#sterling cigarettes uk

[fourmoony]

Friends or What?

James Potter x F!Reader

A coming of age story in which Potter's Corner Shop has a funny way of bringing people together. Falling in love is daunting when everyone is watching.

Ao3 Link (chapters will be uploaded here the day before Tumblr).

CW: For Chapter One, the content warnings include: Use of the word 'fag', but in context to a cigarette (UK slang) Foul language A minor using the word 'shagging' Smoking/Drinking alcohol A comment about hoping someone chokes Threat of caving someone's head in with a baseball bat (it's lighthearted, I swear) Implied internalised homophobia Mentions of fighting

Please be aware that this fic will contain multiple hard to read scenes, and I completely understand, if because of this, you choose not to read :) it's a coming of age fic, while there'll be lots of fluff and happy moments, there'll also be lots of hard, uncomfortable moments, too. Please, please, do not make yourself uncomfortable.

CHAPTER ONE (7k) -

Sirius is stocking the fag drawers, behind the counter, when you come in through the shop door. The little bell above the wooden frame dings to announce your arrival. Sirius doesn’t turn upon hearing the bell, nor does he acknowledge there’s even anyone in the shop. You follow his lead, heading up the sweetie aisle, wiggling your fingers as you go, lips puckered in anticipation as you search of the cherry lollies you know were delivered this morning. Whether or not Sirius has bothered to unload the pallet yet is a strong factor in whether you’ll find them sitting where they’re supposed to be. Your eyes scan the shelves, there are no cherry lollies to be found. No worries, you think, picking up a fashion magazine as you pass the stand.

You walk the loop of the shop, hear the bell ding in the distance signal someone else has come in. It smells like newspapers and the inside of the fridges that line the back wall of the shop; the radio crackles through tinny speakers, playing the UK Top 40 and you just know Sirius is hating every minute of it. When you approach the till, Sirius still has his head in the fag drawer, whistling along to his own song, radio be damned.

“You didn’t put the cherry lollies out, lazy arse,” you say.

Sirius jumps, turns as though you might be standing there with a balaclava and machete, ready to demand he open and empty the till. He rolls his eyes when his brain catches up with the situation, head bobbing to the left where the storeroom door sits, a pale blue, creaky thing that drives everyone insane on stock days with its constant whine every time it opens and closes, “Help yourself.”

The storeroom is cold and dark, but spacious, with piles of overflow stock lined up against the walls, organised into specific sections. It’s almost scary how neat it is. There’s a pallet in the middle of it all, wrapped in black plastic that’s been ripped at the top; likely Sirius taking the fags out. You scan the pile with a frown, knowing it’ll be an annoying game of Jenga trying to find the lollies without pulling everything else down with them. It takes a while, and a bit of rearranging, but you find the tub and return to Sirius with a triumphant smile. The customer that followed you in is filing out the door, so you allow Sirius to scan your items and give him the money.

“You should be about halfway through that pallet by now, it’s gone one in the afternoon, you know.” You chastise Sirius playfully.

He scowls when you sit on the counter beside the till one leg curled up and tucked underneath you, the other swinging back and forth, kicking and wobbling the specials display underneath the till. He knows he’s not getting rid of you any time soon when you flip open your magazine, unwrap your lolly, and stick it in your mouth.

“It showed up late. Problem with a road closure, or something.” Sirius replies, turning back to the drawer.

He rips open a packet of Sterling Duals and starts stuffing them into the drawer. You hum, amused, “That what you’re going to tell Effie?”

Sirius scoffs, an air of arrogance to him when he looks over his shoulder, long, black hair flicking with the movement, “It’s the truth. Plus, Effie never shouts at me. You know this.”

“Perks of being the boss’s son.”

Sirius seems to preen at your jab over his nepotism. He’s always very happy to be known as Euphemia and Fleamont Potter’s son. You don’t know much about his situation, just that the Potter’s took Sirius in when he was sixteen and none of them ever looked back. He’s happy and he’s cared for, and he seems to love being their son. So, you don’t ask. It’s none of your business, anyway.

The bell dings again and you and Sirius both look over out of habit. You have to lean past the roll stand to your left to fully see who’s came in, but when you catch sight of James, your grin grows wider. James Potter is Euphemia and Fleamont’s son. Biological son. Granted, that doesn’t matter with the way Effie fawns over Sirius like he was the biological one. She claims to love them the same. You secretly think Sirius is the favourite, though you have no idea why. He’s an insufferable shit, most of the time. James is nice. He’s bright and always happy, a proper ray of sunshine which, on the bad days, can be a little annoying.

It’s rather hard to be angry at the world when James Potter is standing there with his stupidly pretty grin and his big brown eyes, spouting such optimism into the world that things just start to feel better because he says they will.

“Delivery came late, mate. Just got it half an hour ago.” Sirius doesn’t even greet his best friend with a ‘Hello’, just moves straight onto damage control over the fact he’s still restocking the fag counter at one o’clock in the afternoon.

“Don’t listen to him, Jamie,” You say, popping the cherry lolly out of your mouth to talk properly, “He’s a dirty liar. Lazy arse, too.”

James laughs, approaches where you’re perched on the counter and stands so close you can smell his aftershave. It’s a bit of a cliché, honestly; fancying your boss’s son. Well, really, he’s your friend before he’s Effie and Monty’s son. You’ve always been friends. Since before you started working at the shop. Since school, really. But still. The cliché sits a little clunky in your chest sometimes. Especially when he looks as handsome as he does, today. He’s wearing his rugby jumper and a pair of joggies. Really, it’s nothing special. But he looks so soft. So cosy. His hair is all mussed up from the wind and his glasses are a little squint.

You reach out a manicured finger to push them further up his nose and he smiles down at you. Yeah, you think, pathetic.

“Are you here to work or cause trouble?” James asks with a teasing smile whilst Sirius sputters at your accusations.

“I can multitask, you know,” is your reply, words sweet as honey, “But to answer your question, no, sadly I am not here to work.”

“And yet you’re still here, annoying me with your presence.” Sirius mumbles.

You roll your eyes, turn to James with pouted lips, “See the way he talks to me?”

In James’s defence, he plays the game. See how far you can push each other before the other gets flustered and has to walk away. Last week he gave you a taste of your own medicine so bad that you had to stand in the stock room like an idiot for five minutes counting tins of beans until your face returned to its normal colour. You’re good at putting up a front, acting like whatever the two of you are doing doesn’t effect you, that you’re cool, calm, and collected about the whole thing. But the tins of beans in the stock room would tell a different story, could they talk. You’re glad they can’t, as silly as that thought is.

James, bless him, humours you – much to Sirius’ dismay – and coos, brows furrowed in mock-sympathy, “Poor soul.”

“Okay, fine, if this was your plan to get me to do the pallet, I’ll go.” Sirius finally breaks, hands held up in surrender.

It wasn’t your plan, but you watch him leave with an amused smile.

“The road into the village was shut, I know the delivery was actually late.” James laughs to himself.

“Hm,” You hum, ditching your magazine to the side and swinging your legs over the counter until you’re standing behind it, “Me too.”

“Thought you weren’t working today.”

You shrug, picking up where Sirius left off with the fags, your back turned to James, “I’ll do these and then I’ll be off.”

“Thanks.” James rounds the counter the normal way, punching his clock in card on the machine beside the till.

You look up, find him leaning against the counter by his hip, a small smile on his face. He’s so charming, you think.

“Don’t thank me,” You warn, the ghost of a mischievous smirk dancing across your face, “I’m putting them all in backwards, so he has to redo them all.”

“You know how he gets about the fag drawers,” James groans, because he knows he has to spend the rest of the day listening to Sirius gripe about whatever it is you’re about to do. “They’re his… area.”

“Yeah, well,” You shrug, “He didn’t put the cherry lollies out.”

James doesn’t have an answer for that. He just huffs a laugh and reaches for a packet to open and starts to pass you them.

-----

‘The Saturday Girls’, or so they’re nicknamed, are nice. They’re so coined because they only work Saturdays to help with unloading the bulk of the delivery that comes that morning. It’s a weekend job, perfect for them because they’re still in school, and it offers them a bit of pocket money. It would’ve been a dream job for you at fifteen, but Shauna and Lisa sometimes seem like having to work a shift in Potter’s Corner Shop is the bane of their entire teenage existence. Like now, Shauna stands leaning up against the end of the third aisle, passing Lisa packages of toilet rolls off the trolley with a sardonic look on her face.

You can hear them talking about a girl in their form class, how she’s after Shauna’s boyfriend and it brings unwanted flash backs of being that age, that naïve, when the idea of someone stealing your boyfriend felt like the end of the world. Really, they should have a trolley each, working on separate aisles. But you don’t get paid enough to boss them around; and if Shauna’s insults to whatever girl is trying to steal her man are anything to go by, you don’t actually want to be on her bad side.

Sirius has taken a falling out with the fag drawers since your ruin of them, yesterday, and so you’ve spent the better part of the morning facing them all the correct way. There’s a box of clipper lighters on the floor at your feet to be unloaded, too.

“I’m too scared to tell them that putting toilet roll on the shelves isn’t a two-woman job,” James appears behind you following the nerve grating squeak from the storeroom door, leaning on the counter with a lopsided smile.

He’s placed the clipboard with all of today’s stock details on the counter, pen tucked neatly under the clip of it. You know he’s here for your signature, cutting the job in half for you by doing the inventory himself. He likes numbers, you hate them, he’s happy to do it so long as he doesn’t have to fix the mess you created in the fag drawers. Besides Sirius, you’re the only person to be trusted in Sirius’ sacred area. Ironically enough. You pick the pen up with a hum, scribbling your name to state you were here when the delivery arrived this morning, “Some poor girl in their form is getting it tight, today. Shauna thinks she’s after her man.”

James laughs airily, “So I shouldn’t go over there and intervene?”

“Best not. I’ll come up with something I need help with in five, ask her to help me. Just need to finish these, first.” You say, waving a packet of JPS Red around so James knows what you’re talking about.

“Thanks,” Is James’ reply, “For the signature and for saving me from getting called a daft bint, or something, behind my back.”

Your laugh is bubbly and comes out of your mouth so fast you don’t have time to be embarrassed about it. It makes James laugh, too, low, and throaty as he taps the pen against the clipboard. He shakes his head and makes his retreat to the office at the back of the storeroom, likely to file the inventory sheet for Monty to look over on Monday. It only takes you a few more minutes to fix the rest of the fags, all in their correct places, all facing the correct way. The clippers are unloaded haphazardly into the tub in the bottom drawer, and then you’re off, on the hunt for Shauna.

She and Lisa have made it to the baby wipes when you come down the aisle that they’re in. Shauna is leaning against the trolley now that she doesn’t have the wall at the end of the aisle to lean on, and she’s passing Lisa the packets one by one. Lisa has her head ducked into the shelf to reach all the way to the back, but Shauna straightens up when she sees you round the corner.

“Hey, you okay to help me build some stuff up in the storeroom to get it off the pallet?” You ask.

There’s an empty box on the trolley that you reach for, pulling it apart until it’s flat and you can stick it inside the bag on the back of the trolley. Shauna gives a longing glance to Lisa, as though being parted from her will bring her physical pain. It’s quite comical, really. A small part of you misses being so young and carefree. Shauna nods, following you to the storeroom.

James is holding the door open on your way past, “I’ll keep an eye on the till.”

You thank him and Shauna follows you through. There’s not much to be unloaded, really. You and James got the majority done this morning when it arrived, and so its overstock that’s left. Shauna follows your lead, knowing by now where everything goes. There’s cereal and biscuits, teabags and coffee jars, there’s alcohol and fizzy juice. Shauna doesn’t talk much while you work, which isn’t surprising. She’s rather quiet and subdued with the rest of the staff, most of the time. Without Lisa to bounce off of, Shauna doesn’t usually say much.

“How long have you and James been together?” Shauna asks out of nowhere.

It’s less surprising to hear her starting conversation than the question she’s actually asked, which is saying something. The box of ready salted crisps in your hands go toppling backwards from where you’d been reaching to put them on top of the pile as you twist to face her, eyebrows somewhere near your hairline. The girl looks nonplussed, lifting a crate of Red Stripe and placing it with the other alcohol against the wall closest to the door.

“Sorry?”

You can’t quite find the words, brain reeling at a mile a minute because have other people noticed whatever game you and James are playing and assumed you’re together? That’s incredibly embarrassing and unprofessional. Shauna doesn’t seem to notice your confusion as she barrels on, seemingly in her own world, “It’s just cause, me and this boy from school have been going out for, like, a month, yeah?”

She doesn’t actually wait for your response as she picks up another crate of beer and sticks it on top of the pile she’s created, “And this girl from my form keeps trying to text him. He’s told me he’s ignoring her, but I dunno if I believe him.”

“Right.” You say, a bit dazed, trying to keep up with what she’s saying whilst trying to put together what this would have to do with you and James.

“I guess I’m just wondering what you’d do if it was another girl trying to get with James. Like, would you go barmy?” Shauna asks, and you can tell there’s a hint of insecurity in there somewhere.

Picking up the crisps you’d dropped rather ungracefully, you tell her, “Well, James and I aren’t together. Like, at all. But if it was someone I really liked, I’d be a bit upset, I suppose. If he says he isn’t replying, I’d believe him until he gives you a reason not to.”

Shauna seems pleased with that answer, but feels the need to add, “Anyone would think you and James are together. Or, at the very least, shagging.”

There’s really nothing you can say to that, is there? It knocks the wind out of you, flusters you, and concerns you all at once. What do fifteen-year-olds know about shagging? Well, you suppose it’s all your friends wanted to talk about at fifteen, too. But. Well. No. Just, no.

“Right,” Shauna breaks your flustered silence by dusting her hands on the side of her trousers, “That it, then?”

Right enough, the pallet is empty. You open your mouth to talk but find nothing will come out, so you close it and nod. She files out of the storeroom after shooting you a weird glance but doesn’t feel the need to add anything more. You count tins of beans until your brain decides it can function again.

“The Saturday Girls have got to go.” You tell James when you slip behind the till ten minutes later.

He breaks his focus from the screen the security camera’s run on, eyebrows narrowed in concern, “She said something?”

You wave your hand, 'nothing too bad', it signals, “Asked how long we’ve been shagging.”

James promptly chokes on air, pounds his chest a few times with wide eyes. You wonder if you should be offended, or if he’s just genuinely surprised Shauna was so brass necked about the whole ordeal. You settle on a nod and a placating look, exactly, you think.

“She’s like, twelve.”

Huffing a laugh, you correct him, “Fifteen, actually. But still, I dropped a box of crisps, nearly toppled the whole tower I was so gobsmacked.”

“What,” James laughs after, “at the suggestion of shagging me, or her boldness?”

If there’s one thing James Potter knows how to do, it’s get under your skin. He’s wearing that signature knowing smirk, the one he wears when he’s thinking something mischievous, or he knows exactly what you’re thinking, feeling, like he can see right into your soul. He’s a prick, you decide. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

The thing is: this game is slowly spiralling into more than you can handle. It’d started as an easy way to irritate Sirius, then an even easier way to make the boring shifts go in quicker, then it was just fun. Watching the way his tongue pokes the side of his cheek when he’s considering a rebuttal, or trying to hide a smile, the way his jaw clenches when you come in on your days off wearing tight clothes, only to perch yourself on the edge of the counter and promptly tease him all day. It’s fun. But now it’s too much. James is too much. Because at the start, he’d get shy and flustered, brush you off in a polite manner. But now. Well, now he’s an evil shit who likes to make you weak and hot and bothered and all of the in-betweens every chance he gets.

“Jamie,” You smile, sweet as honey, eyes doe-like and offering him the challenge, “You couldn’t handle me.”

The minute James shakes his head, hair flopping to the side, tongue pushed into his cheek, you know you’ve won this round. He slinks off to find another job for Shauna to do, who you can see on the security cameras has gone back to passing Lisa things off of the trolley.

Twenty-six tins of beans. There are twenty-six tins of beans in the storeroom.

-----

The rota goes like this: Monday: Monty, open. You and James, close. Tuesday: Sirius and James, open. Remus, close. Wednesday: Effie, open. Monty, close. Thursday: Remus and James, open. You and Sirius, close. Friday: Sirius, open. Effie, close. Occasionally James, close. Saturday: You and James, open. Effie and Monty, close. Sunday: Monty, open. You and Remus, close.

The open shift runs from seven o’clock in the morning, until two in the afternoon, and the close shift runs from two o’clock in the afternoon, until ten o’clock at night. Potter’s is the only shop in the village open until ten, and it’s a busy shop because of this. Probably, also, because the Potters are well known, well liked, and well respected.

But the main thing to note about the rota is that Sirius Black and Remus Lupin are never scheduled to work a shift together. Ever. The simple reason is because they don’t get on. Like, despise each other for a reason that is unbeknownst to you, and even James, who is Sirius’ best friend in the entire world, his brother. Personally, you think their beef is pointless. But the delivery driver who dropped off the Saturday pallet five months ago and ended up having to break up a petty argument between the two would likely disagree. Apparently, some harsh words had been said between the two, and after the Potter’s decided Sirius was just as much an instigator as Remus was easy to snap, and that both of them were irreplaceable as workers, the new rota was made, stapled to the office wall, never to be changed, and with their names never beside each other.

It’s strange, to you, because Sirius and Remus are both lovely. You enjoy working with both of them. Separately, of course. They seem to know that in the situation of their hatred of each other, you and James are both Switzerland. You’ll listen to them rant about each other, sympathise with their feelings, but ultimately add nothing of note to the conversation. Sometimes you think that bothers them more. Unfortunately, there’s no avoiding their hatred of each other every Saturday in the pub, but they’ve become increasingly better at tolerating each other’s presence. It no longer ends in one or the other storming out of the pub or offering to meet each other outside for a scrap. Small wins. You’ve no idea where they get the energy to put so much effort into their animosity towards each other. A small part of you actually thinks they enjoy getting each other riled up to the point of snapping, the same way you and James do, just with more insults and less innuendos. Each to their own, you suppose.

Remus has his foot kicked up against the wall with a fag in his hand when you near the shop door. He’s staring across the road at the small play park, looking rather lost. There’s a group of kids on the swings, laughing and chatting away. They’re young looking. Ten, maybe eleven. When he notices you, Remus seems to snap out of whatever daydream he’s in, eyes softening and his lips turning upward into a smile. It pulls at the scar slicing across his cupids bow, taught, but paling out at the stretch. There’s a number of scars that litter Remus’ skin, the product of a nasty car crash he was in as a child. You don’t notice them as much, now, as when he first started working at Potter’s. They’re just part of who he is, and they make him no less handsome.

“Here even on your day off,” Remus tsks, passes you the cigarette.

You have a draw, blowing out the smoke with the ghost of a teasing smile on your lips, “Someone’s got to mind the till on your eighteen fag breaks.”

Remus laughs, accepting of the jab, “Monty’s in today. Shops not totally unmanned.”

“Ah,” You hum, passing him the fag back, “Unusual for him. He usually runs off the minute his shift finishes.”

He nods, sandy hair flopping in a mess of curls on top of his head. “Something about having to find a new supplier, the drivers for Zonko’s are complaining about having to drive into the village.” Remus speaks through an exhale, the wind carrying the smoke along the street.

He flicks the fag to the ground and follows you inside, finding his place behind the till whilst you meander down the aisles, still content in having the conversation, “That’s ridiculous. It’s only fifteen minutes off the motor way.”

Remus makes a noise of agreement but doesn’t say anything else until you return to the till with a cherry lolly and a magazine. He looks at your purchases with an enhanced non-surprised glance, eyes flicking up to ask with a simple look if you could be any more predictable. You shrug, hand him a fiver, and he passes you your change.

“Think they’re just annoyed because the only road into the bloody place is always closed because that daft Mr. Filch keeps forgetting to shut his gate and the cows always escape.” Remus comments, closing the till.

You take up your usual space, to the left of the till, leg tucked under you, subconsciously kicking the specials stand with your free foot. The customers are never surprised to find you sitting here. Most of them often comment that you’re like the store’s very own cat. Always lurking, happy to sit, and watch the people go about their days. Really, you just like to annoy whoever is working. Unless it’s Effie or Monty. They usually put you to work if you hang around for too long.

“They should really just bolt that bloody fence shut. He’s always losing his cows.”

“He does it on purpose. I don’t know why, yet, but he does.” Remus theorises, his brows furrowed as though it’s some great mystery as to why old Argus Filch is always letting his cows run free, as though he has some ulterior motive.

Perhaps he does. You’ve never given it much thought.

“They should switch to Ollivander’s, anyway. I’ve been telling them for months that they’re better priced. Plus, they’re closer, the delivery charge wouldn’t be as much.” You say, eyes scanning the pages of your magazine.

The cherry lollypop rattles off your back teeth, something you know drives Remus insane. You don’t stop.

“They don’t stock Pettigrew’s butcher meat, though.” Remus counters.

Pettigrew’s Butchers is the most sought-after Butcher meat in the village, and Potter’s is the only place that stock it. It’s what drives in most of the customers, you’d argue. It’s good meat. You’ll give them that. It’s why Effie and Monty have been hesitant to drop Zonko’s as their distributor because they’ll lose their access to Pettigrew’s. Truly a conundrum in the eyes of the village. You flick to the next page, shrugging, “It’s only a forty-minute drive out of the village. Wouldn’t Pettigrew deliver it himself?”

“What, every morning?”

You sigh, long and suffering. This conversation is, truly, boring. You love Remus. You do. Really. But you miss Sirius. Or James. Remus seems off, today. He’s less humorous, less sarcastic. You won’t push. You know he doesn’t like that. But you shouldn’t have to suffer the world’s most boring conversation because of it. Perhaps that’s selfish of you.

“Zonko’s doesn’t even deliver to us, every morning. Just have Pettigrew's tie in with the days we get from Ollivander’s.” You suggest, though, you know there’s nothing Remus can do about it.

It’s a conversation best had with Monty or Effie. Even James. But they’re smart. They’ll likely figure it out on their own. You hop off the counter, pulling the lolly from your mouth as you go, “Either way, it’s going to be a shit few weeks if we don’t have a distributor. I need to go, meeting Sirius for a cuppa at the Leaky.”

You wince as soon as the words come out of your mouth, watching as Remus’ expression falls.

“Hope he chokes on his cuppa.” Remus mutters, though a saccharine smile comes across his lips.

You roll your eyes, pointer finger already aimed at him, “Behave!”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, though you know behaving is the last thing Remus Lupin will ever do when it comes to Sirius Black. It’s ridiculous.

“Give Monty my love.” You say in ways of a goodbye and Remus waves you off.

You pretend not to hear when he tells you to give Sirius the middle finger for him.

-----

“You’re a genius, you know.” Sirius says, sitting your drink down in front of you.

The pub is, strangely, quite quiet. There’s a family of four in the far corner, eating a meal in stoic silence – awkward – and a group of older women by the bar, a bottle of champagne in an ice cooler on the table and bubbling glasses in each of their hands. Of course, you and Sirius were the last to arrive, meeting the rest of your friends at the only large table the Three Broomstick’s own, which lead to him shooing you off to get a seat and buying your drink for you. You won’t complain. Your regular table is already a mess of empty pint glasses from James, Remus, and Frank, and two empty wine bottles from Lily, Mary, and Marlene. Alice is on nightshift at the police station, a lucky feat for everyone because it means there’ll be no tequila shots tonight. Fine by you.

It’s a long table that you all occupy, with two benches running along either side, and no matter how busy the pub is, people always seem to know not to sit there. None of you would mind if they did, really. But it’s just something people don’t do. Your group has been coming to the Three Broomsticks since you were seventeen (not that Rosmerta, the owner, knows that), minus Remus, who moved to town seven months ago, wandered in for a pint one night, and unfortunately for him, got stuck with you lot.

“Mm,” You hum, cheeks puffing out in your pleased smile, “I know. Do feel free to tell me why, though.”

Sirius guffaws, rolling his eyes at your theatrics – as though he isn’t the carbon copy of you, just in male form – “For the Ollivander’s idea. Well, tying it in with Pettigrew’s, at least.”

“What?”

You hadn’t told anyone about that idea. Anyone other than Remus, at least, who looks incredibly sheepish when your eyes flick to him further along the table, conveniently out of arms reach of Sirius. James, who swallows a gulp of his pint before he speaks, looks incredibly cheerful when he says, “Yeah! Dad loved that idea. He didn’t even consider asking Pettigrew’s for a private contract. He didn’t think they’d be up for driving into the village, but turns out the son, Peter, delivers to the next town over twice a week, anyway.”

“Right.” You nod, taking a sip of your drink to wash the awkward feeling that’s settled over you away.

Really, you hadn’t meant to form some type of master plan.

“Sorry.” Remus winces.

“Why’s he sorry?” Sirius is quick to question, ever the one to start an argument, “What’s he done now?”

Remus scoffs, “Funny you think I’ve done something.”

“Well, you were the one apologising.”

“He’s not done anything, Sirius. Give it a rest, both of you.”

That shuts them up.

“I told Monty about her idea after she left on Tuesday.” Remus admits, looking rather sheepish.

Sirius seems placated enough with his answer, so he shrugs and enters into a conversation with Frank and James, who lost interest the minute Remus and Sirius started bickering. You assure Remus that it’s okay, waving him off before nudging your head further down the table, inviting him into the conversation with Lily, Mary, and Marlene.

Lily is complaining about her job in the council office. She’s pretty high up, though, you couldn’t for the life of you tell someone what it is she actually does, had they asked. Something to do with the local MP. There’s a shit tonne of paperwork and multiple people who Lily thinks are, in her words, so far up their own arse, they forget they’re civil servants and not, in fact, the be all and end all of the world. Her job is highly stressful, as is obvious by the empty bottle of wine in front of her, even though it’s not long gone five o’clock. Lily Evans worked incredibly hard to be where she is, though, the fireball of a human that she is, and she’ll be damned to ever give up, now. You admire her, really. She grew up in the village, like all of you except Remus, noticing the prejudice it held, the unfair situations people lived in, the real issues the place held, rather than what every other member of the council saw as ‘issues’, and she went to University, got her degree, came right back, and got to fucking work. She hasn’t solved world hunger yet, but you’re sure she’s well on her way to it. If there’s anyone who can do it, it’ll be Lily Evans.

Mary and Marlene are listening intently, especially Mary, who’s been begging the council to fund the one primary school the village has, Hogwarts, more substantially than it has in previous years. She’s a teacher there, and she loves it with every bit of her being, but the school is incredibly underfunded, so she and Lily have been working on a campaign to bring it to the Council’s attention. They’re making progress. But not as quick as Mary would like. That much is obvious in the way she rants about Lucius Malfoy and his pretentious, pompous, personality. He is a bit of a prick, honestly. He’s the head of the school board committee for the village, and he’s the main reason the school hasn’t received the funding it’s needed in almost ten years. He’s a toad.

Marlene, even though she couldn’t give less of a shit if she tried, is listening, anyway. She’s a good friend, Marlene, but past her friends, her family, and music, there isn’t much Marlene McKinnon really gives a toss about. You commend her for it really, her no-fucks-given attitude towards the world, the way she’s so carefree, and lives her life how she wants, no matter what. She’s laid back and honestly, doing better than the rest of your friends in adulthood. She’s the only one out of the lot of you who hasn’t had a full-scale meltdown, so far, this year. Or ever actually. You don’t remember the last time you saw Marlene truly upset about something.

“Honestly, Mary, you’d think he’d give more of a shit about funding things like the school’s library, considering his wife’s due any day now and his kid will likely attend Hogwarts.” Lily seems truly frustrated, her shoulder slumped, her index finger circling the rim of her wine glass.

“He’ll probably send his little demon spawn to some posh boarding school, knowing him. More money than bloody sense.” Comes Mary’s equally frustrated response.

She necks the rest of her glass in one gulp, shivers, and then sends Marlene off to procure another bottle. She goes without complaint, so you assume it’s her round.

“Surely it’s not legal to withhold funding from a school in such dire need of it.” Remus comments, ever the pessimist.

He thinks the worst of everyone. Especially Mr. Filch and his disappearing cows. He thinks he has an ulterior motive and he’ll die on that hill.

“Apparently there is no funding. And he won’t even push for any, either. It’s like he doesn’t give a shit that the school under his jurisdiction is struggling, majorly.” Lily replies, rolling her bright green eyes at the mere idea of Lucius Malfoy.

“There’s something not right about that.” You add, frowning.

Surely, he’d want his school to thrive. Apparently not.

“You’re telling me.” Mary pipes up.

“Anyway, enough work talk,” Lily says around a gulp of wine, waving her hand like it’ll banish all of the negative vibes Lucius has caused by simply existing, “How’d your date go with the handsome paper boy, Rem?”

Remus grimaces, “Don’t call him a paper boy, it makes him sound twelve years old.”

The story goes: Remus thought that someone was trying to break into his house, last month. Upon inspecting the situation with a baseball bat that everyone knows for a fact Remus does not know how to use, he met a rather startled, rather handsome paper boy named Christopher. Of course, Remus only learned this after he tried to cave the poor bloke’s head in with said baseball bat, only to find out that it was Christopher’s first day on the job and he had delivered the paper to the wrong house. After copious amounts of apologies, Remus had claimed he was fine with never seeing Christopher again. Until he realised that the paper’s he was delivering came directly from Potter’s. A travesty, really. Sirius howled with laughter, much to Remus’ dismay, and Effie had slipped an extra fiver into Christopher’s wages in ways of an apology. Turns out, no apology was needed, because Christopher, for whatever reason, took a liking to Remus and asked him out for coffee.

“Okay, your date with Christopher, then.” Lily corrects with a smirk.

“Wasn’t a date,” Remus singsongs, because he’s insecure and adamant that no one could ever fancy him. Even though you’ve already promised him that if he wasn’t painfully gay, you’d shag him. Lily had then felt the need to add in that if she wasn’t painfully gay, as well, she’d shag him, too. Still, he lives in denial. Idiot.

“Was too.” Marlene says, rather bluntly, returning with the wine which she passes to Mary.

She’s brought a glass for you, too, bless her. You finish the dregs of the drink Sirius bought you and accept the glass of wine Mary passes you with a ‘thank you’.

“You don’t even know what we’re talking about.” Remus argues.

“Christopher. The hot paper boy whose skull you nearly caved in with a bat. Keep up, Remus.” Marlene winks at Remus, who simply huffs in defeat, taking a long swig of his pint.

“So?” Mary follows up, never one to let Remus catch a break. She’s almost as bad as Sirius, except she does it in a much more loving, much less spiteful way.

“It went well. We chatted about books.” Remus bobs his head, swallowing thickly.

Sirius is eyeing him from the other end of the table, lips twisted into a mean looking frown. It doesn’t last long before Frank is asking him something to do with motorbikes, and Remus is long forgotten. No one else catches it, so you ignore it.

“Books?” Marlene asks in disgust.

“You spoke about books.” Lily repeats, clearly trying to find some hidden meaning she’s not going to find. You know Remus well enough to know he likely did spend the entire date-that-wasn’t-a-date nattering on about books. He’s a bookworm at his core.

“Yes,” Remus confirms, slightly agitated, “We spoke about books.”

“Right,” Marlene sounds a little deflated, always one for the seedy stories, “Lovely.”

“It was, actually.”

“I’ll bet.”

Remus huffs a laugh and excuses himself under the premise of a cigarette. No one bats an eye, and you watch him leave. It takes Sirius approximately two minutes to excuse himself from his conversation with James and Frank and follow Remus straight out the door to the smoking area. James and Frank continue on, too engrossed to realise the shit show that’s likely to unfold any minute. Lily, Mary, and Marlene fall into a conversation about whatever show the three of them are watching and you stand up, walking around the table until you’re sitting next to James.

He smiles warmly when you sit down, shuffling a little so he can face both you, and Frank who’s across the table.

“Alright,” Frank greets, head tipping forwards.

“Hiya, Frank. How’s Alice?”

Alice is Frank’s wife. They grew up together but didn’t ever get together until they both attended Tulliallan when training to become police officers. They’re sickly in love, it’s actually kind of nauseating at times, but sweet, nonetheless. They’d been daft for each other since they were thirteen.

“She’s good. On nightshift, tonight.”

You hum, sympathising with her. Nightshift is no joke, especially in a village as quiet as yours.

“Uhm,” You turn to James, “Sirius and Remus are in the smoking area. Together. Alone.”

James sighs, takes a swig of his pint, and is up like a shot to stop whatever fight is likely happening in the Three Broomsticks beer garden. He squeezes your shoulder in thanks before he goes, offering you a smile he only ever seems to give you. You can’t read it. But it’s soft. Not the teasing smile he has when you’re flirting merciless with him, or him, you. It’s just. A nice smile. For you. You watch him go; head turned, the ghost of a smile on your own lips. He pushes open the wooden door and it swings shut behind him.

“How longs that been going on then?” Frank asks, nodding his head towards the door James just went through.

“Pretty much since they met, I suppose.”

Frank laughs, which causes you to frown, and then he shakes his head.

“No. You and Potter.”

“There’s nothing going on.” You say, though your face heats up all the same.

“I can keep a secret, you know.”

“Why does everyone think I’m shagging James?” You ask, rather loud for how empty the pub is.

Your face is flames when Lily, Mary, and Marlene fall silent and look over at you, biting back laughs and whatever comments it is that are sparkling behind their eyes. You groan, embarrassed, and turn to follow James out of the door. For a moment, you think he’s allowing a full-on fight between Sirius and Remus occur. He’s standing not far from the door, sheltered by the wooden terrace that leads out to the concrete of the smoking area. It’s dimly lit in comparison to the rest of the beer garden. You frown on approach, confused as to why he’s just standing there.

It takes all of two seconds for you to see what he’s seeing. Remus has Sirius crowded against the wall, caged in like some sort of animal, and he’s kissing him so violently, so aggressively, that they actually could be fighting. In some sick, twisted way.

“Holy shit.”

James’ eyes snap to yours, moving into action to pull you back inside before Sirius and Remus realise they’ve been foiled. His hand burns like fire against your arm, his eyes steely and sharp as he looks down at you, “You cannot tell anyone what you just saw.”

“You knew?”

James shakes his head, tongue darting out to lick his lips. He has you pushed up against the wall, much like Remus did Sirius, and your cheeks heat at the thought. Jesus, they’re more messed up than you thought.

“I suspected.”

“And you didn’t say anything?” You ask, tilting your head to the side.

“It’s not my place. Look, Sirius is – he’s complicated, okay? I don’t know if he even knows he’s – just don’t say anything, okay?” James is flustered, panicked.

You get it. Sirius has never mentioned being gay, so it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that perhaps, being gay isn’t something that was on Sirius’ radar until Remus popped up out of nowhere and sent his perception of himself tumbling. Okay. Fine. You get that. You can relate. Not entirely. The situation is different. James Potter is a boy you never paid any interest to, growing up. Not romantically, at least. Until he went away to Rugby camp one summer and came back looking like sin incarnate. Well, then you’d noticed, and everything you thought you knew about him came tumbling down. So, not exactly the same, but you get it.

“I won’t, James. I won’t say anything.”

“Not even to Sirius. Or Remus.” James looks panicked, like one wrong move in handling this situation will blow it up royally.

“Promise.”

James nods, seems to realise that he’s still got an iron grip on your arm, and drops it like you’d been the one scalding him. The door opens, washing you both with cool air, and Sirius storms back inside, halting when he sees the way James has you pushed up against the wall.

“You two shagging then?” He asks, a hint of annoyance in his tone you can only assume was brought about by whatever the fuck just happened between him and Remus.

“Jamie wishes,” You plaster a sickly-sweet smile on your face, “He couldn’t handle me.”

With that, you leave them to it, returning to the table and finishing your entire wine in one gulp. The girls are kind enough not to say anything, but Lily gives you a sympathetic glance and refills the glass for you. Frank laughs to himself, you flip him off.

Remus returns a moment later, dodging Sirius and James who are still huddled where you and James just were. He takes a seat, finishes his pint, and calls it a night without another word.

You don’t miss the way James has to grab onto Sirius’ wrist to stop him from following.

--

Ahhhh! The first chapter is out!

I sincerely hope ya'll enjoyed :) Let me know your thoughts.

[spokenvessel]

Lucian Archie Bane

Name: Lucian Archie Bane

Nicknames: Luci, Luci Lu, LuLu, Lu, and LuLu Lemondrop

Birth Date: 03'11

Birth Place: Hell (Pride Ring)

Star Sign: Pisces

Race: Demon/Angel

Occupation: Striper/Hooker/Pornstar

Status: Alive

Age: 28 (Looks)

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He.His.Him and They/Them

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual & Polyamorous

Height: 5'5

Weight: 150 (depends)

Skin Tone: Caramel Tan

Hair Colour: Ebony Black, With Pastel Icy Sky Blue fading to Indigo Puprle for the bangs

Hair Style: shaggy mullet, down to his ankles, and scene/emo bangs

Eye Colour: Pastel Icy Sky Blue

Eye Shape: siren

Features: freckles all over his body, and a heart shape beauty mark under his right eye, a clover beauty mark on his left upper hip, and a rose beauty on his back side (upper right hip)

Weapons: Double Swords and Scythe

Skills:

Abilities: Neon Green fading up to neon blue with gold sparkles (Shadow Flame) and Magic

Last Resort: Potions/Weapons

Strengths: Is knowledgeable and fast. Can fly and shapeshift

Feats: is to afraid to show his true form and use his real powers.

Weakness: Wolfsbane and Silver

Family: Chaos and Nyx Sterling

Love Interest: Castiel (His Contract Holder.) (Not actually in Love)

Crush: Adam (First Human/Man) & Lucifer Morningstar

Enemies: Lute & other angels

Lucian Bane's Backstory:

Lucian was born in hell because of his mother, Nyx. (Who is the Demon/God of: Darkness/Abyss) She was once married to Chaos, the creator and the destorier. She birthed Lucian and his twin brother Nova. Nova became born angel fronting. And second form demon. Lucian was born fronting as a demon. The second fronting was angel. Lucian doesn't get along with the angels as much as the demons. The angels find him an obamnation and tainted. That he is bad blood. And he should be killed. But the demons don't care as much. But they do ignore him depending on the demon.

Lucian most of his life played alone and did his own thing. Being a hellborn also means watching others be killed by other demons or angels. It was annoying and very upsetting. He hated how it was. But probably at that age couldn't really change anyone's mind. So he kept it to himself.

As Lucian grew up learning how Heaven and Hell actually was. He didn't trust anyone. Not even his mother's new husband. Which was whatever. He could take care of himself as he always did. Just because he lived with his mother and her servants caring for him. Doesn't mean he can't do anything on his own. And take care of his business alone. He didn't ask for help. At least outloud. He was alone a lot. And that made him realize no one can hurt him that way.

Lucian did end uk making mistakes. Falling into an angel's trap. His name is Castiel. Who has male skin, crimson red eyes, and long blaxk hair to his shoulders. He was an Arch Angel. Who has with black wings with red tips/ombre. Who seeked out Lucian for years. He made a deal with him. And now his soul belongs to Castiel. He would have to go to heaven and help Castiel make money there and in hell. It was dirty and really bad.

Bur over time he got over it. Abuse or not. It was the life he chose.

And one day he ended up meeting Charlie ans Vaggie. And some spider demon named Angel Dust. They invited him to live with them at a hotel. To redeem demons.

Lucian did shit on it. Because heaven was shit. But that was fine. At least he could be away from the world outside.

Over time he did form friendships and bonds with everyone.

And the world Changed underneath Lucian when he met Adam and Lucifer.

Personality:

bubbly, flirty, confident (most of the time), Timid/Shy (sometimes), cocky, random, playful, temperamental, funny (kind of), and outgoing

Quotes:

"Come on! I so had that! He really wanted my fake drugs. How dare you!" Lucian to Charlie

"Cigarettes and Cock Rings are a turn on for me." Lucian To Adam

"Folding was never an option." Lucian to Lute

"Did you see that!? He wanted to suck my dick!" Lucian to everyone at the hotel about some creep

"Sorry? What? I can't hear ya. I think the lines are breaking up." Lucian to Castiel (when in the same room together.)

"Would you like Coconut and Caramel Cream Pie in your mouth?" Lucian to Lucifer (Lucian's scent is coconut and Caramel along with his taste.)

Likes:

Bubble gum

Music

Singing

Dancing

Movies

Sex

Kissing

Blow jobs

Gaming

Cooking/Baking

Cuddling/Snuggling

Plushies/Stuff Animals

Blankets/Forts

Diskikes:

Abuse

Fighting

Yelling

Death

Angels

Hobbies:

Sewing

Collecting Stickers

Collecting Crystals

Writing

Reading

Fears:

Losing his loved ones

His life to angels. (Castiel or Lute)

Rejection

Trivia:

Lucian has a pet hellhound/wolf (feral wolf)

Named: Storm

Favorite Animal on earth: Frog

Favorite Drink: Blue Raspberry Juice, Dr. Pepper, Orange Juice, and Chocolate Milk

Favorite Foods: Tacos and Chili

Goals: To save others and to escape Castiel hold on him.

If you like to know more. Just ask.

I do write stories, songs, poems, rp/role-playing.

Canon and Fanon ships. Yee!!!

Art is by my partner. Their name is (TimidLittlePupen/LittlePupen) CrystalLunaStark

[amphtaminedreams]

A/W 2020 Fashion Month: Before Vogue Went Blank (Part 2)

Hi to anyone reading,

I was going to start this post by jumping straight into Dion Lee and part 2 in general but there's been a lot going on the past couple of days-although this blog is primarily fashion, it wouldn’t feel right to start talking about designers without acknowledging all the shit that’s been going down.

^Photo Credit to @spiltcoco on Twitter

Yesterday, police footage came out of US police murdering yet another black man in broad daylight-George Floyd. He joins Sandra Bland, Eric Garner, Tamir Rice, Freddie Gray, and Alton Sterling, plus hundreds more named and god knows how many more unnamed African American citizens in the ever-growing list of victims of police brutality.

The majority of these are just people going about their daily lives, a majority of them doing absolutely nothing wrong; even those we know to have committed crimes have been unarmed and non-violent offenders. That being said, their offences are beside the point when we’ve seen the white perpetrators of mass shootings be calmly cuffed and escorted into the backs of police cars as if they were the ones selling cigarettes without permits. American police, given the amount of them that are armed, regularly become judge, jury and executioner trained for 8 weeks by an institution that originated from slave patrols. I cannot imagine how terrifying it is just to walk around as a PoC in America. I cannot imagine the collective trauma that has been suffered because of recent events on top of the intergenerational trauma that most likely exists because of centuries of oppression. I cannot imagine what it’s like to live in a country that was built to suppress you and was by law allowed to do so until very recently, those original structures still in place. I cannot imagine what it’s like to be made to feel like this is your fault. I mean, Boris Johnson is a useless, cold-hearted twat and I won’t defend him or this country for a minute (we have much blood on our own hands, and racial profiling is just as much a thing here as it is in America-I read earlier that you’re 28 times more likely to be stopped and searched in London as a non-white person compared to a white person), but I still can’t imagine him publicly advocating for the mass murder of groups he knows to be primarily made up of black people via Twitter. This whole situation is so unimaginably fucked up; anyone who still sees America as one of the world’s most developed nations needs to take a long, hard look at what is going on and reconsider that opinion.

Whilst we can’t fix everything, we can all speak up and make our voices heard, and it is our duty to do so. It’s not good enough to just “not be racist”, you have to be ANTI-racism, even if that means constantly reflecting on your own privilege and challenging your assumptions. Neutrality is complicity. Signing a petition isn’t going to change the world, but it’s a start:

https://www.change.org/p/mayor-jacob-frey-justice-for-george-floyd?recruiter=false&utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=twitter&utm_campaign=psf_combo_share_initial&utm_term=psf_combo_share_abi&recruited_by_id=7ba70000-a127-11ea-87fb-d1ff0bf6ea96

As I publish this, there’s less than 50,000 signatures needed to hit the target of 6,000,000 so if you happen to see it, get signing! There are lots of other petitions online but Change.org seems to be the only major one you can sign in the UK as the other are US based and require a zip code. I never thought I’d close a paragraph by quoting Macklemore but the line “no freedom 'til we're equal, damn right I support it” is at the forefront of my mind right now. Again, neutrality is complicity. We’re never going to achieve a fair society by sitting on our asses and hoping things will improve. Let’s all do the best we can.

Sorry if that intro wasn’t what you came here for, but I just think it’s so important to talk about. I know I’ve said in the past that fashion is supposed to be an escape from everyday life but there are some times when real life needs our attention and this is one of them. Feel free to unfollow if you disagree.

Anyway, onto the fashion. If this is the first post you’re reading, welcome! There’s a part 1! But I don’t wanna be pushy so start here if you wish!

If you read part 1, welcome back! 

I ended that post by practically falling at the feet of Dilara Findikoglu, and I so wanted to start this post by regaining a sense of dignity and go straight into what-the-fuck-ing at Dior, but I know breaking chronological order would really piss off those “OmG I’m SoOo OCD, tHis BuzZfeEd aRtiCle WiTh DiFfereNt SiZed TiLes ToLd Me!” which is basically me minus claiming liking things to be organised means I have OCD-no, just dermatillomania and the denial that a compulsive skin picking disorder has anything to do with OCD because the neuroses club that is my brain doesn’t have any space left. SO, I have to continue where I left off and star the post with Dion Lee, whose collections I am a big fan of.

I could ramble a bit more but I did enough of that at the beginning of part 1 and am sure I’ll do more than enough in this post anyway, so here it is, Dion Lee:

Considering we ended with the maximalism of Dilara Findikoglu, sliding back over towards the other far end of the scale with a designer that tends to pitch their tent on the borders of the minimalism camp feels correct. Dion Lee, fortunately, seems the perfect collection to open with. There aren’t many other brands who do edge in such an understated and masterful way. If you want to be ready for combat and look like you’d fit right in at Vogue at the same time, look no further. This season’s collection is full of perfectly placed cut outs and immaculate tailoring and subtle street fighter-esque details as ever, and that’s why it pains me to say it:

Not that this is enough in the way of critique to restore my dignity by any means, it’s not a patch on last season.

I don’t think there was a single bad look in that show, and at times it felt like I was weeding through them here. When the looks were good, they were GOOD but a lot I found to be disappointing. Plus I have no idea why you’d put tie-dye in an A/W collection. I appreciate that it’s an Australian brand and that our winter is their summer, but they’re presenting to the rest of the world at fashion week and anyone in Paris, Milan, London and New York is going to be freezing their tits off and looking like a twat in an orange tie-dye sundress. There wasn’t much of a dip in quality for the menswear compared to last season, but honestly womenswear left a lot to be desired. That’s what happens when your expectations are high.

I used to think that if you assume the worst, it’s impossible to feel let down. And then I saw Dior’s A/W 2020 collection. Did a full 180 on that statement.

I suppose it’s a step up from haute couture, but then at least the styling in that was simple, and it just didn’t look like anybody had tried at all; here it’s clear Maria Grazia chucked everything she could at this collection, every headscarf, every gingham print, every shallow feminist undertone, and it was still a fucking mess. At first you think some of the individual pieces are cute but have just been ruined by the styling, and then you begin to look, and realise that even those individual pieces could’ve easily been bought in a New Look Boxing Day sale.

THIS IS CHRISTIAN DIOR, SUPPOSEDLY ONE OF THE MOST LUXURIOUS BRANDS OUT THERE. WHAT IS GOING ON!? 

I don’t know, I included as many looks that I didn't mind as I could, but it’s like there always has to be a crappy, unnecessary detail in there. Everything is so literal. Of course the collection based around the divine feminine has the models dressed like basic ass Greek goddesses, so of course the collection based around the modern woman and equality has women walking the runway in ties and ill-fitting shoes too. Maria Grazia, here is a box:

Think outside of it. 

Next is, thankfully, Elie Saab:

No, not exactly a trailblazer of a collection, but executed with poise and elegance as always. I mean, the styling is spot on. It looks like each part of the outfit was made for another, to contribute to a whole clearly envisioned look, similar to what we saw in the Alberta Ferretti show. Elie Saab is known for its haute couture shows where all the tiny details, the sequins and the silk and the embroidery come together to make something beautiful, and this is just that on a larger scale, with less “wow”s and more quiet admiration, more wishing you were the one wearing that outfit. If you’re gonna play safe, do it this well. The night dresses are stunning of course, but not even my favourite bit of the show. It’s the casual looks, the pussy bows and the ruffles and the neck scarfs and the private girls school monochrome colour palette with the occasional pop of red or purple, a toned down version of what we saw at haute couture, any of which deserve to be worn whilst eating macarons in front of the Eiffel Tower before trip to Musee D’Orsay. It’s Poppy Moore’s school uniform grown up and made fit for a fashion magazine editor:

Somehow managing to cram an Emma Roberts early 2010s fashion moment into every post is my talent, who knew. Wild Child was really a gem.

Erdem was a mixed bag:

With a lot of the outfits, I can’t tell if I actually like the garments that much or if I just like the look as a whole. I mean, without sounding too gluten-free Callie from the Valley, I like the VIBE, but there was a lot of outfits I almost included before I had to ask myself “LAUREN, do you ACTUALLY like this or do you just like the walking-into-your-sugar-daddy’s-will-reading-to-claim-his-fortune DRAMA of it all!?” 

It happened a couple of times, where once I took off my black and white, theatrical violin accompanied entrance filtered sunglasses, I realised that the actual print was ugly. A collection so cohesively ornamental and kitschy is going to lean too far into that at times, and they were a few overly-fussy moments where it seemed less nudge nudge wink wink and more like Erdem Moralıoğlu fell into his grandma’s wardrobe, stole some fabric, and called it a day. I don’t want to sound like I’m not a fan of the collection because overall it’s gorgeous, I just thought it was a bit much at times.

Continuing with the theme of clever seasonal continuity that weaved its way throughout this year’s A/W offerings, Ermanno Scervino kept the core of his summer collection and made it just that little bit darker, added some weight to everything, and this is one of the rare occasions where I like the winter incarnation a lot more. I’m not huge about either but there’s a lot of things I’d love to wear here, the coats especially.

Up next is a reliable favourite of mine: 

Etro.

Was it REALLY necessary for you to include ALL those coats I hear you ask?

Alaska Thunderfuck as Gia Gunn voice: Absolutelyyyy.

When it comes to bohemian fashion, Etro is unbeaten. Everything is always exquisitely coordinated and styled. Like I usually fucking hate aztec print but I love the way it’s done here. I’ve never known a brand to make belts seem like such an integral, tasteful part of the outfit in a field where they so often seem like a last minute addition for the sake of accessorising; it pains me to say it, but Elie Saab, I’m looking at you. It’s your only fault. 

Yes for bringing back embroidered jeans! Yes for all those high necks! Yes for the tapestry print! Yes for the Afghan waistcoats! Etro will keep fedoras cool forever and I love them for that; I don’t know if she ever actually wore any of their stuff but I just know Stevie Nicks was in her prime would’ve ate this shit UP and she is my style icon for the ages. Plus, I might be way off base here but a lot of the collection seems to be inspired by traditional Romani style and it’s a beautiful direction to take things, a treasure trove of layers upon layers and rich textures and opulent prints.

I can’t wait til the phase of my phase of my life where I can swan around in maxi dresses and ponchos. I just hope those maxi dresses and ponchos are Etro.

Onto another brand which hasn’t had a bad show since I started my reviews: Fendi. This season, they took their late 60s/early 70s wild child aesthetic and gave a millionaire’s high maintenance wife spin on it, and what’s not to like about that? 

I mean, Fendi is a brand which is always going to excel in its F/W presentations-the rich, bohemian prints (pro-tip: if you can’t already tell, me mentioning the word bohemian in a review pretty much guarantees I like the collection), the furs, and the warm colour palette all perfectly translate into clothes suited for walks through a city going through a post-summer burnout, where it rains red and orange leaves. You can tell Silvia Fendi is in her element when she’s got texture to play with, something that comes across in the gorgeous coats Fendi consistently puts out, and this season continues that trend. Plus, there’s a lot of adorable details here-shoes that show off the decorative socks underneath, the cube shaped bags and those furry ear muffs which I hope bring about a high street muff renaissance because they’re the equivalent of slipper socks for my ears and THEY’RE ACTUALLY REALLY PRACTICAL. The only thing I’m not in love with is the mirrored glasses, and I can’t help but think how replacing them with a pair of grandad style aviators would be the icing on the cake for the collection. Maybe I just need to see Miss Robyn Rihanna Fenty wearing them and then I’ll get on board. Usually works.

Ah, GCDS. I got so excited for it after last season but this time round, it was a bit of a disappointment. There were a few outfits that semi-matched up to how cutting-edge I saw their last collection, however a lot of the pieces looked pretty low quality. I get that streetwear is in the name, but it’s supposed to be a high fashion take on that, and a lot of the looks were quite pedestrian. Stand outs are the top 2 rows and the leather motocross style jumpsuit on the far right, third row down, but the quality of these pieces wasn’t consistent across the board and I feel like I ended up having to convince myself I liked some of the others just so I had enough photos to justify including the brand. It really sucks when I look back on how ahead of the game last season’s collection was-we’re talking outfits that wouldn’t be out of place on Instagram’s Tokyofashion page and as far as I’m concerned that’s the fashion holy grail. Some of these looks, especially the menswear, could be from a Boohoo TV ad and that makes me sad.

Meanwhile, Giambattista Valli put out a collection that looked like a virtual postcard of Parisian fashion; if a St-Germain-des-Prés streetwear themed Instagram doesn’t exist already, someone should capitalise on that, stat, because if my typical vision of French feminine fashion is correct it would be full of outfits like this. I feel like this is what a fashion novice EXPECTS Chanel to look like. Trust me-these days the reality is much more disappointing.

There’s many things I'm happy to see here besides the tulle and florals and prettiness I expect of the brand. Obviously the berets and the bows and the elbow length gloves are the kind of off-duty ballerina style touches I’ve become accustomed to but there are also some nice surprises here: the military style white jacket, the unexpected snake motif on clothing that’s otherwise overly delicate, and to my delight the return of the boater hat. IDGAF, this is the summer where I’m buying myself one off Ebay and making this happen for me whether they become a “thing” or not. I shouldn’t squander having this little of a double chin; the opportunity may never present itself again. 

I haven’t watched Killing Eve in a longggg time since there’s only so much of two women attempting to kill each other and then miraculously avoiding death you can watch but I’d love to see Vilanelle prancing round a city in this kinda shit slitting some necks again. I hope that doesn’t make me sound like too much of a sadist; only in a purely fictional world is this something I want to see, I assure you.

Givenchy was really, really great this season too, imo. Definitely a step up from the last RTW anyway. Aside from the drama of the exaggerated floppy brim hats and the quirky tassle detail dresses a la Schiaparelli, a lot of these outfits kinda remind me of something a Miranda Priestly/Cruella De Vil type would wear, and you know me; I’m all for that kind of intimidating, about-to-either-slap-you-or-fire-your-ass bad bitch energy. The gathered leather gloves with the androgynous subtly checkered power suits feels CORRECT and if Giambattista Valli is the bottom in this relationship, Givenchy is the top. Am I allowed to reinforce sapphic relationship stereotypes as a bi girl? Probably not. I’m sorry. Won’t do it again. Just this once. And you know I’m right really xoxo

And OMFG Gucci. Another impeccable collection for me, honestly. Once again, it’s probably my favourite of the season. How it is that Alessandro Michelle gets it SO right for me despite his vision being so bold and different every time? He has this specific brand of strange, conceptual beauty which blends past and present trends in a way so supreme it should be considered art. It’s not a term to throw around loosely but the man is a genius, and tbh I’m still not over the human head props from the 2018 F/W winter show.

In my Haute Couture week review, I talked about the Viktor and Rolf collection (which I loved, don’t get me wrong!) and said that pretty meets grunge is my fave thing ever-this is that, but much even more substantial and intelligent. The Wes Anderson-esque pieces or that late 60s/early 70s hipster aesthetic that I loved in last season’s show hasn’t been done away with either-be it the level of detail or the colour scheme, it all somehow fits together. Never did I think I’d see dresses fit for porcelain dolls through the lens of Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen seamlessly slotted in between outfits that could’ve been put together from the clothing rack of Dazed and Confused’s costume department. I want it all-opulent fur-trimmed coats, crucifix jewellery and pilgrim hats I’m sure both Edgar Allan Poe and modern goths would approve of, and the tiered skirts that wouldn’t be out of place in a Westworld saloon. The models were delightfully sad and almost creepy looking and I wouldn’t change that for the world. To say 10/10 doesn’t do it justice, so I’m gonna have to open a reviewer’s can of worms and say 100/100.

Gucci is a tough act to follow, and I’m sorry it has to fall onto the shoulders of Halpern. In the nicest possible way (as if there is any nice way of saying it), I don’t think I any expected anything but a downgrade, so if anything, my standards will be lower so...Michael Halpern, you can thank me I guess? 

That was really mean, I’m sorry. It’s not a bad collection, and I definitely like it more than last season’s. It’s a slightly garish colour palette at times but an exciting one in spite of that, which when paired with the animal print dotted throughout makes this collection the perfect fit for a tropical beach party or at the very least, a semi-decent night at the Caribbean themed bar in your local town centre. The sequins and silk, a Halpern trademark, are as tastefully done as ever, and seeing them on the models, I can’t deny these are some power fits-the kind of clothes you are bound to look and feel confident in; if you wanted to play queen of the urban jungle for a night, this is what you need to be wearing.

Ah, Hermes.

Generally not one to stoke a fire inside me. In all fairness, the tailoring here is really, really nice and French biker chic, and the pieces are perfectly crafted-it’s not that I don’t like the outfits because I think that if I saw one of them individually in a natural, messier setting I’d probably be impressed. These are classy, elegant winter looks and what more could you want when you’re looking for outfit inspiration for this season? It’s just that it’s always a little too neat and uniform for me, and on the runway I like my fashion to be risky. This could almost be the sophisticated mother to a Tommy Hilfiger collection and whilst that’s something I would probably wear if I wanted to look put together, it’s not what you get excited to see at fashion week. Primary colours all together aren’t where it’s at for me either, the infamous colour scheme of the cheap plastic playhouses you’d find in the garden of every working/middle class British household back in the day. Yes, I had one. So did the after school club I was forced to attend whilst my mum was at work. Apparently the negative connotations are still too much for me (a boy I went to the after school club with did once fall off the back of one and crack his head open so maybe it’s justified).

Isabel Marant was pretty much exactly what you’d expect from Isabel Marant; if the Etro bohemian woman is one who rolls out of bed and chucks on the first thing she sees, the Isabel Marant bohemian woman is the one who claims she’s done the same thing but who actually planned it all out the night before. She designs for the gluten-free, bikram yoga Kourtney Kardashian style “hippy” who claims to be a free-spirit but would definitely not do acid with you. I was gonna say it was a collection for the Gwyneth Paltrows of the world but then I remembered Gwyneth proudly released a candle she claimed smelled like her vagina and changed my mind-she’d definitely do acid with you. 

It’s definitely a cohesive transition from the summer collection; both have that seemingly laid-back, clean-cut vibe, and cater to the rich, impeccably groomed scented candle loving woman everywhere. Obviously the pieces are a tad more suited to an alpine lodge in Switzerland than a beach in Malibu this time round, but that same mild colour palette, pretty, naturalistic patterns, and generally relaxed fit persists. It’s cute enough.

J.W Anderson is a bit of an enigma.

Despite the experimental silhouettes and the kooky details that you think would very “look at me!”, the collections still seem to have a chilled, easy-going feel to them. They toy about with the strange but remain entirely sophisticated whilst doing so-I think it’s because aside from the little quirks that make the garments J.W Anderson, they’re otherwise fairly reserved and simple; even the quirks themselves mostly tend to be exaggerated, more conceptual takes on more typical stylistic motifs anyway. Anderson has a knack for producing statement pieces that don’t look like they’re trying too hard to be statement pieces, a talent he expertly deploys at Loewe as well. Whilst Maison Margiela collections are like the fashion equivalent of that Jughead “I’m weird, I’m a weirdo” speech, J.W Anderson’s refusal to conform is quiet and modest. I like it. It’s not generally my personal style but I can admire the thought behind the work, and there are still some things I’d love to try. I have a few standouts-the shoes with the hoop detailing dancing from the ankle straps, the dress on the bottom right with what appears to be art nouveau typography on, the trench coat with the cape detailing and the gossamer dress to its right are all stunning, especially that dress. If I ever want to dress as the bubble Glinda the Good Witch descends in when she meets Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, I know where to go, though I don’t suppose there’s going to be an occasion that calls for that any time soon. Can I just have the dress anyway?

Kim Shui is another new designer I found through blessed Twitter screencaps-thanks guys for doing my research for me. Much appreciated.

But anyways! Like Charlotte Knowles, it’s clear she’s still establishing her aesthetic as a designer, and thus far I love it. The whimsical, throwback prints on urban silhouettes that range from the androgynous suits of city dwelling cool girls to the amped-up sex appeal of nightclub dresses is gorgeous, especially twinned with dainty headscarfs and opera gloves-all in all I think this a very cool and wearable collection and I’m looking forward to the next collection she puts out.

Next up is Lacoste, and IDK why I always include their collections to be honest, considering they’re not really known for “high fashion”. I guess it’s because my dad has collected Lacoste shirts since I was little so I kinda have a soft spot for it and feel obligated to include it every time presentation season comes around. Yes, the outfits are unbearably preppy and the colours are garish but I feel like that’s kind of the appeal? So what if some of the tracksuits look like they could’ve been pulled out of a bad mafia movie? I see the argyle jumpers, with a bit of wear and tear, as a charity shop gem my sister would come across (she has the #Y2K Depop girl knack for finding old designer pieces in the shittiest charity shops without the audacity to try and sell them at a 70% markup) that I would then steal from her wardrobe to wear myself, contrasted with a ripped mini skirt, chains and and docs. I see the POTENTIAL of a look that is very fuck you to the rich middle age tory styling we see here. It’s punk, okay?

Lanvin was STUNNING this time around. Maybe it’s because I’ve been watching Mad Men recently and it reminds me of the fashion on that-which I hope somebody won an award for at the time BTW, it is SO fucking good-but I just adore every look here. I can’t even remember if I reviewed Lanvin’s SS20 show, and so clearly if I did it wasn’t that memorable (no shade intended), however this collection is a different story. Every single one of these outfits is iconic movie moment worthy, a 60s Cher Horowitz plaid two piece equivalent that would get screencapped and replicated ad-nauseam, all the best looks of Betty Draper and Peggy Olsen and Joan Holloway and Megan Calvet brought together and refined for the modern day woman. I might even consider sacrificing my anti-royalist principles if it meant I could transport myself back in time and switch bodies with Grace Kelly so I could make this collection my princess-off-duty wardrobe and drive around Monaco in that Bella Hadid look, roof down, all the drama of the fur trim and the gloves and hair whipping about in the wind (but in this unrealistic vision I can actually see what I’m doing and I’m not choking on random strands and swearing at Mother Nature as if she is a real entity with a personal vendetta against me).

Loewe! More J.W Anderson! I’m gonna try not to repeat myself by arsekissing too much all over again and get the good points out of the way quickly! So rapid fire: elegant! Delicious colour palette! Interesting shapes! I think I’m seeing a Victorian/Edwardian influence there! Correct me if I’m wrong! I like it! The coats are strong! Remind me of the suffragettes! But lets pretend in this case these Loewe style coat wearing suffragettes are not raging classists!

AH. Apart from that, it was a bit too austere for me. I definitely preferred Anderson’s eponymous collection; there were a fair few recurring details in this show that I couldn’t get behind that I didn’t include, in particular this bib-like black panel that just kept popping up on everything. Sorry J.W Anderson. But a 50% success rate is still good! And at the end of the day, having 2 collections on Vogue Runway at once is more prestigious than the accumulative total of every accomplishment I’ll probably ever have achieved in my life by the time I’m on my deathbed so what do I know anyway? Sigh:( At least I’ll always have the honour of having the largest head by circumference of my class in year 4, right *sweats nervously*!?!?! 

Louis Vuitton was definitely a downgrade on last season for me. There were for sure elements I liked-the Vera Wang-esuqe mixing of the tulle bustle skirts with the rougher, more masculine biker inspired vests and jackets was a cool choice, reminiscent of Gucci’s mixing of the lace dresses with harnesses. I enjoyed the baroque jackets and subtle nods to steampunk style too. Though we’ve already seen it a lot this season, the wet look coat with fur trim I can’t help falling in love with, and I’m immune to the potential ugliness of the muted blue monotone look purely on the basis I can picture Ripley from Alien in it. So like I said-it’s not as if I hated it. I guess when it comes down to it, the collection wasn’t bad so much as I just had higher hopes. I will say though, the staging was INCREDIBLE. As a history nerd, I never thought I’d see the day when a Henry the 8th lookalike actor was part of the backdrop of a Paris fashion week show-and I always thought there was no interesting career path for me in the subject!

And another big name I don’t tend to be so partial to, Maison Margiela. IDK, I did like last season but I wasn’t a fan of haute couture and it took me a while to warm to this. Call it deconstructed, experimental, whatever, but you know when you can’t decide what to wear and you’re in a rush so you kinda just throw all the shit you decided against into a pile? Well, my initial thought was that this season Margiela is kinda that, on the runway.

I will say, once I let go of my need to see a clear shape, a lot of the individual pieces were stunning (NOT the puffed up tabis though, I still can’t even get behind the regular ones). I guess I just wish they’d go for less is more with the styling because as it currently stands, it makes it hard to actually take the clothes in. 

Ultimately, one thing you can always say about Margiela, like their clothes or not, is that it has a monopoly on being effortlessly bold.

Marc Jacobs I really liked again, though I will say it doesn’t stand out quite like the S/S collection did. That was absolutely STUNNING-I can’t remember specifically where I ranked it in my top ten but I know it was at least in the top 5. This, on the other hand, is...pretty. It’s very pretty, and very put together, so I’m not saying at all that I don’t rate it. I suppose it’s just a lot simpler than I expected it to be-I don’t have a problem with simplicity, at all, especially if it’s what a brand is known for but I feel like part of the appeal with Marc Jacobs is that it’s pretty kooky. I mean, not Thom Browne or Margiela kooky, but commercial kooky at least. I feel like the kookiness is lacking here? And that’s where this feeling is coming from? And also, the fact that Lanvin tackled the same era and did it a lot better? So there’s that, too. Plus, I adore Miley Cyrus but...why? Random celebrities waking the runway just doesn’t do it for me-it always comes across as a publicity grab, as if the designer isn’t confident enough in their collection’s ability to get people talking on its own, and I suppose in this case that says it all really.

Margaret Howell was...well, Margaret Howell. She’s known for her basics, and they’re always pretty non-offensive “regulation hottie” in the words of the icon that is Damian from Mean Girls. It’s been, what, four years? More? Since I last watched that film but I’m pretty sure watching it about twenty times between the ages of 9 and 15 tattooed it on my brain. I include her because even though they don’t get my pulse racing, I like these pieces; considering the fact that expecting straight white men to ever have style on the level of barbiedrugz (his instagram is my favourite thing ever) or Rickey Thompson is ludicrous, Margaret Howell’s menswear looks are probably are the best, realistic goal for any future partner. Because I like my men dressed like Paddington bear/a depressed Brown University English lit lecturer, okay? Or in other words, Will Graham from Hannibal.

Marine Serre had a few good moments-the looks that I liked were the ones that stayed within her lane of blending the weird with the visually appealing. There were a lot of cool things going on, and I like the utility vibe (the boot with the pouch detailing and the mask are perfect examples of this done well), but outside the fits I picked out a lot of it went over my head tbh.

Marques Almeida is a show I was looking forward to-it has such a youthful, experimental quality to its collections (it’s no surprise the designers said they were influenced by the HBO show Euphoria this year!), similar to Central Saint Martins, and you can tell the designers (Marta Marques and Paulo Almeida) are based in London too; we are talking about the birthplace of the punk fashion movement, and as a designer it’s probably almost a rite of passage that you incorporate elements of that into your work. Marques Almeida does that with a flair and consistency you can count on. Their clothes don’t have the wildest silhouettes or anything like that but the fun they have playing around with print and colour and the ease and confidence with which they settle on those combinations always comes through-the black and white coat with the yellow furs trim is one of my favourite pieces from the entirety of this season’s offerings.

I wasn’t so fond of Max Mara’s SS20 collection and I'm not gonna lie, this isn’t THAT much of a step up for me personally. It’s just one of those brands I feel obligated to include because it’s talked about quite a bit but I’m not totally sure if it’s for me. Too monotone, but I’ll give it another season! And I mean, there is a slight improvement here-this collection is a lot more laid back than the stiff, austere feel of the last, and there are some very well fitted and structured pieces. A lot of the looks kinda remind me of a 2020, fashion take on The Breakfast Club’s “Basket Case”, which is kinda cool, and just from looking at the clothes, the high price tag is palpable. Also, scruffy hair club unite! Though obviously it’s intentional here! That’ll be my excuse for the next time I turn up at work looking like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards-Max Mara made me do it.

Ending on those words of wisdom, I’m gonna bring this post to a close, because I can’t fit any more photos in! I’m desperately hoping that I can fit this all into 3 parts like I did with my last RTW review but even if I do have to make 4 posts, I still include my top 10 shows as I did before. I hope to get that post up within the next couple of weeks! After that, I’ve shot a Lana Del Rey inspired by each of her different albums and “era”s though given last week’s events I’m on the fence about whether to post it or not, especially given her silence over the last couple of days. I’m really proud of what I’ve put together and I’ll always love her art and music (I have 2 bloody tattoos, for fuck’s sake!), so I’m trying to think how I can reconcile that with those awfully worded posts and just the general lack of awareness of bigger issues that she’s displayed the last week. JFC, being a Lana stan has always been so chilled up until now. All the very valid and important takes aside, that “Lana pls delete that post and apologise, we can’t fight the barbz all your stans are depressed” tweet is the only good thing to come out of this shitshow. He got a point. Breathing feels like effort lately:( IDK, if you’re also a Lana stan and you have any opinions on the matter, feel free to DM me, because I’m feeling pretty conflicted rn.

Most importantly though, are the issues I opened this post by talking about, and I thought I’d finish by including the thread of petitions I saw on Twitter. Like I said, a lot of them aren’t available to sign in the UK but to anyone who read up until this point (thank you!) idk where you’re reading from so maybe some of them will apply to you:

https://twitter.com/yericvIt/status/1265801832930045953

Also, while we’re at it, because every tory voting twat seems to treat our country as if it’s some beacon of hope where racism is non-existent and love to tell PoC to stop moaning about their experiences, here’s a thread of black British men and women who have lost their lives to police violence:

https://twitter.com/illh0eminati/status/1266441604170223617

Thank you for reading until the end. I hope that you enjoyed the fashion part of the post but also that if you did read this far, you read the other bits too if you didn’t know what was going on already. It seems like everyone does but you forget that Twitter’s a bit of an echo chamber and that outside of it, there’s a lot of ignorance, whether intentional or not. I know Tumblr has a similar audience to Twitter so I imagine there’s loads on here about everything going on too, but ya know. I wanted to talk about it just incase. 

Stay safe, keep fighting the good fight, and again, thank you for reading!<3

Lauren x

[adrianstokes-blog]

( BEN BARNES, CISMALE, HE/HIM ) —— [ ADRIAN STOKES ] is a [ THIRTY-SIX ] year old inhabitant of Ambridge and have taken the role of a [ DETECTIVE / DIRTY COP ]. I heard they are [ IN FAVOUR OF THE COLEMAN FAMILY ] but they won’t tell anyone. Lets see what the city has in store for them.

basic info;

Full Name: Adrian Bartholomew Stokes

Nicknames: n/a

Age: Thirty-six

Date of Birth: 19 April, 1982

Ethnicity: English, Irish, German

Place of Birth: Ireland

Gender: Cis Male

Species: Human

Location: Ambridge, UK

Languages: English (native), Irish (native), French (proficiently), Spanish (barely)

Religion: Catholic, non-practicing

Education: Police Academy Graduate

Occupation: Detective Inspector / informant to the Coleman family

personality;

Zodiac Sign: Aries/Taurus cusp (has more Aries tendencies)

Likes: Success, pistachio ice cream, dogs, anything involving the ocean, card games

Dislikes: Vegetables, horror films, tourists, travelling by boat, summer weather

Bad Habits & Quirks: Folds pages of books instead of using bookmarks, smokes cigarettes when stressed, buys too much food just to order takeout, pinches the bridge of his nose when stressed or in deep thought, 

Hobbies: Boxing, rowing, car racing, 

Fears: Being found out, failure, death

Positive Traits: Charismatic, Ambitious, Determined, Headstrong 

Negative Traits: Enigmatic, Mercurial, Selective, Greedy

appearance;

Height: 6′1″

Tattoos: none

Piercings: none

Scars: long, thin scar on his left shin from falling on shattered glass as a child; a few scars on his knuckles from adolescent bare-fist fights

Distinguishing Features: Strong jaw, well kept beard/mustache, slight cleft chin (often hidden by beard)

Face claim: Ben Barnes

family info;

Biological Parent Names: Hannah Sterling and Colin Stokes 

Sibling Names: n/a

Other Relatives: several aunts on his mother’s side, a few cousins 

Relationship Status: Single

Significant Other(s): n/a

Children: n/a

Pets: English bulldog named Franklin

bio basics;

Good cop / Bad cop

Born in Wicklow, Ireland to two supportive, loving parents

Despite meager beginnings, Adrian developed a knack for imitating accents and personalities and always aspired to live a life of adventure, wealth, and risk-taking. In short, he always wanted to be James Bond.

Got into a lot of playground fights as a kid, and developed a reputation for being somewhat two-faced: a dirty, cheating fighter, but a star student. (In truth, he was really only ever the former, and just excellent at pretending to be the latter.)

At 16, his family decided to relocate to London in search of better work opportunities, and it was here that he fully reinvented himself

After finding his way into the ‘right’ crowd, he lied, cheated, and seduced his way into the fringes of London’s high society -- good looks and an easy, witty charm have a funny way of giving you everything you’ve ever dreamed of.

Although he kept a surprisingly modest lifestyle, there was hardly ever a night not spent in a luxurious hotel, wrapped in the softest of silks with a gorgeous body (or two or three) next to him -- all at the expense of someone else, of course.

With nearly 10 years of living the high life (via mooching off of others), he ran into an old schoolmate from Ireland at a party, and faced threats of his truth being revealed to the company he kept.

Thinking quickly, he told the man that he was with the cops, and had only been lying as part of his ‘cover’ to get the elite to trust him, while he’d work on bringing them down from the inside. To his surprise, it worked, but the thought of being found out -- no, the thought of facing reality -- still scared him to his bones.

And so, his lie of origin tumbled in his lie of occupation, and for once, he made good on it. He joined the police force at 25, convincing his newfound ‘friends’ that he’d protect them from the inside.

He rose through the ranks quick enough, and what he didn’t achieve by sheer talent, he acquired with pretty words and luck. At 30, he was promomted to Detective and was seen as a rising star within the London office, thanks to his work on a high-profile kidnapping case.

His new partner, however, was the one person Adrian couldn’t seem to charm, the older man’s jealousy and greed getting the better of him. It wasn’t before long that the superior officer arranged for Adrian to be transferred. 

At 31, he was re-assigned to the sleepy little town of Ambridge, where nothing happened and no one batted an eye.

Over the past 5 years, Adrian has been assigned to keep eyes on the Coleman family, an assignment known only to his superior officer and himself. However, the money the Colemans offered was too good to pass up, and Adrian has found himself giving more info to them than to the office he serves. 

Nowadays, he doesn’t actually hate the position he’s in. True, it doesn’t afford him the nicest of luxuries, but his positions as both an informant for the Colemans and a detective in a virtually crime-free town has given him something better: protection. And, in a quiet town that just got a lot louder, that’s worth more than its weight in gold. 

 TLDR; he's a mess. He's equal parts stuck in a daydream and living out a nightmare, and the only thing that's preventing him from sinking down further is his penchant for using chaos as a ladder -- it's the only thing keeping him going, and he'll sit high atop the precipice for as long as it'll hold him.  

[dodo-kak]

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[watchesbyvalentin-blog]

Etsy listing available in my shop

Check out this item in my Etsy shop https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/718995800/solid-sterling-silver-cigarette-case

[sandlerresearch]

Smoking Tobacco in United Kingdom (UK) - Market Assessment and Forecasts to 2030 published on

https://www.sandlerresearch.org/smoking-tobacco-in-united-kingdom-uk-market-assessment-and-forecasts-to-2030.html

Smoking Tobacco in United Kingdom (UK) - Market Assessment and Forecasts to 2030

Smoking Tobacco in United Kingdom (UK) – Market Assessment and Forecasts to 2030

Summary

Smoking Tobacco in United Kingdom (UK) – Market Assessment and Forecasts to 2030 is an analytical report by GlobalData that provides extensive and highly detailed current and future market trends in the tobacco market in Cambodia. It covers market size and structure along with per capita and overall consumption. Additionally, it focuses on brand data, retail pricing, prospects, and forecasts for sales and consumption until 2030.

The UK tobacco market is characterized by two distinct sectors: a UK-duty paid market and non-UK duty paid, the latter comprising both legitimate and illegal cross-border sales.There has been a long term decline in pipe tobacco use and, in recent years, strong growth in the use of FCT for hand-rolling cigarettes. Leading brands in the market as of 2019 were Amber Leaf (34.7%), Gold Leaf (17.0%), Sterling (12.0%), Cutters Choice (11.6%) and Golden Virginia Original (10.8%).

Scope

– Production stood at an estimated 6,391 tons in 2016 but has since virtually ceased as the two remaining facilities for smoking tobacco have ceased operations. – Sharply rising taxes and the relaxation of customs limits on personal imports have encouraged widespread smuggling and triggered the development of non-UK duty-paid sales, which prior to 1993 were almost non-existent. – At a global level, the World Health Organization Framework Convention on Tobacco Control (“WHO FCTC”) came into force in February 2005. – Smoking tobacco consumption is expected to increase initially and then decline over the forecast period as more smokers look to use FCT as a low cost alternative to cigarettes.

Reasons to Buy

– Get a detailed understanding of consumption to align your sales and marketing efforts with the latest trends in the market. – Identify the areas of growth and opportunities, which will aid effective marketing planning. The differing growth rates in regional product sales drive fundamental shifts in the market. – This report provides detailed, authoritative data on these changes – prime intelligence for marketers. Understand the market dynamics and essential data to benchmark your position and to identify where to compete in the future.

[lyndseyyr2]

Scouse Brows

In order to enhance my experience and skills, outside of my university work, I decided I wanted to create a short film. I got in touch with a university student from John Moores who is currently studying creative writing and we decided to complete a collaborative project of a spoken word fashion film. As myself and Maddie are both from working class backgrounds, we decided that it would be interesting to explore the working class’ relationship to fashion.

The film’s purpose is to project the stereotypes surrounding people from Liverpool and the Scouse accent. The use of unusual fashion in this film presents the ideas of self identity and self expression. This is a poetic film, split into two parts. There are two poems that make up the narration of this film, both written and read by Maddie and make up the only sound in the film.

I chose the locations for this film myself. The first location is the Liverpool Port in Crosby. I chose this location specifically because of a line in the poem ‘My Branded Tongue’ that reads “the branding tool: tin alloy, Celtic and Lancashire.” This line speaks of the intermingling of accents due to people moving in and out of Liverpool for centuries, eventually making the Scouse accent. Considering this, I felt that it would be interesting to personify the imported materials brought into the city at the port as the things that make up the Scouse accent. Therefore, having the location be the port itself, presents the audience with a sense of movement to and from Liverpool. In the first scene, Maddie stands in front of a stack of import crates which are behind bars in the distance. I created this shot with the vision that I wanted Maddie to be connected to the things that make up her identity as a Scouse person. Furthermore, Maddie is wearing a headpiece that has a handmade crane on it. This is one of many ways that we incorporated fashion into the film. Her fashion relates her to the scene as she becomes part of the iconography.

The second location that I chose was Powis Street in Toxteth, Liverpool. This was a location used for the TV show Peaky Blinders. The street is one way with a dead end at the bottom, with attached houses. The houses on the street were painted black by the Peaky Blinders creators and was abandoned after shooting. I felt that this would be a powerful location for the poem ‘Scouse Brows’ as it speaks of the disillusionment of the education system and makeup. This location would definitely reflect the feeling of isolation and frustration, as the black houses have connotations of negative energy. However, on arriving at Powis Street, we found that it had been taken over by a housing company and was being completely renovated. Because of this, we had to completely rearrange the treatment and decide on a new location. We were able to make use of some abandoned furniture and the main road of the street in some shots. However, we decided to shoot this poem at the Baltic Triangle in Liverpool city centre. Here, we were still able to find some scenes that reflected the emotions of the poem. For example, we made use of a step in front of closed shutters, which did project the idea of isolation and being locked out. The sun was setting by the time we arrived at this location, making the sky pink and blue. We made use of this opportunity by getting multiple low angled shots that show the sky behind Maddie’s head.

We were lucky to have stormy weather on the day that we filmed. The sun often broke through the clouds and the sky was particularly colourful and complex. We did not need to make use of any lighting kit because of this. I have decided not to colour correct the final edit of this film. Not only because the natural daylight was aesthetically pleasing, but this gives the film an air of naturalism. I feel that it is appropriate to invite the audience to engage in the reality of life in Liverpool, so to see the unaltered colours on the screen provides that realism.

There was originally a third poem in the script of this film. However, after I completed the treatment, Maddie decided that it did not fit in with the other two poems. As this occurred on the day of filming, we were able to spend more time filming for the other two poems.

There were multiple hazard risks surrounding this shoot:

Hazard - Who - Prevention

The rain - filming equipment - I will use umbrellas and bring towels in case I need to use them.

Busy road - cast and crew - I will ensure that we only cross where pedestrian crossings are.

Rocks around water - cast - I will warn the actor of the slippery surface of the rocks.

Water at the marina - cast - I will warn the actor to be careful around the water.

Falls - cast and crew - I will ensure that the cast and crew help one another up and down from large steps and elevated areas. I will avoid unstable surfaces.

Pre production

There were multiple hazard risks surrounding this shoot:

Hazard - Who - Prevention

The rain - filming equipment - I will use umbrellas and bring towels in case I need to use them.

Busy road - cast and crew - I will ensure that we only cross where pedestrian crossings are.

Rocks around water - cast - I will warn the actor of the slippery surface of the rocks.

Water at the marina - cast - I will warn the actor to be careful around the water.

Falls - cast and crew - I will ensure that the cast and crew help one another up and down from large steps and elevated areas. I will avoid unstable surfaces.

Location recce:

Crosby Marina. Cambridge Road, Waterloo, Liverpool. L22 1RR. This location is suitable as it is easily accessible via Waterloo train station and is open 24 hours a day. It is a public space so I do not need to ask permission to film here.

Powis Street, Liverpool. This is a suitable location because it is near multiple bus stops making it easily accessible. This is an abandoned film set so there will not be people around who could accidentally be in a shot. This is a public space so I do not need permission to film.

Liverpool Port, Crosby. This is a suitable location as it is accessible via bus, train, and car. It is also a ten minute walk away from Crosby Marina, another location in the film. I do not need permission to film here as I will not be inside the dock area.

Treatment

Treatment: Scouse Brows.

Lyndsey Scott

Madelaine Kinsella

15/04/2019

Duration: 3/3.5 minutes

In 2019, a poet explores high fashion in the working class environment of Liverpool, UK.

Order of poems: Scouse Brows, My Branded Tongue, Start Rite Mary Janes.

Opening shot: Madelaine stands in the centre of the road looking into the camera. Wide shot. White text across the screen reads “Scouse Brows”.

Next Scene: Madelaine stands against a black brick wall; pan shot and mid shot. She gazes into the camera and attempts to pose as confident, proud. The sun glares in her eyes and she struggles, blinking, to maintain her pose. She continuously attempts to stay poised. This is shown between lines “Liverpool school girl” and “big orrible Scouser”.

Red tinges either side of her face and poor editing effect indicating dated and poor quality filming equipment, like Gucci 2017 campaign Wild Days and Nights in Rome.

Next Shot: Madelaine is walking down a street carrying a blue plastic bag. Wide shot that she walks towards. The camera movement indicates steps. “Block of flats bitch, big orrible slugs.”

Next Shot: Wide shot, Madelaine sits down on a curb and places the bag next to her. She reaches into it and takes out a bottle of lucozade sport and a bottle of lambrini. (7 second shot) “they grow and grow consuming her forehead in diameter, a new shape to fill in.”

Next shot: Extreme close up of the lucozade sport being poured down a drain. “Bin dipping cunt”.

Next shot: Madelaine leaning on a rubbish bin. Mid shot. “Uniform codes and not adhering to uniform codes.”

Next shot: Madelaine throws a handful of makeup wipes into the air. Mid shot. “make up remover parched and stale baby wipes”.

Next shot: Madelaine holds out the bottom of her cape and twirls, low angle looking up shot. “Never mind there is always tomorrow try again.”

Next shot: Overhead shot. In sight: the top of Madeleine's head, her legs crossed to the side. She pours the lambrini into the lucozade bottle. “Uniform codes and not adhering to uniform codes”.

Next shot: low angle shot of wipes falling down onto the camera. “She has common eyebrows”.

Next shot: wide shot. Madelaine stands up and walks away. Leaving behind the bottle and bag. “By that they mean, lower band teen pregnancy”

Next shot: close up of the lambrini bottle empty on top of the blue plastic bag. The bag waves in the wind. second shot). Film reel editing, the shot jolts. Shows abandonment and lack of maintenance. “Bad for league tables eyebrows”.

Next shot: Mid shot. Madelaine standing in the middle of the road reaching into her purse. “Mr Sterling and OFSTED don’t like my eyebrows.”

Next shot: Extreme close up into purse with arm reaching into it. “Try again”.

Next shot: Mid shot. Madelaine takes out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. “PE kits in blue JD bags the meff box of lost and found”

White light marks change in shots.

Next shot: Extreme close up of her hands taking out a cigarette. Red tint around the screen as in the Gucci campaign. “cheap Hollister body spray doused in it a jarg sick note”

Next shot: Mid shot, Madelaine walks down a street and turns a corner, Lucozade bottle in hand. The camera follows her around a corner where she is found in a grand/decorated/party hall alone. “and an entry way to fall into entry ways glossed over in ice”

Next shot: Mid shot as before, Madelaine lifts the cigarette to her lips followed by the lighter. “chapped puckered lips in menthol”

Next shot: Madelaine is holding a filled champagne glass spinning around with her arms out and her head back. The camera follows this movement and spins around the room. “A fourth period paradise.”

Next shot: Extreme close up from overhead view, Madelaine shaking the lighter trying to light it and struggling. “A race back to the school gate before the bell catches us but it always did.”

Next shot: Close up from the side of Madelaine’s face, she takes a drag of the cigarette. “If not sooner, baby, then later.”

White flash “pale faces with thin lips murmur”

Next shot: Madelaine wipes the camera lens with a makeup wipe, she steps back and looks at the camera smiling. Extreme close up to mid shot. “Back to class, take that makeup off.”

Next shot: Close up of Madeleine coughing choking on the cigarette smoke. “Over and over, there’s always tomorrow. For the stubborn bitch with the lattice brow”

Next shot: Madelaine in the dancehall stops spinning and looks at the camera. Mid shot. The camera slows down with her and continues to rotate around her.“And the scowl to match”

Last shot: Madelaine takes another drag of the cigarette while looking into the camera. Mid shot. “To try again.”

My Branded Tongue

Opening shot: wide shot of the crates at Crosby docks, Madelaine is stood at the bottom of the frame facing the camera. White text across the crates reads “My Branded Tongue”.

Next shot: slow close up shot of Madeleine's eyes opening. “At birth I sobbed”.

Next shot: Extreme close up of Madeleine's mouth, she lifts her hand to her mouth and using her thumb pulls her bottom lip downwards followed by her tongue. “The metal rod steaming red”

Next shot: Madelaine walks past the camera mid shot in three steps then looks to the camera, bursts her hand open under her chin lifting her head back. “Branded my tongue, bruised me with flaw. Etching cackles onto my tastebuds.”

Next shot: Madelaine stands facing the water at the marina. Close up shot of the side of her face. She looks off to the water. She looks over to something to her right sharply. With this movement, the camera takes a fast wide angled pan of the marina. “my tongue burns itself on coffee when I sleep asbestos mouth my vowels wide as waiiide”

Next shot: close up of the tide against the rocks flowing back and forth “tiny rotten hooks, they pull my lips taunt.”

Next shot: a wide shot of Madeleine in front of the cargo crates on Crosby beach. “The branding tool, tin alloy/ Celtic and Lancashire.” On “Celtic” the camera zooms in closer.

Next shot: Madelaine leaning against a public bin on her elbows, looking at the camera she turns and leans backwards against it. “They keep it in the storage cupboard, between nappies and starched blankets for orrible scouse babies”. Wide shot.

Next shot: Mid shot of Madelaine stood on the sand near the cargo crates and near one of the iron men, she holds two fingers over her mouth.“I carry this city in my mouth, cradled in my tongue curls”

Next shot: Pan from the floor upwards of Madelaine from behind showing the garment. “She’s grateful, I bring her TV fuzz on every sentence.”

Next shot: Close up of Madeleine's face with her chin tilted upwards showing pride. “And she burns in my throat”.

Equipment list

Panasonic G7

Prop list

cigarettes

Lighter

Lambrini

Wine glass

Bag

Baby wipes

Call list:

Crew: Lyndsey Scott

Cast: Madelaine Kinsella

Role: Herself

Shooting Schedule

3:45PM - meet with Maddie at Fazakerley station and get the train to Waterloo station.

4:10PM 4:25PM - arrive at Waterloo and walk over to location 1.

4:30PM-5:00PM - capture first four shots of My Branded Tongue.

5:00PM-5:15PM - walk to second location, Crosby Marina.

5:15PM-5:45PM - capture the rest of the shots for My Branded Tongue.

5:45PM-6:00PM - walk over to Waterloo train station and get train to moorfields.

6:20PM-6:30PM - arrive at moorfields and get an Uber to Baltic Triangle.

6:30PM-7:30PM - shoot at step, graffiti wall and hill at Baltic triangle.

7:00PM-7:10PM - get an Uber to Powis street.

7:10PM-7:30PM - finish filming shots for Scouse Brows.

7:30PM - FINISH.

[eurotickets20]

Travel advise for Azerbaijan vs Wales UEFA Euro 2020 qualifier

Travel advise for Wales fans traveling to Baku for the Azerbaijan v Wales UEFA Euro Cup 2020 qualifier match on Saturday 16 November 2019. Venue is Bakcell Arena Stadium 8km Stadionu, Baku, Azerbaijan. Kick-off time is 9 pm local time.

Passports and visas to watch Euro 2020 qualifier:

You must get a visa before you travel. You can get an official e-visa online or apply for a visa through the Azerbaijan Embassy-affiliated Visa Service Centre in the UK. Some specific exemptions may apply. Football fans can book Wales Euro Cup Tickets on our website on exclusively discounted prices.

Your passport will need to be valid for at least 6 months on the date you enter Azerbaijan. Take out comprehensive travel and medical insurance. Your European Health Insurance Card (EHIC) won’t be valid in Azerbaijan, so travel and medical insurance are essential even if you’re only staying for 1 night.

If you’re visiting Azerbaijan for longer than 15 days, you must register within 15 working days of arrival. Hotels may provide this service for their guests. Visitors staying in flats or private seats will have to register by themselves. Police from time to time carry out checks of identity documents. You should carry your passport at all times.

Entry to the stadium to watch Euro 2020 battle:

The main entrance will be open to welcome all fans. Wales supporters will be seated in sector 2B to see the stadium plan. In order to enter section 2B of the stadium, you should go through the Gate 2B. The stewards will guide you to your seats. Access to the stadium can be slow. Expect to be searched at least twice.

To avoid last-minute delays get to the stadium early. The stadium opens 2 hours before the kick-off.

Restrictions

In addition to items that would usually be illegal in the UK, the following items will also not be allowed to be taken into the stadium: burns, fireworks, alcohol, cans, glass, plastic bottles or containers, coins, lighters, and e-cigarettes. If you do bring any of these items they will be seized by the Azerbaijani authorities.

Alcohol and smoking

Alcohol is not sold in the stadium and cannot be brought in from outside. Smoking will not be allowed.

Food and drink

Food and drink outlets are available in the stadium. Items can be paid for by cash in local currency.

Disabled supporters

There is a designated area for wheelchair users referred to as VIP Lounge, which can be reached via lifts from the ground floor.The rest of Baku has limited facilities for the disabled traveler, the pavements, even on the main roads, can be difficult to negotiate for those with disabilities.

Local information

Climate and time

The average temperature in November is around 7-15ºC during the day. You can find information on the BBC weather website. The time in Baku is GMT+4.

Language

The main language is Azerbaijani. Russian is also widely spoken.

Crime

Crime levels in Baku are generally low. Don’t get involved with drugs the penalties are severe.

Personal security

Look after your personal kinds of stuff, in particular, your passport and your money. Keep a photocopy of the personal details pages of your passport and keep it in a safe place separate from your passport. Take sensible precautions: be vigilant, avoid carrying large sums of money and be aware of your personal security.

Road safety

Pedestrians should be vigilant at all times when crossing roads; red traffic lights and zebra crossings don’t necessarily mean a car will stop, use the underpasses where available. When using a taxi make sure it has working seatbelts; many cars are poorly maintained and the standard of driving is erratic.

Accidents are common, mainly due to poor or wild driving and varying execution of traffic rules. If you’re in a vehicle that’s traveling at an unsafe speed you should instruct the driver to slow down.

Religion

Most of the residents of Azerbaijan are Muslim. In Azerbaijan faith is usually deliberated a private matter. Respect local mores, customs, laws, and religions at all times and be aware of your actions to ensure they do not offend other cultures or religious beliefs.

Telephones

The international dialing code for Azerbaijan in +994, before traveling check with your mobile phone provider that it will work in Baku. Local sim cards are easily available with Azercell, Nar Mobile and Bakcell being the leading mobile operators. You can buy credit for Azerbaijani mobile numbers from many shops or top-up online.

Currency

All goods and services are paid in local currency which is Manats AZN. Pounds sterling, US dollars, and euros are easily exchanged. Major hotels and international supermarkets and restaurants accept credit and debit cards.ATMs in Baku will almost always accept UK credit and debit cards. Before leaving the UK, let your bank know you’re traveling to Azerbaijan.

Football fans can get Euro Cup Tickets through our trusted online ticketing market place. EuroTickets2020.com is the most reliable source to book Euro Cup 2020 tickets.

[jamieclawhorn]

I’d buy these 3 buy-and-forget FTSE 100 stocks yielding 7%+

Are you staggered by some of the yields available from top FTSE 100 stocks? I certainly am. The fact that I can pick out three companies yielding more than 7% in the blink of an eye is quite something. That kind of income will quickly roll up.

Compound glory

Let’s say I invest £10,000 in one of them. After five years, I will have £14,026, even if the share price does not grow at all in that time.

After 10 years, my money will have grown to £19,672, excluding all share price growth. If the stock still yields 7% by then, I will be getting a yield of 13.77% based on my original £10,000. These are crude calculations, but they show how yields matter for long-term investors. Just remember, dividends are not set in stone.

Aviva

The first 7% yielder I like is £16.7bn insurance giant Aviva (LSE: AV). I think this is a terrific income stock with a blistering forecast yield of 7.6%, covered 1.9 times by earnings. However, it has been a rotten growth stock, with the share price trading 15% lower than five years ago.

I have repeatedly been underwhelmed by Aviva’s share price, especially since it seems nicely priced to outperform, trading at just 6.9 times forecast earnings. As Kevin Godbold points out, Aviva is a cyclical stock with bumpy cash flow, and debt of £9.42bn in 2018. However, a sky-high yield and dirt-cheap valuation is always a difficult combination to resist. I’m hoping the current leadership shake-up may inject fresh energy. 

Tui Travel

Travel giant TUI Travel (LSE: TUI) has seen its share price halving over 12 months, while the yield has shot up as a result. Bargain hunters will be tempted, with the stock now valued at just 7.5 times earnings, which offers plenty of scope for a recovery.

Brexit uncertainty, sterling weakness and Spanish overcapacity hit the group, while last month it alerted markets that it could take a €200m hit from the grounding of its Boeing’s 737 MAX aeroplanes over safety concerns.

That could cast a shadow over its share price for some time while Rupert Hargreaves has warned of a possible share price cut if the problems continue. Right now, it looks riskiest of the three, but travel and tourism will only grow and I’d suggest brave investors buy at today’s low entry price then forget about short-term turbulence, as the TUI share price is ultimately heading for sunnier climes.

British American Tobacco

Tobacco stocks have long been one of the best sources of reliable dividends, and British American Tobacco (LSE: BATS) certainly fits that mould. The £70bn behemoth is up 25% over the past three months, although it still trades 40% lower than two years ago, as it has come under intense scrutiny from US regulators, which have been targeting big tobacco’s vaping and e-cigarettes operations.

The long-term decline of smoking in the West looks set to continue, with US cigarette volumes down 8.8% over the last year, Nielsen data shows. I believe the health message will ultimately spread to wealthy emerging market smokers too, but for now British American Tobacco continues to generate huge revenues, with more than $25bn expected this year.

Earnings are forecast to grow 5% this year and 7% next, and a yield of almost 7% with cover of 1.5 is still hard to resist.

Five Income Stocks For Retirement

Our top analysts have highlighted five shares in the FTSE 100 in our special free report "5 Shares To Retire On". To find out the names of the shares and the reasons behind their inclusion, simply click here to view it right away!

More reading

My 3 buy-and-forget FTSE 100 stocks with 5%+ yields

3 FTSE 100 dividend stocks paying more than Lloyds shares

The Aviva share price is rising. Is it time to buy?

3 cheap FTSE 100 dividend stocks I’d buy and hold for the next 5 years

Is Aviva’s 7% dividend yield safe?

Harvey Jones has no position in any of the shares mentioned. The Motley Fool UK has no position in any of the shares mentioned. Views expressed on the companies mentioned in this article are those of the writer and therefore may differ from the official recommendations we make in our subscription services such as Share Advisor, Hidden Winners and Pro. Here at The Motley Fool we believe that considering a diverse range of insights makes us better investors.