing. However, I also gained an enormous amount of knowledge of shirt-making by slowly walking myself through this process. I went from having no idea at all to knowing what was considered good. Now I just need to figure out how exactly to achieve that.

[jays-study]

I DON’T EVEN LIKE HONEY THAT MUCH

a kacchako one shot

Summary: Uraraka has been a writer for four years now and is writing for a lifestyle magazine 'Tamami'. Every month the magazine publishes her romantic stories in the magazine and the readers absolutely love her work. Uraraka enjoys writing for 'Tamami' but sometimes it can be very stressful to have to write something decent every time, so to relieve some tension and stress she decides just write something really bad for a change. The subject of those awful stories happens to be about Bakugou Katsuki, her editor who she has a massive crush on.

Writers note: It has sure been a while since I last posted on AO3. Like I've said many times before I'm incredibly busy with college. On top of that, I'm a participant in two zines; the Kacchako Across the Universe Zine and the Kacchako Holiday Zine. And! I've also been working on a kacchako social media AU on Twitter as well. But I'm glad I found the time amidst all those things to write this. I thought of this during a shitty shift at work when "These Words" by Natasha Bedingfield came on the radio.

Word count: 6.549

AO3 link: (x)

Being able to word yourself properly is something Uraraka would never get good at. She had accepted that. In the four years that she had been writing she had written on different platforms, written different genres had switched her writing style countless amounts of times even after saying "I can definitely say that this is what makes me" so confidently. She had worked with different publishers, had a couple of projects that completely flopped and opportunities she wished she hadn't taken out of desperation.

The experience she gained in those four years of chasing a career that seemed beyond stupid to chase by many, it didn't make her good at wording herself properly.

But the experience she gained in those four years did make it a little bit easier.

Uraraka could word herself better than most.

Would she call herself a good writer? Not necessarily.

But she was good enough to get herself in a position where she was writing for a bestselling lifestyle magazine called ‘Tamami'. Women one and a half times or sometimes twice her age would buy the monthly issues and enjoy the overly romantic pieces she would write. If she would tell any of her high school friends that she would be able to pay the bills by writing old romance novel-like short stories for a magazine they would've been seriously worried about her sanity.

But yet here she was. Her sanity still intact, comfortable living with her cat in a studio apartment in the center of town.

Though this was not exactly what she aimed to do when she decided to be a writer, she sure had a good time doing what she did. Sitting cross-legged at her desk, in front of her laptop, with her hair in a bun that lasted for an embarrassing amount of days. Casually she was listening to soundtracks of popular romantic comedies and occasionally asked her cat for his opinion.

Yes, Uraraka could word herself better than most.

It was only natural that after two years of writing for ‘Tamami' she had a good indication of what her audience craved to read. It's the big dump of e-mails from her readers that made coming up with the next story as easy as pouring a cup of tea. Some e-mails gave a detailed review of her stories, a couple gave constructive feedback and a whole bunch of messages was blatantly sexually tinted. Uraraka had actually read full on sexual stories of her readers before. But even that helped her continue to deliver quality pieces every month.

However, that didn't mean that Uraraka could never get frustrated with her writing. She was determined that knowing exactly what she wanted to write could actually make things more difficult than it should be. Sometimes things she wrote weren't vivid enough. Uraraka wanted to smell the fields the couple she wrote about was standing in, she wanted to feel the heartbeat of the character sync with hers, she wanted to be able to get shivers as if a character had indeed whispered in her ear. Uraraka wanted to feel all of that from reading her piece.

And that, believe it or not, was hard to achieve every now and then.

Some sessions would leave her pouting at her screen for hours on end as she rewrote the same paragraph for countless amount of times. Uraraka would even let her cat walk over her keyboard, hoping that the pet would magically come up with something better than her.

When Uraraka would lose patience with herself she would count to twenty-five, close her document and would then open a blank one.

"…I opened my eyes and I saw the empty space beside me. Instead of rolling over, putting the blanket back over my head and setting myself on wasting the day away, I smiled. I smiled because I knew exactly that I couldn't afford to fall back asleep. The smell of waffles filled the bedroom and the sound of clashing dishes in the sink gave me the indication that they were ready.

Just as I sat up he came walking in the room. Abs glistening from the baking spray that managed to land on him whilst baking. A lazy half-smile of pride on his face and a tray full of golden brown waffles drenched in honey.

For a second it was hard to tell what the real meal was. I would've happily devoured either of them, to be frank. He sat down on the side of the bed and was quick to pick up the fork before I could even reach for it and dig in. The man wanted me to appreciate what he had been working so hard on the whole morning. With a soft smile, I told him that they came out great. As soon as I gave the sign of approval he filled up the fork and stuffed pieces of freshly baked waffle into my mouth. Honey started dripping down the side of my mouth and down onto my exposed breasts and white sheets. He started to take notice of the mess he was creating and stopped feeding me, put the tray with the half-devoured breakfast aside and touched the sticky corner of my mouth with his thumb as he cupped my face. I wanted to shy away from him but again he demanded my full attention. Turned my face back to him and leaned forwards. Between giggles in he would kiss me, our lips practically sticking together as he did. Eventually, his lips started to drift from mine to the rest of the flesh I was showing above the covers.

I knew exactly what this was leading to.

Sex, obviously.

We were both half naked, there was honey involved, which is apparently a sexy food.

Which someone still has to explain to me; how in the world can food actually be sexy?

Honestly, I wasn't the biggest fan of sex. I haven't even done it a lot of times but I have imagined multiple steamy scenarios in my head. When I had sex I was constantly doubting myself which led to a train of thought that ended nowhere. I would think about the taxes I still had to file or that I had to return those jeans that I recently bought in a sorry attempt to change my style.

But I could not not give this man all my attention even if I tried. I could describe how he was looking right now but no amount of fancy adjectives would do him justice. This man was looking like he was he carved out of marble. Smooth and toned just right. And that combined with the way he knew exactly how to move and said the right things at the right moment.

The man was like an actor in a porno where they hired writers that actually cared about the plot.

He was the type of guy that would tell you his favorite color and have a debate with you about issues in today's society whilst putting you to bed.

"You know what pisses me off; the debate about plastic straws. Until I see a turtle choke on plastic I will not stop using the damn things." He would say whilst kissing your neck.

He also seemed like the type of guy that would coax you through the whole act. And not the usual "you're doing so well sweetheart" that seemed to be a standard line for men. But kind of like a soccer coach. Maybe a bit stern, but you know he's doing it out of love.

Yeah.

Having sex with him was probably like speed dating your soccer coach that also happened to do high-quality porn.

Which is honestly the best you could wish for."  

When it all gets a bit too much it was nice to just write whatever you wanted, how awfully you wanted. So awful that Uraraka could look back at the work in progress for the magazine and think "it actually could be much worse".

So writing pieces like these did not only help Uraraka with the obstacles her perfectionism created but it was to get those particular thoughts out of her system. The man Uraraka wrote about and had so for so times, was, in fact, Bakugou Katsuki, her editor. An amazing and underrated editor who she happened to stumble upon in a coffee shop. They were sitting next to each other, working on their respective stories but Bakugou couldn't help but peek at her screen every now and then. Uraraka, who eventually got fed up with her since his silent judgment stopped her from writing asked him what he was thinking. And it was as if he was waiting for it because he sure didn't hold back. Uraraka was more impressed than offended in the end and continued to work with him for the rest of the afternoon.

Bakugou had been editing for Uraraka for a year now.

And over that year she had developed a huge crush on.

When Uraraka realized that she felt that way about her editor she instantly decided to never confess. It would bring too many problems that she really didn't fancy facing. Not only their friendship but their work relationship would be in ruins, to the point of no return.

"What do you think of plastic straws Waddles?" Uraraka pulled the Bengal cat off her desk and onto her lap. He cradled underneath against her neck and purred as she carefully stroked the cats tail.

"Interesting views," she laughed.

Uraraka kissed the top of the cats head and put him down on the floor.

Now that was out of her system she could try to make something of her draft. She was actually cutting it close to the deadline and knew Bakugou had recently got other work he needed to attend to. Uraraka was happy people had finally started to recognize Bakugou's talent and were now getting eager for him to edit their work. Though he said that her pieces are still his priority because that simply "came first", she didn't want to be too much of a bother.

And it had already proven to be difficult.

Quickly she saved the short story and opened back the monthly piece for ‘Tamami'. Uraraka put her earphones back in her ear and continued writing. She started to get pulled into the story again which made the words flow out of her easier. She managed to come up with a few twists that she wouldn't even have considered at first but now thought they could work. As Uraraka's fingers kept dancing over the keyboard, the soft smile she was wearing on her face got larger. The scenes she wanted to write out were clear as day to her and everything her characters felt, she felt too. Her chest felt heavy, like every emotion she described.

Uraraka kept on typing and typing and eventually thought of a proper way to end her story. It almost felt a little sad that there had to be an end. She had so much more in store for the two lovebirds in her story. But guidelines were guidelines so the story had to continue in her head instead.

The writer straightened her back and rubbed her eyes after writing the closing sentence. She had now only noticed that her ears had become immune to the sound of the song she had put on repeat for almost two hours on end. Between rereading her story she tried to find a song that fit her mood properly. Between interludes, she could hear strange noises in the distance. She chose to ignore them until she heard something clashing to the floor. She threw the earphones out of her ears and turned around in her chair. Uraraka then checked the time in the bottom right of her laptop screen and she instantly knew.

"Waddles! Waddles what the heck have you done?" She shouted toward the kitchen.

All she got back from him was a single ‘meow' which she sensed had an annoyed undertone.

See Uraraka's cat could be quite impatient. He knew exactly around what time he got fed every day and if there wasn't any food in the bowl at that time a day, he would get fed up. Fed up to the point that the pet would decide to make food for itself. He would go into the kitchen and make a ruckus trying to open cabinets and knock pots over in his quest to look for anything to eat.

"Can't believe it's half past eight already," Uraraka sighed as she pushed herself away from her desk to then immediately grab it and pull herself back towards the screen of her laptop. "It's half past eight!" she yelled as she had processed what she said.

"I should've e-mailed this to Bakugou by now, I-"

Another thing fell to the kitchen floor and Uraraka's neck snapped back to the doorway. She saw kibble spilling all out of a big bag coating the majority of the kitchen floor.

"Crap!"

Quickly Uraraka opened her Gmail and formed an e-mail. As fast as her hands could possibly move around she typed out a small message to Bakugou, apologizing for the tardiness and thanking him again for his time and effort. Hoovering above the chair she put the document in attachments and sent it.

Uraraka then strode into the kitchen to attend to her impatient pet. Swooped him off the floor as he was heavily enjoying the mess he created.

"It really doesn't hurt you to wait a little bit you know?" She picked the crumbs out his fur and couldn't help but laugh at the cat. "You feel no shame, do you? You just ate food off the floor like a barbarian."

Waddles didn't feel a single ounce of shame as he tried to escape from Uraraka's grip and fall back into his food. After a bit of struggling Uraraka put the cat down in the living room. Before Waddles could make his way back into the kitchen she grabbed a broom and started to sweep together all the kibble. With her leg, she gently pushed Waddles away who tried to get to the food.

"Don't worry, I'll whip something up for you that's not coated with dirt from the floor."

Uraraka slightly cringed as she threw away the cat food which was honestly not the most economical thing on the grocery list, thanks to the king's taste buds. As she prepared a proper dinner for Waddles she thought about what Bakugou could be thinking as he read her story. She wondered how he felt when he read her work. She hoped he felt everything she felt when writing it. Or to some degree at least. Uraraka thought it would be a whole achievement if she managed to get the lightest blush on his face.

Uraraka felt her face grow hot at the thought.

She continued to put the prepped ingredients together for the homemade cat food whilst touching her face every few minutes or so. After putting the meal in the cat bowl Uraraka warmed up pasta she postmated yesterday for herself. With a bottle of vitamin water under her arm, she brought the two meals to the dining table. She sat down and next to the leg of her chair she put down Waddle's bowl.

"See, isn't that much better, mister? Wasn't that worth the wait?" She asked as she spread out her own food, scratching Waddle's side with her food as she did. The cat softly purred against her touch and she giggled.

She went to talk to her cat about everything she wanted to get done before she went to sleep, about everything she wanted to do in the morning and all the other things that came to mind.

As Uraraka tried to gather the remaining sauce from her pasta onto her fork she heard the familiar ping of an incoming e-mail. She leaned in to check the now lit up screen and saw that it was an e-mail from Bakugou. Confused she pressed the home button on her phone and checked the time.

"That's…Fast," Uraraka said to Waddles. "Even for him, that's…"

She cleared the dining table and brought the dishes to the kitchen, still facing the laptop screen that was slowly dimming. Uraraka came back to find Waddles already at her desk, facing his snout upwards. With a confused frown still stuck on her face she sat down and lit up the dimming screen again.

Uraraka opened the e-mail and to her surprise, there was only a short message. She ruffled her bangs and squinted.

"Dadada…"Are you sure this is the work you want to hand in for this month?"" She read.

She read the sentence a couple of times and every time she found it harder to believe what she had read. Uraraka fell back against her chair in disbelief.

He had to be kidding.

What she handed in was one of the best works she had written. By a mile. She was so sure of it but Bakugou did not seem to believe so. Uraraka read the sentence out loud. Immediately a sense of frustration came to her.

What a kind of question…

There's no further elaboration as to why he had asked her that either. The nerve! Of course she was sure!

"Of course I'm sure," she typed out, frustration causing her fingers to twitch.

Without any sign off she replied to Bakugou's e-mail and then immediately logged off.

Uraraka wondered if she should ask him for a reason behind the kind of crude e-mail. But she wondered how she would be able to take whatever he had to say about her piece. She valued his opinion a lot and if he really did dislike the piece, as she had come to think because of his lack of elaboration, then she had no idea what that would do her writer's spirit. Uraraka had so many ideas for future stories and felt like she could write them all the next day if physically possible. That could be gone in a second.

She was used to Bakugou's brutal editing but rarely ever did he doubt the actual story. Said the bare minimum about it but in the few words he used, you could tell he enjoyed the small world for two Uraraka managed to create every month.

If Uraraka would've asked for Bakugou's honest opinion, she wouldn't have been able to change it anyway, even if she could. Bakugou was sending her piece straight to the publisher, instead of sending it back to her. There had been trouble there lately when it came to time management and deadlines Bakugou had informed her. Had then asked her to allow him to send her piece straight to the publicist for however long they were in trouble.

A week and a half later ‘Tamami' published their September edition. Days, after it came out Uraraka, went to look at the final product.

Uraraka walked to the nearest tobacco shop with a with a tight chest. She now had no clue how her story was going to be received by her readers. When thinking about the worst possible reactions Uraraka frowned and sank deeper into her coat. Before entering the bookstore she looked through the shop window. Right in front of her was this month's edition. Never before had they displayed the magazine. And never before did they advertise it by hanging up a poster on the window, saying that it was being sold here and mentioning specifically that it mentioned her work.

She looked into the shop and saw that in the magazine corner ‘Tamami' was being restocked. There were even several people grabbing it straight from the box and walking to the counter. Uraraka walked into the shop and met the shopworker that was in charge of restocking the magazines. She gently tapped on his shoulder and perked out the collar of her coat.

"Excuse me but, what's going on?"

The worker turned around and smiled brightly when he saw her face. He took her by the shoulder and squeezed tight. "Ochako, darling, there you are! Our little star of the neighborhood, you've really done it now!"

The people at the counter turned their heads towards them. Uraraka leaned out of their line of sight behind a shelf.

"What have I done exactly?" Uraraka awkwardly chuckled.

"You dear, have been responsible for almost half my revenue this week. People have been coming in here just to get a copy of the magazine, Ochako, they are in love with your work!" The shopworker went on to say.

Uraraka's eyes widened. "They are?"

"We are!" The two women at the counter were now approaching Uraraka waving their newly bought copies in their hand.

"Sorry to eavesdrop," a woman with a short bob and gleamy eyes said to her. "But we couldn't help but overhear the conversation."

"But are you really Uraraka Ochako? Are you really thé Uraraka Ochako?" The other woman, with a pink-dyed pixie cut and very shaky hands added.

Before Uraraka could ever get a word out, the shopworker proudly confirmed that she was in fact ‘thé Uraraka Ochako'. She could only nod at the two women. The two shared a look before exploding into chattering. It was hard to make any sense of what the two were saying but it was obvious that they were beyond excited. Uraraka had never really dealt with those kinds of conversations before. She usually would get reactions like this online, where she could take the time to process the kind words and find a proper way to reply to them, after a little bit of squealing of course. But now the only thing she could bring herself to say was;

"Thank you so much."

Luckily the women could laugh at her flustered response.

"This might sound silly but can I have your autograph?" The woman with the bob asked.

"Oh me too, me too!"

They started flipping through their magazines and Uraraka looked back at the shop worker. He just proudly smiled back at her and handed her a pen from the pocket on his shirt. Hesitantly, she turned to the open magazines and felt butterflies as she finally saw the printed version.

"You know Toshiko said at work? That she honestly wasn't able to look at honey the same way ever again.

Uraraka perked up.

"I know that she means. God, I can't wait to read that part again at my own pace now that I've finally got a hands on a copy of my own."

The writer slowly shook her head. "Honey? I didn't mention…"

Her eyes started scanning the pages of the magazine and her eyes started falling on certain words that caused her chest to become even tighter than before she walked into the store.

"C-can I…Can I hold that for a second?" She pointed at one of the copies.

The woman with the pixie cut handed her copy and Uraraka immediately buried her face between the pages.

"A lazy half-smile of pride on his face…"

"Honey now dripping down the side of my mouth…''

Uraraka closed the magazine. "Alright, this is…That's…"

Her eyes started closing and before she could grab onto something she fell on her knees and slide face first across the store's carpet.

The first thing Uraraka felt when she came to was the slight carpet burn on her face. With her eyes, half closed she slowly put her hand on her left cheek. As she stroked her face, she tried to get back on her feet. The slightest movement of her leg sent people yelling and grabbing her arms.

She fully opened her eyes and saw a handful of worried faces looming over her.

"What in the world…" Uraraka mumbled. She looked around herself and saw the magazine laying on the ground.

"…That's wonderful," she sighed as she could already feel herself getting lightheaded again. Uraraka held onto a shelf and tried to keep herself on her feet. Immediately people came to her assistance to help her up and looked at her with worried eyes as she kept staring at the magazine.

"…I…I need to go," Uraraka stammered. Before anyone could hold her back she walked out of the tobacco shop.

Alright, this was happening.

This was really happening.

Her incredibly sexually tinted fantasy story about her editor had been published in ‘Tamami'. People have read her incredibly sexually tinted fantasy story about her editor. People seemed to love her incredibly sexually tinted fantasy story about her editor.

On her phone, she searched for other bookstores in town and pinned her route to the closest one. Took the subway and ended up in an unfamiliar part of town. After a bit of stumbling around she reached the bookstore and saw the same thing as in her neighborhood's tobacco shop; they were restocking the magazine. Uraraka rushed to the clerk and stuck her head under her nose.

"Sorry, how fast have these been selling out?" The writer asked.

"Too fast if you ask me! This is the third time I had to restock them this week. I haven't even been able to get my own copy yet, and I work here!" The clerk grumbled as she kept putting the magazines on the shelf.

"Do you have the exact number of sales? I'm Uraraka Ochako, one of the writers of the magazine and I would just like to-"

The girl jerked her head back. "Wait, you're Uraraka Ochako?!"  

Again, heads turned at the sound of her name but now costumers came flying to the source straight away. All with their copies of ‘Tamami' tightly clutched to their chest, asking for confirmation if she was, in fact, the writer everyone was currently talking about. Uraraka could barely make herself understandable above the noise but she managed to confirm that it was her.

"It's not your usual style but I absolutely loved it nonetheless!"

"Can you please write more stories like this? Or just a whole book perhaps?"

"This was so genuine! I could relate to the main character so well!"

The writer got showered with compliments and though as embarrassing as this whole thing was, it did her good to hear that something she didn't even consider anything decent was being received so well. Uraraka thanked the readers and signed a few copies here and there. After that, she left the bookstore and traveled to a few others where things kept repeating themselves.

The magazine would be selling better than ever before, people would come up to her and gush about this month's story and she would sign a few copies here and there.

Uraraka spent the whole day walking around town from bookstore to bookstore in complete awe, feeling better and better about circumstances.

Her readers have actually managed to make the best out of a bad situation.

When she got back to her apartment she was eager to jump behind her laptop to finally check the e-mails from readers she had been stacking up in the past days. On her way from the front door to her desk, she got stopped by Waddles, walking right in front of her feet. Not being able to maneuver past him, she groaned and picked him up.

"This is one of the few times I stayed out the house for so long, you should at least be a little proud of me, right?" Uraraka moaned.

Owner and pet kept glaring at each other until Uraraka was the first one to lose composure. She tickled the cat under his chin and watched his face turn softer.

"But you just need the constant attention, don't you?" She softly spoke.

Uraraka carried Waddles in her arms to her desk and put him next to her laptop. She put away her coat and put her hair down before sitting down and letting Waddles use her lap as a pillow. She opened her mailbox and saw it had been completely bombarded with e-mails. This was the first time that she had to click the next button in her mailbox.

There were a lot of positive reactions. An occasional reader being sad that she veered away from her usual style but most people were excited about it. ‘Excited' could be taken in multiple ways. Uraraka had never received so many horny e-mails before. And it was somewhat to be expected but twenty-three emails that were not, no, definitely not safe for work? That was definitely a record broken.

Most of the horny e-mails were a good laugh nonetheless, she had woken up Waddles a few times because of them.

Slowly the writer cleared her mailbox and reached the most recent ones. When she saw a particular e-mail address, she felt her heart skip a beat. Uraraka would be lying if she said she hadn't forgotten about them for a second. A reader who had been reading her work ever since her work just started to get published in ‘Tamami'. Their e-mails were always almost like essays, very detailed reviews of the story and how much they enjoyed it. They were as honest as they could be with her and had honestly made her reflect on her writing almost as much as Bakugou did.

It was always exciting to see what they had to say.

""…I have to say I was surprised when I read this month's story. I-"…Waddles please, you have enough other toys to plays with," Uraraka scolded the cat.

But the cat remained intrigued by the light coming from her phone screen. She turned the screen around and continued reading the e-mail. Uraraka got closer to the screen as she kept reading it and felt herself smiling brightly at all the kind words.

"…I've noticed that you never write in first person. I have read the story a couple of times now and I've got the feeling that you were heavily inspired by someone close to you. Heavily inspired is a term I use lightly here."

Out of anyone they would have been the first one to clock, wouldn't they?

Uraraka rarely responded to fan mail but she felt a little caught by the anonymous critic. Curious to what made them exactly come to the conclusion she opened a new message to reply.

"What gave it away?"

Uraraka sent the message and bit the tip of her thumb. In the corner of her eye, she noticed light emanating from her phone screen again. She looked around, saw that Waddles had found another way to entertain himself and then grabbed her phone.

"Text messages from…Bakugou?"

Katsuki Bakugou, 16:24 PM: Are you around?

Katsuki Bakugou, 18:15 PM: Never mind.

Uraraka scratched her head.

Ochako Uraraka, 18:18 PM: Why? What's up?"

Only moments later a call from Bakugou came in. Uraraka jumped and threw her phone in the air. Just about managed to catch it and save herself from pressing decline.

"H-Hello?"

"Uraraka…Did I not call at the right time?" Bakugou asked.

Uraraka covered the mic of her phone with her hand and took a deep breath. It was always something else to speak with Bakugou on the phone but now considering this had been their first conversation since her story got published especially.

Once she got her breathing steady she put the phone back to her ear. "No, it's fine, it's fine. Why did you call?"

"It's about the celebratory dinner? Don't tell me you forgot to check your private e-mail account again."

"What? No! Of course not!" Uraraka sputtered as she opened her private e-mail account and saw the e-mail from the magazine's headquarters, about how they were hosting yet another celebratory dinner. This time for Uraraka.

It was an incredibly sweet gesture but, that sort of thing just wasn't for her. She hadn't been to a single dinner where she didn't feel stupidly out of place. They always ate at places that were way too fancy for their own good. Where everything was in French but somehow French fries didn't exist on the menu. Where you would have a napkin on your nap and no one would bother to explain what it was exactly for. Places where she could easily embarrass herself and often did.

It wasn't exactly Bakugou's cup of tea either. They had gradually gravitated from sitting across from each other to next to each other and started to complain about everything they could possibly complain about during every dinner. Have even started dreading the dinners before they were invited.

"I can't even pronounce the name of this restaurant…" Uraraka mumbled.

She continued to scan through the e-mail until her eyes fell on the time.

"I have to be there in an hour, are you kidding me?! I'm not even remotely ready!"

"So you did forget," Bakugou scoffed.

Uraraka could hear the cheekiness in his voice but was too busy panicking to even think of sassing him. She stood up and walked to her bedroom.

"I really have to go, there's a lot of stuff I need to do. Oh man, I haven't even thought of how I'm going to get there. That place is probably on the other side of town as well."

"I can come and pick you up," Bakugou offered.

Through the sound of clashing clothing hangers, Uraraka could hear Bakugou typing in the background. The guy had most likely been editing all day and was even looking less forward to the whole happening than usual. She didn't exactly want to be that much more of a nuisance by making him play taxi.

"Thank you but you don't have to, really," Uraraka said as she smelled a dress she found at the bottom of her closet.

"Oh shut it. You don't want to be late to your own fucking dinner right? I'll be at your apartment in thirty, be ready."

Before Uraraka could put up any resistance Bakugou had hung up on her. Distraught she looked at her phone and sighed. She didn't have any time to call him back and argue with him. She still had to shower, make herself somewhat presentable and mentally prepare herself for all the questions she had to answer about the story whilst Bakugou was sitting next to her.

Uraraka decided that the dress she sniffed was good enough. It didn't smell too bad and she believed none of her coworkers had seen her in it before. In record time she jumped in and out of the shower and messed around with make-up as much as her skillset allowed her.

With wobbly knees, Uraraka slowly walked in her heels to her mirror. She turned around and then nodded at herself, coming to the conclusion that was as good as it was going to get. Waddles had cared to join her in front of the mirror, but only to come and beg for a meal.

She tried to strut into towards the kitchen but stopped in front of her desk.

Would the anonymous critic have replied?

She moved the mouse, the screen lit up and they had indeed replied.

"You can't make up those emotions and thoughts. Not even the best of writers can."

Uraraka swallowed before opening another e-mail to reply.

"I can't deny that no. The story was something very personal yes, that most likely shouldn't have seen the light of day. So far, you're the only one that's on to me. It's actually rather embarrassing so can you please do me a favor and keep this a secret between us? Can you promise?"

Send.

That was the right thing to do, right? Fighting the accusations could have brought up discourse. And right when her career was thriving, that was the last thing she wanted. Things could easily spin out of control and that could make her the laughing stock of ‘Tamami' in no time.

It was in her best interest to keep this long-time fan a friend.

As she made dinner for Waddles she kept listening for the sound of a notification, but it didn't come. After she put down the cat's bowl full of homemade cat food in the kitchen, she shuffled to her laptop to double check.

There was really no reply from them.

"Oh God, I'm scre-,'"  A loud buzzer cut Uraraka off.

Immediately Uraraka jolted and rushed to the door.

That had to be Bakugou.

She tucked her hair behind her ears and straightened her stance before opening the door.

"You didn't have to come u-"

"I promise."

Uraraka blinked at the guy standing in the hallway. In response, she laughed and shook her head.

"You what?"

Bakugou pushed past her into her apartment and went to lean against the wall opposite her.

"I said I promise. I can promise to keep it a secret between us," he elaborated.

A moment of silence past between them, which was eventually broken by hysterical laughter from Uraraka.

This was something she couldn't comprehend. This was some sort of joke her brain just couldn't process. As she kept laughing she pointed back at her laptop.

"So you're telling me that…that you're…" Uraraka hiccupped.

She couldn't even finish her sentence without bursting into laughter again. Fell against the wall opposite Bakugou as she grabbed her stomach that was starting to ache.

Through her tears, she saw Bakugou cocking his brow. Gradually the writer collected herself and stopped laughing. She took a good look at Bakugou and then her face went blank.

"Wait, are you serious?

Bakugou gestured at his face. "I'm not exactly laughing my ass off am I?"

"Oh…Now if you could excuse me…"

Uraraka felt herself getting weak at the knees and prepared herself for another fall. As her eyes closed an arm went around her waist and a tug at her wrist. The sudden touch caused her eyes to shoot back open.

"Fucking hell, you're something else," Bakugou groaned.

He put her right back up, kept his arm around her waist. Uraraka's eyes darted from his arm to his face which was suddenly incredibly close to hers.

"You know I don't even like honey that much," he complained.

"Really?" Uraraka said genuinely baffled, she figured anyone would like honey on their waffles after all.

"But would do you like then?" She asked.

"Take a guess," he made his voice low, eyes flicking from her eyes to her mouth.

As he leaned in Uraraka held her breath.

"Oh God, this is happening," she murmured.

Bakugou opened his eyes and glared at her.

"Sorry."

Uraraka closed her eyes and through her lashes, she saw Bakugou smile before putting his lips on hers. Their mouths started to part and her breath hitched.

She had written about Bakugou kissing her countless amount of times. But none of that compared to the way he was kissing her there and then. She didn't expect it to live up to her fantasy, no, to be even better than her fantasy.

Uraraka's arms curled around his neck and she smiled against his lips. Steadily she slowed down the pace of the kiss and pulled away from his touch.

"But seriously, what do you like?"

"Syrup over honey, any fucking day."

[sparkledeerfr]

Response

(A preamble to the letters I’m sending to @majestyrising . I kind of switch tenses at some point but I’m too lazy to fix it now)

Adeline’s hands shake as she looks at the letter, though for what exact reason she isn’t sure. She had word a letter might be coming from a certain party, after all, and it was unlikely to be a declaration of war.

For a moment though her head cocks at the seal and Daud, who is pacing relentlessly nearby, pauses. “What?” he asks. Jesse, who is standing by the door giving her usual bored stare, gives the slightest interested nod of her head.

“Do….do we have a seal?” Adeline asks him. “I mean we should have a seal, right?”

(Read More Link)

“And what would Can Town’s seal be? Just wrap it with whatever string you found on the ground?” Daud growls as Jesse stifles a giggle. “The Castle has a seal, Casino Quarter-” here he pauses and looks to Jesse, who nods. “Doubtless has one for each casino. It's just useless ostentation.”

“Well alright,” Adeline replied, completely unsure about that as she pried off the seal and got to reading out loud and very carefully as though afraid she would trip over the words, Daud looking over her shoulder.

To Adeline, I will come clean and admit I do not know if you hold any formal titles. Forgive me if you do and I have made the mistake of omitting them.

“Oh that’s nice of them to ask! I hope they don’t mind that-”

“It’s a useless formality. Keep reading.”

Regardless, may I extend my formal greetings and well-wishes. Though you may not be aware- as I was not until recently- our peoples have shared correspondences before now. A man under my father's retinue has been to your Casino Quarter for work. He has given me a glowing recommendation of your city, thus, this letter.

“Bell’s dad! How sweet of him to say. Jesse you’ll pass that along to Neko, right?”

“Naturally she’ll hear all about this.”

In the absence of physical formalities, I will do my best in writing. My name is Rho. I am the ruler of a mercenary kingdom passed down to me by my father; the Kingdom of Thanatos. We currently reside in the south-east of the Scarred Wasteland- I will enclose directions to make this an even trade, since we know of your current location.

“Rho! How cool. Do you say ‘Your Majesty’ to a-”

“Mercenaries,” Daud growls even further, so low and deep it sounded like a warcat’s threatening rumble. “Throw the letter away.”

“Daud its-”

“I don’t care. I don’t work with mercenaries,” he says, turning around and leaving the room, pausing to turn just before he reaches Jesse’s post by the door. “Ask Vice about why some time,” he shoots before leaving.

The two women pause and sit in silence for a moment, Adeline’s eyes darting around the room, unsure of what to do. She trusts Daud with her life, naturally, it's just that diplomacy was never the man’s strong suit, and his stance on mercs is a little unusual for a man who was literally an assassin for hire at some point.  “Maybe...I should ask Nimue what to do?”

“Daud and Nimue are choosing not to lead,” Jesse replies in that calm, formal way she has. “So in their absence, what does the actual leader choose to do?”

“I choose to actually finish this letter, for one.”

“Good answer.”

I have endeavoured in recent times to expand our influence and connections in order to keep my people both safe and relevant in our changing times. What I would humbly ask of you is a mere accordance in kind. We are looking to fully integrate ourselves; a policy of isolation, whilst never truly enacted, has done little to ward of potential disaster. Thus, instead, I look for potential trade and allies.

“Totally reasonable, and I mean hey we’re one of the friendliest clans in the region, right? People are always welcome.”

“That we are.”

I will not ask you to put your faith in me through one letter, of course. As I have mentioned, our primary trade is mercenary force. Every dragon under the retinue of my kingdom has been strictly trained, each with their own specific strength in battle. Additionally, we have a force of elite healers, and social ties that may be useful in uncovering difficult pieces of information. We have a permanent need for resources, and plenty of gold to spare to gain them. Food, materials, and information; that is what we seek in particular.

“Again totally reasonable, and we have great trade routes!”

“And information.”

“Well that’s you. Do we need, like, stabby people though? I’d feel bad asking for help,” Adeline asks, mostly to herself. “Hmm hmm well I mean it can’t hurt, right?”

“A rich alliance of mini clans filled with natural resources and a hidden gem supply left somewhere in the region?” Jesse says dryly. “Why, I can’t imagine why we might ever need someone to help out should-”

“Okay point taken.”

I understand that your people and mine may benefit from the trade of information in particular. We are always in need of more contacts of this particular sort, and I would be happy to send a delegation to talk to you more closely.

“Ohhhhh um…”

“I’ll talk with Neko about getting you up to speed on formal events and manners, dear.”

“Okay yes thank you oh man is it, like, a dinner party thing? Or like do I invite them into a fancy room to say hi? Like what do I- well lemme read the next bit before I start worrying.”

Should circumstances allow it, an alliance would imbue me with the power to send my people to you, in any matters which would require it. This, of course, I would need to discuss in person. There is no obligation on your end for an alliance. You, after all, do not know me. And I do not know you. At least, not yet; since my hope is to change that.

“In person? But- what if he’s- like-”

“Adeline please calm down. This is your clan and you were chosen to lead because everyone thought you would protect their interests the best. They did not hire you because of your ability to host. I’m sure you could literally plan a slumber party and everyone would agree that you did your best.”

“Does royalty have slumber parties?”

“I believe it is called ‘visiting’ among the more well-to-do and ‘hosting’ or ‘diplomatic meetings’ among leaders.”

“Oh okay.”

Lest I forget; the man who came to your City was called Faraday. He is known to make an impression, so I offer his name in case he incurred any debts during his stay. I will repay them in full, if he did, though he assures me he did not. He has mentioned that he would like to return, if possible; but again- if he is barred, I will keep him out.

Adeline looked to Jesse for an answer. “If he has incurred a debt, Neko has been much too polite to state it. As far as I remember, his visit was before I came here and before the Cat’s Meow was renovated. I have heard nothing but a wistful fondness from her, as though recounting a youthful fling.”

“And this was before Etzel, right?”

“Yes just before-” Jesse started and they both paused, mulling this over.

“Well there’s no way I’m barring someone from visiting who’s done nothing wrong, especially if they’re considering visiting their kid but, uh, Etzel...would be chill...right?”

Jesse said nothing, but her mouth scrunched and turned slightly as if to indicate she did not know or like to think which face that particular coin would land on.

I look forward to hearing from you in any capacity. Yours truthfully, Rho.

“He does seem nice, though. Hm. I should write a letter back right? Can you help me draft it?”

“Adeline despite yourself I believe in you. That and I have no doubt that Neko and the Quarter would like to write a response of their own, so I must be off.”

“But I’m not, really, like…” Adeline trailed off.

“No you’re not a formal or fancy leader. In fact you have trouble even saying you’re the leader. But who cares? You are, and you are what you are. They can take it or leave it, no? If they leave it they hardly seem like the type to go on the warpath because of an informality.”

“You’re right, thank you Jesse.”

“No trouble at all, and I will have you know that I heard that Nimue was much like you at one point about such matters.”

“We all gotta start somewhere I guess.”

“That we do.”

Jesse left and Adeline sat in silence for a few minutes, trying to put together the proper words, trying to find a nice pen and some paper, shuffling things around nervously before breathing out and finally deciding to get to it.

“Okay, okay, I can do this. Lead like Adeline. It’ll be fine.”

[tehyon]

CORNUCOPIA (Part 1)

❝ You were never meant to be on earth, let alone talking to a human. You were just a lower flower goddess. But for some reason, Jeon Jungkook’s got you in his sights, and he’s willing to do whatever just to get out of his own upcoming nuptials. 

❝ characters; jeon jungkook x you ❝ genre; romance, fluff, goddess au ❝ part one

a/n; this has been sitting in my drafts for a month so i might as well post it, because i’m seriously stuck.

//////

Lesser gods never had much to do up there. You were only the epitome of flowers, it was a small enough job that nobody ever really needed you unless a wedding or a funeral came up. Not that gods ever died, or stayed faithful to their marriage vows.

But just because nobody paid attention to the person who all the world’s blooms were attuned to, doesn’t mean that you should’ve been careless.

It had just been a prank, Taehyung, just some random nymph that had been the flavour of the week for one of the upper gods hadn’t recognised you from behind, and nudged you as you sat by the window.

The window was the only portal to earth, the one that no one was supposed to sit by without something to hold them up by, especially those who couldn’t fly. You weren’t entirely sure why you were staring down at the grey concrete of Seoul that day, but the overwhelming scent of flowers had drawn you in.

Weddings happened all the time on earth, they’d traipse petals and buds across grass, beaches and churches to their heart’s content, and step on the wilting blooms after they’d had their happy ever after. As beautiful as the show would be, you’d feel a sharp tug every time something so natural and precious was rendered to a commercialised product meant to be used and admired once in its lifetime.

This one was no different, soft white petals covered the floor of a modern looking Chapel, baskets and columns of flower arrangements crammed to the side of the hall. The scent of freshly cut flowers drowning out any sign of the pollution outside.

You’d only leant forward to spot the wedding couple before you felt two large hands shove you forwards, followed by a faint “Gotcha!”

The momentum had already started moving you through the portal, you’d only managed to catch the bewilderment of two chocolate eyes before the portal flashed closed in front of your eyes and you felt yourself falling.

It took seconds until your eyes focused on a hand waving frantically in front of your face.

“Are you alright?”

In front of you, suit ironed and hair slicked back was a boy. Well no, a man. His eyebrows furrowed and lips downturned.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my hotel room?”

“I-” You didn’t even know what to say, this was your first interaction with a human.

His stare only intensified, your eyes darting to scan the room to find something you could lie about, “I’m the florist!”

If there was an award for world’s biggest idiot, you’d just received your nomination and trophy.

“Oh?”

You quickly pointed to the bride’s bouquet you’d seen on his bed, rushing over to pick it up, inwardly grimacing at the abundance of plastic in it.

“I got some of your orders wrong, so I’m here to exchange them” You could only shoot a small nervous smile, hands tightening around the flower arrangement.

“I guess Ana must’ve sent you here” He’d gestured behind him, uncovering a pile of corsages and boutonnieres.  

Nodding was the only thing that you could manage in terms of communication without further digging this hole that you for some reason had started.

“You’re lucky, you’ve got a couple hours before Satan and co start this sham of a wedding”

He moved to loosen his tie, taking a seat at the end of the bed. You stood awkwardly in front of him not really sure what to do until he patted the space next to him.

“I know this is weird, but I just really need to get this off my chest before I tie the knot to Satan’s spawn.”

“Um sure, rant away-”

“It’s just so stupid you know? My brother was meant to be here doing this, but no, he found some random girl, fell in love, and fucking eloped! Now I’m here picking up the pieces of this family by marrying some stuck-up bimbo who wants to carve a hole in my wallet.”

“Wow, that’s rough” You tried to comfort him, you really did, but you’d never really noticed whether a bride and groom loved each other, the whole wedding spectacle swept you away.

“You’re not really good at this are you?” He could only laugh at you, until his eyes noticed your attire, “You know you’re really not supposed to wear white at a wedding right?”

You could only glance down at the Grecian style dress wrapped around your body, “I’m usually not present at the ceremony”, you stuttered out.

“I envy you”

He’d thrown himself on top of his bed staring blankly at the ceiling, surrounded by the piles of corsages he’d flattened.

For a human he really was beautiful.

“What do you think I should do flower girl?”

“Find a random girl, fall in love and elope?” You joked.

You weren’t expecting him to shoot off the bed, eyes bright and slightly crazed as both hands reaching out to capture your wrists.

“This might be last minute wedding nerves or that gin and tonic I had earlier, but that might actually work”

“Look, Groom-”

“-Jungkook”

“Jungkook I was just joking-”

“I’m not!” He shouted, he tugged at your wrist swinging open the doors of the hotel until you two began a full sprint down the hallway.

Five flights of stairs later you found yourself inside the chapel.

“Perks of booking a Vegas-style hotel” He whispered.

You didn’t even get to retort before he was gesturing over a priest and slapping down a contract on the table.

“Sir, would you do the honours of marrying us?”

The elderly man only eyed him and his iron grasp on your wrist, “And is this young lady a willing participant?”

Jungkook tugged at your wrist, meeting your eyes, he mouthed the word please tightening his hold on your wrist.

You could only nod, slightly stunned at what had happened in such a short space of time. 

“And witnesses?”

Apparently, Jungkook was more insane than you thought, as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, fingers flying over the screen until you heard the sounds of a facetime dial tone.

“Hey, bro! Is the wedding over already?”

“Jimin I need you to shut up for a minute and witness my wedding OK?” Surprisingly his friend only laughed whilst the phone was passed to the priest. 

“Young man, I think you’ll find you need two witnesses”

Slightly annoyed now you watched him move to speak to his friend once more, “Group call Taehyung”

The man on the phone screen was obviously shaking with laughter as another window appeared next to his on the screen.

“JK! Is the wedding over-”

“Tae, I need you to be quiet and witness a ceremony”, turning back to the priest he smiled darkly, “Happy now?”

The elderly man could only sigh, and began “Gentlemen and lady, we’re gathered here today to witness the union between this man and woman...”

[maltedmilkchocolate]

I’m so sure I wrote a post on this recently, I mean I’m 90% sure I was writing on the train the other day. I thought i saved the draft but apparently it never saved.  But basically it was a lot of my thoughts on the pilot of the black lion. And that I really don’t feel Shiro is the right person to be leading Voltron. He doesn’t fit the team dynamic anymore. That’s not there. It was like jamming in a warped puzzle piece that might look right, but isn’t.  So my thoughts went something like this. Keith’s decisions this series were super important. And I really, truly feel Keith is meant to be the team leader.  BUT I don’t think he’s meant to be leader right now.  S3 Keith got shoved into a role he didn’t want, wasn’t ready for, wasn’t emotionally ready for, and just generally: None of this was his choice. He was heavily pressured into it through Shiro’s expectations. He didn’t want it. But he did try really hard. And what we got to see was the budding growth of Keith as a leader. Keith, who (after getting pulled out of his own head), learnt to calm down (slowly) and Keith who actively listened to his team mates, and took on their council in decision making. Something we often see Shiro fail to do. Shiro’s often incredibly quick to shut down an idea without thinking it through. And ok. Yes there’s an argument to be made that Shiro has the experience of fighting a war, that Shiro actually graduated the Garrison where the rest of team Voltron are pretty much just cadets.  But the fact remains the same, that team work is more than just cooperation, or following the leader absolutely, or jumping to a command. It’s about communicating, listening, and taking on board the concerns and ideas of the rest of your team for unified decision making. Not slamming down the door instantly, or being quick to judge first listen later. (As we saw with Shiro’s responses to Keith’s BoM choices, and Lance’s instincts.) (Ofc, I’m not saying Shiro needs to be perfect. He’s 25(?). Literally anyone who’s 25 can tell you that they themselves still feel like a kid, still feel waaaayy out of their depth, still want a more ‘adult’ adult to direct them. And Shiro’s not just a graduate who had high hopes, but also someone who’s been kidnapped, tortured, and suddenly dropped with 4 kids under his supervision+ the fate of the universe. Like... that’s a LOT. And being a flawed human being is normal, and making mistakes, failing to listen. Those are all natural things. The point is to learn and grow from them.) At this point. With Shiro having gone missing, Keith growing into a new roll, and then Shiro returning. Shiro just doesn’t fit into the team leader role any more. This is literally an arc where the ‘baby birds have learnt to fly’ style of thing. Voltron, as a team, with Keith as its head (and Allura as its leg) were growing into something new, something with better potential and more dynamic. They were moving forward into a new Voltron.  Shiro back at the helm gives an overall feeling of like........ when you come home from university after 3-4 years of freedom/growth/maturity, and suddenly you’re back with your parents telling you what to do, how to do it, and not to ask questions. It’s a step backwards. (And it’s not Shiro’s fault per say... like it’s not intentional on his part. It’s just because of this huge dynamic shift, that he just doesn’t fit any more.)  BUT BACK TO KEITH.  S4 Keith chose to join the BoM. Not only did he choose to join them, but he did it out of sound reasoning. They had strong leads and connections, they were making ground, this was a smart route to follow. Keith knew what he was doing, but he was also holding back by trying to do right by both groups. (ofc there’s a conversation to be had about his mothers connection to the blade, and also Keith’s need to want to contribute more/feel he’s doing more. But other posts have discussed that.) I don’t think the BoM is the right path for Keith in terms of... a permanent role. Keith’s in this middle ground where yes, he’s head strong, yes he wants to get things done, get them done fast, efficiently, no more waiting around. But Keith grew beyond that. With help from everyone in Voltron, especially after taking the role as leader, because the team helped Keith step back. We saw more and more instances over the seasons of Keith thinking things through, listening to others, before making those big decisions. And it helped him grow as a person. What we’ve seen so far of the BoM is that they’re similar to certain aspects of Keith. But they’re also incredibly... ruthless. They easily leave soldiers behind because ‘this is war’. And Keith argues, they would always go back with Voltron to rescue someone. Essentially every life matters, the one and the many. But the Blade (and the Galra) are very much in the opinion that people are expendable for the greater cause. We see Keith have huge conflict with that. But then at the end of S4... we also see Keith try and sacrifice his own life to save everyone, which...whilst fair and desperate. Isn’t the greatest decision for a variety of reasons. High chances are that a ship exploding into that force field wouldn’t have actually broken it.  In this regard, I feel the BoM has both positive AND negative effects on Keith’s decision making, values, etc. But because of this. I think it’s going to be a great exploration into how Keith develops further from these experiences. And I honestly think these experiences are going to be what helps Keith develop into the actual role of team leader for Voltron. The BoM is going to be a huge step in growth for Keith in terms of him finding out what he wants, where he fits, and what he can contribute. But I don’t feel it’s the path ahead for him forever.  Keith was meant to lead Voltron. But not as a result of force/expectation (Shiro). But by his own development into learning what it means to lead others (growing into the role naturally). The Black Lion chose Keith. And the lions don’t just choose temporary replacement people. So yeah. I’m all for Black Paladin Keith. But first, lets explore the Blade of Mamora.

[caspiansluts]

Older (Peter Pevensie smut)

I posted the original draft of this last night but I went back and edited it. I think it’s a lot better now - not much difference, I just think it flows a lot better. Thinking of turning this into a series perhaps? I’ve already got a second chapter in the works featuring Edmund smut but idk. Same warnings here, cheating, smut, and an age difference. Edmund is about seven years younger than Peter, instead of three or four.

—–

He was reading a book in bed. From where I was standing, I could see that he was most likely naked – the bedsheet covered his lap, but his toned chest was exposed, as was his hip. I bit my lip and he looked up at me, shifting the covers as he took in my appearance.

“Edmund’s in the shower,” said Peter. He sounded slightly uncomfortable.

“I know,” I replied, stepping into the room. Whilst we were staying with their mother for the Christmas break, Peter and Edmund were sharing the room they had once slept in as children. I was sharing with Lucy and Susan.

I clasped my hands behind my back as I made my way towards the bed where Peter was sat, propped up against the headboard. I was wearing a lacy white slip – Edmund’s favourite, actually. From the way Peter gulped and licked his lips nervously when he noticed my exposed thighs and the low neckline, he seemed to like it too.

“He takes the longest showers,” I sighed, taking a seat on the bed. The white slip rode up and exposed higher up my thighs when I positioned my legs. I could see Peter trying desperately not to look at them. There had always been so much tension between the two of us. He was extremely attractive, and as much as I loved Edmund, if I hadn’t have gotten with him first, I definitely would have gone for Peter. I needed to have him, at least once, and if it didn’t happen tonight…

It was going to happen, eventually. Why delay the inevitable?

Peter smiled faintly at me, his full lips curving irresistibly. “Guess you should be prepared for the day he comes out of there an actual prune, then,”

I laughed and ran a hand through my hair. “Guess I should,”

We were silent for a few moments. Peter was clearly nervous, and I enjoyed seeing him squirm. Although I like to think of myself as more submissive than dominant, it turned me on, knowing I had this much power over him. All I’d done is wear a revealing piece of nightwear and play with my hair a bit and he was already a mess. I eyed him flirtatiously. “You know, you really don’t look twenty six,”

His lips quirked again and I stared at them shamelessly. God, I wanted to feel those lips all over my body. “And you really don’t look seventeen,”

“Yeah,” I asked, my tone teasing. The shower was still running, and I was sure I had plenty of time left. “How old do I look then?”

I’d asked him this before, and he never gave me the same answer. A few weeks ago he’d said twenty eight, and a few nights ago he’d said thirteen. Tonight? “Older,”

I smiled and bit my lip, pulling the full flesh between my teeth slowly, not missing the way Peter’s breath caught. I brushed a strand of hair behind my ear in a blatantly flirty gesture.

“So, did you want something? I mean, I assumed you were looking for my brother, he is your boyfriend after all,” the emphasis he had placed on the words ‘my brother’ and ‘your boyfriend’ weren’t lost on me. I looked down at the hands that were resting in my lap, feigning shyness.

“Actually yes, I did want something,” I peeked up at him from under my lashes. “And I wasn’t looking for Edmund. I was looking for you,”

I shifted closer to him. The sheets moved as I adjusted myself, and they slid to reveal more of the hip that was closest to me. His skin looked so soft and though I wanted nothing more than to run my lips over it, I restrained myself. He glanced down at his newly exposed skin and then back at me, swallowing and shaking his head lightly as I crawled forwards.

“Y/N, no…”

I could almost feel his body against mine now. Heat radiated off him. “Why not?” I kept my voice innocent, making sure my bottom lip pouted out. My lips were a weakness of his. At least, I was fairly sure they were. And sure enough, his eyes were drew back to my lips and I saw his Adam’s apples bob.

“Because,” he told me shakily. “You’re my little brother’s girlfriend. Not only could I never do that to him, but you’re also nearly ten years younger than me. It wouldn’t be right,”

“Hmm,” I sighed, leaning in and tugging his earlobe between my teeth. He shuddered. I pulled back, releasing it, a triumphant grin on my face as I slid one of my hands up his chest. “But doesn’t that just make it hotter?” I let my hand explore further down his body, barely letting my fingers dip beneath the covers. Edmund was still in the shower.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” I continued seductively. His chest rose and fell quickly. I placed a kiss against his jaw. “I’ve noticed how you always excuse yourself from the room whenever I wear one of those tight little skirts,” I ran my tongue along the side of his neck. “I’ve heard you gasping my name when you’re touching yourself,”

“God-Y/N-” he stuttered. I smiled into his skin, placing another kiss to his throat before pulling back. His face was flushed.

“Yeah, just like that,” One of my hands was still exploring his body, and my fingertips brushed over something hard. He tensed. I glided my hands over it again and wrapped my fingers around his erection, watching closely when he closed his eyes and parted those full lips, gasping softly. I moved my hand up, then down, twice.

“Y/N…” He managed, eyes open once again, but they were clouded with lust. He clenched his jaw. “Please, I can’t. We can’t. You need to-ah-stop,”

I pumped my hand up and down again, agonisingly slowly. Over the sound of his sharp breaths, I could hear the shower running.

“Fuck!” He whimpered.

“Still want me to stop?”

And he snapped. Suddenly he had flipped us, and I was lying underneath him, chest heaving. He had grabbed both of my wrists and pinned them above me with one hand. “No one finds out about this,” he growled, stirring butterflies in my tummy and causing the wetness between my thighs to grow. I’d always known that Peter had a strong, alpha male side…but hearing it, directed at me as he had me trapped beneath him…it was ridiculously hot. “You’re going to keep your pretty little mouth shut, and if you tell anyone, my brother will find out what a filthy fucking slut you are,”

With that, he leaned down and smashed his lips to mine, kissing me furiously and deeply. It was brief, but I was knocked breathless. God, those fucking lips. He reached down between my legs to find that the slip had become bunched around my ribs, and that I wasn’t wearing underwear. He could feel how wet I was and he let out another growl. I felt him directing his hard cock to my slit, and then as the head of it brushed up and down against it, becoming coated in my arousal. I whimpered. He rammed into me all of a sudden, causing me to moan loudly. He was so big and perfect, filling me up completely. I bucked my hips up off the bed to meet his.

He brought his hand to my mouth and covered it, preventing any more moans escaping. “Careful, wouldn’t want Edmund to hear you now, would we?”

He began to roll his hips into mine, pinning me back down to the bed with his own body. Each thrust drove his cock deeper inside of me. I bit his hand as I attempted to stay quiet, but God, I felt like I was going to scream. A series of low whines still managed to escape, but I wasn’t too worried because the running water would surely block out any sounds I made, and Peter was making me feel too damn good to care.

His other hand released my wrists and slid down my body to my clit, where he instantly began to tease me, toying with my sensitive bud relentlessly whilst he pounded into me. I cried out when he slammed into me harder than before, gripping onto his broad shoulders and holding on for dear life. I had to fight to keep my eyes open as the pleasure growing inside of me swelled, because I wanted to watch as Peter fucked me. I had to commit every sound, every thrust, every expression to memory. His eyes had darkened and taken on an animalistic quality. He was struggling to keep quiet himself, occasional groans and low moans slipping out of his parted lips. Hearing his complete loss of control as he fucked me into the mattress turned me on even more. I could sense my orgasm building.

He continued to thrust into me at the same rough pace. I was a mess, unable to stop myself from arching my back into him and bucking my hips. I dug my ankles into him, forcing him even deeper inside of me. Holy shit, I’d never been fucked this hard or good. Edmund had never fucked me like this. Never made me come as hard as Peter was going to.

“Fuck-I’m gonna come,” Peter gasped, and I suddenly felt warm spurts deep inside me as he reached his climax. He increased his speed on my clit, rubbing firm and tight circles, continuing to thrust into me, but a lot slower as he rode out his orgasm. And fuck, I was so close. I could feel it, I was right on the edge, if he hit right there just one more time-

The water shut off. I froze in panic, dread rushing through me as opposed to pleasure. Peter’s eyes widened, the primal desire in them replaced with fear as reality hit. He had just fucked his little brother’s girlfriend. And aforementioned little brother was about to walk in and see Peter inside of me.

Peter pulled out and I whined. I had been so close to coming. His breathing was still laboured, as was mine, a combination of our fluids leaking out of me and soaking the bed. He yanked the sheets back up around him and pushed me out of his bed urgently. I was too much in shock to move.

“I’m so sorry,” he told me sincerely. We heard the tap turning on. Edmund was brushing his teeth. Peter clutched at the slip I was desperately trying to straighten out and pulled me down into another kiss. Short, but surprisingly sweet and loving. I sighed against his lips, most of my fear melting away.

“Edmund will have to finish you off,” he murmured, and it made me feel even dirtier when I realised that his words turned me on. The tap stopped running. “Now go!” He whispered in alarm.

I cast one last look at him and darted out of the room, feeling Peter’s ejaculate dripping down my inner thighs.

Edmund opened the bathroom door and walked out, a towel slung loosely around his hips, water dripping down his chest. Peter quickly picked up his book again, and hoped that Edmund wouldn’t realise that he was breathing quicker than usual, or that he had a freshly formed hickey under his jaw.

“I had to use Susan’s shampoo,” Edmund announced dryly, shaking his head to dispel most of the water. “Honestly, I smell like flowers and other girly shit. Note to self: remember to bring your own shampoo.”

Peter smiled politely and turned the page in his book, unable to meet Edmund’s eyes, mind racing. ‘Note to self,’ he thought. ‘Don’t fuck your younger brother’s girlfriend.’

[titmasjack]

Weekly Summary

Throughout this week I gained an utmost sense of relief when I was informed that our deadline for the 14th of January was decided to be pushed back until the 25th of February. With the stress of a deadline being hung over me, I started off this week with a sense of doubt that I wouldn't be able to meet all the outcomes of the two briefs we were set to hand in, not only at the standard that I hope to present throughout my work but at the minimal level of completion. I feared that due to not being able to continue my studies over the holidays this set me back to a point that I wouldn’t have been able to recover from with the management of time I had left. 

With the extension of the deadline and how productive I’ve been this week, I feel in a much more comfortable position moving forward as I’m at a state of mind where I feel confident in what I know I need to do moving forward in the upcoming weeks to prepare myself for the 25th’s submission date. Although we won't be working on just these projects alone, these additional weeks have given me a great deal of peace so I can take the necessary time to produce an outcome that I’m proud of. 

Although now coinciding with the 1500 word essay due on the same date, I believe I have given myself enough time and realistic personal deadlines to achieve all the outcomes necessary to a presentable standard that I would be proud of. With the hopes of being able to complete the morphing project by the 11th of February, in time of our newly introduced brief, this gives me an additional four weeks to not only work on but refine an outcome to a professional standard that I want to be proud to submit. 

Even though I haven’t had the opportunity to write up as many blogs posts as I usually do, having focused on the production of my creative work has allowed me to get a point where I feel happy moving forward. With no current need to rush through my workload, I’m happy with the pace that I’m moving forward taking care with both the production of my sketchbook and morphing animation. 

Research Narrative

In terms of ‘Research Narrative’, this week was very much about learning to implement what we have already learnt over the course of this term to through given examples, analysing two narratives over the course of the week, we applied an approach of two separate theorists beliefs in the hopes to convey how various narrative functions can be used to dictate the functions of story in classic folk law and contemporary story.

This gave me a great deal of confidence in two significant methods to how I could approach my own chosen narrative to analyse. Showcasing how I can implement these studies through work that would benefit my own analysis of ‘The Road to El Dorado’ as I begin to gather a range of sources and information about the film itself.

Compared to sitting through a 3-hour lecture like we do most weeks, with Lynsey's absence from the lesson provided a nice change of pace. Feeling like a much more relaxed environment as we were given the opportunity to watch ‘Up’ to then study and reflect upon in our own time. With no time like the present, I found it best for myself that I reflected on the film whilst watching and straight after, not only as a key opportunity to manage my time, but this allowed me to process the elements of the narrative whilst they were still fresh in my brain. Discussing with peers around me about the impact and contradictions the narrative of the film made to Voglers archetype and hero’s journey theory that we were implementing to the story.

Although I can understand why we wouldn’t do something like this each week, using this lesson to my advantage, I was able to spend more time producing more physical work in other projects as I didn’t have to spend an additional day reflecting on the work we produced and learnt about in our typical lecture.

Digital Morphs

The deadline extension gave me the most positive response when realising that I had more time to dedicate towards the morphing project. My favourite project of the BA1b curriculum thus far. The delayed deadline has allowed me to cater and expand my projects progression to consider elements of production that I wouldn’t have had time to explore beforehand. 

With creating both a finalised pre-visionary animation of what I want my outcome to look like. This week allowed me to refine my ideas and give as a comparative example of how my ideas had evolved and changed over the subsequent weeks leading up to this point. This week gave me a chance to reflect on how the various influences and studies I have been analysing have been used and implemented within my own work. Inspiring me to create something that challenges perspective, weight, timing and anticipation, the principal analysis’ has given me an in-depth opportunity to review how I can incorporate these varying elements to make my work better. 

Having had the opportunity to focus on this project throughout this week, I was able to create a finalised version of my pre-visualisation to the standard that I am proud of. Ending up adding another full morph and making the transitions between objects a lot smoother, I wouldn’t have had this chance if limited to the original deadline. I hope to use this extended time to my full advantage to consider how I can best explore my animation through the use of colour and texture, to create a finalised, polished outcome that reflects the needs of the brief. 

I will continue to explore this in the upcoming weeks, as I begin to translate my work to shape layers so I can fully animate my outcome in Adobe After Effects. Although I’m not as confident with the software as I would like, these extra weeks will help me solidify a foundation of the program and hopefully showcase how I have overcome these challenges as I hurdle them.

Animated Sketchbook

This is the project that I am most worried about developing throughout the weeks. Whilst I’ve always found sketchbooks to be a benefit, my interpretation of a sketchbook widely differs from the expectations of the brief. Almost treated as a notebook, I treat my sketchbook as an opportunity to explore my ideas through thumbnail sketches and writing. I typically manage to fit this onto an A5 sketchbook comfortably and the expansion to an A4 book leads me with the feeling to present an almost portfolio-eqsque level of presentation that guides my viewer through the variety of ideas I have throughout the weeks.

I see this project almost as me ticking off a list of sketchbook tasks and experiments rather than as an actual form of experimentation. Although I do find benefits to working in a sketchbook, this formal manner, as I feel it has been presented is not something I find comfortable to be able to explore quickly through experimentation. 

As I hesitantly slowly progress through this book, I’m beginning to learn and see the benefits of me working to a smaller scale, as I tend to work slow and this leads to me spending around at least an hour at a time working on filling up the entirety of the A4 sketchbook. 

This is the only project I don’t feel enthusiastic towards as it has become a begrudging task to fill up an A4 sketchbook that I find inferior in its use to the A5 sketchbooks that I always keep on me at hand. To record, visualise and take note of any ideas that I have throughout the day.

Life Drawing

This weeks life drawing session mixed up the work as we began to look at the negative space of a figure. Identifying how we could determine both highlights and shadows using a variety of tone. Limited to charcoal and rubber as our mediums, this provided me with an enthusiastic and messy challenge that I thoroughly enjoyed. Although I was hesitant about going into the class, I can see the benefits of working in this manner as it allowed me to consider both the foreground and background. Using a pre-toned piece of paper to allow me to further push the highlights that hit the figure directly through the use of a spotlight. 

Although I have taken the opportunity to write less about my ‘Life Drawing’ outcomes throughout my blog, I think including them best demonstrates my progression as an artist and the variety of experimentation I have been able to produce during my time on the ‘BA Animation’ course. 

To summarise;

Extending the deadline gave me a great sense of relief as I have more time to work on the projects I enjoy. 

Once I get to stage in my sketchbook that I’m happy with I think it would be best to get a one on one tutorial with a tutor to discuss how I can develop my work further. 

At the moment I am confident in being able to reflect and produce blog posts on an every other day basis, this is something I hope to continue.

I should begin to consider researching into my essay so I can reach my personal deadline of producing a first draft by the 29th of January.